#best pontiac

[jwowwsboobs]

miami vice is so bomb im actually in love

#elvis is the best character btw. #xoxo #n tge fucking PONTIAC UEHRHHRHRHRH. its so bomb

[ssaluv-a-lot]

Woke up at 2 am thinking about this…

A/N: This might be the best thing Ive ever done. 18 plussss, deadass. No Minors 💁🏽‍♀️ Grown ppl enjoy.

Oh shit…You should be home right now. You should be home in bed with your man but instead you were out and tipsy and yet the thought of Fontaine pulling up to air the place out was enough to sober you up. On wobbly legs, you carried yourself out of the club and fished your phone out your purse.

4 missed calls, 2 FaceTimes, and hella text messages. You were so fucked.

It wasn’t even a full second after you pressed the screen to call him back that you heard the bass boosted rnb coming from his Pontiac. Then it was his rumbling engine and beaming headlights that swung around the corner.

Fontaine didn’t even wait until the car was rightfully parked before he climbed out and stalked towards you, scowl permanently etched onto his features.

“Baby, i’m so fucking sorry.” You reached out for him, grabbing hold of his jacket.

He pried your hands from his jacket and grumbled a stern. “Get in the car.”

“Fontaine!” You whined, tripping over your heels to grab him again.

“Get in the fuckin car! I ain’t playin wit you!” He shouted, gripping your arm up and forcing you towards the vehicle while you continued to apologize.

He climbed into the driver’s seat with a huff as you buckled your own seatbelt.

The drive was silent and the tension thick. You knew that once you got home, he would be on you about staying out late, getting drunk without a ride. The whole nine yards on safety.

You didn’t even need to mention the fact that every one knew you were his girl and that so much as a flirty comment would get them in big trouble.

The car rumbled to a stop in front of your home and a heavy sigh released itself from Fontaine’s chest.

“When we get in that house, ion wanna hear shit about how sorry you are. Ion give a fuck. You get your ass up to that room and wait.”

You nodded your head as a shiver tingled at your spine. Then, his rough hand was gripping your cheeks, tilting your head every which way.

“Nobody touched you up in there right? You ain’t hurt?” He loosened his grip as it seemed you went untouched as long as you were out.

“No..” A smile crept across your glossy lips as you realized he wasn’t really mad at you, just worried since you didn’t answer his calls

“Don’t lie to me just cause you think I’m already pissed.”

“No, Fontaine. Nobody did anything. I just danced and shit.”

The man sucked his teeth as he climbed out of the car, going around the front to open your door.

Once inside the house, you wasted no time getting up stairs and sitting on the bed as his heavy foot steps followed.

“Strip outta them clothes.” He ordered as the bedroom door clicked shut behind him and he kicked off his shoes.

You scrambled out of your top, tossing it somewhere. Out of your bra, tossing it someplace else. And then, you fumbled with your skirt before it pooled at your feet, leaving you in your panties, looking up at him as he loomed over you.

“Now how come when you think you getting some dick, you can listen to me but when I tell you to come home before midnight, you ain’t got a damn clue?”

“I-“ The words got stuck in your throat as he aired you out.

“Hm.” Fontaine scoffed, shrugging off his bomber and pulling his hoodie over his head, leaving him in his gold chain and a pair of low hanging sweats. “Hands and knees.”

“Fontaine!” You whined. “Please?”

“Nah come on. Don’t make me fix you my self.”

You huffed as you turned yourself into the position and pressed your body into the sheets. The impact came almost instant, the burning sting as he cracked a palm to your right ass cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut as a yelp caught in your throat. Another resounding smack to your ass as he mumbled to himself. Something about you tripping and acting like you ain’t know better.

His monologue must’ve really started to piss him off because the next impact of his calloused hands had you gripping the sheets as a squeal released from your mouth.

“M sorry, Taine..” You mumbled, turning your head to look back at him as he stroked your burning skin.

“Mhmm.” Another crack of his palm against and then he was pulling at your panties, tugging them down to the fold of your knees as a finger slipped between your legs and through your slickened folds. “All that complaining and you wet any damn way.”

Your brows knitted together as he swiped his fingers across your pussy, brushing your clit and circling your entrance, then back up to your clit to rub firm circles into the bud.

“Fontaine..” It came out breathy and pleading as you relished in the pressure being released. “Fuck..feels good.”

“Yeah?” He hummed, squatting down to get a better look at your actively sopping pussy, wet and waiting to be filled.

The sight was marveling, almost making him forget what he was supposed to be doing. Your whimpers were music to him as he drew them out of you with rougher circles to your clit.

He brought his mouth to your ass, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin as you squirmed against him.

“F-fuck..baby! I’m close!” Your jaw dropped as the knot in your belly tightened up. You arched into the bed, ready for it to hit you any second.

At the last moment, Fontaine withdrew his fingers with a dark groan, leaving you squirming and pushing your ass back against him for more.

As the realization dawned, tears pricked your eyes.

“No! Daddy please! I-I wanna come!”

“You gonna wait. Just like you made me wait up for you.” He pressed another kiss to your ass and raised to his feet.

“But-“ Your words were cut as he wrapped a hand around the front of your neck and pulled you up to rest on your knees. His lips slotted against yours, his tongue dipping in and invading your mouth sloppily.

His grip on your neck tightened as he took your plump bottom lip between his gold teeth with a growl. “You know I love you right?”

“Yeah. Love you too,” Fontaine released your neck and you could hear the fabric of his sweats as he tugged them down along with his boxers, letting his hard erection spring free.

He pressed a hand to the small of your back, creating an arch that propped your ass up just how he liked it. Carefully, he dragged his blunt tip across your wet folds, tapping it against your clit until you shuddered and your toes curled in anticipation.

He pushed into your clenching center with a groan as he adjusted his hands to your hips and your face dropped into the pillow. “Fuck..” Fontaine tugged his sweats a little lower as you mewled into your pillows.

His thrusts started slow, drawing out to the tip and easing in to his hips until he was coated in your arousal. “You good?” He asked, fully sheathed.

“Uh huh.” You spared him a weak nod and he took that as his go ahead, catching a rhythm as he drilled into you.

His nails digging into your hips so you didn’t try to run. Your mouth permanently slack jawed as he hit that spot that made you see stars.

“Must’ve been out ya mind, baby.” Fontaine huffed. “Making me have to drive up there like that..”

“Ooh daddy..” You threw your ass back to meet his hips with eagerness, your orgasm crawling up your spine and making your head a little foggy.

“Mhmm. Ignoring my fuckin calls.” He cracked a palm against your ass, making you yelp and push back into him.

The dull smack of your skins colliding as he drove his dick into your greedy pussy was all you could hear. All the shit he was talking went in deaf ears.

“Fuck, Fontaine! Shiiit!” Your eyes rolled back as your orgasm rolled over you, your hands turning pale as you gripped the sheets tightly.

“That’s it.” He kept fucking you through it, not letting up no matter how much you whined about it being too much. “Keep taking that dick..”

A sticky white ring formed around the base of his cock, making the already slippery task of staying inside you, that much harder.

“I got half a mind to never let you out again..”

“Mmm..no, wait.” You whispered as he angled his thrusts to brush against your spot again. You felt yourself building up again, only the pressure felt heavier and much stronger. “F-Fontaine!”

You attempted to press a hand to his abdomen to slow his thrusts and allow you a minute to relax but your shaky hand was slapped away.

“Actin like you ain’t got no fuckin sense.” He pressed into your back a little harder, angled his hips deeper. “I feel that shit. You gonna soak me baby?”

“I-I Ahh!” Your pussy clenched him tight, keeping him right where he was as you squirted onto the sheets with a scream. Your legs shivering and body shaking as he marveled at the sight.

“Fuuck.” He pulled out of you with a soft smile, rubbing his wet dick through your swollen folds, spreading the substance across your thighs. “You trynna do that again?”

#black writers #x black reader #black reader #john boyega #fontaine #fontaine x black reader #smut #they cloned tyrone #they cloned tyrone smut

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Pontiac Bonneville Custom Convertible, 1959. The second generation Bonneville marked two important milestones for Pontiac. As well as becoming a full line with hardtop sedan and wagons (previously the Bonneville had only been available as a coupe or convertible) it introduced the split grille and the "Wide Track" slogan. The Wide Track wasn't just ad copy, it had a front tread width of 63.7in and rear tread at 64in as opposed to other GM products with a 61in width front and rear. In doing so, Pontiac created what were considered to be the best-cornering full-size cars in the industry. Both features remained central to the Pontiac brand up until it's demise

#Pontiac #Pontiac Bonneville #Pontiac Bonneville Custom Convertible #1959 #second generation #wide track #split grill #dead brands #full size #convertible #open roof #tail fins #1950s style

[rustedhearts]

dazed and confused (70s!childhood best friend!steve x fem!reader)

summary: steve's been your best friend all your life. but friends aren't supposed to think about friends the way you think about steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the only living boy in indiana ✶ main masterlist

tags: 70s!steve, childhood bestie!steve, fluff, pining! we're pining!, tid-bit of jealousy from us, this is short but sweet. not edited as usual.

recommended listening: you're lost, little girl —the doors; sweet leaf —black sabbath

buy me a ko-fi! ♡

somewhere in indiana. october, 1977.

The slow riff of The Doors’ You’re Lost, Little Girl trickled through the cinderblock basement. The Strange Days album spun on Steve’s turntable, the right door left open to reveal his cautiously-crafted selection. An array of colors and bands, all organized into what Steve considered his “most prized possession.” A music man above all else, you sort of admired how much he cared for the craft of careful listening.

You wriggled your fingers through the gaps of one of the Harrington Afghan blankets, where an orange stripe turned to brown. Steve hummed along to the start of the lyrics—a low, rumbling sound. You peeked over the edge of the sofa, ratty and old and shoved down here when Mrs. Harrington bought something sturdier at the start of the decade. You remembered the day she instructed Steve’s father to bring the old one down here; it was the first time you wandered into a room alone with Steve. Just the two of you, other neighborhood kids neglected on the lawn down the street.

He asked if you wanted to stay over and play a game, and Mrs. Harrington brought a bowl of pretzels to share while you hunched over Monopoly. Now, the basement was your place—yours and Steve’s. Four walls of cinderblock and concrete floor, softened with a shaggy brown rug once found in the living room, and posters purchased at the record stores and concert merchandise stands, and seasonal decorations Mrs. Harrington rotated every few months.

When it didn’t smell like the linen and laundry beating against the pea green dryer, the stench of Steve’s Winston cigarettes took over. It was always cold, and always home. You often found yourself here instead of at your own.

“You’re lost, little girl,” Steve cooed lyrically, cigarette withering and smoking between his two fingers.

He was lying on the hard ground, one palm pressed over his sweater-clad stomach and the other held open against the air where his cigarette waited. The maroon red of his shirt made his hair look dark and luscious, and the paleness of his Midwestern-cold-season skin warm again. If he opened his eyes, now pinched shut to marinate in the song like he so often did, you knew they’d be soft and puppy-like. He only ever looked at you with a smile.

So how was it that you never kissed?

You found yourself asking that a lot lately. When he picked you up for class at the community college with a thermos full of hot coffee on bitter cold days. When he slung his jacket around your shoulders when you shivered at football games. When he popped a kiss against your cheek out of pure excitement and whirled away like he hadn’t just burned your skin in the most delightful way.

And that tingling delight only appeared this year. When he started to fill out his brown leather jacket until it creaked. When his voice started growling through you like a firework. When his hands grew rough from work on the Pontiac in the driveway, inherited from his father for his eighteenth birthday. He spent the summer fixing it up, and that first scorching day you came up the driveway and saw him slicked with grease…you were done for.

Now, you only ever thought about kissing Steve.

“Penny for your thoughts, little girl?” Steve mused from the floor. His eyes were open now, head tipped to catch you staring.

You jerked away, blushing into your knees. “Sorry. Just zoning out.”

You continued your poking ministrations in the blanket before tossing Steve a bewildered look. “And don’t call me that.”

Steve chuckled around his cigarette, growing smaller by the minute between his lips, puffing smoke with every sharp ejection of amused breath. His socked feet scuffed against the floor as he pressed up, sauntering toward the rear of the couch in his brown corduroy pants.

“Jeez.” He yanked the cigarette from his mouth and slung one leg over the back of the couch beside you. “Who pissed in your Cheerios today?”

You shifted away from him when he settled on the top edge of the couch, huffing as you went. Crowded against the padded and pillowed arm, you frowned into your fist propped under your chin and glared at the poster of Led Zeppelin ahead of you.

You hated your own body for betraying you this way—for making you ache for your best friend. It was wrong. Everyone knew that dating a friend never ended well. You knew too much about each other, had seen too much of the bad for the food to feel unadulterated and sweet the way it did with someone you’d known for far less. But you’d known Steve nearly all your life. Introduced as two curious and adventurous six year olds, you saw each other through elementary, middle, high school, and now college. You’d comforted all the bad dates and heard the rundown of every parental fight. You knew about the rash he had from a new laundry detergent last winter, and you knew he liked to jerk off with his left hand even though he was a righty because it “feels like it’s not even his.”

You knew too much.

So why did he look so handsome sitting next to you like that?

“Hey.” Steve’s voice was soft now, murmured just under the stereo. “Are you—you’re not mad at me or something, are you?”

"No," you murmured, eyes turned down toward your lap.

Steve watched you a moment, elbows on his knees, waiting for more to utter from your mouth. It was so unlike you to grow quiet in his presence. Your mouth was always running, spilling some secret you promised to keep with "the exception of Steve," or retelling some story with adamant vibrancy. If you were ever quiet, it was only so you could bathe in the peacefulness of your alone time together.

You had never been quiet like this. Well...not since that time in high school when your boyfriend dumped you.

"Well, hey, did I show you the Masters of Reality I found at the record store? It's sick, I've never seen this version of the cover before."

Steve hopped off the couch, stubbing his cigarette out in an old mug on the end of the coffee table as he went. He disappeared up the stairs with a rushed be right back, and you listened to his footsteps thump above your head. When he was gone, you dropped your head into your hands and sighed.

✶ ✶

You parted ways for the day a few hours later, the span of uncomfortable time in which you sat shoulder-to-shoulder silently watching The Price Is Right. You couldn't think of a thing to say to him, and he didn't know how to take your quiet.

On the trudge home, you scolded yourself for having such romantic thoughts about him. For wondering what his lips would feel like on your own, and how his hands might feel beneath your clothes. It was wrong. And you were certain that if Steve knew how you were thinking these days, he'd be appalled. You'd lose your best friend forever.

There's no coming back from unrequited love.

You spent the night tossing and turning and glaring at your Donna Summer poster in the dark, wondering why your brain wouldn't just shut up about Steve. Steve's hair and Steve's eyes and Steve's ass in those Levis. You slumped from bed the next morning (thankfully a Sunday) with scratchy eyes and a head full of Steve.

So pardon your irritation when you dressed and dolled yourself pretty for the few short paces down the street to his house, only to find the rear of a long head of auburn hair looking up at Steve. You skirted to a stop at the end of the driveway, nose already turning cold from the nip of autumn air, new brown boots scuffing on the pavement. The gurgle of Steve's radio could be heard even from there, winding up an eight track. The Pontiac windows were rolled down to stream out the sounds.

And there Steve was, propped against the hood, grease-stained rag thrown over his puffy-sweatered shoulder, gazing down at this short little thing like some new kitten. He had his arms crossed the way he does when he wants to be handsome—and Christ did it work. But they were on her.

Over her shoulder, Steve caught the edge of your coat. He swiftly shifted gears, pushing off the car to wave a hand at you. You watched his mouth move in a murmur toward the girl, who rubbed her hand along his arm as she sidestepped toward a goodbye. You still lingered, hands tucked and balled tight in your fuzzy pockets, waiting for some sort of instruction.

Steve always had girls around, but suddenly, while watching this tiny little inkling of a girl sashay her way away from your best friend, you felt like screaming. You wanted the girls to stop coming around.

"Hey, c'mere," Steve called through the distance, and with a start, you realized the girl was fading down the street, and you were just standing there.

You shuffled your way over, inhaling deeply as you went. As the gap diminished and you approached, you caught a whiff of sharp autumn leaves, and the smoke of a Winston recently put out. Somewhere underneath, the amber musk of his cologne. You'd drool if you bothered to open your mouth.

"Hey." Steve grinned, hands rubbing around the greased cloth. His familiar, heather grey sweatshirt looked soft, hood a bit rumpled at the nape of his neck.

Once, you fell asleep on a three hour road trip, and woke up on the edge of Ohio with your head in his lap. He was playing with your hair, and when you blinked up fuzzily and furrowed your brows, he soothed you awake like some sort of child. You could still feel the warmth of that sweatshirt.

"Hey," you returned, a little too sharp. "Who was that?"

Steve's sneakers whooshed over the pavement, kicking up gravel and crunching fallen leaves as he headed toward the tool box. He was polishing up, checking fluids and odds and ends. Sometimes, you thought he just liked standing next to his hot ride.

Steve glanced toward the end of the drive where the mystery girl disappeared to a few moments ago. "Who?"

You rolled your eyes, huffing. "The girl, Hair."

Steve scoffed at your ill-intended nickname, heading toward the driver side door. He hung halfway in, reaching for the knob on the stereo.

"Somebody, nobody. I don't know yet."

You kicked at a rock near your foot, frowning. "What does that even mean?"

Steve continued to fiddle inside the car. "It means, she could be somebody. I'm seeing where it goes, takin' my time."

You pushed your head back toward the sky, head shaking. Steve took the moment to look at you through the windshield, memorizing the colors and shapes of your outfit. Camel brown coat, chocolate brown boots, black turtleneck, purple corduroy jeans. You had lipgloss on today, and the color made your eyes beam.

Steve pulled out of the car and headed back toward the tools before he could look any more. You tipped your head back into place just as he slid under the car, the soles of his sneakers bared to you. His socks didn't match. Something about that made you smile.

"Why are you so cranky anyway?" he called from under the hunk of blue metal. "Yesterday, today—you havin' your monthly—"

Kicking his foot hard with the toe of your boot, you glared down at the portioned part of Steve Harrington you could see. "Don't finish that sentence, Harrington."

Steve jolted. "Ow! Alright, alright, Jes-us."

You pulled away, pacing the patch of grey ground in front of the car. You tight-roped the crack for a while, watching your feet overtake the severed cement, glancing occasionally toward Steve when things clattered.

"How'd you meet her?" you found yourself calling out.

Steve paused a moment. You continued to pace. He sniffled and rolled up his sleeves, shifting under the car. "Uh...record store. She asked my opinion."

Oh, you inwardly groaned. She was a cool girl. Trying to swallow down your frustrations, you sniffled away a cold drip snot and hummed.

"What's she listen to, ABBA?"

Steve shook his head, chuckling. "Yeah, actually. But I can't be a music snob, honey, that's not how I roll. Chicks can play whatever they want when we're doin' it, I don't mind."

Scowling, you thought about going over and kicking him again for good measure. But the poor kid just didn't have a clue, did he? He was handsome, lived in a two-parent home, his father still had a job, and he had a job waiting for him when he was done fooling around. It wasn't his fault he had everything.

You just wanted him to have you, too.

"Hey, grab my smokes for me? On the front seat."

Tapping your foot, arms firmly crossed over your chest, you spent a moment boring a hole into Steve's foot. Another kick? No. Your mind wandered to that Tuesday evening, straight after school your senior year, when Nancy Wheeler dumped Steve behind the gym during fifth period, and Steve came running home and did everything he could to stop crying—but you held him in your arms and told him he could cry all he wanted.

Steve didn't think "chicks" could "play whatever they wanted when they were doin' it." Steve didn't think women were playthings. Steve wanted to be loved.

You could love him well.

Huffing, you stomped toward the car, coat sleeves swinging with every bound. You snatched the crumpled back of half-empty Winstons from the leather of the front seat and rounded the square-nosed hood of the Pontiac. When you came into view, Steve slid out from under the car and sat up.

"Thanks—whoa!"

But you threw the pack at his head, heard the small clatter of cardboard against skin as it pinged off his brow and into his lap. His brows creased as you spun sharply on your heel and crossed your arms again, heading for the end of the drive. Steve scrambled to catch up, tripping over his feet as he went.

"Wait, wait—stop!" Steve rushed you, snatching you by the elbow to pull you to a sharp stop.

When you turned—or he made you, rather—you looked anywhere but his pretty face. Glaring at the collar of his sweatshirt, doing all you could to hold your breath and bring down the simmer in your cheeks. Suddenly, you couldn't speak. Suddenly, all those feelings were coming to a boil, flowing over and spilling out.

But you couldn't put into words just what you were feeling. You couldn't find it in you to open your mouth and speak.

"What's goin' on?" Steve chuckled, but his tone lacked the humor. "What did I do, what's wrong?"

Balling your fingers into fists again, frozen numb and trembling with a hungry ache, you tossed your eyes his way. Steve could see the anguish on your face, pinched in the center sourly. But what was wrong? Steve couldn't put his finger on it.

Stomping your booted foot, you gave a soft, petulant whine into the brisk air. And before Steve could laugh or shake his head at your childish antics, ones he's seen plenty of before when you haven't gotten your way—you smashed your mouth on his.

Leaning up on your boots, creasing the leather toes, creaking with your weight; planting your hands on his firm, bulging arms growing bigger by the day; squeezing muscle mass with an eager grasp. You pressed your mouth right to his and breathed him in. The stereo in the Pontiac gave a whir and a click, and then the hoarse cough of Ozzie Osbourne cut through the quiet of the street. Sweet Leaf slipped from the car and fueled Steve with a fire like no other.

So, when you pulled back with a sharp smack of spit and swollen cheeks, Steve didn't let you get far. A step back and to the side, a slow and incomplete rotation toward the front of the house—until Steve snatched you by the belt loop just above your ass and tugged you back.

"Hey."

You crumpled into him, arms caged against his chest—and yes, the sweater was just as soft as you remembered. His hands slid through the groove of your waist and down the round globes of your ass, squeezing with firm pressure and eager palms. Big biceps pressing you into him by the shoulders: pulling you in, holding you close. He tasted like Coca Cola, glass bottle now rolling into the grass, blown away by the wind.

If he asked, you were searching for more of in his mouth, parched from the cold.

Against your mouth, you felt the lines of Steve's lips widen. When he pulled away, it was just far enough to still feel his breath against your chin, close enough to see the flecks of jade in his eyes.

And he was grinning a half-cocked, handsome grin.

"About damn time."

#rolly! #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve stranger things #steve the hair harrington #joe keery #joe keery fic #joe keery fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #stranger things fic #70s!steve harrington

[milfjessepinkman]

i hate walter as much as the next guy. but man he is such an interesting character. like he really isnt that machiavellian, i feel like thats mostly the fanbase talking. he is pretty much only really really good at cooking meth. gus is the machiavellian one, the one who is willing to put in his dues, to wait, to bide his time, to manipulate. walts solution to LITERALLY EVERYTHING is to either kill it or blow it up. (or both). Like every time he "makes a move" it is just him ordering other people to kill people or him blowing stuff up. he sucks at manipulating, he couldnt do it w. skyler she saw through his bullshit sooo early in the series, bc he is SO BAD at lying, and when she does work with him its not because she suddenly loves him again or whatever, its more pragmatic for her. he failed so hard at manipulating mike/gus/etc. the only person he actually successfully manipulated was his 24 year old junkie former student. not exactly the most difficult catch. also because he isn't machiavellian hes way more fun to watch -- he doesnt just do things because they're the best move, like gus. gus would more more boring a protagonist bc his moves are predictable, always optimal. but walts moves are also driven by his family and keeping up his lie and stuff. and sometimes he just does shit because he is a human being who cares about things. like when he ran over the dealers who were gonna kill jesse with his car. that move did not benefit him at all, like why did he do it?? I mean i know why he did it, hes obsessed w jesse and expresses "love" (devotion? loyalty?) through violence, but i think theres a lot of reddit bros who would be genuinely at a loss to explain his motivations in that scene. professionally walts a failure. for most of the series in the criminal underground he is also a failure. he can only get off on killing people and chemistry. he lives in the suburbs. his wife is 12 years younger than him. hes psychosexually obsessed w his former high school student. he drives a 2004 Pontiac Aztek. if he didnt get lung cancer he probably would just continue to be a shitty person in secret until his death. hes having a baby. albuquerque new mexico is a fantasy world and he is the chosen one. he gave a speech about how there were so many worse plane crashes to a building of people mourning a plane crash. hes a retail worker. the first thing he does as a criminal is come up with a cool fake name to sell drugs with. his solution to being missing is to get naked in a grocery store and it works for, like, a significant amount of time. he kills the big boss by blowing half his face off. when his making-meth assistant acts too cheerful he gets him fired and brings back the junkie former high school student instead. crazy guy!!

#brba #breaking bad #walter white

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Pontiac GTO

If the Mustang pioneered the pony car segment, then the GTO pioneered the muscle car world. When John DeLorean set out his plans to create the Pontiac GTO, he had to cut through a lot of red tape. The top brass at GM didn’t see the logic in creating a car that was like the GTO. So DeLorean made the GTO a trim package on an existing car and the rest is history (via Hagerty).

The GTO redefined what a muscle car should look and drive like and buyers clamored for these vehicles. The styling of the GTO completely changed what car fans expected in a muscle car and that was a great revolution. With the GTO came a plethora of other muscle cars including the Chevelle and the Cutlass. The muscle carera is widely considered one of the best times for domestic carmakers and the GTO was responsible for that.

#pontiac gto #pontiac #gto #musclecar #american muscle car #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle

[slippinninque]

✨🦋You (Learned To) Like Pretty Things, Too🦋✨

a/n: thank you for all the love and encouragement that you all give! I'm grateful for every pair of eyes that land on my scribbling! I love me some soft!Fontaine and I hope to do more of these! tell me what you think!

warnings: MINORS DNI, 18+, cursing, long-fic, sensual/erotic moments, clothing kink, weed/smoking,

Fontaine pulled up outside of your work, leaning up against his car and looking like an absolute dream after such a tedious week. You met him with a sweet kiss, smiling against his lips when he hummed.

"Now why you tryin' to get me in trouble with Ms. Glenda?" Fontaine pinched your chin when you pulled away. He took your hands into his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

Your face felt hot. You sorta forgot that you were still in the middle of your work's parking lot, but who would really care anyway?

The entire week you worked your ass off and cleaned up the messes of other overworked employees. You deserved a public smooch at least.

You took a peek over your shoulder.

Sure enough, there was Ms. Glenda slow-moseying to her car as she looked over her shoulder at the both of you.

That old woman was the gossip. Anything that she hears, everyone will have heard by the next business day.

" 'Night, ma'am!" you called, giving a wave and not waiting to see Ms. Glenda's response. Fontaine snickered at your wide-eyed expression of embarrassment, opening the passenger door for your escape.

"Good night, ma'am." Fontaine called as he rounded to the driver's side. You couldn't hear what Ms. Glenda said, but it made him shake his head with a little grin.

'Messy ol' granny...'

Once inside the Pontiac, you felt the greys of the day melt onto the road.

Fontaine's fingers tapped a rhythm on your thigh and he cruised right onto the highway.

At your questioning look, he just shrugged a bit, "Missed you, wanna ride around for a bit witchu."

You smiled and snuggled into the passenger seat, "Well, that's fine then! "

He patted your thigh and asked you to put on some music. While slipping through stations, you told him about your day. The emails you send and the calls you had to suffer. Off went your wedges and you took the tie from you hair, scratching your fingers into your thick roots.

Eventually your conversation lulled with the both of you enjoying the ride. Fontaine's ass would mess around and drive out of state if you didn't have to clock in the next morning.

The thought left you feeling dreamy. You and Fontaine trade in your cars for a little RV and you both roam the states. You yearned to see Fontaine beneath the the open sky, you wanted to kiss him and taste salt water on his lips. There was something about him that gave you the impression that he'd love camping.

'Soon,' you promised yourself, feeling around for a moment before Fontaine's hand found yours.

"Fontaine!"

-----

"Why you sayin' my name like that? I ain't even touchin'you like I wanna..."

Fontaine's tone was teasing and his golds flashed with a smile that ignited the butterflies in your stomach.

Your mouth dropped open when Fontaine made one final right. Then you were parked in a tucked away space, facing familiar frosted windows.

A bougie boutique that you were brave enough to peruse only online. They had the best quality stuff when it comes to luxury and it wasn't that far away from where you worked. How Fontaine found out, you'd never know.

"How'd you know about this place, 'Taine?"

"What, shit's exclusive or something?"

"No. At least...um, can they do that?"

"It ain't--I checked for memberships an' all that shit."

Of course Fontaine checked, because he's Fontaine. If the boutique did have a membership, not only would you be enrolled but he'd probably be extra about any available perks as well.

You couldn't explain the sudden feeling of shyness that came over you.

As if could see them fluttering into your chest, Fontaine reached out and tipped your chin towards him.

"Now, lemme say that you be wearin' them slacks lately, sexy as hell."

"You think my slacks are sexy?"

"Sexy as hell," Fontaine patiently assured, "I wanna see somethin' else though. You've been working hard and what you be sayin' to me? You deserve nice things."

His imitation of you made you grin but you couldn't stop the sass.

"Hm, a lot of people say that y'know."

Fontaine hummed and brought his face closer, now squishing your cheeks to kiss your pursed lips. He moved back just enough to ask,

"Remember our deal?"

"Ye', I r'member ouhr deah."

"Good. Imma give you a stack an' your going spend it on what you want. You gonna bring me change?"

"...No..."

That got you another kiss before he released you to smile-pout to yourself.

"That's what I wanna hear. Now let's get go fo' I take your pretty lil' self to the back seat."

"Yes, Big Daddy 'Taine."

.....

You opened the front door when you heard Fontaine pull up, staying behind the wood for a few final moments as he swept in like a rain cloud.

"So, you gonna tell me why you've been duckin' me all day--

His grumbling snapped off into a grunt at the sight of you. Grinning while you locked up, you couldn't help but to think 'success!' as his silence stretched on.

Fontaine could only stare, expression both stunned and delighted. Eyes running from your hair to your heels, taking a half step back to take in more of you.

He ran his hand down his face and the motion made your mutinous brain blurt a thought about him not being into it. Was it too much? Too dramatic?

"Jesus Christ of Nazareth."

Covering your face as you lost battle with your composure, you went a little pass him to strike the pose you've been practicing for hours.

"Just call me 'pretty', that'll do just fine."

He whistled lowly, swiftly getting back in your space. He pulled you into his arms, twisting you both and looking down at your swishing hem. You couldn't help but to ask if he liked it.

"Don't ask me questions like that when your lil' ass was holding out. How the hell did you hide this from me anyway?"

"If you must know, a lady can get a lot of mischief done in 20 minutes when left on her own," You batted your eyes at him coyly, "That move you had to shoot while we were at the boutique gave me more than enough time."

For all appearances, you appeared to be a professional burlesque dancer. Your hair bounced as a result of a bomb perm rod set and you wore his favorite perfume.

The panty set you wore were only gleaming, clear quartz beads strung daintily together, acting more like decorations. The matching bra gave you the perfect push n' plump. That wasn't all, though.

You found a radiant corset, the butterscotch color adoring your brown skin when you had it on. Handsewn with champagne and clear crystals, some close into the fabric while others trickled down on silk strings. It bracketed your cinched form prettily and it reminded you of twinkling stars.

Honestly, the corset was for Fontaine and the robe was for you. The color was the same of the corset and the completed look cast you into a glow. Soft, extremely sheer material that was lined with plush faux fur at the sleeves and hem. Whenever you walked, it felt as if you were being followed by clouds.

You decided to wear it beneath the corset to an attendant's suggestion. It sealed the deal and even you couldn't help but flaunt to yourself in the mirror as you finished getting ready

He groaned appreciatively as he ran a few knuckles along the curves of the corset, going down onto a knee to peer closer at the beading and crystals. He lifted he hem of your robe, making an appreciative noise at the of the texture. The sight was enough to take your breath away.

"I have go back and tip those ladies again." you made a note to yourself.

"This is some good shit, pretty girl." he rubbed at your cinched waist and chewed his lip at the sight asking,

"Ain't think you'd do me like this. You good, though? Are you comfortable--these shits can get tight."

Already expecting the question, you nodded as sincerely as you could, "Those women there are the experts. Took really good care of me. One of them said this is something like training wheels to what she normally wears--it's more comfortable than I thought."

"Good. This a bad mu'fucka, goddamn." Fontaine stared up at you with hungry eyes, "Matter of fact, c'mere sweet thing..."

He stood and herded you to the couch and sat you down, then sitting flush at your side to press a kiss to your lips. Every other kiss would come with a grunt or a mutter to himself about how pleased he was that you were all for him.

The last of your anxiety slipped away. Fontaine's hands-on rumination lulled you into that buzzy space where you wanted nothing but pull him on top of you.

Then he had to be disruptive, suddenly standing as if he got popped with hot-comb.

""Hold on, lemme wash my hands--better yet, lemme go shower real quick."

You turned away from him, dramatically rearranging your furred hem, "Oh, so you're just going to leave me here like this?"

Honestly, you were expecting some bodice ripping. Maybe him bending you over and knocking a few beads off of you. You pouted up at him, hard.

Fontaine's leaned down enough to press a kiss to your nose, pulling back enough so you can see his eyes drink in your form up close.

"I ain't touching my sweetie with dirty hands and when I come back, I'm takin' my time." he pinned you with a fervent look when your eyes finally met.

"So, have all that you want done by the time I'm back on this couch. Understood?"

Your answer was fluttering your robe around yourself, curling a leg up onto the couch and draping your arms along the back of it.

Fontaine's grin was smooth as he clasping his hands before him, you saw him considering to stay for a moment before he turned away. A moment later, there was the sound of something clattering into the tub and the shower turning on.

You laughed up at the ceiling and couldn't help kicking out your legs giddily. All your jitters gone now and replaced with anticipation, you got to your feet to get one more thing.

......

It felt like ages before Fontaine returned, but when he did you sat up straight.

You smiled at the way he stopped to take you in again, unfairly handsome in his black tank and grey sweats.

Feeling foxy, you crooked your finger at him to come closer and his answering laugh held promise at it's center. When he was close enough, you lifted a leg to show him your pointed heel.

Fontaine's gaze kept yours while he took hold of your ankle. He took another half step closer, the heel of your pointed-toe pump pressing into his sternum.

"You found 'em " he breathed, running his fingers along where the soft, crème suede meet your skin. He felt the point of the shoe, down the arch, and along the heel before placing it back onto his chest.

"Mhm! The pointy-shits! I had to make my own pompom, but I think it's cute. What do you think?"

Fontaine didn't say anything at first. He pulled your leg across his lap when he sat down next to you. Fontaine ran his free hand down from your ankle to where jewel met softness, making your breath stutter.

"I ain't doin' much thinking. Just wanna to feel you."

You shivered in anticipation. You kept your leg straight as it was lifted to meet Fontaine's face. One of his hands was busy kneading your thigh as he closely inspected the mesh before rubbing his cheek against it.

"Fontaine..." You couldn't help the girlish giggle. He gave a roguish grin before hiking your leg higher, making you squeak. The robe spilled around your semi-split and Fontaine gave a lewd whistle as he stared between your legs.

"Do you like the color? I know how you feel about purple and all, but gold has been growing on me lately."

"Gold is all you ever are, baby."

"Oh my--stop it, you!" You shook him off and primly scooted to lounge on the opposite end of the couch.

Fontaine was set to prowl after you when you held up a finger to him. You pulled out a blunt and lighter from your cleavage and presented them to him, wriggling your brows.

Fontaine's head reeled back before he chuckled. He came close enough to take it, and you plucked another one out as you stretched your legs back over his lap.

He shook his head and flicked the lighter, both of you sharing a flame. You leaned back into the arm of the couch and sent your smoke into the air.

You both sat there, smoking and enjoying the sight of each other. Despite you being the one wearing all the fluff and fancy, Fontaine had those arms out and the scent of his soap wafted enticingly every time he ashed his blunt.

His expression was soft, those jewel-dark eyes roaming all over you when he finally spoke,

"Thank you...for doin' this."

"Thank you? Why would you thank me?"

"I know I can be a bit...assertive at times. I ain't want you to think I wanna control you, y'know wha' I'm sayin?"

You only nodded your head, looking at where the smoke curled away from the tip of his blunt.

"I like being seen by you. You showed me things I didn't--I convinced myself not to want and now...I want them. I only want them from you."

The words drifted in silence as Fontaine's eyes finally still on yours, prompting you to continue.

"I wanna know you want, 'Taine. How can I give it to you?"

"Lookin' like what you are. Valuable. Precious. My perfect lil' Venus. Anythin' I could want--you already gave. Just tryin' to catch up."

"You already did, pretty." Fontaine ran a finger from your knee to the tip of your heel, reverently.

Your eyes misted as you as you lost your words. Speechless, you only wanted one thing in the moment.

Fontaine saw the change in you, putting out his blunt the same time as you in time to welcome you back into his embrace. You pushed a little more until you stretched over him in a sprawl.

Words couldn't express how you felt, the feeling bouncing in your heart. Love didn't seem like it was enough. All you could do was kiss him and hoped that he understood.

He enveloped you at once with restless hands. You chimed beneath his touch as he felt every crystal and bead, leaving them to swing against each other as he moved on.

Fontaine kissed you slowly, savoring every sound you made. Teasing you for more, pulling away enough to make you lean after him. You wanted to feel more of him, running your hands beneath his tank to the warm skin beneath.

When you felt his hands go to the back of your corset, you wriggled in protest until Fontaine pulled back with a pout that had you laughing.

"Don't make that face, I almost forgot--I got something for you, too"

Fontaine released you pretty easily at that, but you didn't have to go far. You reached beneath the couch to pull out a small box. Still sitting on his lap, you flicked off the lid to show him what was inside.

Brow raised, Fontaine reached out to remove the polaroid camera from it's casing. You bit your lip, feeling where he was hard beneath you.

"So, I was thinking, we could start a little...album together." You whispered, resuming your sprawl across his chest after tossing the box aside, "Of all the things I wear for you. Maybe this is more of a gift for the both of us but wouldn't it be fun?"

After all, you hadn't even touched the other things you've brought from the boutique. All of your focus was on pulling a fast one on Fontaine. He shifted, briefly pressing against you as he sat up further against the arm of the couch.

Much to your delight, you can tell Fontaine was flustered. He was fiddling with the camera, his smile surprisingly meek as he finally spoke,

"Can I take one for my wallet?"

"Anything for you, Big Daddy 'Taine."

Fontaine's smile appeared in full force and it felt so good to see that you sighed, melting against him and meeting in the middle for a other kiss.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

end notes: phew, this took a long while and i thank you if you read to the end lmao. i'm still learning how to write and post on this site and i'm building up more courage to experiment but thank you so much to those who check back in!

Let me know if I y'all wanna know 'bout them pictures he took 👀👀

taglist: @megamindsecretlair @mysterychick93 @thadelightfulone @mag1calenchantr3ss @cocoeffects @wide-nose-and-wonderful @hobiesmain @thickeeparker @prettypink-princesss @longpause-awkwardsmile @thadelightfulone @motheyesofnight @nickidub718 @eggnox @kindofaintrovert @sageispunk @blowmymbackout @daariesqueen@sevikasblackgf@justabovewater20@mybonafidefeelings @mcondance

#fontaine x black!reader #fontaine fic #they cloned tyrone #they cloned tyrone fic #Fontaine x FemReader #fontaine x reader #fontaine x black reader #fontaine #john boyega

[jamdoughnutmagician]

Mane Attraction (18+)

Mechanic!Eddie Munson x Fem!Hairdresser!Reader

Set in the A Cut Above The Rest universe because I was missing my favourite long-haired lovable mechanic!

Eddie notices your love of his glorious mane of hair and decides to tease you about it.

Word Count:1,482

Warnings:Small bit of fluff at the beginnng, but the rest is just smut. Kissing/Making out, Oral Sex (F rec.), Fingering. Idk if there's anything else? but if I've missed something you want tagged just let me know.

Also not proofread, so if you saw any mistakes, no you didn't :)

Masterlist // Eddie Munson Masterlist

Eddie slides his body out from underneath the car he was working on, wiping his black, grease-stained hands on the rag that hangs from the back pocket of his coveralls. He’d stripped the top half off, tying the sleeves around his waist, leaving him in his white vest as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Motörhead’s ‘Ace Of Spades’ rumbles out from the old radio sitting on the workbench, and the clanking of Randy working on another car outside in the yard all fall into the background as his attention is diverted by his sweet girl walking into the garage.

“Hey! You forgot your lunch this morning!” you beam brightly as you hand him over the brown paper bag.

“You’re an absolute peach, you know that?” he smiles, kissing your cheek.

“Also I popped a few of the cookies I made yesterday in there, because I know they’re your favourite.” 

“You made snickerdoodles?!” he beamed brightly, his eyes widening in surprise as he quickly opened up the bag to see the sweet treats sitting inside .

“Only the best for my hard-working handy-man.” 

“Thanks Sweetheart! I’ll see you back at home later, yeah?” 

you wave him goodbye with a cheery smile and a cheeky wink.

“Bye Teddy, I love you.” 

“Teddy, huh?” Randy nudges him in the arm with a scoff. “Who knew you had such a soft side?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be fixing that old Pontiac?” Eddie fixes him a hard stare.

“Only for you, Teddy.” Randy teases him with his best put-on sultry girly voice that his deep southern drawl can manage, before laughing on his way back out to the yard.

Eddie pushes through the door with a tired sigh.

“Honey I’m home!” he calls out in the way he always does when he comes home to you.

You rush over to him, immediately wrapping him in a tight hug, which he welcomes whole-heartedly, picking you up in his arms and twirling you around.

“How was work?” 

“Good, it was a nice surprise to have you come visit me” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to 

the crown of your head. “Those cookies were delicious by the way.”

“Oh I’m glad you liked them. I had a day off so I thought I could make them to surprise you!”

“Well consider me surprised, Sweetheart.” he smiles, pulling his long dark curls free from the knot tied at the nape of his neck, raking a large hand through his hair with a quick ruffle. Having his hair as long as it was meant that whenever he was working it had to be tied back, something about safety regulations or whatever, so when he came home he liked to take the opportunity to let his wild mane free.

“I’m gonna take a shower, and get changed, then we can order takeout? How does that sound?” he asks, as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“You read my mind.” you giggle, settling yourself into the comfort of the couch cushions.

Freshly showered and changed into a pair of red and black plaid pyjama bottoms and a soft grey Henley, Eddie slumps his body down on the couch next to yours.

“I picked up a film from Family Video for us to watch this evening.” you smile, snuggling up to his body, the all too familiar and welcoming scent of his body wash filling your senses. You flicked the remote and the bright light of the television illuminated the cosy living room.

It didn’t take very long for the film to go utterly ignored in favour of slipping your tongue between Eddie’s lips and tangling your fingers into his messy curls, earning you a low groan as you gently tugged against the dark strands.

Pulling away from you with a knowing smirk playing at his pink, kiss-bitten lips, Eddie looks down at you before speaking. He wants to tease you a little, see what your reaction would be.

“I was thinking it was about time that I got a haircut, was going to ask if you’d do it for me, y’know, since you’re the professional and all.” 

Eddie tries to suppress his giggling amusement when he sees your reaction.

Your eyes wide in shock, and your mouth opening to say something, and yet nothing comes.

“Just chop off all this long hair. Would be easier at work too, wouldn’t have to keep tying it back.” he says, awaiting your reaction, watching as your eyebrows draw together in confusion..

You gather your thoughts just enough to form a sentence.

“I don’t think I can do that, Eddie. It goes against my beliefs as a well-respected hairdresser, and as your girlfriend.” you explain with a laugh. “You know I love your hair. Where else am I supposed to tangle my fingers when you go down on me, huh?” you murmur,  your lips close to his,  before leaning in once more to kiss him.

“Good thing I was only joking then.” he laughs in that adorably boyish way that makes it oh so hard for you to be mad at him.

“I can’t believe you would joke about something like that Eddie!!” you join in on the laughter, playfully hitting him with one of the cushions on the couch.

“How about, as a recompense for being the target of my joke, I get down on my knees for you and you can show me how much you love my hair, hm?” he offers, his voice dropping to a smokey gravel, as he presses as reassuring kiss to your lips.

You flush under his words, but still you nod, eager to feel his lips on your body.

“Yeah, is that what you want Sweetheart?” he murmurs softly as he sinks to his knees in front of you. “Want me to make you feel good?” 

A breathy whine of ‘please’ falls from your lips, and that’s all the go-ahead Eddie needs before he’s skating his hands up your thighs.

“Lift your hips up for me.” 

You comply with his wishes, raising up enough for him to hook his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama shorts and panties and drag them down the length of your legs in one swift motion.

“There she is…my pretty girl…I've missed her…” he almost purrs out when he's greeted by the sight of your pussy. “You, and I have a lot of catching up to do.” he smiles, his lips curling into a salacious grin.

He kisses his lips to the soft pudge of your stomach before he trails down nosing into the thatch of curls between your legs.

He smiles against your wet slit, his tongue slipping past his lips to drag slowly across your folds. Flattening his tongue against you, licking up the essence of your arousal.

He's moaning deeply as he pushes into you as close as he can, wrapping arms around your plush thighs, and throwing your legs over his shoulders.

He quickly flicks the tip of his tongue over your clit with practised precision, before sucking it between his plump lips in a way that has your back arching up into his touch.

It isn’t long before he feels the familiar tangle of your fingers into his hair, tugging the dark strands as he continues to lap at your wetness. Tugging gently at the roots of his hair, directing him right where you need him most.

“Taste’s so fucking sweet, pretty baby..” he slurs out his praises, his tongue never stopping it’s relentless endeavour. “You want one of my fingers?”

“Please..Wanna feel you, Eddie, please..” you beg breathlessly.

He continues to lap at your wet cunt like a man starved, slipping one of his thick fingers into your tight wet heat, pressing against that spot that has your thighs shuddering close around his face.

“That’s it Sweetheart..so fuckin’ pretty like this I swear..” he teases, his voice a steady growly as he fucks his finger into you.

“..C-close..” was all you could stutter out, before Eddie was doubling down in his efforts to please you, sliding one more finger into you, and crooking them inside you so perfectly.

He’d happily been in this position many times before, knew all the tell-tale signs of your impending high, and with one more flick of tongue over your sensitive clit you were riding out your release against his face, clenching around his fingers with a wet gush.

He drinks you in, gently lapping over your clit as you come down from the euphoria of your shuddering orgasm. He pulls away from you, his mouth glossy with his spit and your slick juices lingering on his lips.

“So, I was thinking we could order pizza tonight?” he says as though he hadn’t just given you the best head of your life.

“Yeah,” you sigh with a soft breath. “W-we can get pizza if you want to.”

@penguinsandpotterheads @xxbimbobunnyxx @eddiesxangel @paybacksawitch @mrsjellymunson @heydreamchild @munsonsbtch @keeksandgigz @ali-r3n @seatnights

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie Munson x female reader smut #Eddie munson smut #Eddie munson fanfic

[bucknastysbabe]

70s/80s summer camp for jace it’s just so fitting

SO FITTING THAT LIL SUMMER BOY, I struggled at first and really found my groove so I hope it’s good! Thanks for requesting❤️❤️

AU Bingo - 70’s Summer Camp - Jace Velaryon

Rating: Explicit

Tags: TW//underage drinking, consumption of marijuana and alcohol in LARGE quantities, Jace and Reader are 18, Cregan’s little sister!reader, enemies to fwb to lovers, slight angst, Addam and Alyn share one brain cell, poor Luke, Cregan is the ultimate Big Bro, cunnilingus, pnv!sex, Frottage, blowjobs, Jace’s Horse Dong, virgin!Jace, we goin wild at the summer camp

“It’s going to be a hot summer this year folks! But we have hotter music for the Summer of seventy-nine. Here’s The Logical Song from Supertramp.”

The man on the radio was right. It was sweltering in Jace’s little black Pontiac firebird transam. He swerved at breakneck speed around the bends on the mountain roads, second nature at this point. Lucerys was in the passenger, nervously eyeing his brother.

“You’re making me quiver,” he shoved the twerp, “Quit being a pussy.”

Luke mumbled, “M’not a pussy!” He sunk down into the leather seats, brown eyes cast to the surrounding trees and views. They’d go through the mountains before making it to the lake and the camp. Camp Wolfwind was the name, the Stark family generously started it over decades ago.

Cregan Stark, Jace’s best friend by mail most of the time would be there. He was assistant director of camp this year, just a year older than him. Cregan always had the air of being mature, making Jace feel like a kid without even trying. Mr. Umber was the camp director, some wildman looking type with a booming laugh.

Jace’s mother had him and Luke come to this camp since they were little, to quote, “I’m not sending my children to that snobby hobnobbing farce of a camp. You boys are going to learn to be of the people and nature.” Safe to say Camp Wolfwind was a staple of Jacaerys summer. It really was a great place.

Being a senior counselor this year added bonuses. More time off between campers, say-so on party invitations, and all the grass, liquor, whatever you could get your hands on. It was a poorly hidden secret Mr. Umber grew his own bud. But only on the weekends you could partake, per Cregan.

“Whose gonna be the female senior counselor?”

Jace almost wrecked the fancy car. Fuck. Cregan’s little sister got that post. He’d had to work with the thorn in his side since, god, he first camp to Wolfwind. She had a way of getting under his skin with that sharp laugh and glinting eyes. Most of the guys thought she was sexy, looking like Jaclyn Smith of Charlie’s Angels.

Jace saw a demon with horns snorting at him when she opened her mouth. He had no clue how that girl was related to the ever calm, collected Cregan. Jace huffed, annoyed that Luke brought back the information he had banished since receiving the letter from his friend.

Whatever. It was his last summer at Wolfwind before heading off to college. Camp stopped last week of July and most of his stuff was packed up back home anyway.

A sign for the camp flew by, Jace’s knuckles whitening on the wheel. Luke snorted and popped back a cheez-it, “You’ll be fine, she’s really not that bad.” The elder brother made a familiar turn, much slower now, and scoffed, “Okay, sure, that’s why Aemond makes you cry at Christmas.” The two were pulling hair and throwing blind punches, the car skidded to a halt as insults were slung.

Cregan leaned into the open window, grinning in amusement, dodging a stray elbow. He slammed on the hood of the trans am a couple of times before Jace collected himself and shot one last side-eye to his shit of a brother. The eldest Stark huffed in humor, “Good to see you Jace and Luke, let’s get you two parked then you can go into the woods to work it out.”

Jace smiled and shook his best friend’s hand, “That can be arranged.”

Luke was back to pouting, quiet and slamming shit as he grabbed his stuff upon parking. The familiar smells and sights greeted Jace’s nose. He couldn’t help but grin at the lake shining under the view of the mountains, the wooden buildings here and there, up through the trees were obstacle courses and archery ranges. The smell of the mess hall wafted by. The Velaryon felt at home here.

Sliding his Ray-bans back, Jace sauntered to the senior counselor rooms, a duplex where he’d be connected to Satan herself. Luke stomped off to the more open spaced male junior counselor building, throwing one last bird finger. Cregan leaned against the porch frame now, holding out a bag full of camp clothes.

“You need to leave that poor boy alone,” he teasingly chastised. Jace plunked his suitcase on the bed and eyed the mirror in front of him. He shrugged, “Always sound like my mom Stark.” Cregan shrugged, “You know me, someone’s gotta do it.” The smaller brunette plugged away his personal clothes.

“Sis is real excited to see you,” he deadpanned.

Cregan’s dry humor could either make one want to drown or laugh until crying. Currently it’s drowning. Jace slammed a drawer shut and snarked, “I’m sure she is, surprised she-wolf wasn’t waiting with a sign that said ‘welcome pansy!’” Another huffing snicker from the elder.

“Well get your swim trunks on and meet down by the dock, Umber’s got us a nice selection while the counselors get here.”

Jace sighed a bit at that. Some bud and a beer would be nice. He shimmied on his red trunks and sandals, putting his best foot forward. He was the alpha somewhat now, had to exude authority. The Velaryon had no idea how his cousins, one a drunken slob and the other an uppity seminarian could exude so much confidence.

Down on the dock, Big John Umber was lighting a pipe, booming, “Jace! My boy! Get over here and have a puff!” Jacaerys grinned, “Yessir, how’ve you been this year?” He took two greedy puffs of the potent herb and held until exhaling with a couple of coughs. Umber’s big hand clapped his back as he replied, “Business is booming son, spent the whole year in Miami!”

Jacaerys waved and nodded at familiar faces; Maris and Cassandra, Ben and Aly Blackwood, Alyn and Addam, then the she-demon. She waved her painted nails, long dark hair streaming down a regrettably beautiful body. The she-wolf cooed, “Jaceyyyy, you ready for camp? Then college? Gonna have to unlatch off of mommy’s tit by then.” Her hazy eyes were lidded, lips curled in sarcasm.

Jace cracked a beer open and sniffed, “Might have to fight Lucerys and Joff back for that position Stark. Sure you’re ready to go wild without Cregan’s approval.”

Cregan’s dark, sharp eyes turned to the pair. She waved a hand, “Just playing around bro, chill out, smoke some more damn.” She stuck her tongue out at Jace and leaned back, exposing more tit than he really needed to see.

He sat on the dock’s edge, humming along to the radio, feeling the buzz tickle his senses.

Soon enough more arrived and a little gathering had developed into a party, Cregan and Umber high as balls watching from their kingly wooden dock chairs. Even little Luke had finished his pouting fit to have some PBR, making a face. Jace was flirting with Cass, boasting about his college plans.

Before a little hand pushed him into the water with a laugh. Jace dunked under the chilled night water, coming up to wipe his hair back and curse, “Hey! What the fuck?” She smiled down at him and said, “Sorry, Cass looked bored. I wanted your spot.” A raucous of laughter echoed around, drunken teens.

Jace narrowed his eyes and swam around to get tossed a towel from Addam, shaking his head. Jace plunked down near the white-blonde and was passed a shot, taking the whiskey quickly. He swallowed down the burn, feeling easier. The Hull boy snickered, “Cregan’s sister has it sooooo bad for you Jace.”

He raised a brow and guffawed at such a notion. “Yeah and gas is gonna go down too!” They both laughed at that, the male humming, “Glad I get a deal on the diesel family monstrosity.” Alyn piped in, “The monstrosity is named mouse and she does a good job.”

Another shot or two was passed around, Jace beginning to feel pretty smacked. He shook his head and excused himself from the twins, “I think I’ve lived up to the family lightweight standards, and I’m gonna retire boys.”

“Awe c’mon, c’mon, we got ghost stories soon!”

He smiled and promised another night, half stumbling back to his new cabin, all to himself. He could shower! Shower! Fuck yes. Jacaerys Velaryon felt like a king. The dim porch lights blurred in his vision, the door almost there.

“Tapping n’for the night already?,” she asked softly, long hair braided back. It looked pretty. No. Bad Jace. Cregan’s sister was drunk off her ass too, eyes hazy and leaning against the wall with a too wide grin. Jacaerys snipped, “Why y’care? Want to push me n’to the water again?”

She shuffled closer, face so sharp and pretty, dark eyes enticing. “No, I wanted to get you to myself and I was making sure ya’ weren’t leavin’.”

Jace’s face suffused into a blush. He stuttered, “W-wh-Wha?” He was a big virgin. With a capital V. Berlin Wall sized V. The darker haired girl smoothed a hand up into his hair, asking, “Taken? No good hm? Whas’ the play here.”

He steadied himself, blinking some sobriety into his thoughts and said, “I’m going to go to my shower. You can turn the radio on. The rest is up to you but,” he snatched at her waist, “Quit playin’ ‘round with me.” She moaned softly, nodding.

He let her go and moved to his room, stripping inelegantly, heading straight to the shower, leaving the door cracked. It got to a steaming heat, he stepped under, sighing, his cock beginning to hang heavy between his legs.

Right.

Jace had a ridiculously sized cock. So large in fact he thought something was wrong and went to his step-father about it. Who crassly widened his pale eyes and exclaimed, “That’s a damn horse if I’ve seen one. Congrats lad. No wonder your mother loves some Strong’s.”

So usually when he got to the point of attempting to fuck a girl, they would shy away or screech in pain. But he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to fuck right now, this she-wolf was a menace.

The radio clicked on. ‘Spooky’ by Little River Band filtered into the haze, making Jace a bit woozy as more blood flew between his legs. He heard her light footsteps, then a body slid behind his own, soft tits and feminine hands sliding up Jacaerys’ taught torso.

She murmured into his ear, “When did’ja get all handsome hm? Get this,” she wrapped her hand barely around his cock and shook, “This Fuckin’ monster.” He moaned softly, leaning dark hair back onto her shoulder. “Dunno, tried to hide it today.”

He flipped her round under the spray, getting a good look at wet lashes, dilated pupils, and swollen lips. Jace stared, hands groping at her built ass, cock nudging her thigh. She pulled him forward with two hands, sculpted lips drawing Jace open. They slid tongues across another sensually, occasionally getting a little nip from her, a hand pulling at his aching member.

Jace groaned helplessly, whining and chasing her lips with wide eyes as the she-wolf pulled back. She snatched some conditioner and slathered it on his cock, Jace’s legs trembling. The brunette girl braced herself against the wall, ass up, legs tight together.

“C’mon, y’old maid, fuck the gap!”

Understanding knocked him clean in the skull, shaking hands guiding into that shining opening, gasping and stuttering her name as he fucked the man-made gap, her teasing fingers helping along. She cooed and shivered, “Y-yes, that’s it, fuck you’re perfect! N-nudge there, there, THERE!”

Jace must’ve been getting her clit based on pitchy whines and cries, her cute hands scrambling for purchase as her back arched and then gushed on his cock, pussy convulsing. She tightened her strong thighs around him on last time before dropping to her knees.

“Cum on my tits Jacey, just like those pornos you watch.”

It didn’t take long looking at her wrecked face and swollen cunt to have him painting her tits in white, some reaching her chin and lips. He heaved and choked out hoarse moans, body wearing out. He slapped a hand on the shower wall and whimpered her name when the she-wolf licked his cum off her chin— fuck, lips, moaning.

“Does your mother know,” Abba warbled. She grinned evilly, patting his oversensitive cock. Standing back up she sung, “We’re gonna have fun this summer, Jacey.” And off she went, leaving the male a shaking panting wreck. He was gonna get her ass next round.

Jace was met with a rude awakening besides a mega hangover the next morning. Stretching and shuffling to the mess hall, he waited for his duplex neighbor. She gave him a disgusted look and shoved past, giving Jace an eyeful of legs and ass in her bitty jean shorts. Her dark hair whipped around.

Oh. Jace was a bit perplexed. She was just licking his cum off her chin last night. Now the cold shoulder? Was this one of those games girls played? The brunette was a novice on the front and he certainly couldn’t go to Cregan about it.

Shuffling into the mess hall Jace managed to stomach some grits and coffee, head pounding. Addam and Alyn sat down, identical faces cheery. Those two were immune to anything. Alyn hummed, “What’s your bag? Looking like a bummer man.”

Jace took a miserable sip of his coffee. He murmured, “Do not start yelling and jumping when I start talking. Got it? Or coffee in your face.”

Cregan was off in the corner with Aly, the two seemingly close this year.

The twins nodded, eager for the skinny. Jacaerys sighed, “What does it mean when a girl gives you the cold shoulder after gettin’ ah-uh a little hot and heavy.”

“Who?!”

Jace hissed, “I said shut it! Doesn’t matter!”

Addam, the more suave of the two, “She’s playing games then, wants you to beg and grovel for her. Or…if this is who I think it is, she wants it on the DL.”

“Downlow then, but riles me up during the day. Just great,” Jace whinged while sipping his coffee. Alyn whispered something to Addam, the other nodding and they descended into giggles. A plate slammed down, the trio jumping and growing red faced.

“Morning girls, what’s the skinny?,” the she-wolf asked with a conniving look. Addam shrugged off Alyn’s red face and Jace being an idiot, “Which girl has the nicest ass, what did you expect Stark?”

“I’d assume it would be mine,” she hummed, taking an obscene bite from her banana, watching Jace. The brunette took the last bite of his apple and darted off, holding his mug of coffee, “See you guys for cleanup later!”

Jacaerys was going to explode. With anger, lust, he didn’t know what. He stomped to the little overlook on the lake he’d found as a kid, sitting on a rock. The lake was calm and lapping on the smooth rocks, sky sunny, fish flopping here and there. With every sip of his warm drink, his blood began to settle.

The crunching of leaves took that serenity and shat all over it. Stark’s sister sat next to him, a strange look on her face. Both began to speak then stopped. Jace bolted out, “I don’t know what the deal is here but I can’t handle it.”

Pretty lips frowned and she replied, “Fine, I’m sorry. It’s fun to see you get red in the face. But I can’t just change my personality around you,” she looked off into the distant, “Cregan is Cregan no matter how close you two are. I wanna keep fooling around, why not?”

Jace narrowed his eyes and held out a hand, “Fine. Just fucking around on the low. But just know I’ll get you back.” She grinned and shook his hand, stating, “You got it Velaryon.” They sat down in simple peace before the call of the speakers came, the order for clean up.

Over the next week was a flurry of inebriation, hard work, escaping Cregan’s watchful eye, and shoving away the Hull twins. He’d spend his nights learning all the ways to pleasure a woman. Jace’s favorite was face first between her strong thighs, lapping and sucking. She’d get all whiny and soft on him.

Especially when he crooked his middle finger up and she made his chin slick with arousal, Jace going back in for more, rutting into his bed frantically. He made her come so many times one night she cried and held to him until the she-wolf remembered her situation and ran away.

As the days to campers arriving drew nigh, she was a staple in his bed after their romps, the pair just chatting and smoking cigarettes. Dreams, hopes, funny stories, sad stories. He felt like he’d known the Stark sister for years by now.

They never reached full penetration, Jace utterly petrified by hurting her, as much as she begged for it. Getting head was just as nice, especially when she’d get him down her throat, the male holding her distended neck and whining helplessly, balls drawing tight so damn fast.

Then the campers came. The two would bicker and shove each other when directing the others. Not to mention the inclusion of night rounds to make sure no kids were being naughty. Occasionally they’d find some kids macking against a pine but nothing serious. The leaders were the naughty ones.

It went like this all summer. Until the very last week. The send-off dance with all the staff and the tweens moving up to counselor next week. Jace was excited and decided he would ask his girl. Which wasn’t his girl but they did everything like a couple, the whole camp had picked up on it.

Jace reluctantly asked Cregan one evening. He was shaking in his shoes, “Y-you know how your sister and I can get, but, I really like h-her.” The elder Stark deadpanned, “You’ve been at it all summer, you think I can’t tell that? She likes you a lot too, go for it. I wouldn’t want any other man to have her hand for this dumbass dance.” Jace grinned and pulled Cregan into a brotherly hug, thanking him tremendously.

He would wait until later to spring the question on her. Jace may have gone a bit overboard, flowers from the woods and twigs spelling out, “Be mine?” Aly loaned some candles and he was set, waiting. The door opened to his cabin and there she stood, gorgeous as always.

She took in the surroundings and stifled a laugh, eyes wide. “W-what’s all this?,” she questioned, snorting again. Jace’s heart and smile began to fall, she seemed to dislike this. He murmured, “I asked Cregan, he doesn’t care, wanted to take ya to the dumbass dance as a last ride, c’mon?”

“You went and asked Cregan? Really? What is this? My silly engagement proposal? Fuck you Jace! We knew what this was from the beginning!,” her dark hair tossed about as she hissed again, “Don’t fucking talk to me again!”

The door slammed shut. The radio turned to some cheery disco song. Fuck Suzi Quatro. Stumblin’ in to what? A brick wall, in the trans am at 120mph. Jace, stunned, sat down on his bed. He wiped away a stupid tear, steadying himself.

“FUUUUUUUUuuuuUUUUUCK.”

Okay, maybe he felt better now. Jacaerys Velaryon would just have to do like he did last year, pining over a different girl then. Get blackout drunk and puke in the grass. Then get back and go way too hard on the dance floor, maybe Cassandra would let him have a squeeze. Blegh.

Jace moped his week away, some of the kids asking why he wasn’t with his ‘girlfriend’. He’d snap, “Back to the ropes course! She’s not my girlfriend!” A snap of the line and the little shits would go scrambling. Meanwhile the she-wolf ignored him utterly and completely. Not even to jab or play a trick. Nose up and eyes away, not responding to any teasing.

He tried to get her attention once and she simply crossed lean arms and stared until he got the point and shuffled away. Pure torture this was. Alyn and Addam exchanged confused glances, they had no clue on what pissed her off so bad. Addam clapped Jace’s shoulder and laughed, “Girls man! Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

But Jace worried about it, pacing his wooden floor the night of the dance, all dressed up. By that he meant a linen shirt and some nicer shorts. Luke probably had a damn silk disco top on. The brunette dabbed on some cologne, ignoring his wild hair. He hoped she went home or something.

The dance was awkward and filled with the smell of sweaty teenagers and weed. Cassandra offered a flask and said, “Looks like you need it, sorry bout’ ya girl.” Jace took the heady drink to the dome, swallowing down the burn, finishing it. He shook his head and garbled, “Sorry,” then shuffled away.

The buzz kicked in but Jace felt more moody than anything. Luke’s silk shirt did bring a slight smile to his face. Same with Cregan’s brotherly hug and promise, “She’ll come around.” But the music and happiness wasn’t seeping into his bones.

Grabbing a beer the eldest Velaryon went to his spot by the lake. It was much quieter out here, only crickets chirping, faint music emanating from the mess hall. He found his rock and sipped on the beer, stuck in his thoughts. Beer bottle still sealed by his plush lips, Jace caught a glimpse of lights over by his duplex cabin.

Taking a gulp and placing down the bottle he stared at the dim light, an aching feeling crawling up from his belly to chest. Longing. God. He was so dreadfully in love. Taking one more swig he disposed of the bottle and trudged to her side of the cabin.

The door was ajar, Blondie singing about that glass heart. Jace pushed the door open and raised his brows. There she was, pinning a banner up. Per usual the female snapped, “I wasn’t done yet you dunce!”

‘Sorry for being a bitch’

She stepped down and gestured, face aflame, “Well. Here it is.”

Jace noted the trembling in her bravado, the multiple discarded outfits, even a curling iron was steaming on a dresser. She never did her hair or wore make-up. “Are you going to say something or stare? I know I’m a piece of shit!”

Lean arms began to wrap around herself, shying away.

“No, no! Just surprised!,” Jace crawled onto the bed and pulled her to straddle him, taking in that familiar beauty. She blushed and turned her head, but little hands curled under and behind to grab his shoulders. The she-wolf murmured, “I’m really sorry— I’ve never felt this way about anyone and I freaked out. I know I’m crazy…but that was shitty. I-I’ve always held the cards?”

Jace grabbed her chin to look at her long lashes and rouged cheeks, sighing, “You are crazy. But I forgive you. A valiant effort by the way, but you always look pretty to me.” She huffed, Jace smiling and nibbling at sharp jaw. “I don’t do makeup for anyone,” the other brunette stated.

“You gonna keep talking or kiss me sweetheart?”

Stark jerked her gaze towards Jace and took charge eagerly, hands moving to grab his face. Ah great, the radio was on the Doobie Brothers. Sexy time initiated— Jace internally cringed. Their lips sealed eagerly, finding a familiar pattern before Jace licked into her mouth. He got a breathy sigh, an arch closer into his frame.

He grabbed her pretty ass and squeezed, dragging her across his already aching cock. The she-wolf gasped and whined into his maw, lapping harder afterwards, humping him desperately. Jace thumbed a sensitive pulse point on her long neck before sliding a hand under her crochet top— no bra to be found.

Now he had something to work with, both hands relocating to her tits, tweaking and pulling at sensitive buds. She yanked off the top in a flurry, going to work unbuttoning Jace’s linen shirt, kissing her way across tanned skin. He shimmied the top off to push his she-wolf into the bed, him growling at her forced moan.

He rutted into her clothed cunt, the little hotpants doing nothing to hide. Jace rumbled against her ear, “Does it feel good, letting someone else have the cards?” She stuttered a retort— gone squeak as he pulled up on the front of her shorts.

“Fuck yes it feels g-good, get ‘em off!”

Jace grinned, that pretty pussy he missed so much…wet and swollen for him. Him. Only Jace. Sliding back to her chagrin, the male unbuttoned and pushed down his shorts and boxers, heavy member dripping with arousal. Eyes hazy but determined she moaned, “That- ugh- fucking monster is going inside me. Stud.”

Jace nodded, barely catching the bottle thrown at him. He looked down and smirked, a bottle of lube sat in his calloused hands. Jace casually put it aside and hummed, “Gotta get my pretty girl ready first hm?”

The girl almost shrieked when familiar lips met eachother again, Jace lapping and suckling her clit. He sighed, “Y-you’re so fuckin’ wet baby.” She shoved him back down, thighs shaking. Jace flicked his tongue as one, two, three all eventually fit into her tight pussy. Sloppy noises outweighed the background drift of music.

Stark cried and shivered, “Ah-haaah, Jace, fuuuck! Another, Jus’ one more! So close.” He could almost cum right then at her broken voice. Easing a pinky inside, she gasped and shuddered, coming undone when Jace flicked the sensitive spot under the hood of her clit and fucked all fingers up in the way she liked.

“Jace! Jace! Fucking god!,” she hollered.

He kept his mouth wide open for her gush of arousal, moaning and slurping eagerly, until she whimpered and shied backwards. Jace simply took his essence covered hand and jacked his cock a couple of times. He eyed her sated look and asked, “Still want this baby?”

“Uh-huh,” she rasped, legs wide open, cunt twitchy and still shining with arousal.

Jace slathered himself further down with the KY, even taking time to work her stretched opening, earning the cutest little noises. Now pressed on top, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, they stared intensely. She thumbed his cheek and murmured, “I really, really care for you Jacaerys. M’sorry for freaking out. I could probably spare this for later but,” he kissed her gently, hands smoothing up and down soft skin.

“S’okay, I promise, I care for you so much. Now just relax, we both gotta make this work okay?”

Another kiss and Jace led the heavy blunt tip to her soaked entrance. Oh god. He can’t believe this was happening. He tucked his cheek next to the fellow brunette to listen for anything, lacing fingers with her own. It was a big stretch, her panting going hoarse as the first few inches slid in.

Fucking hell. She was like Heaven, so tight n’ silky hot. She gasped, “K-keep goin’ Jacaerys, c’mon.” Soon the fattest part of his length was deep inside, cockhead nearing her cervix. One more push and they were snug as possible— joined completely. In a sweaty tangle of limbs, half-mewling cursed and sweet words.

She kissed him deeply, licking into Jace’s mouth, sighing, “I can feel you, hell, so ah deep.” He could feel it too, the lump in her lower belly. Puffing softly he asked, “Can I? Can I try?” Another peck to sweeten the deal.

“Go for it stud, be gentle.”

He slid back inch by agonizing inch, mouth open with helpless moans of her name. Every inch of her cunt was pulling along him, wanting to suck back in. Then gathering his wits, Jace forced himself up, the she-wolf mewling in glee. Unsteady at first, Jace developed a good pace, sweat dripping down his back, and god knows what leaving his mouth.

She scratched and cried at his shoulders, legs wrapped tight around slim hips. She warbled, “S’good, only you, only you stud, fucking me so good.” Jace’s hips stuttered at that, picking up the pace before he blew from her just being…sexy. Soft slick noises developed into full-on slaps and squeals.

Jace rambled, “Tight- s’tight- ohgodyoursoperfect! Ohhh-only mine!”

He was falling apart fast, balls tight and nerves on fire to bust a nut. She swirled lithe fingers around where they were joined then to her clit, crying and carrying on. Jace rapturously watched— her fingers, their copulation, the belly bulge. In a frenzy he pulled out with a load groan, painting her legs and the bed with loads of spunk.

Unable to catch his breath, Jace flopped onto his belly, leg still woven with his girl’s. The pair rested for a minute, music filling the peaceful void. A raspy voice and warm body curled over to him, her nosing his hair. Practically purring she cooed, “Couldn’t have been better. Too sweet. They make you Velaryon’s different.”

Jace huffed a laugh, rolling her onto his belly, “Was is good enough you’ll call or write me when we go off? If I remember…that stuffy girl’s school isn’t too far from mine.”

Her sculpted lips curled upward, “A hop and a skip they say. Gotta get the lads from somewhere. I’ll be around.”

He grinned and squeezed her. Damn Starks.

#asks answered #au bingo #summer camp!au #jace velaryon x reader #stark!reader #jace velaryon smut #hotd smut

[ginsengkitten]

༺ Beautiful Dangerous༻

A slashxreader fanfiction

༺☆༻

Chapter One:

Tower Records

word count: approx.: 2900

☆ Authors Notes ☆

ty for reading. This is mostly a world building intro but I hope y’all like it :) - also I will be including photos and music that inspires or I felt matches each chapter, just for fun. This story takes place in some sort of fictional timeframe of 1984-86 ish when GNR had just started developing/finalizing their OG line up. I know not all the pics and timelines necessarily add up but this literally isn’t real so whatever!

Track list:

You really got me - The Kinks

Green Onions - Booker T. & the M.G.s

Foxey Lady - Jimi Hendrix

Your parents had shipped you out to your cousins home in the Hollywood Hills every summer since you were 10. The sprawling green hills sprinkled with Tuscan topped mansions upheld to excite you. Simply because there was so much more to be discovered outside of the ritz. This summer was going to be perhaps the best one yet, because now that you were turning 18, Uncle Rob would finally allow you to go down into the city for the first time.

Uncle Rob and Aunt Shena were the most uptight, stick up the ass, pair of individuals to bethrall the hills. You would think with the unceasing access to every pill, herb, and juice in Hollywood from Robs fancy job would have eased them up over the years; their long time neighbor, Dave, was one of the most sought out coke suppliers in the area - or at least that's what your cousin Daisy has told you- and Daisy liked to dramatize occasionally.... Daisy also says that her parents think too much ibuprofen could spell a trip to the confessional at church. This statement however was proven to be true because of the time Aunt Shena almost refused to give you a 50 mg Tylenol the time you had started your period in their guest bedroom.

Needless to say, it was in agreement with your own parents that you'd not be permitted to go down to the city until you were 18. "The city is where the devil preys on gods most vulnerable and precious spirits" Aunt Shena would recite this at least ten times throughout each summer visit, sure to remind you of the evil that lurked in the streets below. Most summer weeks were spent at the house, but it sure beat Indiana summers back home. Mondays were family nights at home, Tuesdays were beach days, Wednesdays were usually home days too but occasionally sailing on the family boat was allotted. You didn't have a boat back home in Indiana. Daddy's money was steady but not BOAT money steady. Plus it was Indiana- where would the sailing even take place? Lake Michigan?

Thursdays, the cinema would have discount movie matinees. If the film had been pre approved through the other moms in Aunt Shenas crochet circle, then she would take you and Daisy to go see it as a treat. Occasionally, Daisy would ask to use the restroom and you both would sneak into another screen room to peek at the other movies you weren't allowed to see, up until you accidentally snuck into a showing of 'The Evil Dead'. Both you and Daisy had nightmares for weeks and her parents couldn't figure out why, and no shot in hell would either of you admit what happened.

Daisy was fun and secretive like that. You appreciated her ability to lie straight to her parents face. Daisy liked to adventure a little bit more than what her parents would allow. Naturally she became versed in the art of bullshitting her parents.

Daisy was almost like a stranger to her parents. It was sad in a way but mostly just impressive. Daisy would steal cigarettes from her dad and stash them in her pencil case and sell them to the other girls in her church group. She also snuck out regularly, mostly to the local park to meet up with boys from school. She was brave. Real brave. She was cool. Real fucking cool. In fact, she was so cool and so brave, that she got the mastermind plan to steal her fathers Pontiac Firebird while he was away on business and Aunt Shena was knocked unconscious from her qualludes. (But god forbid ibuprofen right?).

"I don't know why I hadn't done this sooner!" Daisy bounced in the drivers seat like a mental patient. The engine cried out aggressively and the whole vehicle roared awake. There’s no way the entire street didn’t hear that. "And you're SURE your mother isn't going to find out? What about your daddy?" You pegged for final assurance from Daisy before becoming an accessory to theft. "Daddy won't ever know. You know why? Cuz' you remember Jeff from my church? He showed me how to roll back the odometer on a car in exchange for...well for never-mind but you don't gotta sweat about a thing Y/N. Now cut the square talk we gotta get to Tower Records before it closes!".

That's another thing Daisy kept secret. Her music. Daisy had a whole stack of vinyl records along with a record player, stashed under her bed. She would purchase raunchy records like Tina Turner and Cheap Trick, and slide them in the back of the more inconspicuous records like Chuck Girard and Bob Dylan. One of Daisy's boyfriends last summer had gifted her an Aerosmith record. Daisy played it for you once and that's how you first learned what rock music was. Some kind of bug bit you then. You itched to hear more, but between the uber cult of Daisy's parents and your own sheltered family back in indiana, who were perpetually trapped in the era of disco music, rock music was hard to come by. Rock music was foreign to you but felt familiar. You'd never felt a craving for sound before hearing it. So when Daisy devised to steal her dads car to go visit Tower Records in the city, you shoved all notion of "evils that lurk below" and the two of you ripped down to the sunset strip.

-

It wasn't that you weren't adventurous too. You could be if you wanted to. You were just too busy to be bothered with mischief like Daisy. While you believed yourself to be an open minded individual, it was clear Aunt Shenas repeated affirmations of danger sat in the back of your mind, welling up further and further to the forefront while the lights of the city glittered closer and closer into view.

"Wow wow wow Y/N...look at it all right? You seein this?" Daisy's eyes glazed over as the neon lights poured over the Pontiac. It was like nothing you had ever seen before. Or her. Daisy had only made it down to the city a handful of times but never at night. Each building had its own neon get up signage. Loads of people strolled the night street. It was busy! Your heart pounded in your chest a little bit. Fear and excitement all in one. You couldn't take your eyes off the passing sceneries. You tried to take it all in. Burger joints you had seen a million commercials for bustled with crews of hot rods parked in the parking lots, engines proudly displayed. Beautiful women leaning into the windows of old rusty cars, hung out on the darker corners in big groups for some reason. Was everyone down here revolting against wearing clothes?

"Tower Records baby!" Daisy sang as she pulled into the parking lot. Huh. It wasn't really a tower like the name had suggested. Rather a dingy stand alone strip mall off the corner of the strip. The disappointing reality shocked you back to your more cautious senses. If anyone finds out we're here we're totally busted.

You stepped out of the car and a wall of hollywoods finest scents burned your nose. The air down here wasn't like the air in the hills. Air can't be so different like that can it? "God I hope they have the new Cyndi Lauper release." Daisy said, pushing into the store door with her back.

The door chirped out a small out of tune "ding!" To notify the staff of the new and completely out of element customers entering. Two scrawny flower fresh girls in inconspicuous uniform-like attire, looking plain and straight as an arrow. The saying "bull in a China shop" but as if curiously reversed "China in a bull shop". Daisy somewhat fit the bill better but you-you did not look hip enough to be in a record store, or the state of California. Even if it was a dingy strip mall. Which made you all the more nervous.

A few other customers sleuthed the aisles, clearly regulars. You tried to stay out of everyone's way while you tried to keep track of Daisy darting into the vinyl labyrinth. You scanned the sea of music. Tracing your fingers along the spines of sleeves. So much rock music! You glanced around to see Daisy already chatting up one of the grungy male employees. Your eyes caught a gorgeous vibrant yellow sleeve and you plucked it out. 'Are you experienced' by Jimi Hendrix.

You'd heard of him you think. Maybe on the news somewhere? He seems like a big rocker name.

You made your way over to the front corner  of the store by the check out where they had open record players where customers could play records and listen to new samples. You held the album in your hands and stared at its dazzling colors. Almost spellbound until;

"Foxey Lady."

The sudden voice snapped you out of your trance and you looked around. Suddenly catching the cashier at the empty register. Did HE say that? To ME? You hesitated to question if he spoke to you. He seemed like the type to cause trouble. Was this a cat call? Is this what cat calling is? One time mother had been cat called in front of a sears and daddy found the man who did it and really gave him a reaming. She warned you about dirty and dangerous men in the streets who call women obscenities for fun. What jerk cat calls a young woman shopping at their own store?

"Excuse me…?" You questioned.

"The record." He pointed to your hands gripping the yellow vinyl.

"Foxey lady. It's the best song on that album." He connected. Your eyes glance back down at the track list and sure enough 'Foxey Lady' was spelled out. Your face suddenly blooms pink in embarrassment as you look back up to him. That's not what you were expecting from this guy.

He leaned his back against the wall behind the counter. It was impossible to tell if he was looking at you because his eyes were protected from a curtain of thick, pretty dark curls and sunglasses….indoors….at night. His arms crossed coolly. He had an aura of mischief about him. He was almost like a ghost. Dressed in all black leather. You'd never seen someone dressed in only black clothes before. Maybe he was a rocker type too.

"Oh..uh….I'll need to give it a listen then." You replied politely and cordially with a nervous smile, averting his face to hide your obvious embarrassment. You became slightly flustered. He didn't drop his attention towards you. You start to fiddle with the record, somehow losing your sense of coordination because you were being watched. Suddenly the record isn't lining up correctly. The lid almost clamps on your hand but something catches it and spares your fingers. You look up again and he's now in front of you, acting like some sort of hero. An intense mixture of tobacco, rubbing alcohol and an almost sweet musk surrounds you. You now see that he is in fact looking at you. You stare at him like a deer in headlights. Stunned, embarrassed and confused at how he managed to sneak his way over to you so quickly. "Here, I'll play it for you." His lips curl up slightly into an almost sickeningly lovely smirk. He places his hand upon yours and kindly removes it out of the way. You step aside and allow him to continue, still stunned and nervous.

Not only had your heart already been on high alert from the firebird thievery, a guy was now in your direct personal space. A potentially dangerous guy. Well no- he wasn't cat calling you after all right? And he just helped you and? He is sort of nicer than you expected. He just seems so...cool?

All up in your personal space. It wasn't like you were a prude! You'd kissed a boy before! Even held hands too. Granted the kiss was on the cheek. But this guy just kind of....took over. His presence was so laid back and yet demanded the attention of the room. It was hard not to want to stare back at him. You wanted to better analyze this predator/prey situation here. If he's so dangerous, why is he being so kind? It took one glance at him up close and you were starting to call bullshit on Aunt Shena's precautions altogether. You'd been in the city for almost an hour and remained entirely unscathed.

Your hand still felt electric from his touch. His eyes only briefly detaching from you to put the record on.

A funky rock ensemble flowed out of the record. The same type of musical pleasure you had heard from the Aerosmith record, revisited your body. A rougher, harder groove than what's on the radio. It was melodic and fierce. The guy redirected himself to you once more. Watching you for your reaction to the song. You nervously nod your head to the beat, meeting his gaze. Once you connect sights, your stomach jumps in a swirl. Butterflies soar in circles inside you. This oddly intimate interaction but you couldn't seem to pull away. Almost spellbound yet again but for an entirely different feeling.

He began mouthing the lyrics, still staring back at you over a sea of tension thick air.

'You know you're a cute little heartbreaker'

Your face is rushing hot. It was almost like he was intentionally singing these words to you.

'And you know you're a sweet little love maker'

He smirked at this one. You turned now what you must have assumed was red with embarrassment. You break your gaze and look down at your shoes and then glance around the shop to locate Daisy. The shop was mainly now empty as the night had grown in. Daisy could still be found giggling away with another boy in the far end of the store. Your heart fluttered rapidly. You suddenly feel the air in front of you grow warmer. Looking back he had stepped closer to you and space between you had shrunk. He continues.

'I wanna take you home-

I won't do you no harm'

He held a smug look on his face as his lips mouthed these totally obscene lyrics to you. Like he knew it was not something you'd ever heard before. Your naïve shock seemed to entertain him.

'You got to be all mine, all mine'

Ooh Foxey Lady.'

"You dig it?" He asked still holding a smirk. "Definitely" You admit all too quickly. He give a slight breathy chuckle. Your sure answer when you had seemed so unsure about everything else til then was cute to him. A gal who was on board for rock n roll was nothing but perfection to him. But you didn't look the part, and that amused him. Your light floral scent drifted sweetly around him, he was unable to ignore you as soon as you had walked in and he had watched your every move. A nervous animal. Timid and clearly not someone he had seen in before. The girls that normally perused Tower Records were hot but they were rough around the edges. You- you were something sweet…something different altogether he thought. You were like a breath of fresh air to him. What's that saying...opposites attract?

"You like it so much you can have it." He said, his voice a lower octave.

"Oh well I was thinking of buying something el-" you started to politely object.

"No. " he laughs at your oblivion. "Just take it. It's yours." He pushes it into your hands. You're a little in shock once more just at the thought of stealing? Twice in one night? You really like the record and you would love to own it...but. You look around nervously.

"Here Foxey, All you." He firmly asserts it into your grasp, lets go and begins to walk back behind his counter.

"Y-you could get into trouble for this you know." You point out with concern for this kind stranger. He waves you off with his hand. "we're closing miss, you'll have to get." busying himself in false cashiering practices he had probably never paid attention to until now. Daisy meets you mid store. She hardly notices the record in your hands or the insane cashier who just let you steal from his store. "I've just met the cutest boy, Y/N! And he’s in his own band! I'll tell you on the way back. “ She giggled. “Let's get sodas maybe too if some where's open." Daisy ushered you to the door, blind in her own personal thrills to notice you looking back over your shoulder to meet the gaze of the cashier once more, who to your delight had removed his sunglasses, already staring back at you, watching you leave. He gave you another sly smile and you returned one of your own, forming some sort of mutual pact of this secret.

Why did he think you would keep this a secret? Why did he trust you like that? You were going to after all, but how did he know?

Doesn’t he care about getting in to trouble?

#slash x reader #slash smut #slash fanfiction #slash gnr #slash #gnr x reader #gnr smut #gnr #axl rose #duff mckagan #izzy stradlin

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

Transformers aren't cars, They are Alien-Robot-People that can Turn into cars (And other Vehicles,) and are thus exempt from this list.

#I just thought it would be funny to have kirby on this list TBH. Even if I could've added the mystery machine or something. Kit maybe? #The gadget mobile? #poll #polls #cars #movie cars #mad max #back to the future #chitty chitty bang bang #stephen king's christine #christine 1983 #mad max fury road #smokey and the bandit #herbie the love bug #ghostbusters #ghostbusters 1984 #ghostbusters afterlife #Kirby #kirby and the forgotten land

[yj-98]

oh sick a car appreciator. what cars would u have based the redbird on?

oohhh im glad u asked... to preface this btw im a car appreciator not exactly an. expert. i love old (40s-80s) cars (i grew up w/ my dream car being an aqua 1965 mustang convertible) but im not like. incredibly knowledgeable

that being said :] ! onward with redbird thoughts

shes supposed to be a rear engined sporty little coupe. modified to high hell. i would wager the rear engine is more so that tim can have weapons (missiles? grenade launcher? a fucking flamethrower?) under the hood and less actually thinking abt what a rear engine could DO for his driving experience at the ripe age of 14. its got a lowered chassis (rear-engine has a lower center of gravity, and if its a rear-wheel drive then overall its saving even More space cramped in the back, and probably has a better "grip" on the road) and apparently has pop out scoops for better airflow.. probably for the best.

its also got a bulletproof windshield! and blacked out windows! are those even legal in jersey? no! the tire shields are fine i guess

my problem with red bird is that shes just a little ugly. like there are things in the body of this car that have potential (i like the pop out scoops but they make the overall silhouette of the car look sort of . back heavy in a bad way) but ultimately fall flat.

so im gonna look at some cars that i think still sell the look they were going for!! FROM his time period even!!

the ferrari testarossa (produced from '84-'96 and im looking at the late 80s/early 90 ones here)

this is my ideal car to base redbird on. its a mid-engine, which has the best overall center of gravity, and while it limits cabin space its not like we were worried abt tht with tim. its still a 2 door sports car with a low chassis. the air scoops dont need to pop out, it has room in the back for the drag 'schute that they wanted to include, and has the room in the front too. also! she looks KILLER in red<3

the pontiac firebird trans am (1993) + chevy corvette ('90 red c4)

this is included in case we do not want to look at ferrari. sporty! red! coupe! i have less to say abt these ones honestly

i could just start naming other sporty coupes but my point being like.... theres cars of this era with the look theyre going for that look perfectly fine in the three different price ranges (general motors making pontiac as their low-tier, chevrolet as their bigger make) and ferrari at the luxury tier

ik 15 years later tim gets a new redbird (2008 i believe) and i do believe they WERE referencing real cars for redbird i simply think. it would not look like that. and didnt have to! less is more. if you want a cool looking aerodynamic sports car then she should look sleek. redbird drawn in the comics doesnt look sleek she just looks silly </3

ultimately i dont want to change her too much from being tim's (say it with me) sporty little red coupe. because thats not a bad thing for a car to be! i just dont think there was that much thought into what the car should look like aside from looking at a picture of a sports coupe and going "ok now add a flamethrower and a parachute"

#IDK IF THIS WAS WHAT YOU MEANT ... sorry. but ty for asking i just spent over an hour looking at cars #asks #dd 🫀 #ultimatecryptid #i LOVE muscle cars and older 40s-50s cars especially #tim drake #rook.doc #redbird #ref

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

man about town interview | spring/summer 2014

for the tweam! click through for my best attempt at deciphering this (maybe impossible to find?) throwback interview

‘’I don’t think I’m scary at all. It was kind of funny watching myself being scary. Because I’m not scary.’’ Says Evan Peters, the up-and-coming up-for-anything actor best known for his extreme roles on American Horror Story, the prestige television series that treats social taboos as map points. For three seasons, Peters has excelled at playing against his offbeat boyishness by amping up his young Malcolm McDowell intensity, with results that fall somewhere between ‘’teen dream in strangler’s gloves’’ and ‘’terrifying Michael Cera.’’ He most recently appeared in American Horror Story: Coven as Kyle Spencer, the good-natured university student who is decapitated and then reanimated with the body parts of his Kappa Lambda Gamma brothers as a temperamental Rocky Horror who beats his sexually abusive mother to death with a trophy.

Over a bold chai tea with stevia, at a restaurant in Venice, California, Peters is lighthearted and dryly humorous, like a young Michael Shannon, with whom he should costar in a successful disturbing family sitcom. He wears black jeans, a well-worn t-shirt under a plaid flannel, and a necklace with a toy dinosaur pendant. He drives a 2004 Pontiac Vibe that he correctly describes as ‘’vintage’’; says that he just feels like growing his longish blond hair into a ponytail, and has a red thumbs-up permanently inked onto the to pof his right hand, that was traced over a nightclub door stamp. At one point, he raises his forearm to show off a temporary tattoo that he received the night before at the castle park family entertainment center in Sherman oaks. ‘’This is a Belle tattoo. It’s not real,’’ he explains playfully of a small portrait of the beautiful young heroine from the animated Disney film Beauty and the Beast. I tell him it’s very pretty. ‘’Thank you. She’s gorgeous,’’ he responds. I ask if Belle is his favorite Disney princess. ‘’Well, I picked her out. There was also Jasmine, Ariel and Cinderella. My other buddies got those.” ‘’What about Belle appeals to you?’’ ‘’She likes the Beast.’’ Peters says.

This summer, Peters appears as the teenage Mutant speeder Quicksilver in X-Men: Days of Future Past, the sequel to 2011’s X-Men: First Class, which has proven to be an eventful ??? movie. In October 2012, director Matthew Vaughn – who relaunched the franchise with much needed style and a new cast of young, indie + credible actors – left the film to be replaced by original trilogy director Bryan Singer. As such, fans were already touched when Singer announced that he would retell ‘’Days of Future Past,’’ the seminal X-Men time-travel storyline from 1980, an ambitious plan turned wild when he revealed that both franchises would merge into one. Cut to the 2012 San diego Comic-Con whereby unthinkable feats of scheduling – the sprawling casts of the modern-day first series and the 60’s era prequel (that include expensive names like Jennifer Lawrence, Hugh Jackmon, Halle Berry, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellan, Michael Fassbender, and so on). Convened with ??? new additions like Peters to unhinge popular culture. ‘’You think to yourself, ‘’wow, people really, really love this stuff.” And it makes you appreciate it more. It makes you work harder at it.’’ he says about the experience.

Peters’ role in the films is crucial but concise. ‘’It’s a huge, huge opportunity but I always make sure to tell people it’s just one scene. Easy, it's just one scene.’’ Peters says, as if talking down a rearing horse. Quicksilver has already been the subject of film industry chatter regarding lawful usage of the character, who is both the son of Magneto and a colleague of the Avengers, making him fair game for inclusion in both Days of Future Past and the 20n5 Avengers sequel (in which he will be played by Aaron Taylor-Johnson of Kick-Ass). An Empire magazine Preview of Quicksilver’s costume design was greeted with comparison to Kid Vid, a ‘90’s cartoon form of the Burger King ‘’Kid’s Club,’’ and the news that Peters had been saddled with the Halle Berry “rough wig’’ role. But his fan’s enthusiasm for the project—in which desperate X-Men from a dystopias future try to stave off mutant genocide by altering the present day—is undimmed. ‘’I think it’s the best film of the francise yet,’’ proclaims Peters. ‘’It’s pretty dire. It’s a pretty epic situation. But there’s definitely some humor in there. Its’s just badass, man.’’

Quicksilver is a departure for Peters in some ways if not others. Both X-Men and Horror Story are tight productions that take extensive precautions to protect story lines. Peters says that he did not receive the full script for X-Men until arriving at the Montreal location days before shooting. Horror Story pages are often delivered the night before a scene. The short lead time can demand a ??? almost improvisational acting process. ‘’The minute we get the script, plans are cancelled, dinner is cancelled,’’ he says about working on Horror Story. ‘’Some of it you’re like, ‘Oh shit, I have to do that?’ Screaming and crying, realizing that my whole body is pieced together and I’m not myself? I’ll probably have to work on that.’’

Peters owes his career to television. ‘’I was watching a lot of TV and I kind of wanted to be on the TV and in movies. I love movies and TV,’’ he says, and cites inspirations like Joaquin Phoenix, Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, George Clooney, JIM Carrey, Chris Farley, Tom Hanks in Forrest Gump, and the millennial teen comedies Even Stevens starring Shia Labeuof and So Little Time with Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen. ‘’That sort of stuff. I just really wanted to be a part of it and loved acting and performing.’’ He moved to Los Angeles with is mother when he was 15 years old, and steadily won work in television, on shows including Phil of the Future (2004) and One Tree Hill (2008), and in movies like the independent films Clipping Adam (2004), his first big break, and later Kick Ass (2010). Being cast as Tate Langdon in the first season of American Horror Story in 2011 was his tipping point, playing a Skull Boy-faced high school shooter in a latex catsuit who rapes his girlfriend’s mother to please a ghost. He has since become one of the five main players to appear in all three season of the series, sterling company that includes Jessica Lange, Sarah Paulson, Lily Rabe and Frances Conroy.

Now the world gets to enjoy a lighter side of Peters, like when he appeared on a 2011 episode of the G4 networks Attack of the Show and blithely volunteered that he was working a a rap song called ‘’I’ll Tap That Fucking Ass.’’ He laughs off a request to recite a verse. ‘’I can’t. That never materialized. I tried but it was too much pressure. It was just a concept. I was just trying new ideas,’’ he says, and then volunteers a different musical direction. ‘’It’s called ‘Natch Snatch.’ Like all natural snatch. Big bush. Snatch. Cause it’s nice. You know, ‘girl, you’ve got that natch snatch.’ It’s another nice concept. Probably on the same album.’’ Peters laughs in agreement at the suggestion that he is a kook in the best sense of the word. ‘’I get called a weirdo sometimes,’’ he admits ‘’But it’s like, I don’t feel that weird. I don’t feel that different. I look at everybody else and I’m like, ‘’you’re a fucking weirdo, too. You like all of your shit. I like my shit.’’ Why does one have to be weird and one have to be normal? It doesn’t make any sense to me.’’ Meanwhile, he seems to be successfully negotiating his public and private persona. ‘’I’ll try to be myself as much as I can but you obviously can’t be who you are at home in your skivvies eating donuts. You can’t be that.’’ He explains, before confirming that guy exists, with his tongue sort-of-in-cheek. ‘’You bet he does. Yeah, definitely watching New Girl. Crying.’’ But while Peters seems fairly comfortable in the public eye, fame no longer interests him. The development is not unrelated to his intense, closely-watched relationship with fiancée and two-time costar Emma Roberts (on coven and in the 2013 ?? Adult World) ‘’When I was younger I was like, ‘’That would be awesome!’’ now I don’t particularly love it,’’ he says ‘’Emma gets paparazzi a lot, and because I’m with her we get paparazzi, so it’s kind of a weird thing that I don’t love. But it’s so small in the big picture of all the positives that come with this job that I can’t really complain about it.’’ he may be surprised by the attention he and Roberts receive, but he is hardly self-ptying. ‘’Honestly, it’s not that bad. If you don’t set up a Google alert on yourself and go out searching for it then you’re not going to see it. So I don’t see it.’’ Roberts has already endured the Hollywood learning curve that Peters is now experiencing. ‘’She gives me advice, like cut your hair. She likes my hair to look nice,’’ he says, and laughs. ‘’She’s been around and knows the ropes and how to play the game very well. And she has incredible social skills. She can talk to anyone and everyone loves talking to her. I’m not that good at that stuff so she kind of helps me out with that.’’ I wonder what guidance she offers him. ‘’You’ve just got to be personable and talk to people, even if you don’t want to. Put on a happy face and buck up. Grow a pair of balls. Don’t be a little wuss.’’ Petersa says, and laughs. ‘’I mean, she doesn’t say that, but you know what I mean.’’ 

Next for Peters is Lazarus, opposite Olivia Wilde, Donald Glover and Mark Duplass a 2015 feature from director David Gelb, known for the documentary Giro: Dreams of Sushi. Peters describes the project, about a team of brainiacs working magnanimously to reanimate the dead, as a “contained Sci-Fi horror thriller” as it mostly takes place in one laboratory setting. He plays the party animal scientist. Peters encouraging sidesteps the questions of his involvement in the next season of American Horror Story, to be set in 1950 and the present day, for which Jessica Lange is practicing a German accent. ‘’I don’t know what I’m allowed to say so I’m going to say no comment,’’ he says.

‘’At the end of the day it is acting. You want to go with the biggest, weirdest, boldest shit and see if you can actually do it and go there,’’ Peters concludes, ‘’I’m very curious about everything. I feel like I don’t know that much. I’m trying to learn it all and figure it all out.’’

#i did my best #i strained my eyes #typos are mine and i put question marks where i couldn't make out the words #evan peters #evanpeters #tate langdon #american horror story #kai anderson #kyle spencer #ahs

[morallyinept]

As much as I enjoy writing, one of the things I enjoy most of all about being in this fandom, is reading all the incredible works by all of YOU.

So, in the spirit of sharing, and singing your praise from the rooftops, once a week I'm going to feature a writer whose work is just incredible, who makes me smile, and who you should totally check out. 🖤

Please ensure you follow them (if you're not already) and re-blog their work. I am pretty sure you're going to love it, and them!

Please check out my Pedro Character Fav Fic Recs List for more incredible writers and their stories too.

So without further ado, here is this week's Writer Wow! ⭐️

⭐️ @chronically-ghosted ⭐️

Taylor is such an incredible writer - and person - her use of words and painting imagery with them just astounds me, in the best possible way. I always look forward to what she'll post next, and if I could ever aspire to write as well anyone here in this fandom, it would be Taylor.

Some of my personal favourites from Taylor's writing are:

⭐️ I am touchin', I am grabbin', everything I can't be havin' - Dieter Bravo

⭐️ In Another Life - Frankie Morales

⭐️ You Call & I Come Running - Javier Peña

⭐️ There Ain't Enough Room In This Pontiac For The Two of Us & There Ain't Enough Room In This Twin Bed In Our Shitty Bogota Apartment For The Both Of Us (Part 2) - Javier Peña

Please also check out Taylor's full Masterlist for more amazing stories!

☝🏻Give her a follow so you don't miss out on future stories. You won't be disappointed.

Check out previous Writer Wow's here

#jett's writer wow #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #javier pena #dieter bravo #frankie morales #fanfic writer #writing community #just showing some love

[rustedhearts]

knockin’ on heaven’s door (70s childhood bestfriend!steve x fem!reader)

summary: to celebrate the one-year-anniversary of the day you decided to be more than best friends, you go on a road trip through new england with steve.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the only living boy in indiana ✶ main masterlist

tags: short and fluffy, childhood best friends to lovers, casually-dominant steve (again)?, smut!

buy me a ko-fi! ♡

new england, november, 1978

"Babe, don't touch the stereo."

"Why not? You rig it, stud?"

Cheeks rosy and swollen hot, Steve grinned at the road ahead and reached with one hand to gently shove your approaching fingers away.

"You know it's the only car rule I have, honey," he defended, guiding your hand back to your denim lap.

Eyes rolling, you leaned your head back against the leather of the Pontiac passenger seat, doing your best to block out the obnoxious sound of Black Sabbath crackling through the stereo speakers. You didn't always find the band obnoxious—but when Steve had Master of Reality on repeat since its debut, and did nothing but brag about how many copies and how many different cover arts he owned...the songs got a little annoying.

"Do we have any Twinkies left?" you groaned, rolling toward the backseat over the headrest.

The car veered a little toward the left as Steve's eyes transferred to your ass, pushing against your Levi bellbottoms and angled toward his face. He resisted the urge to reach out and pop his hand across the fat of it, knowing it always made you shriek and flush and pretend you didn't enjoy it. He made sure to do it extra hard when he had you bent over the bed all alone, drooling into his sheets. He was thinking about asking you to move in together just so he could do it whenever he liked.

"You ate them back in Ohio—sit down."

You flopped back into your seat with a huff, a pout etched on your mouth but a glare set sternly in your eyes. "Don't boss me around, Steven."

Steve chuckled, tongue prodding the end of a sharp white incisor as he took his right hand off the wheel to reach over and squeeze your cheeks.

"But I'm older—and you look so cute all flustered and pouty."

You shoved his hand away by the wrist, feigning disdain—but the touch of his hand, callused from greasy work on the Pontiac and his new part-time position at the plant under his father had your insides squirming. Unbeknownst to him, you pondered over evenings spent kissing him hello after a long day at work, basking in the way he'd pull you in by the waist with a dirty, oiled hand. There was something so manly about him lately. He was no longer the boy you grew up with.

Falling in love could do that, you supposed.

The pair of you decided on a romantic road trip a few weeks ago. It was a late anniversary celebration—one year since your first kiss, followed by a few weeks of uncomfortable tip-toeing around blossoming romantic feelings, until ultimately crumbling and tumbling into an unspoken agreement to never look back on friendship, and only look forward to commitment. You wanted no one but each other, and there was no point in denying it any longer.

The road trip spanned the New England states, and the rest of the Midwest between Indiana and your final destination in Connecticut. The motels along the way were small and dingy, fly-infested and sticky, but Steve kept you safe in his arms. It felt good to get out of Indiana and be on your own. You felt like real adults, a real pair of lovers venturing out of their circle for life on the road.

Winstons thrown on the dash and shoved against the windshield, eight track spinning, leather soaked in nicotine and the vetiver musk of Steve's cologne—the Pontiac was your home that week.

But he could've at least packed a few more Twinkies.

"There’s some Slim Jims in the glove box, I think,” Steve mumbled, rubbing at his eye with the back of his knuckle.

The road fatigued him, but he refused to let you drive. The Pontiac was his pride and joy, and you tried not to let it irritate you that he didn’t even trust you with it. You, who had been there when his father handed him the keys, who was the first person to ride passenger when he got his license at sixteen. But Steve insisted that you looked better in the passenger. He could be a little old fashioned that way.

“You tired?” you asked as you rummaged through the glove box.

Steve shook out his hair, blinking rapidly at the road ahead. It was midday, sky chilled with pigeon grey clouds, casting shadows over the grey asphalt and bursts of orange and scarlet leaves flanking the road from high trees.

“M’ fine. Hand me a smoke, will you, honey?”

“Slim Jim first, sweetheart,” you drawled, mimicking his mumble.

Steve’s eyes rolled, though his mouth subsequently coiled into a grin. He loved when you teased him like you used to. His biggest worry when you finally decided to shift to dating was that you’d lose the playfulness your friendship always had. He didn’t want to lose that.

Luckily, the past year had been nothing but laughter and love. It sickened you a little to know how much you ached for Steve Harrington.

You peeled the plastic packaging on the dried jerky and shoved it in your mouth, reaching forward to the windshield where his crumpled Winstons were. You slid one from the box, plucking his silver Zippo, engraved with his initials (a Christmas gift a few years ago from yours truly), from the front pocket of his flannel. Brown and green, soft, a little faded from detergent powder. You had to fight the urge to shove your nose into his neck and sniff him like a dog. Later.

Steve tipped his chin out, lips parting with just enough room for the familiar cigarette. Once perched firmly in his mouth, you flicked the lighter open and singed the end. Steve closed his lips around the filter and sucked hard, popping them open to expel smoke from his nose.

“Thanks, baby,” he muttered around it, reaching over to smooth his hand over your thigh.

You leaned into it, watching the shape of his fingers overtake your leg. “Mhm.”

He felt over the denim of your jeans, sturdy but still worn. They were a few years old. He could remember the day you bought them at Sears, because he was there with you. Hours trailing the linoleum tile, head tipped back to watch the fluorescents buzz and whizz by, listening to the crank of receipts and ding of bells. You spent a good thirty minutes just in the denim, holding up options and popping in and out of the fitting room with different styles.

That was the first time he noticed how glorious the shape of your ass was.

Steve’s fingers wandered in his daydream, inching toward the apex of your thighs where the seam of your jeans pressed tight against your panties. You jolted, turning to see the cigarette puffing clouds over Steve’s nose.

“Hey,” you mused, watching his finger trace your zipper. “Whatcha doin’?”

Steve pulled his hand away, removing his cigarette to ash it in the crack of the open window. The way his neck craned, purpled vein protruding against soft and freckled ivory skin, made your mouth water. Your teeth tingled to bite.

“Nothing.”

You wanted to pull back his hand, guide it between your legs again and tell him he didn't have to stop. You didn't want him to stop. But his eyes were shuttering against the warm light peeking through tufts of clouds, lips puffing at his cigarette greedily—a sure sign of a sleepy Steve.

Reaching over, you smoothed your hand through the back of his hair, shaggy and soft and longer than it's ever been before—he tipped his head back an inch to lean into it.

"Come on," you cooed, finger twisting a silky lock into a limp curl. "Let's stop and get coffee."

✶ ✶

"Ugh," Steve grunted into an orange porcelain diner mug. "Fuck, I needed that."

You concealed a grin with the rim of your own mug, lifting it to your mouth to gulp down the warm stream of acidic brown liquid. You sweetened it with a pink sugar packet and a small vat of vanilla creamer, but it still doesn't taste like Steve's does. When he made it for you at home (still insistent upon bringing you a thermos after class), he poured as much sweetness as possible. Something sweet for my sweetheart. Such a sap.

"You hungry?" Steve asked, flipping over a laminated menu to check the lunch options.

You shrugged, mug clinking on the sticky tabletop. Steve eyed you carefully over it, assessing your sudden distance. He slipped a hand beneath the table and knocked it on your knee, settling it into a smooth glide across your thigh like he did in the car. You flashed him a bashful grin.

"Split some pancakes?" he suggested. You nodded.

The waitress came and went in a polyester flitter, and soon an opalescent plate of blueberry pancakes sat between your elbows, slowly sloughed off by pulls of metal fork prongs. Steve let you have a little more than him, noticing the way you waited for his bite to go before grabbing your own. Always so considerate, always so sweet.

"Did you ever think," you started, swallowing down a burst of warm fruit, "that we'd be here?"

Steve placed his fork down, licking remnants from his lips. "Where?"

You huffed, wiggling your fork through another bite. "You know..."

Steve did. He leaned forward on his arms, glancing around fleetingly before fixing you with a sly and half-cocked grin. "Like...makin' out and shit? Doin' the nasty?"

You giggled, eyes rolling. "Stop. You know, did you ever...think about it?"

Steve eased back against his side of the booth, arms slipping from the table into his lap. He rummaged through his jeans until he found his pack of smokes, poking one into his mouth to rest a moment. His eyes took on the vacancy of thought. You waited, overtaken by diner clinks and chatter. Your insides squeezed in anticipation.

"I don't know. I always thought you were beautiful. Always thought you were sweet and...knew you'd make some guy really happy, but...I guess I never thought it'd be me. Not really...Did you?"

With warmth pulsing in your cheeks, you tipped your gaze down to your lap and picked at the skin around your red-polished nail. Steve liked them red. He said it was his favorite color on you.

"I thought Nancy Wheeler was an absolute idiot for letting go of you," you murmured.

Peeking up through your lashes, you found Steve's smirk fading into a slow bite of his bottom lip. God, were you always so sexy when you talked about loving him?

Unlit cigarette dampened at the filter perched between his fingers, Steve leaned forward on his forearms again and cleared his throat. His eyes dashed around the diner once more before fixing on yours.

"Do you wanna get outta here?"

Blueberry and coffee on his breath. You wanted nothing more than for him to light that cigarette and watch him pull it away with that strong, working man's hand. You wanted nothing more than to have him tug you in by the belt loop like he did that first time you kissed in his driveway.

You lurched forward a little too fast. "Yes."

✶ ✶

The click of the motel door lock sent shivers down your back. The bags fell next, dropped with zippered clinks and heavy thuds. The keys clattered on the round wooden table near the curtained window, thrown from Steve’s hand. You fumbled to release your feet from their booted confines and watched with bleary eyes as Steve removed his own. He fiddled with the tiny tortoise buttons of his flannel, and you whipped your sweater over your head.

“Wait, wait,” he rushed, leaping forward and snatching your hands before you could unhook your bra.

Grinning, you went plaint in his hold and stepped a little closer. He let your hands slip from his, dropping back to your sides and giving him room to move. His palms swept over your waist, gliding up your spine until he found the soft band of your bra. He unhooked it with ease, dragging the dainty pink straps down your arms until it fell to the floor with a thud.

Once exposed, the warmth of his hands encompassed your breasts, pulling a small gasp from your throat. Head tipped up to admire the attentiveness of those hazel eyes, you nuzzled your nose into his jaw.

“You’re so warm,” you cooed, nose slipping down his throat.

A chuckle rumbled through him like thunder, reverberating into you. His thumbs swept over your nipples and gently pinched the peaks. Something between a giggle and a yelp squawked from your mouth, pulling another laugh from his chest. Steve’s head dropped into your neck, teeth nipping and mouth sucking at skin.

Your head fell back with a groan, hands clawing at his hair. For just a moment, you gave into the slow, teasing pleasure. Swaying in his arms, pressed half-naked against his body, letting every lick of his tongue against your flesh tingle through you like electric shocks.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Okay, wait, wait,” you moaned, tipping away from his mouth. “Just…can you…”

Steve scraped his teeth along the side of your throat and peppered quick kisses upward until he met your jaw. Once there, he pulled back and brought his hand to your jaw, holding it steady.

“What?” he whispered. “What d’ya need, baby?”

Rubbing your hand up and down his forearm, you made your eyes into those round, weepy shapes that made him coo and give into whatever you wanted. You’d been doing it for years—once used for cheeseburgers at football games and a bite of his last Twinkie, now used to coax him into giving you what you wanted without clothes.

But this time, Steve chuckled and shook his head. “No, no, don’t use those eyes on me. Tell me what you want, and maybe…I’ll give it to you.”

Lip jutting out, you pressed a firm kiss to his chin. “Maybe?”

Steve laughed, using his grip on your chin to pull your head down and plant his own kiss on your forehead. “C’mon, honey, you know you got me whenever…wherever you want.”

You pondered a moment, lips pursed shyly. He waited. He waited with bated breaths, taken shallowly through his nose, eyes trained on your still body. You took a small, socked step back across the plush pink carpet, toward the bed. It yipped against the impact of your thigh.

“Well, in that case…” You were quiet, and when you turned around and placed your knee on the mattress, Steve didn’t quite know where it was going.

But then your hand came down, pressing into the quilt. The other knee, dipping into the springs. Crawling, back arched and chin tucked over your shoulder to blink all bashful and sweet at the man staring in wonderment.

“I want you…like this.”

Steve whipped his belt off, silver buckle clinking with a thud on the floor. You could’ve sworn he ripped his zipper and popped the button with how fast his hands were moving, and soon he was fully nude and reaching for you as he maneuvered behind you against the bed.

His hands hooked into the waistband of your jeans, giving them one harsh tug and bouncing you in between. You giggled, doing your best to aid his hurried, eager movements. Your panties came next, a flash of pale pink fabric in his fist and then a speck on the floor.

"Fuck, hang on," he huffed, leaving you with a cool draft as he scrambled for his pants on the floor.

Steve pulled a brown leather wallet from the back pocket and whipped out a familiar plastic square, resuming his spot behind you just as swiftly. You kept your eyes trained on him over your shoulder as he rolled it on, as his shoulders pulled in and his swelling biceps strained as he attempted to keep his pulsing erection at bay. He needed to make you believe you didn't drive him absolutely insane. He had to have some sort of decency.

But with you, it was hard.

All he ever wanted to do was—

"Oh, fuuuuck." Dive in.

And once he was there, splitting you in two and bringing vibrancy to your flesh, rendering you mindless and stupid and so fucking beautiful—the world fell away. All Steve knew, all he wanted to feel: was you.

"Oh, God, Steve," you mewled, gripping the rough fabric of the bedspread in your fists like bracing for a rollercoaster.

Steve's hands took hold of the globes of your ass, feeling every ripple under his palms as his hips pistoned with vigor. Fucking you always had him feverish. It was though he lost all sense of himself, pouring every ounce of being into you. He had never given himself to another woman the way he gave himself to you.

Using your hips as leverage, Steve yanked you back into his pelvis, eliciting a broken yelp muffled by a mouthful of mattress. Burying your face into the bed, you fell pliant to his animalistic charge, barely conscious of his babbles behind you.

"Ooh, yeah, s' good, baby. Oh, fuck yeah. Oh, oh."

A heavy hand came sweeping down on your asscheek, cracking in a sharp snap of skin on skin. The impact had you shrieking and shivering, back contracting into a delirious series of arches and relaxations. Your legs were jelly and eyes bursts of white, and it hadn't even been five whole minutes.

He was just that good.

Steve snickered, out of breath but too cocky to let it slide. He tipped his head to watch your slickness gush down his cock, admiring the way you squeezed like a fleshy, gummy sleeve up and down, dripping with every prod.

"Aw, look at that. You love when I do that, don't you s-sweetheart—fuck, m' cumming."

It was like music to your ears. His mockery, his low grunts and groans, the raspy crispness to his voice when he was buried deep inside you. When he came, he crumbled. Shuddering into a halved version of himself, crouching close to you, hands like bad mufflers over your hips, mouth full of saliva and moans.

His forehead clung to the skin of your spine with shared exertion, breath hot across your back. He hummed mindlessly, floating in a half sleep lulled by your body.

"Gonna pull out," he mumbled a bit later, bracing your hips when his hands were steady enough.

You settled against the bed, catching your breath against harsh quilt fibers, watching through the blurry haze of your eyes as he moved through the room. Padding to the bathroom, the soft snap of used plastic, the metallic ping of heavy release hitting the bottom of the bin. The soft rush of water, the click of the rosy bathroom light snuffed out. Coolness between your legs, massaged with hands too gentle for the work they did. You groaned, soothed by his shushes and hums. The bathroom light stayed off when he went back in.

And when he returned, he tugged you close with an arm around your waist, sticky skin fused together like one beneath a sheet that didn't smell like home. Steve kissed your cheek, thumb rubbing into your rib.

"Get some rest," he whispered. "We'll be back on the road in a bit."

✶ ✶

You slept. And you slept on the road, too. Once tired of Twinkie complaints and chowing down on Slim Jim remnants, you somehow found your head in Steve's lap. Tipped over across the front seats, cheek pressed into his thigh, hair dripped over his jeans. He glanced down at you every few stoplights, taking a few moments to rub his hand on your cheek.

Welcome to Connecticut! whizzed by in the soft orange light of a Thursday sunset. Careful not to wake you, Steve leaned toward the windshield and swiped a smoke. He tapped the ashes into the road, careful not to let them flutter on your peaceful face. He smiled around a mouthful of sweet Winston smoke.

He was lucky to call his best friend the love of his life.

#rolly! #steve harrington #70s!steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fic #king steve #steve stranger things #steve the hair harrington #stranger things

[ryomens-vixen]

90s!BF-GOJO SATORU HEADCANONS

I'll try to make this as Diverse as I can so-

(H/T) = Hair Texture

(E/C) = Eye Color

(H/C) = Hair Color

(B/T) = Body Type (🍎, 🍐, slim, etc you get it)

(S/C) = Skin Color

CW: Minor🔞 DNI, 🤏 of Smut, Fluff, Idk whatever else comes to my head.

Word count: Ion fckin know 🤷🏾‍♀️ Have Fun and don't forget to ❤ and Reblog!

90sBF!Gojo Who would roll up to your house in his black 1992 Pontiac Firebird blasting Sir-mix-Alot's ride, You could just hear it from the comfort of your bedroom. How did you know you were going somewhere? Did Suguru snitch on you again? Of course he would that's his homeboy for fuck sakes, Either Satoru would make you talk to him one way or another even if that meant disturbing the old folks that lived next door.

90sBF!Gojo who'd roll his window down at the sight of you walking out in (Your outfit of Choice),while peaking over his dark round shades Satoru wore a White sleeveless tank top, gold chain, and grey sweats.

"Gyattdaaamn~ Well would yah getta look at you, baaaby~ Looking good f'me and not anyone else I hope."

He had that cocky little smirk etched across his face, he knew exactly what he was doing showin up over here looking as good as he did and cocky as always. Boy did he get on yo nerves sometimes.

You stood atop of the porch, hand on hip staring at him with an annoyed expression written across your face.

"Gojo-"

"It's Satoru, baby... Or Toru for short yah know since you was screaming it a couple nights ago. So, instead of having a that lil attitude how bout you come get in the car and let TORU fix it."

When ya dance, I'm on ya 🎶

When ya walk, I'm on ya 🎶

When ya moan, I'm on ya 🎶

I'm that nasty dog and I tried to warn ya

To the 'tel, to the 'tel we go 🎶

Don't need a bed 'cause I'm good on the floor 🎶

When a chocolate masterpiece walks by- 🎶

90sBF!Gojo who sweet talked you enough to let him take you somewhere, at least it was a lot better than where you intended on going. Parked in an empty parking lot, one leg hanging out the window loosing a shoe in the process, other on the dashboard, seat laid back with Satoru giving you the best toe curling, soul lifting, overstimulating head imaginable while sir-mix-alot still played. Satoru knew just how to fix that attitude of your nothing, but some head and good dickin to cure it, and if he could he would freak you all damn day until you're either drunk on dick or too asleep to even remember what you were mad at him about.

90sBF!Gojo who took you to the basketball court to watch him play b-ball with Kento, Suguru, Ryomen And Toji right after making you wet up his seats and dashboard with your juices, man did he love it when you made his car smell like coochie... Yeah Satoru was freak nasty, but not as Nasty as his home boys, but only you would know that.

90sBF!Gojo who also enjoys hittin a blunt or two while you're giving him & Suguru head in their shared apartment.

[Now for some Fluff]

90sBF!Gojo who enjoyed gazing into your beautiful (E/C) eyes every chance he could because he loved the way you'd get nervous and fidgety everytime he made eye contact with you. He especially loved it when you'd avert your eyes elsewhere to avoid him, all for his to get up make his way over to you and grab you chin. With that smile ooh... That smile on his face as he makes you stare into his eyes until you're nothing, but putty in his hands.

90sBF!Gojo who enjoys buying you all types of earrings, bracelets, and necklaces as a way of showing you that you're his.

90sBF!Gojo who sits outside your house, Suguru holding a boom box in hand blasting "Nobody by Keith Sweat" while Gojo lip sync, Kento was also there as moral support, but can't help but to feel the second hand embarrassment listening to you cuss Satoru out from your window, and him screaming the lyrics as the ass crack of night. Maybe if he wasn't flirtin with that trick at the grocery store, then neither one of you would be in this position.

90sBF!Gojo Who enjoys helping you brush and style your (H/C) & (H/T) on days where you just don't feel like it or don't have the money to get it done yourself.

90sBF!Gojo who constantly talks about a getting out of the hood and marrying you one day, but also teasing you about having Suguru move in whenever that happens.

90sBF!Gojo Who gets all his Romantic ideas from Kento and Suguru because he doesn't have a clue about being Romantic in the slightest, but he knows he wants to treat you like the Queen you are.

90sBF!Gojo who takes you out of town on these expensive dates where you don't even have a clue about how much he's spent because he won't tell you. He wouldn't want your pretty little head to worry about some silly numbers.

90sBF!Gojo who introduced you to Toji's son Megumi who he and Suguru were taking care of while Toji was once again, in jail for something he shouldn't have been doing in the first place.

90sBF!Gojo who watched as you played around with megumi from time to time, hugging him, kissing his face, styling his hair, carrying him around on your hip as if he wasn't big boy enough to walk on his own. It Gojo realize how much he really wanted to marry you and have kids with you, you're the perfect mother for his children in his eyes.

90sBF!Gojo who loved feeling on your (B/T) shaped body and kissing on your beautiful, soft (S/C) where ever he could get his lips and hands on. He just loved the feel of you it didn't matter what you were doing. You could breathe and he'd come over just to put his hand and plump lips on you.

90sBF!Gojo who would wake you up with kisses and the smell of breakfast in the morning.

90sBF!Gojo who would embarrass you with his need for PDA if anyone tried to flirt with you while he is with you. The way he would grab a hand full of your ass and immediately shove his tongue into mouth is ridiculous. Just to drive off one person? Yes. Yes it was necessary TO HIM. Meanwhile you're squirming and pounding at his chest for him to stop because you're in public.

90sBF!Gojo who would teasingly call you his ole lady, even though he's the one that older than you. You just look like you're older than him because of his luscious skin and beautiful features.

90sBF!Gojo who can't handle his alcohol at all, waking up whining to you about his hangover and how he'll never drink with the boys again. He's so cute when he's all whiny and needy- So you end up taking care of him and staying in bed the rest of the day, I mean you DID warn him not to drink to much cause he's a lightweight.

90sBF!Gojo who would definitely go shopping for matching outfits with you.

90sBF!Gojo who can't stand not being away from you for more than a day. Yeah I missed his best friend Suguru after days of spending the night at your place, but he has to go back home and he's a LOT needier than you are. He'll sit at the apartment all quiet, pouty, and pissy because he wants to be in your arms longer, listen to your sweet voice, feel your hands massage that spot at the back of his head that sleeps so good it makes him sleepy.

90sBF!Gojo Who calls you complaining during boys night about how Suguru, Kento, Ryomen, and Toji are "fuckin wit him" about you and it's making him mad. All for you to laugh at him and the boys playfully telling them to leave him alone before you come over there.

90sBF!Gojo who after a long frustrating day at work where he was a teacher. Comes to your crib uninvited just to lay on you and decompress, dealing with a bunch of bratty, snort nose, whiny ass kids just wasn't his cup of tea yet he was so good with children! Even Megumi is in his class and Megumi loves gojo... Sorta.

90sBF!Gojo who randomly brings up possibly having kids with him and how he's already thinking of baby names, like if it was a boy he's name would be (x name) or if it was a girl her name would be (x name).

90sBF!Gojo who talks about where he should get your name tattooed on him, maybe his neck, or his back, maybe his arm, or maybe.. Just maybe on his sexy V-Line that you loved outlining with your finger tips whenever he was shirtless.

90sBF!Gojo who would annoying call your mom or you dad on you to make you talk to him when all else fails. Oh did your parents love Satoru he was already an in law in their eyes, but oh did you fuckin HATE when he does that shit like you weren't going to talk to him in a few days.

90sBF!Gojo who would get a stern talking from your father the first time you brought him home to your parents, hoping to God he doesn't embarrassing.

I hope you all enjoyed this was so hard so me to do 😵💫 there was so much going on around me during the making of this, BUT PLEASE DON'T COPY OR PLAGIARIZE My work, I worked really hard on this.

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo angst #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu gojo #geto x reader #jjk toji #jjk drabbles #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo fluff