#there's so much here man. they suck so goddamn bad and they fuck me up. thinking about the oldgang for the rest of my life

[chrollohearttags]

FIRE HYDRANT • portgas d. ace

ace loves his little squirter, perhaps a bit too much.

content + themes: firefighter!ace, firefighter!reader, choking, hate fucking, heavy squirting, he’s such a mean dom in this, mentions of oral sex, daddy is used, finger sucking, slapping, pet names are used (my love, babygirl, sweetheart), calls reader slut, missionary/mating press

📝: just a lil something to help me get my steam back. If it’s bad, you never saw it.

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“Okay, okayyyy…take some outtt..fuck!”

“Don’t be stupid, now move your hand before I do it for you.”

he was relentless and had been for the past couple hours or so..it seemed like he had no intention of doing so anytime soon either. Perhaps this time around..your big ass mouth had bit off far more than you could ever chew. Hence why at the moment..he was fish hooking his fingers in the sides of your jaws. Prompting you to suck on them as a means to shut you up. Feeding you a light tap to the cheek to ensure so as well.

“Rookie..how many times do I have to say it, huh? You don’t run a damn thing. It’s been what..four? Five? Hell, I’ve lost count how many times you’ve come on this dick. It’s like you can’t get enough of me, my love. I already knew that much though.”

the words tearing through you like a serrated dagger, slowly but surely cutting you up. A reminder of your weak resolve. You hated it, you hated it so fucking much that the one man you despised got you wetter than any boyfriend or partner you’d ever encountered. That this bastard knew your body far better than you did sometimes. He could do things that you’d never even imagined..taking you to heights unknown and yet, all you could do was stare at him in disgust as his cock plunged within your center repeatedly. Slamming balls deep as they smacked against your puckering asshole; drenched in your sticky mixture from drumming it out of you. It was just as he said, you had come for him for about the seventh time now. Running on fumes and pure spite to keep going. Maybe you wanted to prove him wrong that you could take whatever he threw your way, including the dick.

“Haaaah!—shit! Not right there..I’m gonna—“

“I know, babygirl. I know you are so why fight it? Squirt on daddy’s dick. Feels much better than arguing with me, doesn’t it?”

or..you loved the way he fucked you and your pride wouldn’t allow you to admit it! It would explain the large puddle formed underneath the towels on his couch and the splashes surrounding his foot; the other planted next to you so that he could truly get in it the way he wanted. And here you were..in the last position you wanted to be! Folded like a goddamn pretzel with your toes wiggling behind your head and this asshole hovering over you with that same stupid grin on his face, those deep set eyes and his necklace dangling in front of your nose. He was enjoying this. Enjoying turning his stubborn little rookie into his personal fire hydrant. The tight, juicy grip of that cunt embracing him like a warm hug..tinting his tan hued shaft with a sheet of white essence before exploding into the sweet, delicious rain as he made you squirt yet again. He’d never had pussy like it and it was for that reason alone, he put up with your bad attitude or rather, calmed it down.

“Nnggghhh!..I can’t..” your words were barely even making it above a decibel. A lot more quiet than the shouting you did at him when you first arrived. Pissed off about your inspection results earlier in the day. Granted, that was before he hissed at you to sit down, shut the fuck up and be a good slut for him..before he snatched your sundress down to reveal those plump tits and sucked on those gorgeous brown nipples that go so erect for him as he fingered you. And well before pinned your legs back and damn near sucked the flavor from your pussy! Using those nimble fingers to get you to climax..it was then that he discovered your little secret:

“Ahhh..so you’re a squirter, rookie? Well that’s good to know.”

and hadn’t stopped exploring it since. So for the duration of your stay, he’d been stretching that pussy out and using you to his heart's desire. Pulling on your hair, smacking on that fat ass as he gave you vicious backshots. Even tossing the pillow out of your way so you had zero comfort. His punishment for waking him up. Using your mouth as his personal cock sleeve, making you eat him up until you made a mess, calling him daddy after rewarding you with a warm nut to the back of your throat and after that, the fun really began. He’d kept you like this..drawing out orgasm after orgasm; streams of clear juices reaching as far up to his chest. Pulling out, tapping that mushroom tip against your slit to coax out another right after. He was having too much fun!

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who can’t even keep her eyes open. Too bad for you..”

suddenly, you’d feel the hard clutch of his digits around your throat which prompted you to gasp for air whilst clawing at his forearm. Zeroing in on your face, he’d hiss through gritted teeth and smile before slamming your head back down: “we’re not done, so wake that ass up. ‘M gonna beat that little pussy of yours so sore, you’ll be lucky if you can crawl out of here when I’m done. Gonna fuck you until you’re empty, baby..”

and something told you, that wouldn’t be anytime soon!

#portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas d ace x black reader #ace x black reader #portgas ace x you #portgas ace smut #portgas ace x y/n #ace one piece #one piece ace #one piece smut #one piece au #one piece modern au #one piece #one piece drabble #one piece imagine #ace imagine #one piece x black!reader #one piece x reader #firefighter au #one piece series #op smut #op ace #op x reader #op x y/n #black reader #cw smut #cw suggestive #cw choking #wrote this at 10am because I had nothing else to do #black fem reader

[cutecatlov3r]

kinktober: chastity~ shoyo hinata

synopsis: corrupting your pure friend . you gotta teach him the basics of course, he doesn’t know much, what better way to show him where to start by teaching him how to masturbate first ?

warnings/tw: aged up! corruption, masturbation, cum play, handjob, and porn with a plot(?) BONUS [twt links !]

the character ai bot that I made in honor of this: here

not proofread // posted early bc ily !

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“e-eh?! woah uh wait! i uh! no don’t-!” he protested, watching how your hand was trailing his thigh. you were rubbing little circles on his thighs under the cover. you and him were friends, you have been for awhile. of course you knew that he was a major ‘no sex’ sort of person. he invited you for a movie and now here you were trying to make a move on him. why wouldn’t you? he’s fucking hot.

“you know I don’t do those things! im waiting until marriage,” he continued, shaky breaths. he could feel himself crumbling underneath your touch. his face was flushed a dark red color.

“oh cmon! don’t be such a prude… look at how cute your cock is. sprung up so quick… as soon as I put my hand here,” you gave him and innocent smile.

he gulped slightly, shaking his head slowly, sinking into the couch you both were on. he was anxious, breathing quickly. he shut his eyes, balling his palm into a fist to feel his purity ring.

“no… I’m waiting until marriage,” he blushed.

you bit your lip slightly, seeing him so flustered made you so goddamn turned on. you wanted those same fingers inside of you, oh how erotic it would be for him to finger fuck you with his cute little purity ring on.

“shoyo please,” you hummed, hand trailing a bit more up. his cock twitched slightly, he winced at the sensitivity. “I’ll make you feel so good~” you teased, palming his pulsing dick.

he looked at you with pleading eyes. his mind said it was a bad idea… but his dick just needs her. he’s never been the type to give into any temptation, he wouldn’t even watch porn. but now that you’re in front of him, boobs squished against his arm, hand on his thigh, it made him rethink.

“let me show you how it feels to feel so good…” you whisper in his ear. he let out another shaky breath, looking over at you. your eyes were so seductive, he was drawn to them.

“no…”

“please shoyooo~” your voice sang slightly, fingers teasing the waist band of his shorts

…

“show me…” he mumbled, looking away from her. it was way too embarrassing. he couldn’t even believe those words escaped his mouth. why did he feel so horny? why did he want to stick his dick inside of you. he wondered what it looked like, what it’d feel like… your gummy walls clinging onto his hard cock… the wetness… softness.

you smirk to yourself, grabbing his chin to face you. you wanted to see his cute little flushed face.

“how should I show you what to do? maybe you need to see what we’re gonna do soon huh? you ever watch porn?”

he blushed at your straightforward question, shaking his head ‘no’. you chuckle at his innocence. of course he hasn’t. you bet he probably hasn’t ever came from touching himself… he’s probably never even touched himself.

“ever… hmmmm touch yourself?” you asked in your cheerful voice.

once again he shook his head ‘no’. you looked at him, amused. so cute, so ready for you to corrupt his mind.

“such a bad idea…” he mumbled to himself. he couldn’t believe he agreed.

you pulled out your phone, going on Twitter, you scrolled through dozens of porn accounts searching for just the right video to show him. it would be his first time watching it so…

you click on this video.

you make him hold the phone, hand stroking his clothed, painfully hard cock. he watched, blushing, eyes staring on to the phone. the way the girl got fucked from behind… sucking on the guy’s dick afterward made his cock leak some precum. the girl was so eager for the man’s cum… maybe he wants that… but yet he still doesn’t know how.

as he watched, your hand rubbed his clothed cock up and down. you teased his leaking tip by putting just a finger on it. he whimpered slightly, still paying attention to the video.

“shoyo… let me see it” you giggle.

he looked at you with a small blush. why did you have to ask it like that? so embarrassing for him.

“okay…” he set the phone down, pulling down his shorts slowly. his hard dick hit his abdomen straight away, causing him to hiss at how sensitive he was.

his cock was pretty average, thick, a vein running on the left side, and slightly curved. not shaven, he never cared for those types of things because he didn’t think he’d ever be doing this sort of thing before marriage. his cock was almost tempting you with its pink flush on the tip to just hop on it and ride. he was embarrassed, looking at himself. the precum spilling out made him ashamed that he’s gotten this far with you.

you chuckled at his facial expression, grabbing your phone. you chose another video for him to watch.

ultimately you decided on this one.

you placed your phone back in one of his hands, guiding the other. his eyes were glued on to the phone, like an addict. the way he wasn’t giving the girl the time of day to catch her breath… he moved so fast, he bet that the guy’s cock was feeling so amazing.

you guided his hand to wrap around his own cock, pumping it. you couldn’t feel the soft flesh, giving him the opportunity to feel himself.

his breath was hitching, eyes off the phone. he felt weak. he didn’t mean to but his shaky hand dropped your phone on to the couch. the woman’s moans echoing off in the room.

he watched as you helped him rub himself. the way his thumb hit his tip here and there made him see stars. his back arched slightly when you started to move his hand faster.

you put a wad of spit on his twitching cock, making him moan. the spit spread over his dick and hand as he pumped, making him feel extra euphoria. he shut his eyes to chase his high.

he felt like he was gonna shoot something out soon. maybe it was that liquid that he sometimes saw when he woke up. he never understood why it happened but he never paid mind. he dug his nails into the couch, moaning and groaning.

“y/n… st-stop it’s too mu-“

“i stopped controlling your hand awhile ago,” you chuckle.

he looked down and saw that his own hand was pumping himself, shame throughout his body. but he didn’t want to pull away. he wanted to chase this high that was coming. he felt too alive, his hand was moving on its own, as if he had no control over it

you giggle to yourself, amused as you watched him masturbate. he was such a whiny and whimpering mess.

“god…! i can’t- im!” he whined, rubbing faster. as soon as he rubbed his dick faster, white splurges of his cum landed on to his stomach and a bit on the couch. he panted, looking at the white sticky substance.

you smile, grabbing his hand that had his cum. you licked it all clean, teasing his fingers as you shoved them down your throat.

his cock twitched at this action. the sensation of your saliva and tongue on his finger pads made him feel tingly.

your eyes were like a hungry lust demon… he was so fucked.

“we aren’t done yet shoyo,”

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#hq x reader #hq imagines #hq smut #haikyu smut #haikyuu #haikyuu shoyo #shoyo hinata x reader #hinata shoyo smut #hinata shoyo #shoyo hinata smut #shoyo smut #shoyo hinata #hq hinata #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #hinata shouyou #hq shoyo #hinata smut

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER SIX — IN MY ORBIT

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: it's escape from new york, if by new york you mean eddie munson's trailer. he knows you need to stay away from him, you know he needs to stay away from you, but honey... who else is gonna tell him there's an 'e' in roane county? content warnings: MINORS DNI obviously, my god. we've got your usual here-- mentions of masturbation, both male and female, white hot motherfucking yearning of the sexual and emotional kind, a surprise nancy wheeler, little women references, sticking it to the teacher we don't need no education style, eddie munson says acab word count: 12.2k

Dear hooker from the Christmas card in Minneapolis, can you shut the fuck up? I need to think!

Dear Bilbdoolpoolp, you nutty sea bitch goddess, do me a solid and send me a diversion– tear the roof off this trailer– I need to think!

Dear Lacy, quit looking at me like I just bit the head off your Virginia Woolf doll. I want to suck face with you so bad, like really goddamn bad, and you seem like you want to do it to me as well, what with your whole, like, big doe eyes and all that shit, but I need.

To think. 

It’s not what Eddie wants to clamp over your mouth, but it’s what you’re getting. His hand, his whole ringed hand, which takes up the better part of your face so all he can see is your eyes flashing from possibly turned on (jury’s still out) to confused to plain angry. 

“Mmmphmph!” you squeal against his hand, and he pulls his most panicked, most pleading expression out of the bag. 

“Lacy! Lacy. Lay-cee,” he hisses, teeth grit and spittle flying,”Do me a favor, do me a favor for once in your life and be. Cool. Be cool.”

His fingers slide from your mouth and your jaw is set all hard. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?!”

Right. Ice princess. Totally. Totally. “When I said be cool, I meant be quiet!”

“Ed.” That gruff rumble is coming from right outside his door. Eddie holds an index finger to his lips, and motions, like a goddamn kindergarten teacher, for you to do the same. Because that’s all you seem to understand. And you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway. And he– fuck, you’re cute. 

“Yee-aah?” he calls back, tone about as even as the Appalachian mountains. 

“Can I–”

“No!” Eddie barks, seeing that door handle twist a fraction of an inch. What would Wayne do, if he caught you in here? Would his brain explode all over the trailer? Would that be the end of the last truly good Munson family member? I mean, probably not, but he’d be all disappointed in Eddie and that would be worse. So much worse. “I’m not… Decent.”

You, still with your finger planted in the indent of your cupid’s bow, do a bad job of suppressing a snort. “Who are you, Rita Hayworth?” you hiss, and Eddie raises his hand to seal your stupid lips up again. Stupid. Lippy. Stupid lips. You bat it away, motioning like, okay, I’ll be cool!

Who the fuck is Rita Hayworth, anyway?!

“Well. Get decent,” Wayne says, a single knuckle rapping on the door–that means get movin’, “Need to talk to you.” 

And far be it from Eddie to keep the man he’s effectively betraying by stowing you away in his bedroom waiting. Up like a shot, he lifts the needle from the skipping record, pausing by the door before he heads out to meet his fate. 

He can tell by the look on your face that he’s blown this. Whatever it is– was. He had a perfect precipice of a moment, and he’d totally shot himself in the foot. But Eddie would sooner see you alive and unkissed than dead of pneumonia in the freezing rain, ‘kay? Call him a hero, whatever. 

“Just–”

“--shut the fuck up,” you whisper, hands drawn up in surrender. Realizing that there’s nothing funny about this situation. “I got it.”

The door whumps closed behind him, shaking the entire trailer in its wake, and you wait all of three seconds before racing to it and pressing your ear up against the paint-chipped wood. 

What’s going on out there? Is it about me?

How could it be about you? Unless Munson’s uncle had some kind of sixth sense, some breach in his cerebrum that alerted him once you crossed the threshold of his precious trailer. Come to think of it, you don’t remember seeing a second bedroom in this thing. 

You’d be lying if that didn’t elicit a little pang of pride– my trailer’s better than your trailer, you jealous? Doesn’t answer the question of where the Munson uncle sleeps, but at least you and your mother had a two-bedder. 

To your flaring frustration, the Munson men have opted to use an indecipherable muttering gravelly man octave with which to discuss this pressing business. That could or could not be about you. Insanely inconsiderate that this is the one time that Eddie Munson isn’t the loudest voice in the room, a ball of fury and sound and action knocking over everything in its wake. When it was the one time you actually wanted to hear what he had to say.

You also regret to inform yourself that that wasn’t all you wanted from him, up until about forty-five seconds ago. 

The white-hot embarrassment of being caught ready to throw a leg over him–the white hot embarrassment of being caught holding onto his wrist in the record store, of him catching you falling out of his van–descends over you in a wave that almost takes you out at the knees. 

But you’d wanted it– you did, in one suspended moment that you couldn’t pawn off on being high or drunk or wildly angry, sobbing soaked out in the rain. You had looked at Eddie Munson, in his dark, bottomless eyes and took in his slope of a Grecian nose and his dumb, effusive mouth with the pink lips and the pretty teeth and you had wanted it. Him. Him and the nebulous it that he would inevitably end up doing to you. 

He wanted you back. You thought. 

When Eddie slips back into his bedroom, you’re peeking through his blinds. Your trailer remains in total darkness, that criminal slip of a key obviously still jammed in the lock. You look over your shoulder at him and his brow is set in such a weird and distant crease that you think– shit. Maybe I hallucinated all that. Maybe that was all me. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice flat and near silent. What happened out there?

“My mom,” you start, “She…”

Never came home, is where you were going with it, but you don’t get to finish. “Okay,” he says, all absent. He flicks off the bedroom lamp as he passes it, this unconscious motion that leaves you both stranded in a blue-tinged darkness. 

In the moments it takes your eyes to adjust, he’s sitting next to you on the bed.  

“I’m gonna sleep on the floor,” he tells you. His irises are shiny and hard and serious.

Oh. The kind of tension you want to poke at. 

“Don’t be stu–” 

“I’m not bein’ stupid, Lacy.” 

You blink. Your faces are close. In the dark, the fractals of him would be easier to not remember in the daylight. You could pick out the parts you wanted–his cheekbone, his jutting jawline, the sloping corner of his mouth–and not puzzle them together in the morning. You could separate it. It could be fine. A non-event. 

“It’s cold,” you press, your voice low and solid, “and you don’t have another comforter.”

“How do you know that.”

Lucky guess. “I just do.” Just let me have this without having to ask for it.

I am a little afraid, I don’t know of what, and you’re the last solid thing I can grab onto.

Or lay next to. 

“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” 

“All of it.” God, he’s so obstinate. 

“Pick a favorite.” 

His mouth–his mouth–scrunches up the way a shitting cat’s might. You puncture the silence with a visible shiver. This staredown is horrible. 

“Fuck. Fine.” Point to Lacy. Eddie, arms out, gestures to the side of the bed furthest from the door. “Get comfy.”

In a scramble, you dig yourself under the comforter, pulling it all the way up to your chin. But now the shivering has started, and there’s no sign of stopping it– real, muscle seizing, teeth-chattering shivering. 

Eddie mumbles something like Jesus Christ, or God help me or some other plea for mercy, and slides in beside you, pitching himself at the very edge of the mattress. Arms folded over his chest. 

“You gotta quit shaking!” he hisses.

“I am fuh-reezing!” you seethe back. 

You kick your knees up into your arms, facing away from him and curling yourself in the tightest of balls and really, really working hard on calming down your wracking because, honestly? Little embarrassing.  

The mattress crreeaaaks. A shift in weight.

“Are you really that cold?”

You put that shaking to good use and nod in the affirmative. “Ice princess, right?”

Like you were putting this on for show. God, he’s such an asshole. 

The way he gulps is borderline cartoonish. “Okay.” A shaky breath. “But we have to not make this weird.”

The mattress shifts again and you feel his weight edge closer to you. You relax a little from the fetal position, head craning to peer over your shoulder. He was– hovering, as much as one could hover when lying in a horizontal position. 

“Munson, are you trying to cu–”

“Stop it. Stop making it weird. I’ll throw your ass out that window and it’s a cold snap and you’re already cold blooded so you’ll, like, double fucking freeze to death.”

But he wouldn’t. Of that you were fairly confident. 

Eddie’s hand edges toward your waist, positioning his front side ever closer to your back, which feels… not horrible at all, until–

“No. Nope. That’s not gonna work.”

You have to bite back a smile. Boys. Boys and their stupid, simple penises.

He flops back against the mattress, head angled to the ceiling. Awkwardly, he jigs an arm up, like some puppeteer’s yanking his string. His hand hits you square in the back of the head.

“Ow–”

“Shut up. Get under here.”

Slowly, and almost shyly, you rotate your shivering body a cool one-eighty degrees and find him concentrating resolutely on the ceiling. You glance up. There’s black mold on that ceiling. You wish you had noticed that before, but when up shit creek, et cetera. Inching and inching, you settle in next to him, head nestling into his armpit. 

His arm gingerly curves around you.

You bring your hands up to your mouth, fingers curled in fists like a little kid. 

Your leg brushes against his, accidentally, racking up the leg of his flannel pants. You can feel the hair against your bare calf– strong, ticklish.

And you can hear his heart.

Jackrabbity. Thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump.

So’s yours.

He is so warm. 

“Hey,” he whispers, tone a little softer this go around, “Can I ask you something?”

You do a tiny swallow and hope it’s not obvious. “I guess.”

“... Does it stink down there?”

Eddie Munson smells like cigarette and soap and that warm smell from the dryer. You inhale and hope it’s not obvious.

“Yes. You’re ripe. It’s disgusting.”

“Good. ‘night, Lacy.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

–

Eddie wakes up with a painful inhale and two of his rings tangled in your hair. 

Shit! Fucking shit! See, he was supposed to stay awake, stay alert, make sure Wayne didn’t like, suddenly develop a tendency to sleepwalk and stumble into his room while you were all… curled up next to him. With your freezing little ice blocks for feet. And your lashes fanned out across your cheeks. And your tiny little kitten snores, you goddamn bitch. 

But for as freaked out as he was–and is, girl in his actual human bed and everything–Eddie started nodding off here and there. And suddenly, here and there became the morning sun beaming directly into his stinking retinas from a crack in the blinds. 

He is now hyper-aware of your hand curled beneath his sternum and your boobs pressing against his side.

The following procedure needs to be handled delicately, like a bomb.

Because the other thing, among all the other other things, is Woody fuckin’ Woodpecker has come calling this morning too. 

Now, blue sky situation, ideal world, you’d just be able to scoot that hand a little lower and help him out with such an issue. But since he blew any shot of you wanting that along with any semblance of dignity he held in your eyes last night, that is a no-go. 

He needs a Bible level miracle to will himself soft and untangle his rings from your hair without you waking up. And he also needs to wake you up and smuggle you the ever-loving fuck out of his trailer. 

Careful, careful, careful– he starts picking strands out from around the silver, wondering how the hell he let himself just… tousle his hand around in your hair without, I’unno, getting turned into a pile of dust.

Then you make this noise– this little mewl, like mmnnrgh?, and Eddie’s entire body skips a beat. He needs to commit it to memory, record it to the ongoing multi-track mixtape he’s unconsciously been creating in his mind. Lacy’s Greatest Hits, featuring dick-in-fist chart toppers such as Who Died and Made You My Parole Officer?, Sorry, I Don’t Teach Remedial, and an eight hour loop of you saying his name. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

He wants to pull you on top of him, rings-in-hair and all, and kiss all the broken little mmnnrgh?s out of you ‘til you don’t have the breath to make any more. ‘til all you’ve got is his name on your tongue, your Siberian cold hands under his shirt. 

And if he keeps thinking thoughts like this, he’s gonna kill himself!

This is not helping. You are not helping. 

With some absolutely saint-worthy maneuvering on his part, Eddie gets his fingers free of your hair, but it’s not the gentle tug that wakes you up–

It’s a certain eardrum-perforating WHOOP-WHOOP.

Eddie Munson never thought he’d see the day where he was thanking whoever down there that’s lookin’ out for him for the sound of a cop car. Instant boner killer.

But also–

“Issat-thefuckin’-cops?” you slur at an almost normal volume, rising from underneath Eddie’s arm. 

He shushes you, all harsh and wiry and you’ve just woken up, bleary-eyed and not yet able to comprehend your surroundings. Which, boy howdy. He darts to the window like an animal alarmed, peering out through the blinds. 

“Oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“What’s happening?” you whisper-ask, slapping consciousness into yourself with a palm to either cheek.

“Lacy, on a scale from one to ten,” Eddie seethes, scanning his view from the window, “How likely is your mom to report you as a missing person in under 24 hours?”

Your stomach drops with an acidic, awful clunk. Going out and making a fool of us. Your mom, caring only when she absolutely has to. 

“Eleven.” 

Eddie turns his big, siren-eyed stare on you. 

“Then we gotta get you outta here. Like. Yesterday.”

You, now, you’re at a total loss. A total loss that’s made your blood turn bad under your skin, a total loss that has made you want to strangle your own mother, but a total loss where it actually matters. “I can’t believe she’d–!”

“Don’t matter, sweetheart! Does noooot matter– this the first time you ever got the cops called on you or something?”

You blink, remembering red and blue lights outside of your house in Loch Nora. But that wasn’t for you. Technically. Figures why you suddenly feel morning-sick nauseous, though. 

“Well, mazel tov,” Eddie says, misreading the memory and starting toward his door. 

You scramble for him, tugging at him by the bottom of his t-shirt. “Where are you going?!” 

“Running interference. We need a distraction,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Okay, sorry for not being an accomplished criminal.

“Interference. Yeah. You’re good at that.”

He hits you with a sneer. “Not my first rodeo. You post up by that window and watch– when the coast is clear, I’ll give you a signal.” 

“And then what?” 

“And then– and then what?!” Eddie gasps, totally incredulous that you’d even try to ask– to seek his guidance, or whatever, “And then you’re on your own, kid! I’m already about to throw a match into the powder keg of your stupid hot mom, I’m not gonna stick around to watch her blow up!”

A quiver escapes your pinched lips, one that nearly says don’t go. 

You’ve been taking care of yourself for a long time. That’s not the problem. The problem is tasting what it’s like when somebody helps you and realizing you haven’t had your fill. That, and your mother’s wrath which is your father’s wrath if you blow your cover and word gets back that you were hanging out in Al Munson’s boy’s trailer. 

Nuclear fallout. Worse than Eddie’s room. 

Eddie notices that you’ve been quiet a half-beat too long– and not just because you are both pressed for time, he puts his hands on your shoulders. Reassuringly, hurriedly. He shakes you, pump-pump, snap out of it. 

You’re still gripping the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Hey.” His voice is quieter. “This is gonna be fine.” 

“Before you go out there, I– I need to ask you something.” It’s all compulsion. Why are you helping me? Why are you being nice to me? I don’t deserve you being nice to me. 

Do you regret not kissing me last night? Do you regret not doing it right now? What am I supposed to do if I regret it too? 

“Lacy?”

“Did you fuck Cass Finnigan in the ass?” Oh, yeah, there it fucking is.

Complete bafflement. Eddie seems to completely short circuit, powering back to life with a groan. “Wh– how did you know that?”

You huff, because it’s all you can do. 

“I’m the goddamn Oracle of Delphi.” Finally, your vice grip of his shirt loosens. “Well. Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

Okay, insulting.

Eddie stalks out of the room, head reeling on several different strata levels. By someone’s infernal grace, Wayne has already left for the day–it’s 7AM; way to get a headfirst start on inconveniencing the boys in blue, Lacy’s mom–so Eddie has ample space to flail his arms around wildly, frustratedly, cursing himself out before grabbing his uncle’s insulated parka from the coat rack and heading out the front door. 

“Officers,” he says, half-wishing the zip on the jacket would choke him out so he wouldn’t have to put himself in the line of fire like this, and for what. “What’s uuuup?”

“Perfect.” That clipped yap comes from behind a cloud of smoke, teeming out of your mother huffing back a Dunhill. “There’s the little curr himself. Ask him where my daughter is, why don’t you.”

Well, now Eddie sees where you get it from. 

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to school, son?” one of the officers (Callahan, if Eddie’s last speeding-ticket-receiving memory serves) drawls, clearly not all too concerned with the happenings here. But, considering to your mom, who can resist a Blanche DuBois type in a crisis, right? Definitely runs in the family. 

Eddie lets his tongue loll out in an exaggerated hack-cough. “Sick day.” 

“Then you oughta be inside, right?” Cops, man. Our nation’s greatest thinkers.

“I would be,” he says, taking on the haughty tone of– well, of your mother, “was it not for that obnoxious weew-weew of yours rousing me from my sick bed.” He even clutches at the lapels of the coat, shivering for effect. That one’s for you, baby.

“And y’know what, while we’re on the subject of noise…” You weren’t wrong when you said that he’s good at running interference– because he’s good at being a nuisance. “I’ve been meaning to put a call into you guys. You guys, police guys.” Eddie moves to stand in the negative space between your trailers, however many feet it is. 

“See how much distance it is from here–” he points to his trailer where, if you’re not totally fucking this up, you’re watching from the slits in the blinds of his bedroom, “--to here?” Other arm goes up. He’s standing there like Christ the freakin’ Redeemer, and the cops’ attention is pulled right to him because he’s got priors and he might do something weird and they’re idiots. Your mom is all about Eddie too, forgetting to be concerned and distraught for half a moment. 

Munsons have that effect on people. 

“... yeah?” Callahan says, prompting a wild-eyed Eddie to go on. 

“I should not be there,” again, a nod to his own trailer, “and be able to hear Englebert Humperdinck from in here.” He waves a wild arm toward your trailer, edging a couple steps closer to it. Big ol’ brown eyes here locks his gaze on your momma. “Lady, that’s crazy. What are you doing playing ballads that loud?!” 

Lacy Sr goldfishes back at him, mouth bobbing, presumably-last-night’s lipstick bleeding. Still so very hot. 

“I mean, look, I get it, you’re writing a letter to daddy in jail–and that sucks, and if you need company, you know where to find me–but can’t you do it a little quieter?” Eddie says, a wholly believable impression of a flabbergasted man. The cops almost seem to buy it. 

“I am not in there playing records–” “Right, you’re too busy letting your daughter go missing under your nose. Listen, ma’am, this might not be Loch Nora, but around here, we got respect for our neighbors!” Oh, he is a honey-glazed Christmas ham. 

A honey-glazed Christmas ham that is advancing towards your trailer door and dragging the attention of the attending adults with him, indicating you with a subtle two-finger salute that you better get out of his. 

You snap the blinds back into place. Motherfucking go time. Until you realize that you have no shoes to speak of, just your book bag and whatever’s left of your steely reserve. You’d tossed your sneakers into that bag with your sodden cheerleader get-up– where the hell was that now? 

You shove on the sizes-too-big work boots by the door and make it happen. 

Eddie’s out there just pantomiming like his life depends on it and you take the steps in front of his trailer two at a time, as silently as is humanly possible– and fuck, it’s cold out here, but the cold helps! The cold makes you faster, more decisive, more agile simply down to the fact that you need to get out of the fucking cold. Adrenaline is sparking off at the base of your throat, making you a little dizzy but a lot determined. 

You catch Eddie’s eye as you sneak, sneak, sneak around the back of your trailer. He gives you a not entirely subtle thumbs up and yells, “Yes! Yes, I think it’s an issue pressing enough for the law, I am a goddamned high school senior! I can’t study if the dulcet tones of Paul Anka are breaking my focus every five minutes!” 

“Thought it was Englebert Humperdinck?”

“She’s got a catalog of records on her like you wouldn’t believe!” 

Then it’s just hands on the outside of the trailer, feeling around for like, a trap door, some loose paneling, anything. 

“Oh, so we couldn’t have sprung for a model with a freaking back door?!” But a window is kind of like a back door, you realize, and you’re a goddamn cheerleader. You’ve got a core of steel.

A lot of elbow grease is required to slide open the window of your tiny living room, but by god do you crank that thing. Army rolling onto the couch and into a bunch of boxes of breakables–living mausoleum, great to see you again–you freeze. That’s a lot of clattering. 

“Did you hear that?” Your mother’s voice. 

“I’m shocked you can hear anything at the volume you’re playing those Rat Pack records, duchess.” Eddie. You choke out a silent laugh as you dash to your bedroom.’

Alright. Alright. I gotta make it look like I was up to something… First word that comes to mind? Slutty. Because that’ll make the police no longer give a shit what you were doing (she brought it on herself) and effectively redirect your mother’s rage. 

Hands tear off the borrowed boxers and Stooges shirt and grab the first thing in your mess of half-unpacked clothes. A form-fitting jersey dress in dark blue, which you throw on without thinking of underwear. A calf-length pea coat on top of that. The nearest pair of loafers to go with. You’re not formulating this outfit, okay, but one cursory look in the mirror and it sure does scream walk of shame. 

But at least it doesn’t scream walk of shame from trailer across the way. 

Then, your front door creaks. “No, I know I heard something in here…”

Fuck! Fucking fucker! As delicately as humanly possible–so, not very–you ease yourself out of your own bedroom window, book bag in tow. 

I’ve gotta make this look believable.

You land on the ground with a soft thump, mere feet from your front door. There, Eddie is holding up the rear of the party walking into your trailer. You, not a goddamned second to lose, break into a soft jog and do a fucking make-believe loop around Eddie’s place, heart hammering in your ears. 

You, a professional in willing your own reality, call out a super convincing, “Mom?” as you approach your trailer from the opposite side. 

As if you just got here. 

“Lacy?!” she squawks, darting right back out from whence she came. She barrels past Eddie, the two Hawkins police officers following close behind. 

“What is… going on?” you ask. Lying– you come by it natural. 

“Where the hell have you been?!” your mom shrieks, and she would slap the shit out of you if she could. You see that much in her fiery eyes. “You know, I came home this morning to a key broken off in the lock of our door and you were nowhere to be found! Nowhere!”

You cannot help yourself, unable to stomach her self-righteous display of motherly concern. “So where the hell have you been ‘til this morning, Mom?”

Her mouth hardens into a line. Comin’ real close to getting backhanded in front of the cops. 

“I came back after cheerleading last night,” you explain, eyes going all earnest and wide as you include the cops in your little spin– paying special attention to Callahan, because he’s not not a little cute, okay? “It was raining like crazy, and I was trying to unlock the door and–you know how that lock sticks, Mom–my key just broke off! In the door! I was like, gee, what do I do? And you weren’t home, Mom. And I had no idea how I could reach you. Mom.” The second she gets you alone, she’s going to strangle you. Worth it, for the look on her face. “So I went to a friend’s.”

Callahan seems to drink in your disheveled appearance. “A friend’s, huh?”

“Just a friend’s, Officer,” you simper, batting your eyelashes, trying to steam up the little piggy’s horn-rimmed glasses. “Promise.”

In the near background, Eddie Munson silently gags. You have to force the corners of your mouth down to keep from smiling.

“I’m so sorry to have wasted your time, gentlemen.” Your mom’s chipped manicure tightens around your bicep. “Get inside that house. Now.” 

“Hardly a house. Doesn’t even have a goddamn back door.” 

The cops give a good ol’ salute and get to getting, their quota for community service just about totalled for the day. Passing by Eddie on your way to the front door, your mom rolls her eyes. “Typical.”

Over your shoulder, you throw him a twisty little grimace. A mouthed thank you. Seriously.

“You ladies keep that racket down, now,” he calls and watches your mom muscle you past the doorway. 

Slam goes the door, the trailer seeming to shudder with it. And then it’s quiet. Still. Eddie sighs out a big, cold lungful, his eyes trained on your front door. Without the immediate distraction of you, the memory of last night’s hushed and furrowed conversation with Wayne gathers over him like a stormcloud, heavy with thunder, pregnant with rain. 

Your dad called.

Al Munson never calls. He just shows up. He never calls, unless he’s trying to take the temperature of a place. A place that’s recently been occupied by a family he had a significant part in completely blowing up– yours.

Eddie has… no idea what he’s supposed to do about that. 

Because Eddie Munson deals in absolutes. 

And he, unfortunately, evidently, obviously, absolutely cannot stay away from you now. 

–

So following the events of that fateful Friday, you had no good goddamn idea how to behave. You spend the weekend without a single sighting of Eddie Munson, much to your confusing chagrin, and you really did try your very best to behave normally about this. 

But for the first time in a long time, you were completely alone. 

No chittering friends to distract you. No stilted lunches with your mother. No conversations into rusted handsets through shatterproof glass. 

You drifted around town, retreading haunts that really should have elicited some kind of feeling in you. They used to, y’know, when you escaped the neon of Starcourt (before it burned down) for the mothball-scented stacks of the bookstore.

Which, fittingly enough, was just called The Bookstore. Way to establish a town-wide monopoly. 

Toeing around the shelves, chipped nails clutching a Simone de Beauvoir book you’d already read but lost and didn’t exactly intend to buy, you willed yourself to give into the curse of familiarity. To woo yourself with recognizable surroundings. To pretend like your whole worldview wasn’t skewed by a Stooges t-shirt still lying under your pillow. 

The boots, you’d left in an inconspicuous position by the front door. 

The rest of it, though… 

Consciously, you’re reaching into the shelves of the philosophy section, reorganizing the whole thing because they’ve completely blended the Eastern and Western flavors (and even have a little theology thrown in there, for Chrissake). Unconsciously, you’re thinking about how you’ve been wearing that Stooges shirt in some respect since Thursday. How Friday night found it rucked up around your breasts as you squirmed under the covers, two fingers in radial motion in your panties, muffling gasps into your shoulder. Thinking about him gripping you by the shoulders, leaning into you in the half-light, his hair fanned out on his pillow as his arm sloped around you. How Saturday found you with such white-hot shame that you couldn’t even think about him grinning at you without cringing. How Sunday, today, in the bookstore, finds you wearing it under your bottle green sweater. 

You’ve lost your mind. Your entire mind. The Woman Destroyed, indeed.

So, maybe it’s better that you’re spending the weekend solo. But of course, the moment that thought occurs and you yank a copy of Fear and Trembling off the shelf, you’re looking down the barrel of something just awful.

Red-rimmed eyes, bucketing tears and sniffling, there’s goddamn Nancy Wheeler. Full on weeping, in your bookstore. What’s worse is, there’s no passing this off– there’s no pretending you never saw it, like you normally would, because she makes direct eye contact with you. 

“Ohgh–!” is the noise she makes, a kind of snotted-up exclamation, a congested gasp of surprise at your own dissociative gaze intruding on her private moment. 

God, you’re so tempted to just slam the Kierkegaard book back in place and high tail it out of the place. 

But you don’t. 

From your confessional box-esque view, you can see that weeping Wheeler is clutching a copy of Little Women.   

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, the bookstore always making you take on a library-hush tone of voice “They don’t all die of scarlet fever.”

It catches Nancy off-guard; she lets loose a little heh-heh, despite her crumpled expression. “I know,” she says, voice all uneven from her tearfulness, “I’ve read it a million times.”

“Which part got you this go around?” you ask. “The book burning? Meg and that pitiful violet silk debacle? Jo’s sham marriage?”

“Jo doesn’t end up in a sham marriage,” Nancy spikes, wiping under her eyes with a delicate knuckle. You wish to god this girl would turn ugly just once. It’s sickening. 

But you were right on this one, and you knew it. “Does so. She spends her whole life refuting the idea of getting all shacked up like Meg, only to settle down with a man, what, twice her age?”

“She loves him.”

“Does she? I mean, she loved Laurie too, in a way.”

“You think she should have ended up with Laurie.” Nancy says this to you in a way that’s almost condescending. A tear drips off the tip of her perfect nose. Fucking joke.

“Don’t be so goddamned simplistic, Wheeler,” you sigh, rounding the sagging bookcase so you can meet her in her aisle. Because you’re right, and you’d like to be face-to-face when you tell her so. “Jo shouldn’t have ended up with anybody.” 

Her brow crinkles. “That’s way too sad.”

“Really?” you scoff. You’d have expected Nancy Wheeler to cop to a narrative undertone a little better than that. “All Jo wants is freedom– to live as she pleases and write as she pleases. It’s totally diminutive to just marry her off in the end. Jo deserves to be alone. Make her life completely her own. She doesn’t need Friedrich, or Laurie. She’s enough– she’s Jo March, for Jesus’ sake.”

A seed in this triggers something in Nancy and lets out a big old yelping sob– one that makes Ivana, the take-no-shit owner of The Bookstore, lean over the counter and glower at them. Library hush, remember? You take a couple of steps forward, shielding Nancy from view. 

“Okay, what did I do? What’s going on here?” you ask– you kind of hiss, actually. 

“I’m sor– no, it’s nothing, it’s stupid!” she blubbers. “Just… God, they all get to be a lot sometimes, don’t they?”

And immediately, you know exactly what she’s talking about. Your friends. Your friends loved to shit on Nancy Wheeler, both to her face and behind her back– though it was more of the latter on this on-again phase of her and Steve’s rocky romance. Steve had shared some not-stern-enough (as far as you’re concerned) words with you guys, basically asking you to lay off Nance. Yes, she’s a nerd. Yes, she kind of thinks she’s better than you guys. Yes, she kind of can’t hang. But she’s Steve’s girl, and that’s what matters. 

To her credit, she’s made an effort with you all this time, despite all the ribbing. Despite your pointed coldness toward her. 

She doesn’t see kindness as a weakness. You do. 

It occurs to you that you’re wrong. 

“Tell me about it, sister,” you mutter, hugging de Beauvoir and Kierkegaard to your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs, meeting your achingly dry eyes with her big, sparkling wet ones. You hate a pretty crier. She looks like a fucking woodland creature. “For how they all treated you, I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

Ah, because you were victim to some not-so-sly digs too. Nancy was probably relieved the heat was off her for once. 

“I believe that,” you say, and you do. She’s got no real good reason to lie to you, especially being that you’ve been such a pill the entire time you’ve known her. “But what did we expect, y’know. Lie down with dogs and all that shit.” 

“Right,” she nods. Peers at the books in your hands. “That’s pretty… heavy stuff.” 

“What, this?” you flash her the Kierkegaard, “Wait, shit, this isn’t Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas!” 

Nancy laughs as high and clear as a bell, and you feel kind of… good about it. Proud of yourself. The sound dies between you, a touch of awkwardness coloring the moment. 

“Listen. Nancy.” Your tone takes on a seriousness; this is advice you usually save for yourself, but… you don’t know. You’re feeling charitable. Inspired by recent events, maybe. “All of these people are bottoming out in the middle, okay? You don’t need to worry about them. Their relevance in your life is… fleeting, at best.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Yes,” you tell her, and mean it, “Always have.”

“Didn’t always seem that way,” she says, a tilt to her head. Her bloodshot eyes are studying you. “You seemed pretty wrapped up in them, from what I saw.”

“I’m a chameleon, girl. I adapt to survive.”

“Is that how you feel about… all of them?” There’s weight behind that question. “Bottoming out in the middle?” 

She means Steve. You can tell she’s also afraid that she thinks the same thing. Sweet, devastatingly handsome, unambitious Steve. Lionhearted, driven, stratospheric Nancy. She’s going places. He’s going to his shift at Family Video.

“You’re not ready to hear my thoughts on that,” you say, reaching for the book in her hand. Out comes your fountain pen and you’re scribbling in the inside cover. “But you should call me, when you are.”

“Okay, but— you know this means I have to buy this now,” Nancy chuckles.

Amateur.

“Not necessarily,” you say, taking a step closer and slyly slipping the book into the open tote she’s carrying. You pat the wide-eyed Wheeler on the shoulder. 

“Sometimes the five finger discount chooses you.”

–

Monday morning finds Eddie Munson not just on time, but early for first period. He’s here before you are, sinking further and further into his seat as he anticipates your arrival. Of all the freakish things he’s done in his whole entire life, this behavior is the freakiest. 

But he couldn’t help it. It was a weekend of strategically watching through the blinds so he could avoid you if you left the trailer, and sometimes catching you watching him back. Though, your blinds still aren’t fixed, so it’s not like there was some vice-versa catching going on. What? Shut up. It’s been a confusing forty-eight hours. 

He’s slept so poorly that he’s actually hallucinated you in that cursed Stooges t-shirt a couple of times, pacing past your bedroom window. 

These visions have led him to have quite the cramp in his dominant hand. 

Which is not great, because he’s probably going to have to re-take this pop quiz that Kaminsky is apparently handing back today. 

And a cherry on top of this weirdo shit cake is Ronnie Ecker is sitting diagonally across from him at the top of the classroom, looking all concerned and stuff. 

He hasn’t told her anything. Not about you and your impromptu sleepover at the trailer, not about his dad’s looming and uncertain return, nothing. 

He’d gone over to her place on Saturday to work out some kinks in some Hellfire stuff, but he’d spent most of the time standing in the middle of the living room, zoning out at the TV as an episode of Murder, She Wrote rolled on. 

“Dude, what’s the fucking matter with you?”

“Wh– nothing! Angela Lansbury, man, she’s really. Uh. Magnetic.”

But as much as Ronnie had pressed, and she had pressed because she’s a presser, no juice was coming out of this little orange! No siree fuck. Eddie had done such a good and painful job of saying nothing that Ronnie had completely sold herself on the theory that the black mold in his bedroom had finally entered his brain. 

Which, I mean, eventually it will, right. 

Point is, Eddie is now shitting himself because he knows that the second you walk through that classroom door, it’s gonna be written all over his face. Maybe not in such excruciating detail as I helped her out of the rain and she put her head on my chest and she smoked a cigarette so pretty I almost died and we listened to my–our?!–favorite Tom Waits record and we almost kissed but I did technically sleep with her if you want to be super nit-picky about it, but. Ronnie’ll know something. 

And Eddie has an idea how Ronnie will react– and it matters to him how Ronnie will react. Always has, always will. And she is going to beat him to death with her Trapper Keeper, probably, screaming bloody murder about what a moron he is for letting this happen. 

But also, she might not. Because she’s always kind of admired you from a distance, too. She would kind of be all shy whenever she came out of a Biology class that you two shared. It was super weird, because Ronnie doesn’t do the crush thing. 

Is this just the deadly nightshade effect you have on people, or what?

Fuckshit. Shitfuck. As if he willed your arrival into existence, there you are. Breezing through the door in some belted velvet getup, with your shiny little shoes. They’ve got ribbons attached, winding around your ankles like you’re a ballerina or some bullshit, a terrible, sultry ballerina with daggers for eyeballs that are aiming right at Eddie. 

He diverts his interest to his textbook for the first time in his academic career. 

And he prays, prays, that you still don’t want to acknowledge him in public– that you’ll just sit down in front of him and ignore him. 

Somebody down there likes him.

You take your seat, leaning back further than you need to and flicking your hair all over his desk. It’s almost like every other Monday, but this time it feels pointed. 

“Well,” Mr Kaminsky sighs, following you in the door and looking as bedraggled as ever. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.” 

He clicks open his briefcase, clearly imagining the silence in the classroom to be worth much more than it is. “Some of the worst quiz answers I’ve seen on record.” 

Your hair smells familiar, Eddie thinks. Like a mixture of your rich, smoky floral perfume and his shampoo. 

“That’s what you get for pulling a shittily written paragraph-answer pop quiz on a half-taught section, dumbass,” Eddie hears you mutter. 

Kaminsky calls your name. “Something you wanna share with us?”

Eddie watches your shoulders stiffen. “We’re not even halfway through the section, Mr. K. How are we supposed to answer questions on something we haven’t been taught?” 

“Hilarious, coming from you,” Kaminsky says, stabbing a finger in your direction, “because you’re one of the only aces.” 

“Just because I passed doesn’t mean I agree with the way I was taught,” you level, and Eddie can see by the way your shoulder blades shift that you’re folding your arms. “I read ahead, anyway.” 

“Great. You can continue that independent learning streak,” Kaminsky smirks, “in detention.”

“Oh, that is bullshit!” 

Christ, Eddie wants to kiss you between those tense little shoulderblades. All the way down your spine.

“Yeah? Be my guest–Lacy? They call you Lacy, right?–and take two. Now, if there’s no more objections to my teaching methods? No?”  

Thunk. A stack of papers lands on Ronnie Ecker’s desk. “As the only other person who scored a hundred and hasn’t given me any lip, go ahead and pass those back, Miss Ecker.” 

Ronnie, god love her, does as she’s told. But not before doing a little rifling through the stack and scribbling something on one of the tests. The papers sail back through the classroom in a whirlwind of white, take one, pass it along. 

You’ve got Eddie’s, and you hold it over your shoulder without so much as turning to look at him. Which is what he wanted, what he needs, sure, but what he actually wants is for you to accidentally graze his hand so he has an excuse to hold it and maybe eat it.

He snatches the test back, all nerves. Unsurprisingly, a big fat D for duuuuhhhh plants itself in red like an ugly lipstick kiss at the top of the page. Eh, at least it wasn’t an F. You take the victories where you can get ‘em these d–

All of a sudden, you’re snapping back around, grabbing Eddie’s paper back from his desk. 

“Hey–!” he hisses, almost knocked unconscious by another bloom of your perfume. “What’re you doing!” 

You, again, do not even deign to look back. You just stretch a single index finger back in his general direction– a Lacy-coded sign to fuck off, I’m busy. You hunch over the paper for the remainder of class, seemingly checking and re-checking and going at it with your precious fountain pen. 

He spends the next forty minutes in a cold sweat, mind racing, until the bell finally rings. 

Then it’s a dash, with Eddie trying to grab you and you heading straight for Kaminsky and the both of you just slamming into his desk. 

What in the everloving fuck could she be doing now? 

“This is a C grade,” you state, plain and simple. Kaminsky just flops his khaki-wearing ass into his chair. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Eddie’s test. You mis-graded him.” Wait, this is– is she helping me? “You docked him points here, here and here when the answers were perfectly fine.” 

“I think I know how to grade a test, Lacy. I’ve been doing this, for a job mind you, since before you were even a twinkle in your convict father’s eye.” Woah, Kaminsky. Straight for the jugular. 

But then Eddie notices you seize in the tiniest of flinches and decides he kind of wants to punch out this teacher. “Look, hold up, we don’t–”

“Fine. Compare it with mine.” You smack your test paper, with its circled red A, on the desk next to Eddie’s. He squints, and he recognizes it, because he’d recognize Ronnie Ecker’s handwriting anywhere– up top of your sheet, scribbled, HARD AGREE– TOTAL BULLSHIT. “They’re basically the same answers. I mean, same content, same major point– the sentence structure leaves a little to be desired, but he’s got the right idea.” 

Snared.

“Wait, really?” Eddie’s eyebrows raise. Okay, even he didn’t know that. He barely remembers even taking this test. He can’t be sure he didn’t cheat, but he’s not about to mention that now… 

You look at him, right at him, for the first time today. And shrug, with your one little shoulder, like you love to do when you’re too cool to speak. 

“And you give a shit… why?” Kaminsky says, asking the question we’re all pondering. 

“Peer tutoring,” you tell him, enunciating those words like you’ve taken elocution lessons. You could’ve. You’re, apparently, full of surprises. “I’m rehabilitating my image.”

Kaminsky is going red, red, and redder under that collar. 

“Which is why I won’t be able to make it to detention. Either of ‘em.” 

“Now, you listen to me, you little hoity-toity madam–” the older man says, shooting out of his chair to lean almost nose-to-nose with you. Eddie reaches a hand out, to either pull you back or slap this dude, but you sense it coming. Push it away. Ow. 

“Mr Kaminsky,” you say, all mock gasp, “What is Ms Kelley gonna say when I tell her that you’re getting in the way of me enriching my fellow students’ academic experience? Is that really the kind of environment we want to foster here at Hawkins High?”

You hit the teacher with a sneer of a pout, boxing him right down to size. And Kaminsky actually retreats, like physically backs off. 

“Fine. Fine.” The teacher grabs a red marker from the cup on his desk, harshly scribbling on the ‘D’ on Eddie’s test and marking up the whole paper with a massive fuck-you ‘C’. “Best of luck with that rehabilitation, Lacy. If this is the company you’re keeping, you’re gonna need it.” 

“Neato threat, real original!” you chirp, and it’s all venom in those vowels as you gather the tests back, “Knew you’d see the light, Mr K.” 

Eddie, of course, follows your hard little steps out of the room like a loyal mutt. But not before he turns and aims a whaddaya gonna do! flavored shrug at Kaminsky. “Go Tigers?”

“What?” In the hallway, he struggles to keep up with you in a sea of jostling students. “And how?” Dodging a backpack. “And–” Marry me? Tripping a freshman. “Gareth! Watch where you’re going, man!”

“Kaminsky wants to play hide the klobása with Kelley.”

“The what?”

“Czech sausage. He’s Czech– Christ. He wants to bang her.” 

“Oh.” Get in line, my man. He watches you twist your combination lock with a grace that’s frankly unnecessary. He’s fidgeting where he stands. So much for avoiding you, but he was doomed from the start in that regard. “That was– woah, back there. Like, I think you might have just single handedly raised my GPA.”

“Good. So we’re square. Indy County Tech Center, here you come.” You deposit your books, grab some more, and flick his newly-graded test at him so that he has to catch it in midair. Then, a slam! of your locker door and you’re gone, making tracks down the hallway in your little ballerina shoes. 

“Lacy– Lacy, wait up.” Eddie finally falls in step with you, following wherever you’re going. “I’m feeling some hostility here.”

“Wow, point to Munson. How perceptive,” you snit, not meeting his eyes.

“Are you mad at me?”

“How could I be mad at you? I don’t even know you.”

“Lacy, don’t be a bi–”

That makes you stop dead, stabbing a finger in the air near his chest.

“Do not fucking call me a bitch.” You mean it. God, but you mean it, and he can see it; you’re about to boil over, just about holding it together. Your big eyes flutter at him and he feels like he doesn’t have kneecaps. You suck in a jagged breath, hard expression faltering. “I feel like an idiot. If you really wanna know. I thought–...”

“You thought what?” he asks, and he kind of knows, but he also thinks that might be blowing shit way out of proportion. You look down, tugging a piece of lint from your sleeve. Eddie verbally nudges at you, because if he touches you, he might a) crumble or b) be on the receiving end of some blunt-force trauma. That binder you’re holding is huge. “Lacy. You thought what?”

“I just–... You ignored me all weekend,” you say in this little mouse voice he was not expecting to come from you. Except, he had heard it before. I’m cold.

But so what? She’s– she’s always cold.

“And? You’ve ignored me, like, my whole life.”

“I know that, but…” This is difficult for you to choke out. Bodies pass into classrooms behind you and soon enough, you two are alone in the hallway. Again. But there’s no sniping, no snarling, no cur-like behavior with your teeth exposed. “I didn’t hate being in your trailer.” Oh my god. Oh my god. “Hanging… out with you, I didn’t–” Holy shit. Eddie does not know where to look, what to feel, what to think, what to do. And he shows it as much, kind of just gap-mouthed staring at you, willing himself to say something smooth– or at least nice. But when you glance back up at him, finally, it’s a look of defeat. 

“Look, whatever. Congrats on your C. We’re even. So you can forget it.” And you move around him, ducking through the door of AP French. 

Not you can forget it, like in your dreams, Munson, but you can forget it like it was right there and you blew it, buddy.

The classroom door clicks closed and Eddie bends at the midriff, feeling like he’s been stabbed. 

–

You felt like you were trying to digest a rock until the final bell rang– though, c’mon, you didn’t know what you could have possibly expected. Eddie Munson is Eddie Munson, and you’re you. And you’d thought it yourself, it was an instance of temporary insanity. Dawn broke, the harsh light of day illuminating all the reasons why you two being anything less than contentious semi-strangers was a logical impossibility. 

So what if you wanted to kiss him. You’ve wanted to kiss a lot of people and haven't done it. It hadn’t killed you. 

However, it hadn’t gnawed at you like this either. 

Nancy Wheeler called, by the way, which means she stole that book off the back of your advice–that, or paid for it once you left the store, a flurry of charming apologies fluttering around her head like Snow White’s attendant birds. Typical. But she’d called, and you two had had an awkward forty five second conversation where she asked you if you’d mind awfully if you looked over her latest piece for the Streak. 

Something about spotlighting female business owners in Hawkins. 

“Coffee’s on me!” she’d said brightly, so super-duper keen. You all-of-a-sudden hated to put a damper on her, so you said sure. 

“But I’ll be uncompromising. I want you to know that.”

“Of course. That’s why I asked you.”

It occurred to you then that Nancy Wheeler, in her way, might actually look up to you. 

How fucking weird.

And sure enough, there she was, waiting for you in the parking lot once you gathered all your stuff from your locker. She leans against her car, wearing a corduroy skirt and a sweater that you don’t even really hate, and throws you a casual wave. The thing about Nancy and her consistent commitment to kindness toward you was she wasn’t even asinine about it– she never chased you around the playground, begging you to put on her friendship bracelet. If she did, you could actually hate her. Hate her for being cloying and desperate. You could call her all the shitty words for saccharine in the book and feel justified. 

But that is, regrettably, not the case. 

You almost say something like, Thank god your car is out of the shop, I’m sick to death of walking in these shoes, before you remember you made up that thing about Nancy’s car being in the shop. In order to skip class with Eddie Munson. 

And just as you’re crossing the lot to her wood-paneled station wagon (family car, you’re guessing?), that very same Eddie Munson skids directly into your path. Like, gasping for breath. 

“You di–huhh, you didn’t hear me calling you?” he says, straining against his lung capacity. 

“Jesus!” you jump, “No!” 

You really didn’t. You must have rage-tuned him out. 

“Oh, right. Oh, fuck, you walk so fast. Gimme a second here,” Eddie wheezes, hands on his knees. “You– you want a ride home?”

You look over his shoulder to a very perplexed looking Nancy Wheeler and find yourself fighting a smile. Motioning for her to wait a sec, you turn back to Eddie. “I’m good. I got a thing with Wheeler.” 

“Wheeler the priss?”

“And Lacy the bitch,” you remind him of that epithet he’d pinned on you like a corsage. 

He clocks it and grins. Eddie’s grin lands like a dollop of cream in your otherwise shitty coffee. You do not like this about him. At least, not right now.

“The dynamic duo.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna go solve crimes,” you roll your eyes, kind of over the whole bit already, “You’re making us late. What do you want, Munson?”

Eddie holds up a ringed finger, uno momento por favor, and digs around in his pockets. Candy and gum wrappers and an old, crushed cigarette soft pack all fall out during his cavity search until finally, he produces a crumpled piece of bright yellow paper and thrusts it toward you. 

“It’s no Harrington kegger, but you are cordially invited.”

It’s a flyer. Corroded Coffin, Live at– Oh. Oh. It’s been painstakingly hand-doodled and photocopied, the pencil marks where mistakes have been erased still visible on the print. 

This is his band.  

You, in only the way you can, study it with a quirked brow– a look of dismissal, one might even say. Your eyes slowly raise to meet Eddie’s, who looks as if he’s about to start hopping from foot to foot, there’s so much nervous energy thrumming under his leather jacket. 

Fwump. You palm the flyer into his chest. You nearly feel the physical sensation of his heart sinking. 

Then, you pluck your fountain pen from thin air, uncapping it with your teeth. 

“There’s an ‘e’ in Roane County, dumbass.” 

With the delicate nib, you scratch the letter onto the misspelled place name, using his chest as an upright writing desk. You can actually feel his breathing becoming all uneven. His grin rounds out its corners and becomes a smile, and you can tell the difference between those two expressions now, apparently. 

“Does that mean you’ll come?”

“That means I know where it is,” you say, capping your pen and leaving him clutching the flyer to his chest. 

“Friday! Ten PM!” Eddie yells after you, hand cupped around his mouth. “Roane County Quarry! With an ‘e’!” 

Nancy meets you with a look of total bemusement as you finally tug open the passenger door of your car. She watches Eddie watch you, almost tripping over his Reeboks as he walks backwards toward his beat up van. And you read every inch of the look she’s giving you. 

“He is my neighbor, Wheeler.”

“Yeah! He seems like a… super nice neighbor. Really friendly.”

“So not ready to talk about that yet,” you mutter, beating back a blush that’s threatening to color your cheeks. 

Nancy giggles– bubbly like phosphate, friendly-teasing, not pointed, not mean. Weird feeling. She turns her keys in the ignition. “But when you are, will you call me?”

–

You’d swear Corroded Coffin were about to be on the cover of Circus, the way Eddie has been… well, Eddie-ing out at rehearsal all week. He’s thrown not one, but two temper tantrums about the boys not sounding tight enough (“We need this clown car tight, you clowns!”) and has received not one, not two, but three perfectly aimed drumsticks to the head, courtesy of Ronnie Ecker. 

The third one was just target practice, but he earned the other two. 

“What has crawled up your ass, dude?” Jeff, a sophomore that can admittedly out play every single one of them in bass and every other instrument, demands. 

“I bet I know what crawled up his ass,” Ronnie glowers from behind her snares, “Or should I say who.”

Now, Ronnie hadn’t witnessed Eddie giving you that flyer, or your copyediting work on it, but she had that preternatural thing where she could feel it when Eddie was out and about doing some dumb stupid dumbass bullshit. Like those dogs that can detect earthquakes. She’s full time on the beat detecting earthquakes. 

“Cool it, Jessica Fletcher.” Maybe Angela Lansbury really did do a number on him. “I quite simply want us to sound good, for once. Not Hideout good– good-good. The Quarry is a big deal! Like, a literal big cavernous deal. You want a dry run for the Garden? This is our shot, maestros.” 

“Are you seriously comparing Roane County Quarry to Madison Square Garden?” Cyrus, their second guitarist and first-rate vocalist, says with narrowed eyes. “Something did crawl up your ass.”

“And die,” Ronnie agrees.

“And now the death stench is in your brain,” Cyrus adds.

“And the stench has turned toxic.”

“And the toxicity is killing off your brain cells one by one by one.”

“And we’re gonna get on stage at the Quarry, and your head is gonna explode–”

“Just like Scanners,” Cyrus and Ronnie finish in such an eerie unison that it actually raises goosebumps on Eddie’s arms. 

“Fuck, are they serious?” sweet, gentle, naive Jeff asks, brown eyes flared in alarm. Something about being a child prodigy in one arena makes you so desperately gullible in everything else.

“No!” Eddie barks. “We just– we’ve gotta be good.” 

Because what would Lacy say about what Robert Christgau would say about us?

Something cutting like a scythe, brilliant like a diamond. 

But for your part, you don’t know much about metal. 

I mean, you’ve got a vague familiarity with the genre– you’ve got a subscription to Rolling Stone and Creem (RIP), for god’s sake. The roots were far more accessible to you as a whole; ‘Smoke on the Water’ by Deep Purple has the kind of intro you can paint your nails to, for example, and ‘Immigrant Song’ by Led Zeppelin feels like hotwiring Billy Hargrove’s car and driving it over a cliff (in a good way).

The absolute thrash of it all, though? Your one musical blindspot. And you weren’t quite sure how keen you were to lift the veil on it 

Regardless, you decided you were going. You were going to show up at Roane County Quarry, ‘e’ included, and dip your toe into the kind of lawfully insouciant scene you’d always fantasized about, ever since you read your first Kerouac.

Granted, the metalhead-and-allied contingent of Hawkins weren’t exactly the Beat poetry set, but you doubted they’d be boring. You imagined a lot of leather incorporated into the outfits. At least one of them would have a switchblade. Maybe there’d be a Hells Angel there. 

The only way to know is to go. 

Something Eddie possibly failed to consider, being that he has molten lava in place of a bloodstream, is that it is positively arctic on this fateful Friday night. So sub-polar is the goddamned weather that you have to dig out your warmest coat. 

Your warmest coat isn’t exactly the desired attire for a thrash rock show happening in a quarry. 

“What the hell is she wearing?” come the murmurs as you slip your way through the modest (but gathering?) crowd, all finding heat around fires set in trashcans and mouthfuls sunk from bottles in brown paper bags. Girls with hair so gelled and spiked and backcombed that it looks sharp and flammable give you dirty looks, and the looks their boyfriends give you are even dirtier– and not even in that way! Misogyny in rock and roll, alive and fucking well!

You spot Eddie Munson in the near distance and bend down, grab a pebble, and pelt it at his denim-and-leather clad back. He spins, alarmed, on alert, and does a bad job of dimming how he lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree when he sees who’s launching projectiles at him. You. He’s all lit up, looking at you. 

You glance away. Like, yes. The miracle has arrived. Calm down.

Then his face falls a teensy bit.

“What–” 

“If you ask me what I’m wearing, I’m going to scream,” you say, crossing your fuzzy arms over your fuzzy chest. “And we’re in a quarry. Sound carries.” 

Eddie reaches out, hand all gnarled like Dracula or something, and pets you on the arm of your coat. 

“Guys, get over here.”

“No–” you start, but all of a sudden, all four members of Corroded Coffin are taking turns stroking the arm of your fur coat. “Stop that. It bites.” 

“Eddie, can you confirm or deny that it bites?” Ronnie Ecker says in a tone you’ve never heard Ronnie Ecker use before– knowing, biting, a little nasty. You’re not sure whether or not to be offended by that, but… you like this look on her. 

Or maybe you just like when anyone gives Eddie Munson shit. 

“He’s never had the privilege,” you say and shoot Ronnie a sly look. Just to test the waters. She blushes. Point to Lacy.

“Alright, let me go ahead and nip this in the bud before it begins,” Eddie cuts in, manually removing Ronnie’s petting hand from your upper arm. He flourishes a hand out in front of you, a half-bow, a consummate dork. “We’re almost on. May I escort you to your seat, m’lady?”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, committed to the contrarian bit for the time being, but let him lead you all the same. “They reserve seating in this ditch?”

“Not for everybody!”

“Why am I getting special treatment?” You don’t know what answer you’re expecting to that question. 

“Lacy,” Eddie levels, stopping dead at his van and looking you dead in your face, “you wore a mink coat to a metal show. You’re not a VIP, you’re a liability.” 

“What, dead animals aren’t hardcore enough for you people anymore?” you drawl as he props open the passenger door of the van. You take his hand, as you’ve taken his hand a handful of times now, in a way where it’s almost ordinary. But then, halfway in and halfway out of the van, you pause. 

“Oh, no. This just won’t do.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Eddie mumbles. 

“Well, I’m not gonna be able to see shit from here.” 

“Where do you–”

“I’m getting on the roof, asshole.” 

You slam the door on him, rolling down the passenger window. All hands and swinging limbs, careful not to snag your tights on the peeling paintwork, you clamber out the window and up onto the roof of his van. Settling your ass down, crossing your legs over his windshield, you flash him one of those winning smiles. He smiles back.

There’s a buzzing in your stomach. It’s not from the flask of whiskey you’ve been sipping from, but you’re willing to lie. 

“Cheerleader,” he teases. 

“Break a leg, Munson,” you say, cheersing that aforementioned flask to him. “Snap it clean off for me.” 

There’s not a whole lot of pre-show faffing about (you didn’t time your entrance to hang around) before Corroded Coffin takes the stage. And god, the sound is horrendous. You can barely hear the banter up top (winning, you’re sure) from the band’s frontman– which, to your shock and awe, is not Eddie. It’s a fellow senior named Cyrus Painter (great name, by the way), who you vaguely recognize from Math and from the Hellfire table you crashed that one time. He doesn’t seem to hold much of a stage presence beyond glowering and muttering darkly into a microphone that’s barely picking up his voice, but all importance of that seems to go right out the window as soon as they hit the opening chords of their first song. You think it might be called ‘Whiplash’. 

And it’s good. 

It’s almost perverse, how technically accomplished it is– like, high school bands should not be this technically accomplished, but then you twig that Ronnie is in band. Like, the marching band. And so is that other kid on the bass, the one who they featured in the Streak for winning a bunch of teen virtuoso awards. Cyrus carries the song with the beautiful grace of a wrecking ball, but–and you might be biased–the one that’s putting the texture on this whole operation is the lead guitarist. 

Eddie’s not in band. Eddie’s not technically perfect. But it’s Eddie that’s throwing shots of gasoline down the hatch of this fire-breathing dragon. This would be way too neat of an outfit if it wasn’t for him, fingers flying so fast over his fretboard that he barely touches it, scuzzing up the surrounds of the thrash metal with an almost bluesy warmth. 

Warmth. Of course it’s warmth. Of course it’s searing fingers and sweat you can almost see teeming from underneath his bandana, even in the sub-zero temperatures. It’s Eddie, throwing his whole self into this. 

A shot of pure admiration followed by a twinge of envy. 

You wonder how he does that. 

The song concludes, barely leaving time for whoops and applause before they launch into another. They’re laser-focused, locked in like Chrissy Cunningham in that goddamn basket toss, and you kind of get it. It’s not for you, but you kind of get it. This is sword swinging fucking music, slay the monster fucking music. 

Dungeons and Dragons fucking music. 

It’s all build, all fantasy, all story, all rage and rush and ravenousness. And before you know it, it’s all over, and you’re applauding– applauding more reservedly than you feel you want to. 

“I’m comin’ up there!” There is Eddie, who’s apparently made a beeline from the milkcrate stage to his van, under the pretense of loading equipment. Which he’s managed to do in what seems like thirty seconds flat. 

A gas lamp of eagerness and pure energy, he’s blazing bright and clumsily hoisting his way onto the roof to sit with you– he doesn’t have your muscular strength, so he has to kind of swing a leg and roll his way up there, almost knocking you over. 

“Woah!” you giggle as he collides with you, reaching for your flask with a gimme that. He hoists himself up next to you, tugging off his bandana and running a hand through the flattened waves to give them a little oomph again. But Eddie right now, he’s all oomph. 

“So,” he nudges you, eyes gleaming, “Don’t leave me in suspense, Lester Bangs. Whatdja think?”

You screw your lips up, sigh hard through your nose. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Munson…” 

“Hmm?”

“...but it didn’t suck.”

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes gleam, like you just scored him that ‘C’ grade all over again. 

“Re–ally,” you nod, pulling the flask from him, “I mean, Ronnie? She’s fucking John Bonham.”

“I keep telling her that.”

“And that kid on the bass–?”

“Jeff.”

“Jeeeeff. Him and Cyrus, right? Dead set on a Pulitzer.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You let the trepidation hang between you for a beat or two, letting Eddie’s eyes search your face with a big fat uuummm? Hello? as you take an achingly long pull of that whiskey. 

“Am I forgetting somebody?” you murmur. 

“Oh, fuck you!” he barks through a laugh. You’re both shoulder to shoulder, his breath blowing warmth onto your cheek because of how far his voice projects. “C’mon, Lacy. I can take it.” 

“Can you?”

“Don’t tease me, ice princess.”

“‘Don’t freeze me’, you mean.”

“Dammit.” 

“Gotta be quick on that trigger.” 

“I know.”

“Like you are on that fretboard,” you finally hand it to him. “I mean, shit, Munson.” 

“Really?” he says again; he is beaming, glowing from the inside out. He’s radioactive, this kid. You cannot, cannot, cannot stop looking at him. “Really shit, Munson?”

“Really shit Munson!” you exclaim, a little louder than intended–blame the whiskey. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

“Who, me?” Eddie shrugs, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m a self-made man, baby.” You think, for a second that he might try and pull that corny movie theater move where the boy stretches only to drape his arm over the girl’s shoulder– and you’re half-relieved, half-disappointed when he doesn’t. 

“Incredible,” you say, when you could’ve said bullshit.

That makes him… almost shy. He glances away from you for the first time since he’s sat up here. “Yeah, well. Gotta while away the hours somehow.” 

“Can I ask you something?” It flies out of your mouth before you have a chance to stop it. 

“If it’s about what I was doing out at that crossroads with my guitar, then no.” 

“Can we be friends?” It’s nearly medical, the way you ask him. Like you’re verifying symptoms. And he’s taken aback– maybe it’s how straightforward you are about it, or maybe it’s the weird, tender lilt to your tone. Eddie blinks.

“... do you mean right here right now friends or actually acknowledge each other in the hallway friends.”

“I mean full time at your lunch table friends,” you say. Suddenly, your throat is very dry. “You can even carry my books if you want to.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, and his voice seems to narrow with them. “I don’t know. Sitting with us sorta requires that you join Hellfire…”

“Friends need boundaries, Eddie.” 

“Price of admission, babydoll.” The way he rolls his head over his shoulder is… shut up.

You pause, honestly kind of mulling it over. 

Eddie hitches himself a little upright, a lightning flash of concern dashing across his face. “I”m fucking with you. Yes, we can be friends…” he breathes out a laugh, washing you over with that studying look again, ”What a weird way to ask.”

“But weird good, no?” you say, and you say it all bright and searching– like you’re looking for his approval. 

Eddie, with his hand braced against the roof of the van, directly behind your back, leans in so that his chin is resting on your mink-covered shoulder. He looks up at you, revved up on post-show adrenaline and a little of your whiskey. It is now, you realize, a little hard to breathe. Eddie Munson smells like cigarettes and soap and garbage can fire and sweat and rock and roll.

“Weird like you’re a weirdo, Lacy,” he hums, “And I aaalways knew it.” 

Bangbangbang! The sound of Ronnie Ecker’s balled up fist on the side of the van makes you both nearly jump out of your skin, two skeletons too close for comfort. 

“Guys, I hate to break up–whatever the hell, but I’ve still got a curfew!” she yells. “And my Granny’s got a gun!” 

You and Eddie, you and your friend Eddie, look at each other and burst into nose-first laughter, snorting away. Giddy, giggly, stupid. And the funniest part is, you really think you’ve killed it. 

By saying let’s be buddies!, you think you’ve put a stake right into the pitter-pattering heart of the nebulous other feelings you find yourself feeling when you look in Eddie’s eyes, at his lashes, at his hands, at his neck. 

For a clever girl, you are so, so stupid.

author's notes: here we here we here we fucking go! i'll admit i'm a little delirious writing this because it's REDACTED past REDACTED but i needed to get this up and outta me. and also because y'all deserve it, being so supportive and nice to me AGAIN. i can't get over youse. dyou wanna get married - bildoolpoolp, a real goddess from dnd! her areas of control are darkness, insanity and revenge to which i say: lacy that u? - virginia woolf doll came to me in a dream and then i found this article about a virginia woolf doll. all i want for christmas? virginia woolf doll. stones in pockets not included - rita hayworth, always decent - got me feeling like miss tayla the way i'm burying meaning in eddie's dialogue! - the oracle of delphi, one of our baddest bitches on record - calling lacy's mom a blanche dubois type was admittedly shady of me but... if the shoe fits. - i'm zeroing in on officer callahan based almost solely on how much joy i get from watching him in search party, a show about terrible awful millennials that takes a turn you'd never see coming! THIS IS A FORMAL REQUEST FOR YOU TO WATCH SEARCH PARTY - in case you wanted a visual for the stooges t-shirt eddie gave lacy - LITTLE WOMEN ALIGNMENTS AS I SEE THEM: nancy is a stone cold jo march with a touch of beth around the ears, lacy is amy sun amy moon jo rising, EDDIE IS AN AMY, steve is a meg sun amy moon - also jo march is a lesbian and if you really want to talk about it, trans. i'm not citing a source for this i don't need to - jessica fletcher you beautiful bitch - y'all remember ms kelley, the hot guidance counsellor? right???? - nancy the priss and lacy the bitch-- make us solve crimes! - the missing 'e' in the corroded coffin flyer is a real fucking thing from that hawkins memories box you can buy. i love that boy and he can't spell and i want it framed. - circus, a rock magazine that was neck and neck in notoriety with rolling stone. here's ozzy on the cover in a tutu! - scanners is a perfect film from 1981 by my baby daddy david cronenberg! (cw for head explosion in the trailer) - listened to smoke on the water or immigrant song lately? no? well, we were all raised by school of rock so fix that - alright so the corroded coffin lineup of it all. i've long held the belief that eddie is in fact not the vocalist but is, on charisma alone, the de facto frontman (think russell hammond in almost famous). cyrus is named for the mountain goats song the best ever death metal band in denton which makes me cry if i think about the freaks in corroded coffin being the best ever death metal band out of hawkins! when you punish a person for dreaming his dream, don't expect him to thank or forgive you! they will both outpace and outlive you! - lester bangs! i did another almost famous/real life reference :( which is also a deep cut lacy reference that may or may not be explained - john bonham died! thaaaaaat's all for this round, folks. thanks again for sticking with me, likes and reblogs and comments are always so appreciated and who knows if i'll write even more next time! COZ I SURE FUCKING DON'T!!!! okay love u hellcats x

#published by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson smut #do not come for me if this is not fully proofread okay..... even saints are fallible bitch....

[lovelyhan]

For svt hard thoughts what about perv!seokmin panty sniffer 🫣 like I imagine him just stuffing his face under your skirt, nose pressed against your panties, just jerking off to your scent alone… imagine him just being SO desperate but you have work to do, at your laptop at home so he’s just under your desk…pressed against the sink while you do the dishes…until you give in and just let him devour your pussy bc he’s being so distracting….ok bye hope that’s ok 😅

20:32 — SEOKMIN

Anonymous said: Hi, maybe dokyeom and tongue fucking for the hard thoughts?

oh my god you're both diabolical.... the image these asks painted in my head 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 seokmin is def the type to be so pussy drunk he'd live between your thighs forever if he could. anyway, this ended up becoming a little Long bc.......i ended up needing perv dk more than i should 🫠

cw: pussy fixation 🥴

you love your boyfriend. he's the kind of guy your mother would be delighted to know her daughter is dating. someone who promises your father that he'd have you home by nine.

seokmin is the epitome of every green flag in a relationship and you'll never really get over how lucky you are to have someone like him in your life.

but there's a little something about your oh-so perfect boyfriend that both of your parents are better off not knowing about.

"seokmin."

you attempt to suppress a groan when you feel the gangly man nudging your legs apart beneath your desk—chuckling to himself as he hikes your skirt up your thighs.

"baby, if you really didn't want me snooping around like this, then you would've worn your lounge pants instead," he chuckles and while you considered giving him a lecture about how clothes are not an invitation to get felt up by your boyfriend, you can't make a convincing argument when that's exactly what you were hoping for.

there might've been an ulterior motive for your choice to forego lounge pants like seokmin said. you might've been pent up all fucking day, wanting nothing more than to have his mouth on you.

but thank god seokmin is a big enough pervert that you don't even have to feel embarrassed for being as needy as you are.

however, as much as you want him to just push your panties to the side and make you come on his tongue, you actually have work to do. you make that very clear to your perverted boyfriend as he presses his nose into the gusset of your underwear—breathing in the scent of budding arousal as he mutters something along the lines of, "fine, but i'm staying right here."

you should've told him to just wait for you in your bedroom while you get this report done. because right now, you're much too distracted by the way his face never strays too far from your clothed pussy.

one of his hands paw at your inner thighs as he greedily sucks in your scent through his nose. judging from the slick sound of something wet and sloppy coming beneath the desk, you're pretty damn sure that seokmin is jerking his leaking cock in his fist—pretending the tight grip of his fingers is your sweet cunt instead.

long story short, you got zero work done that evening—too fascinated with the sight of your needy boyfriend coming into his fist as he sniffed you through your goddamn panties.

it happens again when the weekend rolls around. you and seokmin just got home from a quick stroll at the market when you decided to wash the vegetables you purchased so you could prep them for lunch in half an hour.

you weren't even halfway in washing the carrots when you feel your boyfriend drift behind you—lithe fingers trailing up the hem of your short sundress as he gropes your ass a little too lovingly to be considered dirty.

"i couldn't stop staring at your legs the whole time we were out," seokmin whines into your ear, pressing fleeting kisses along your neck as his hands trail further into your center. "want you to smother my face with pussy so bad, baby. you didn't let me last time."

"that's because you worked me up too much," you complain but make no moves to reprimand him when he sinks to his knees—flipping the hem of your dress up as he nuzzles the cushion of your panty-clad ass. "you think i had the patience for you to go down on me when i could have you rail me with your cock instead?"

seokmin chuckles breathlessly, taking the waistband of your underwear between his teeth before dragging the fabric down your hips with the help of his hands. you waste no time stepping out of the offensive garment—arching your back so you could present your glistening slit to your perv of a boyfriend.

"as much as i love feeling you come around my cock, nothing compares to getting a taste of this sweet pussy," he sighs before smoothing his hands across your thighs to part your folds—making you shiver at the sensation of the cool kitchen air against your cunt. "you always taste so good for me, baby. if it was up to me, i'd eat this pretty cunt everyday."

"liar," you huff. "just last night you said you'd do anything to have your dick inside me for the rest of your life."

"well, i'd also do anything to have your pretty pussy on my mouth for the rest of my life," seokmin argues but before you can rebut, he licks a long stripe from your clit all the way to your leaking entrance—making any sort of argument turn to dust in your mouth as your hands grip the sink tightly.

"good?" your boyfriend asks, and you don't have to face him to know that he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

feeling the last dregs of your self-control finally slip away, you move to press your arms against the edge of the sink for more stability—pressing your head against your wrists as you feel your cunt pulsing with need.

"just get on with it."

"what was that?"

throwing him a dirty look over your shoulder, you say, "lee seokmin, if you don't make me come on your mouth in the next five minutes, i'm banning sex for a month."

now that catches his attention–making seokmin peek from under the skirt of your dress with a scowl. "not even oral?"

"yes. now get on with it 'cause the clock is—oh!"

of course your boyfriend's sex-crazed brain is quick to act at the threat of having his pussy eating privileges revoked. seokmin flattens his tongue against your cunt, making come hither motions with his fucking tongue in a way that drags against both your clit and puffy hole.

your legs tremble with each pass across your folds but seokmin doesn't have any plans on letting you take it easy. he pins your hips against the edge of the sink to keep you from squirming, sucking and slurping your juices before easing two fingers easily into your slick entrance. the intrusion makes you gasp, bucking your hips against his hand as he continues the merciless assault of his tongue.

"f-fuck," you whimper, walls squeezing around his digits as you focus on the feeling of his sinful tongue against you. "baby, feels so good, shit."

"yeah? turn around for me, sweet thing," he murmurs into your pussy and you bemoan the loss of his fingers when he slips them out of you. "hop on the counter and spread these pretty legs for me."

the vegetables are long forgotten as you do as you're told—half-lidded gaze trained on your boyfriend as he stares at your spit-slicked cunt like it's a national treasure.

"fuuuuuck," he sighs, pressing breathy kisses along your inner thighs as he adjusts his position on the floor. it must be uncomfortable as hell, squatting just to get his face leveled with your pussy, but seokmin is anything but a quitter. "can't believe this sweet cunt is all mine."

the next thing you know, he's diving back into you—the sharp curve of his nose pressed against your clit as he crams his tongue into your entrance. the added stimulus makes you moan in delight, finally realizing why seokmin wanted to eat you out like this instead as your fingers find their way into his hair.

"baby, your tongue's so fucking good to me," you mewl. "'m so close, kyeomie. need to come on your mouth..."

seokmin inhales sharply through his teeth—those usually sweet eyes of his clouded with lust when his gaze momentarily flickers up to you.

he's relentless with his ministrations—licking up each surge of arousal that leaks out of your hole before slurping it all with his tongue. seokmin eats pussy like it's a fucking art form and before you know it, you're creaming against his face, rolling your hips against his nose and lips as you ride out your high.

your boyfriend's mouth doesn't stray too far even as you lose yourself to the tides of release. he continues laving at your cunt as if it's the last day he'll ever get a taste and if the iron-tight grip he has on your hips doesn't leave bruises, you'll be really disappointed.

by the time your orgasm subsides, you're a boneless, twitching mess on top of the sink and seokmin fills your ears with an endless string of praises as he helps prop you up.

"my beautiful baby's always so good to me," he murmurs, kissing you softly and you try not to get turned on when you taste yourself on his lips. "you don't care how much of a perv i am, don't you? 'cause you're just as perverted yourself. letting me have this sweet pussy anytime i want. you're an angel, baby. the sweetest angel out there."

your breath comes in broken pants as you make starry eyes at the sweet, loving smile that seokmin cracks your way. how does someone who looks like this have the filthiest come out of his mouth?

then again, that's just one of the many things you love about lee seokmin.

#svthub #seventeen smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #seventeen fanfic #lovelyhan #📝 drabble #🍵 tea time #💌 anon

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

congratulations on your new milestone! you said you’d love more javi so here i am lol how about javier + best friend’s brother/brother’s best friend (whichever inspires you more) + "you look so pretty like this." 🫶🏾

2 Murphy's and a Peña.

y. Brothers best friend + 18. "You look so pretty like this."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. anon - i know you sent me another request that said to discard the brother's best friend bit because i've already done it, but i had to do it again for javi!! i'll admit, i did bump this request to the top of the pile. what can i say, i was feeling inspired by mr peña , as per usual. thanks for being the sweetest!!

Pairing - Javier Peña x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 1081

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Javier swings open his front door, eager to find out who's attempting to punch their way into his neighbours apartment.

"Cariño, if he hasn't answered by now, I'm guessing he isn't home."

You spin on your heel, relieved to be met with the sight of Javier Peña leaning against his doorframe, whiskey in hand.

"Him and Connie rarely go out. I assumed they'd be in," you shrug.

Javi takes a moment to look you up and down. You're wearing a tight dress that hugs your curves just right, and doesn't leave much to the imagination. The colour compliments your skin tone beautifully, and Javi has to remind himself that you are his partners sister. Strictly off limits. It doesn't stop him from staring, though.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," you wink.

"I'll hang it in my apartment if you like, right above the fireplace," he teases.

You both laugh, the sound echoing down the hallway.

"What do you need, hermosa? Where are you going dressed like that?"

"Dressed like what?"

"All pretty."

You try not to blush at his compliment. He's so smooth, so easy with it, you understand why all of his informants are so willing to sleep with him.

"I'm not going out, I'm coming back. I had a date, and now I've locked myself out of my apartment. I was hoping to crash at Steve's, but I guess that option has gone out the window," you sigh, leaning back against the door.

"Well, come in while you wait for him to get back. You can tell me more about this date of yours."

He steps aside, gesturing at you to enter his apartment. It's not the first time you've been inside, but usually you're with Steve. It feels different now it's just the two of you.

"You don't wanna hear about the date, I promise you. It was fuckin' awful. God, guys suck. It's my own fault, really."

He pours you a drink as he listens, moving to sit next to you on the couch.

"What's your fault, huh?"

"I just needed to get laid, so I put too much faith in him. He did not deliver."

It's now that Javier realises you've probably had a drink or two. You're never usually this open, this brazen with him. He'd be lying if he said it didn't turn him on a little.

"That bad?" he asks, voice an octave deeper than before.

"Worse than you can imagine. I was dry as the goddamn desert. What's the complete opposite of turned on?"

He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. It makes you smile, the corners of your mouth turning up.

"It was like he was a teenager," you continue. "He kept grabbing at me. And not in a sexy way. In a clumsy, I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing kind of way."

Javi keeps chuckling, whiskey loosening him up more than usual.

"What the fuck are you laughing at, Javier?" you giggle.

"I just - " he takes a breath to try and stifle his amusement. "You need a real man, cariño. Not one of these stupid little boys. You need a guy who knows what he's doing."

"Yeah?" you tease. "And where am I supposed to find someone like that?"

"He's probably closer than you think," he murmurs.

Javier has, in fact, gotten closer. He's slowly shuffled along the couch so your legs are pressed together. You can feel his breath tickle your cheek everytime he exhales.

"You need a man who puts you first," he mutters, his nose brushing yours. "You gonna let me put you first, honey?"

His tone is low and slow, like golden honey. The timbre of it is shooting straight to your core, lust clouding your judgment.

"We can't," you whisper. "What if my brother finds out?"

"I won't tell if you won't."

Decision made. You lean in, closing the tiny space between you and pressing your lips to his. Javier kisses you greedily, trying to consume you, swallow you whole.

You hitch a leg over so you're straddling him, sitting comfortably in his lap. His hands go straight to your hips, grabbing so hard you know he'll leave fingerprints. You're moaning into his mouth, tangling your fingers through his hair to pull him closer.

Javi tugs your dress up around your waist, kneading your ass with his strong hands. You start to rock your hips slowly, reveling in the way his zipper catches your clit occasionally.

"Come here," he whispers, moving you to sit on one of his thighs. The rough denim of his jeans is a welcome contrast to the soaking material of your underwear, pleasure coursing through you instantly.

You fist your hands into the front of his shirt, using him as leverage. Javi starts to bump his leg up and down as you rock your hips back and forth, both sensations making you whine.

"You look so pretty like this," he groans. "Prettiest girl I've ever seen."

It's like his verbal filter is gone, filth spewing from his mouth in a constant stream.

"That's right baby, use me. Take what you need."

"Told you you needed a real man. I'm not even touching you and look how close you are already."

"You like that, hermosa? You like riding me like this? Fuck, I can't wait to show you what you've been missing all this time, messing around with those stupid boys."

"You're almost there, honey, I can feel it. Just a little more. That's it, atta girl. Just a little more."

His dulcet voice is driving you closer and closer to the edge, your hips moving faster on their own accord.

"Javi," you whine. "So good. So so good."

"Come for me, hermosa. Show me how pretty you look when you come. Good girl. Give it to me."

Your climax hits you like an ocean wave, crashing over your entire body. It's white hot and blinding, muscles tensing and hips stuttering.

You're spent, head falling forward to lean on Javi's shoulder. He wraps his arms around you, tracing patterns on your back soothingly.

"You did good, sweetheart."

"So did you," you chuckle sleepily.

"How about you have a nap, and then I'll show you what else I'm good at?" he asks, teasing lacing his tone.

"Sounds perfect," you whisper, settling down into his lap, face nuzzling into his chest.

Javi doesn't tell you when he hears Steve get home. You look pretty comfortable where you are.

#murphy's 500 followers celebration #javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier pena x you #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x ofc #javier peña smut #javier peña fluff #javier peña x murphy!reader #javier peña x reader smut #narcos #narcos smut #narcos x reader #narcos fic #pedro pascal #javier peña fic #javier peña imagine

[icyharrington]

Writing prompt 142 with Eddie?

142. “Could he make you feel as good as i do?”

oooo finally an opportunity to write some pissed off eddie content teeheeeeee okok lets do it !!! PS I AM STILL TAKING PROMPT REQUESTS !! the og post is on my page so go check it out and send me one if you’re interested! :3 also sorry if this sucks im not used to writing multiple different fics/blurbs/whatevers in 1 day dfjgkdjfg

contains: jealous!eddie, mean eddie, dirty talk, degradation, fingering, general rough/mean dynamic (he still luvs you tho don’t worry uwu)

You’ve never seen Eddie this angry before, and your body is caught in limbo between utter terror and arousal.

So you’d fucked around with Steve Harrington- you and Eddie were on a break! And a well-deserved one, at that, considering that he’d been devoting all of his time to his fantasy campaigns rather than his real life, human girlfriend.

Eddie stands before you in his bedroom, his wide brown eyes unusually cold as they size you up. His arms are folded protectively in front of his graphic t-shirt, a prominent frown on his lips. “So what you’re telling me, (y/n)- and correct me if I’m wrong here- is that you let Steve Harrington’s dick inside you? Is that what I’m hearing right now?”

He sounds so sarcastic, yet so deadly serious; it sends an uncomfortably cool chill up your spine, and you’re unsure of what’s about to happen.

You look him dead in the eyes despite the anxiety it causes you, unwilling to back down. “Yes, Eddie, I did. I fucked Steve Harrington. So fucking what? We were on a goddamn break! It’s not like you ever wanted to fuck me while we were together.”

“That is such bullshit, (y/n),” Eddie seethes, taking a lingering step towards you. You stand frozen in place, your limbs unwilling to move from where they’re planted. “Every time you’re in the mood to fuck, it’s when I’m busy with Hellfire!”

“You’re always busy with Hellfire!” you scream at him, one-upping him by taking your own hopefully-menacing step in his direction.

“What about that night in my van when you turned me down? Or when you told me to stop being gross when I was feeling up your ass, hm?” He cocks his head threateningly, sauntering until he’s face-to-face with you.

“I just said that because I was in a bad mood, Eddie,” you murmur, feeling a little guilty about the exchange in retrospect. Usually you loved when Eddie would touch you, even by surprise- he’d just happened to catch you on a bad day. “I don’t think you’re gross.”

“Oh, really? ‘Cause I think you do. I think you find me downright disgusting. That’s why you ran off to go spread your legs for Steve Harrington- to find out what it’s like to fuck a real man. Right, (y/n)?” His eyes are welled with tears, though he’s good at keeping them at bay, with his face contorted into a scowl. “Making a fucking fool of me, huh? Dating the freak and fucking the jock. I bet you did it before our break, you fucking slut.”

He’s shaking, and you want to hug him, though you’re scared what will happen if you do. You mentally kick yourself for even allowing the secret to slip in the first place, but you never would’ve forgiven yourself if you hadn’t told the truth.

Now, though, you wonder if it would’ve been worth it to lie, just to prevent Eddie from believing all the other untrue parts his mind had invented. “Eddie, I would have never done that to you!”

He drags his eyes up and down your body, taking in the short skirt you’re wearing, paired with a pair of platform boots and a cropped sweater. When he speaks, he doesn’t reference anything you just said, evidently too wound up in his emotions to process much else. “Yeah, prancing around at school looking like that, huh? You dressed like that for Steve, didn’t you? Wanted him to take you in the bathroom and fuck you stupid?”

You whimper; you aren’t certain if he’s intentionally trying to make you horny right now, but for some unfathomable reason… you so are. “No, Eddie. I promise you, I don’t want Steve. It was a stupid mistake, Eddie, I swear! I was upset about us being on a break, and I just…I don’t know! I fucked up!”

“Yeah, you’re right, (y/n). It was a stupid mistake.” He takes in a breath, seeming to ponder on what his next action will be, before he shoves you back onto his bed. “Real fucking stupid. That’s my pussy you’re throwing around like a tramp, get it?”

He flips up your skirt, grasping your pussy between your legs and rubbing you harshly through the thin lace fabric of your panties. “Oh, I’m sure Steve Harrington could never get your pussy as pathetically wet as I can.”

You don’t say anything, moaning out at the rough motions of his callused hand against your soaked underwear; if he continued doing this for another minute or so, you’d probably cum without needing him to do anything else. He smacks your cheek lightly in response to your silence, narrowing his dark eyes at you. “Could he?”

“N-no, Eddie,” you whisper, letting out a strangled whine when he moves your panties to the side and presses two fingers into you abruptly. “I told you, it was a mistake. I want you, Eddie.”

“Could he make you feel as good as I do?” he demands, taking your jaw in one hand and jerking it so that you’re facing him. “Hm?”

You shake your head rapidly, a helpless look on your face as you silently beg for his forgiveness (which you know is already granted, though you don’t expect him to tell you that quite yet). “No, Eddie. Never.”

“Fuckin’ thought so,” he says as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, adding a third in order to stretch you wider. “You’re lucky I love you enough to teach you a lesson instead of kicking your ass to the curb.”

He’s not serious- at least about the kicking-you-to-the-curb bit, though the way he’s speaking to you is making your skin prickle over with warmth. There’s just something about your soft, sweet Eddie being mean that turns you on beyond belief.

Looking up at him with wide doe eyes, you hold back a knowing smirk. “You’re right, Eddie. I am lucky.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #mine #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fic

[girlboybug]

writing request for a smut fic with established relationship with javi x reader? dialogue prompt: javi: “he looked at you funny” reader: “i didn’t know you were the jealous type..”

OOO i like this muahaha >:) i hope you enjoy hehe, thank u for requesting!! <3

art deco

"shining like gunmetal, cold and unsure. baby you're so ghetto, you're lookin' to score."

or the one where jealousy happens to be a good look on javi.

what’s playing 🎧 : art deco by lana del rey

content warnings : SMUT, jealous!javi, blowjobs, face fucking, car sex, semi public sex (?), unprotected sex (extremely unwise w javi idk wtf he got goin on down there), creampie, breeding kink, dirty talk, themes of slut shaming, threats of exhibitionism, threats of restraints e.g cuffs, brat tamer!javi (been dying to write that)

trigger warnings : mentions/threats of gun usage, alcohol, both reader and javier are tipsy at best, if there is anything i missed pls lmk!

word count : 4k

a/n : im pulling SO MUCH out my ass w this bc i havent finished narcos and only rlly pay attention when pedro or boyd is on screen and even tho im half mexican my ass cannot speak spanish for the life of me teehee sorry yall

you’re a bad actor. 

you’re also bad at lying and honestly, just generally bad at the things javier happens to be especially good at. 

but that’s okay, javier likes you like that. it’s refreshing, endearing, to be with someone who hasn’t gotten good at lying or pretending to be someone they’re not. and actually, he’s currently watching you fail at that right now. 

you’re at the bar, swirling around your drink that he bought for you, pretending to not notice the way he’s eyeing you from across the club. he thinks it's cute how you keep stealing glances at him, giggling to yourself whenever he catches you.

you two do this little song and dance every now and then, it keeps things exciting and fun, and you never have complaints about it. 

you pretend to be the single, bored girl sitting alone at the bar, and javier just so happens to swoop in, introducing himself as the man who’s been ordering drinks for you all night, ready to charm you into his bed for the night. it’s stupid when you say it out loud, but the way he fucks you when you do this little act makes it seem like the best goddamn idea he’s ever come up with.

it’s harmless fun between a couple, and the tension you two create throughout the night is always a recipe for mind blowing sex. however, it seems things are going a bit off script tonight. 

a man invites himself to the empty barstool beside you that was reserved for javier, but he’s oblivious to the little game you’re playing right now. “hi there,” he says, grinning, and you try your best to hold back a long sigh while you greet him back politely. 

javier’s hand tightens around the beer he’s got, wishing the neck of the bottle belonged to the man staring you down. he decides he’ll keep watch for awhile, he trusts you, and wants to see how this’ll play out, despite his patience already wearing dangerously thin.

“can i buy you another drink?” he asks, motioning towards the dwindling liquid in your glass. its not a difficult question, but the answer isn’t coming to you like it should be. 

you are playing the role of a single woman tonight, and you won’t let anything go further with this guy than receiving a free drink. 

eh. why not? 

“yeah, sure, thank you.” you smile back, and he hurriedly calls over the bartender, asking for two glasses of whatever it is you ordered. javier shifts in his seat, his jaw coming down harder than it was just a moment ago as he watches you share a drink with someone that isn’t him. 

javier follows his wandering eyes, how they trail up and down your figure, making it obvious he’s wondering what you’ve got on underneath.

javier wants to walk up to him to tell him how he knows what you’ve got under that dress, because he picked it out. 

god, this night fuckin’ sucks so far. 

“i noticed you for awhile now, what’re you doin’ here all alone?” he asks, and you get a little nervous with the way he gets closer to you. “i’m just waiting for my boyfriend to show up.” you answer, deciding the single woman role didn’t feel as fun anymore. 

“ahh, i see.” he replies, and you expect him to scoot farther from you, or better yet, leave. but much to your dismay, he stays. 

“it’s just,” he starts, and you glance down at your shoes, saying a silent prayer for him to get on with what he’s got to say before he leaves you alone for good. 

“you’ve been here for awhile now, you sure he’s comin’ honey?” he questions you, faux concern in his voice and you close your eyes for a moment to hide the way they roll at him.

“yeah, i’m sure.” you reply curtly. “how about i keep you some company while you wait for him then, how’s that sound?” he gets closer than you would’ve liked, boldly resting his arm around your shoulders, and yep, that’ll do it. 

javier’s beer clatters down onto his table as he shoots up from his seat, stalking over to you. he’s quick to join you, standing tall behind your seated figure, his strong chest a familiar surface against your back. 

“uh who’re you–” 

“her boyfriend.” he answers, eyes lowered testingly, practically itching for him to give him a reason to swing. “hi baby,” you beam, turning around and craning your neck up to give him a kiss. he leans down, holding your chin while he kisses you. 

with your lips still connected, he stares at the scoffing man that just sits and watches. 

“yeah well i wasn’t the one who kept her waiting all night so why don’t you get lost? we were havin’ a conversation, weren’t we sweetheart?” he looks at you as if you’d actually agree, and you open your mouth to defend javier, but he doesn’t need you to, he’s more than eager to put this guy back in his place. 

he steps away from behind your back, moving right in front of you now, leaning in close to the man. he reaches around to his lower back, sliding his gun to the side of his waist before he’s got it in his clutch, pressing it to the man’s ribs.

“you have 3 seconds to get the fuck out my face before i stop being so polite.” he whispers in his ear, and the man stiffens with immediate fear once he registers what’s being pointed at him. 

he swivels out of the stool, hastily hopping out to make his way out the club all together. javier turns back to you once he’s out of his field of vision, expecting a profuse thank you javi, but he gets quite the opposite. 

“what the hell was that?” you question, sounding angry, and uh oh, you saw that. 

“baby,” he starts off but you just huff, climbing off the stool. “that was way too far,” you point at him and he sighs, holding your arms, rubbing them up and down, trying to settle your irritation down. 

“but he was making you uncomfortable, and you didn’t see the way he was looking at you–” 

“and what way was he looking at me for you to pull a gun out on him?” you whisper yell and he starts to join you in your frustration. 

“he looked at you…funny, like he was just thinking about fucking you the entire time.” he sounds upset that he even has to explain himself to you about this, and you catch it, deciding to throw it back at him when you turn on your heel to leave. 

he growls with annoyance as he follows you out the club, grabbing your arm and forcing you to turn back and look at him.

you exhale sharply, looking up at him, switching your weight onto your left foot. “i knew you could be a little…impulsive sometimes but jesus jav, i didn’t realize you were the jealous type that would do something so…stupid.”

his annoyance is fast to turn into a hard glare, and you see the sudden shift, instantly feeling regretful. he purses his lips to the side, laughing dryly. “stupid huh?” he clicks his tongue and you shake your head, walking closer to him now.

“javi, i’m sorry,” you try to remedy the mess of this situation, but unlucky for you, what little patience he was holding onto is now gone. 

he grabs the hand of yours that’s reaching towards his jaw, he isn’t in the mood for it. he pulls you along by your wrist to the parking lot. 

“yeah, you’re about to be baby,” he mutters, and your heart picks up, your heel clad feet in turn picking up speed to keep up with him. 

he ushers you into his backseat, slamming the door behind you once you’re both in. he tugs you into his lap, your legs on either side of him, your knees making contact with the cold vinyl. his hands find their way to your ass, squeezing it hard.

you gasp a little, arching into his chest. the second you move in closer, his lips are on your’s. it’s not gentle, it’s not slow paced, and it’s not soft, no, that’s for when you’re good. and you’ve been anything but. 

you’re grinding in his lap, his growing bulge feels perfect right up against your dampening panty clad cunt, too perfect that you can’t stop yourself. you’re moaning in his mouth, struggling to keep up the pace and intensity in the way his lips are moving with your’s. 

he tastes like beer and cigarettes, smells like it too, with traces of his cologne that you love. he’s like paradise incarnate and you want to live in him forever. 

when he pulls away you're left panting in his hold, lips parted, brushing against each other, stealing the other person’s breaths. “you know,” he sighs lowly, his words trailing up your spine, leaving shivers in their wake. 

“just because i let you pretend you’re single for the night doesn’t mean you actually are,” he says, and he sounds serious, but there’s something hidden in his air, something challenging, like he wants you to argue just so he can put you right back where you belong. 

you nod heavily like he speaks words of righteousness, cupping his jaw in your hands. “i know javi, i know,” you pepper his face in kisses, but he remains still, outwardly unphased.

“guess you just got too excited at the thought of bein’ a slut huh?” he breathes out flicking a brow at you, keeping you in close when you try to inch away from him at his accusations. 

“i’m not a slut–” he unfolds your offended arms, hands leaving your wrists to hold your thighs that rest on either side of his lap. “no baby it’s alright, s’not a totally bad thing. i like sluts. they let you do whatever you want to ‘em,” he grips your thighs, forcefully sliding you off his lap and letting you land down on your knees before him. you gasp, holding onto his legs for steadiness. 

“and they let you all while tryin’ to convince you they aren’t sluts. isn’t that funny? he chuckles, caressing your cheek, peering down at you while he does so. 

“javi,” you say, you don’t know what to say next, the only certainty that remains is that his name never sounds wrong coming from you. 

“if you wanna be a slut so bad then go ahead, i won’t stop you.” he shrugs, leaning back into the seat, arms stretched out beside him. you swallow away your stuttering, running your hands up and down your thighs. “what do you want me to do?” you ask smally, looking up at him from under your lashes. 

he readjusts, lifting his hips in the air, settling back down closer to you. he tilts his head, eyes flickering from his crotch back to your gaze, “what sluts do best baby.” he says under a gravelly breath. your thighs close just a little tighter at that, feeling eager to oblige to his insinuations. 

you unzip his levi’s, unbuttoning them before you’re pulling him from out his boxers, throat getting tight at the way he pulses in your hands. precum is already beading at his tip, and you lean forward, flicking your tongue over it. he hisses quietly, a hand coming behind your neck. 

your lips envelope the tip, shutting your eyes when you trail down until you can’t take any more of him down your throat. he groans, throwing his head back, bucking his hips into your mouth. you gag around him, hand trembling while you try to jerk off what you can’t fit into your mouth. 

he rolls his head forward, holding you by the back of your head, starting to thrust further in, chuckling to himself at the way you gag. he lets you slide off him, jerking his slick cock off while you catch your breath. 

you’re staring at each other in the thick air, the night breeze sneaking in from the cracked windows, making your nipples perk from behind your lacy bra. 

the moon glimmers through the side window facing javier, and it panels his cheekbone, across his jaw and down his chin, trickling over the curve of his collarbones. 

he looks so beautiful like this, sitting tall in front of you, looking at you like he could tear you apart with one hand, jaw clenching when your thumb slides over the head of his cock. 

the way he’s looking at you elicits a reaction from your body before your mind can reach it. you lean back down, taking him deeper into your mouth. 

you don’t mind the way he keeps your head still, using your mouth the way he likes. 

he fucks your mouth like he wants to prove a point, and at this moment he doesn’t even know what the point is, he hardly even remembers where he’s currently at, the only thing that makes sense is how fucking good you’re taking him down your throat. 

you’re being so good, so perfectly compliant for him, and what’s fueling you is the tingles exploding between your thighs at the way he’s using you. 

the grunting utterances of your name in his spewing breaths adds propellent to the roaring fire building in your lower tummy. 

his groans get a little airier, picking up in quantity, coming out one after the other, fucking your mouth so deep your nose brushes against the brown curls sitting just above his cock. “look at me,” he instructs through gritted teeth, and you listen, blinking away your teary eyes to look up at him. 

he sends one, two, three, hard thrusts into your mouth before he pulls out, resting the tip over your lips. he pants to himself, shutting his eyes closed while you take this time to do the same and catch your own breath. “what’s wrong?” you sound a little rasped, and he can’t fight the smug look on his face at your voice. 

“as much as i’d like to let you continue, i got better things planned baby,” he chuckles breathlessly, pulling you back up into his lap. 

he pushes your dress up, exhaling when he sees how wet you are in the panties he picked out for you. “javi, i didn’t bring any condoms, do you have one?” you press your hands to his chest, momentarily halting him, and he looks at you, scoffing quietly. 

“huh. sluts don’t usually care about that kinda thing.” he rubs the head of his cock over your clothed clit, watching your lowered eyes fully shut, a moan slipping out at his ministrations, proving him right. “s’not gonna fit like this,” your whimper when he moves your panties to the side, flicking himself up and down your folds. “it will baby, i’ll make it fit.” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips.

you rarely ever got on top, he was always very adamant about taking care of you, whether that means you’re on your back, legs thrown over his shoulders or you with your wrists being hoisted by his tight grip while he fucks you senseless.

the constant is, he’s always on top. 

he’s big, no matter the position he’s got you in, it’s always a stretch he has to ease you into. which is why you’re typically reluctant to get on top, but right now he isn’t asking, he’s telling. 

“javi, s’not gonna go in like this,” you whimper nervously, curling into his chest. head on his shoulder. he rolls his eyes, fingers gliding right over your clit to shut you up. and it works, naturally, he chuckles. 

your breath gets faster when he swirls over your clit with his fingers, squirming around in his lap. he holds himself from the base of his cock, circling over your fluttering hole. your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, fingers playing with the back of his hair. 

he starts crowning into you, pushing in the fat head of his cock, pausing the breath in the middle of your throat. it rumbles out as a pained moan when he continues pushing in. “god javi,” you whine, legs on either side of him flexing with nerves at the intrusion. 

“doin’ all the work for you baby, jus’ take it for me,” he mutters in your ear, his mustache tickling your jaw while he rubs your clit to ease you into it.

“actin’ like i haven’t fucked this pussy before, know you can handle it, sè una niña grande para mí,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, and you melt, nodding desperately. “i am,” you mumble, bracing yourself for when he bottoms out inside you. he thrusts upward, holding you by the fat your ass, pulling you down onto him. 

the air is knocked out your lungs, and all you can do is hold on to his leather clad shoulders for dear life. your hips start moving in sync, rolling into each other, and you feel insane, it feels so good, you start thinking maybe you’ll do this more often.

the sting from the stretch subsides soon, but the feeling of being full stays, and you keep it, loving how good it feels. the head of his cock nudges deep inside you, bobbing up into your throat and you fall apart, fucking yourself on him, addicted to the way he hits every little spot inside you that you need. 

you’re moaning, panting loudly in his ear, and he eats every single one of them up, gripping your hips when he guides you down onto him. kisses lay wetly across the side of his neck, teeth graze over his ear, praises of how fucking big he is, and how good he feels inside you, relay to him over and over, making his cock twitch when he picks up the pace in his thrusts. 

“you’re so nice while i fuck you baby, maybe this is how i should shut you up more often huh?” he teases, but you don’t care, you’d start arguments with him if it meant he’d always feel this good in you. 

“in so deep,” you whimper more to yourself but he hears you, he hears it all. he hears how fucking soaked you are around him, hears every little breath, every little moan that comes out of you. 

he smacks over your ass, chuckling to himself when you whine and clamp down around him. “maybe i should go find that guy huh?” he leans forward, lips on your shoulder when he ruts up into you deeper, right there to hold you closer when you keen into him at the hard thrust.

“ ‘should find him and fuck you in front of him, show him how its done, what do you think of that baby?” he grunts, hands tightening over your hips. 

you just moan, babbling something incoherent when you grind down onto him, his words acting as a lighter underneath the growing flame while you bounce on him. you squeeze around him, your body unashamed of how much you like the idea of such a dirty act. 

he feels the way you clamp down around him, chuckling breathlessly, his hand traveling behind your neck to force you to look at him. “or maybe it’s you who’d like that,” he taunts, expecting a shy shake of your head, but you just nod, trying to meet his thrusts. "i'll do whatever you want javi," you whimper pathetically, and god, that does something to him. 

"know you will, so sweet baby," he groans, leaning back to watch where you both meet, loving the sight of his cock entering and disappearing into your cunt. 

you tug at the hair from the back of his head, messily kissing all over his jaw and cheek, and he takes it all, adoring how clingy you are with him right now. he pulls the front of your dress down, hooking his fingers under the cups of your bra and groaning to himself when he sees your tits, pretty and pert under the bra, he of course, picked out for you. 

black see-through lace, his favorite. 

"gonna be the death of me, mi vida," he murmurs to himself, latching his hot eager mouth over them. he assaults the soft skin with his tongue, teeth grazing over your sensitive nipples, a smirk forming around the flesh when he teases the ghost of a bite, wanting to laugh when you squirm and arch your back at his actions. 

his fingers find their place back to your clit, rubbing over the nerves like clockwork, syncing the way you bounce on him with harder thrusts, making the pleasure surrounding you inescapable. 

breathing is getting harder, but it feels unimportant, everything does when it comes to javi. in this moment if he told you to stop breathing altogether you honestly just might listen to him. 

but it's so much so soon, and you want to hold onto the moment for as long as you can, enjoy each stroke of his cock deep inside you longer, and if he keeps touching you like this, you know you won't last. you paw at his hand, trying to push the relentless wrist away. "no more javi, m'gonna cum too fast please," you whimper, but he doesn't agree. you're finished when he's finished. 

"do i need to cuff you to the headrest or are you gonna keep those hands to yourself?" he spits, sounding harsh, sounding serious. you whine like a wounded puppy, shaking that empty little head of yours. 

"but javi," he grabs your chin, guiding your gaze downward when he moves his jacket to the side, revealing the cuffs that hang from his belt loops. "think i'm kiddin'? hands to yourself or around me. otherwise you get these. your choice," he's still inside you, and you can't take it, you throw your arms around him, hugging him close while trying to get him to move again. 

"gonna be good, gonna listen, m'sorry, please move javi, please?" 

he senses your desperation, and gives in, continuing his thrusts. you sigh in relief, following the way his hips piston up into you with your own. 

"can i touch you?" you whisper, unsure if you're allowed to, but javier relents, nodding with a kiss to your neck. you slide his jacket off eagerly, quickly unbuttoning his shirt before your hands are running along the warm skin of his shoulders, squeezing them when he thrusts right there. 

your hands drag down his chest, nails lightly digging into his tanned skin when your head falls back, rising and falling up and down on his cock. his mouth is on you again, tongue swirling over the curve of your chest, gripping them roughly in his wide palms. 

he watches you from this view, how you lose yourself when he's got his cock in you, and he thinks maybe he should have encouraged you to ride him earlier. 

he's getting close, watching you has only pulled him closer to the end, his cock twitching the more he imagines how good you'd look dripping in his cum. he imagines your trembling thighs being parted by his hands, your abused hole just leaking and leaking from his cum. 

"m'close, gonna let me finish inside mi vida?" he grunts, and you nod heavily, clamping harder down around him when he asks. "please, please javi," you beg, and who is he to deny you? 

his fingers run around your clit once more, those tight circles from the pads of his fingers bring you right there alongside with him, moaning his name in an incomprehensible voice while his face rests in the crook of your neck, bouncing you on top of him. 

"always wanted to cum in you baby, always wanted to fill you up nice an' good —fuck—, make you fuckin' full of me, just know you'd look so fuckin' good just drippin– shit," you're squeezing him like you never have before, his confessions, the ferver in the way he fucks you is just too much, your body acts before you can even process what’s happening. 

you cum all around his cock, and the pulsing of your walls, the whimpers of his name from your pretty lips is all he needs to join you in your blinding orgasm. he's cumming inside you, grunting your name and how fuckin' good you are for him, his mouth hot on your neck while he fucks you through your shared orgasms. 

he doesn't let up on your clit until the pleasure bleeds into pain, and you can't take it. with heavy breaths you collapse in his arms, panting like you've just ran a marathon, sweaty forehead resting on the cool leather of the seat. 

he gently shifts your hips backward, looking down at his cum that pours out of you. he likes the mess, likes how your cunt looks when he rubs his cum across your throbbing clit, you jump at the stimulation, begging him in a tired voice, no more javi. 

he listens, taking sympathy on your spent body. he puts your panties back over you, tucking himself away before he repositions you so you're properly sitting in his lap, letting your legs stretch across the rest of the backseat. 

"you okay mi bebita?" he murmurs softly, and you hum a sleepy yes, still buzzing from your orgasm. "still mad?" he asks jokingly, pulling a hazy giggle from you.

“i think you just fucked any anger i had left out of me." he laughs proudly at that, rubbing your back. "yeah? maybe that's how we should settle all our fights then." 

#javier pena x reader #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena #narcos #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #javier pena smut #narcos smut #narcos netflix #requested #requests open #open requests #reqs open #javier peña x reader

[bree-cheesy]

Forbidden Pleasure

Joseph Quinn x fem!reader

A/N: So here I am with another fic after like almost a month. Sorry y'all. I get excited to write for like a week then don't want to for a month. Hope I make up for my absence. And I hope you guys like the fic. Took me a lot of effort to make honestly.

SIDE NOTE: Messed something up so I had to delete and repost! Sorry!!

Credit to @nowadayz for the gif

Warnings: SMUT 18+!!! Minors just go away. (dirty talk, mutual pining, intense kissing, slight sub and dom themes but only if you squint, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, cockwarming mentions, finger sucking.) Some fluff, co-star friends to lovers, not very plot heavy, reader and Joseph practice kissing for a scene. No use of Y/N. Think that's it. It's not proof read either.

Word Count: 2093

______________________________________________________________

Joseph was your costar. You both were starring in a romance movie about two ex lovers. They were separated when they went to college and recently ran into each other when your character got a new job in the character’s old town. It was pretty cliche, but it was your first film you were starring in so you were excited. Joseph played the love interest. It was your first film where you had to act out a sex scene. You were so unprepared. It’s not like you’ve never been with someone intimately, but acting a sex scene was so much different then actually having sex.

Joseph was nothing, but kind to you about the whole thing. He knew you were nervous about it and was super supportive. He was nervous himself because he was too afraid to admit he was attracted to you. He was head over heels for you almost. He wanted to make the whole scene perfect for you because he had a small amount of hope something would happen between you both. He would have to wait to say anything until filming was ended because you both could be kicked from the movie. He didn’t want that for you.

You were in your trailer, preparing for the scene. It was only you and Joseph and the filming crew on set that day, but you were still nervous. What if you were bad at it? What if you forgot to brush your teeth beforehand? Thoughts were zooming through your head so bad that you almost missed the knock on your trailer door. You got up and opened the door. Joseph was standing there.

“Oh, hey Joe.” You let him in and shut the door behind him. Your palms felt sweaty around him. He was hard to be around. It was almost intimidating.

“Hey, just thought I’d check on you before the scene. See how you’re feeling.” Joseph ran his hand through his hair and gave you a weak smile. Even if the smile was fake, it was still beautiful. God, that smile. It was something you saw in your mind at almost every waking moment. Completely tormenting you all day every day. Everything about it was perfect. Not to mention his eyes. Goddamn he was just a beautiful man. “Hey, you there?”

You shook out of your thoughts and looked up at him, gulping nervously. “Yeah, yeah. I’m nervous honestly.” You walked back to the desk you were at and sat down. “Scared I’ll do bad. Haven’t really had very many praises on my kissing skill in my life.” Joseph looked at you confused. You shook your head. “It’s not important. Don’t worry about it.”

Joseph sat down on your couch in the corner, sitting back and manspreading in a way that made chills go down your spine. You usually hated when men did that. Why is it so attractive when he does it? “I understand. I haven’t necessarily had complaints about my skills, but it’s different in front of a camera. Always a little nerve wracking.” He smiled at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Especially when the girl you’re kissing is pretty.”

You blushed and rolled your eyes, peeking at the time on your phone. “It’s no secret that people don’t want me to do this movie. There have been complaints since before we started filming. One little mess up and I’m fucked, Joe.” You groaned and held your head in your hands. Joseph rolled his eyes.

“Don’t even worry about that. You’re gonna do fine.” Joseph looked at you, an idea suddenly crossing his mind. It was a stretch so he was scared to even ask the question, but you looked desperate. “Uhm, we could practice.” You looked up at him confused. Practice? Practice what? Fake sex?

“Practice?” You asked, still terribly confused.

“Yeah, like practice kissing or something. Like, if you’re so worried you’ll mess it up, we can practice to see how we work together.” He shrugged and sat forward a little. “In my opinion, it’s worth a shot.”

You bit your lip nervously, your cheeks heating up. Kissing Joe out of character? What was he thinking? This is dangerous. Who knows what would happen between you two? The attraction between you two was undeniable. The kiss could spark something dangerous. Something forbidden. “A-Are you sure?” Your voice was meek and shaky.

He nodded and stood up. “If you don’t want to, we don’t have to. Not gonna force you to do it.” He held his hand out and you took it, standing up in front of him. “Look, you set the pace. If that means I don’t touch you, or if there's no tongue, I don’t care. All up to you. I want you to be comfortable.” He looked so kind and gentle. You are lost now. Unable to let the chance of feeling his lips not in front of a camera pass up. It was a need. Not a want. A need. A need clawing at your insides that was getting almost too much to handle.

“U-Uhm, okay.” you gulped nervously and he smiled.

“Okay, what’s the rules then, m’lady.” He held his hands out like one of those wooden dummies you’d draw. “Guide my hands wherever.” You pouted a little and gently took his hands, putting them on your waist. Seemed like a secure spot. He’d have a grip on you in case the kissing was just too much and you passed out.

His hands flexed against your waist, aching to slide under your t-shirt so he could feel your skin. He needed more, but he was going to stay true to his word. The pace of this was up to you. He looked down at you with such patience that it almost made you melt into a puddle at his feet. You usually were not the kind to want to bend at every command a man gave, but for him, you’d do almost anything. His head went down a little, just to get closer so it wasn’t awkward trying to start the kiss. His breath gently fanned against your lips. It smelled minty with a slight hint of cigarettes. It was sinful.

Gently, you pressed your lips to his. His hands tightened ever so slightly on your waist and you stepped closer. Mentally cursing at yourself for kissing like a scared teenager, you deepened it ever so slightly. Both your eyes fluttered shut, noses bumping a little. He couldn’t stop himself. Your lips were just too soft. He needed more. He pressed his lips harder against yours and you let out a soft whimper, pressing more against him. He wouldn’t go too far. Not unless you did. He felt your tongue gently swipe his bottom lip and he opened on a sigh, hugging his arms around your waist.

Reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck, the kiss turned sloppy. Hot and wet. Teeth clashing. It was primal. A need deep down in the both of coming out after one simple kiss. You moaned into his mouth when he pressed you up against the wall, slotting his mouth hard over yours. You were so fucked. So absolutely mega fucked. He tasted like pure sin. Better than anything you could’ve imagined.

His hands went down to your ass and squeezed softly, groaning and slotting his thigh between your legs, making your knees buckle and fall into him. His hands went down your belly and roughly unbuttoned your jeans. You wiggled your hips slightly as he stuck his hand inside, welcoming the gesture with open arms. His fingers slid to your aching pussy which was now completely soaked. It always was when you thought about him.

“Fuck… so wet…” Joseph groaned into your mouth and moved down to kiss your neck. His fingers found your clit in record time and you moaned a little louder than intended. Just as he was about to go further, your phone rang. He gasped and pulled away. You scrambled to grab the phone and looked at the contact. It was the producer. He was calling you to get ready for the scene. Joseph fixed his clothes and you hastily buttoned your pants back up. No words were spoken between you two and you both awkwardly walked to hair and makeup.

--2 hours later--

The tension was sizzling between you two after the scene. Everyone could tell, but no one was going to say anything. As you got back to your apartment that night, your phone buzzed. It was a text from Joe. You bit your lip nervously and looked at it.

Joey: You better open your front door.

Confused, you opened it and were met with Joseph standing there, out of breath and holding onto the doorframe. Before you could get a word in, he rushed at you, kissing you with such urgency you'd 've been convinced the world was ending. You weren’t going to stop it, though. His hands ripped your shirt and pants off before picking you up and carrying you to the couch. Your ass landed in his lap facing away from him. You took a deep and much needed breath. You hadn’t really gotten one since he tackled you.

He kissed your neck while you shimmed your panties down your legs. His hand went between your thigh and he groaned into your ear. “God, the most perfect pussy…” His middle and ring finger slipped through your soaking folds making you whine and squirm in his lap. He lightly slapped your thigh. “Be a good girl and hold still.”

You nodded and whimpered softly, lolling your head back against his shoulder. He gently rubbed your clit, whispering dirty nothings in your ear, slowly making you come undone. You felt his hard on growing under your ass, making it so hard to not wiggle against it. His fingers were so gentle and talented. Your body quivered against his chest, breath coming out in hard pants. “Joseph… I need.. please!” You whimpered, feeling yourself getting close.

“Cum for me, baby… I want to see it.” he slipped his middle finger inside your pussy, his thumb working against your clit in time with his finger’s thrusts. You felt yourself squeeze around his fingers, Joseph whispering encouragements into your ear. Finally, you cried out and came hard around his finger. He pulled his finger out and pressed it against your lips. You sucked on it obediently, wanting to please him. He reached down between you two and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling his aching cock out.

“Joseph… please….” You whined, wiggling against his cock. You just wanted him inside you. He wouldn’t even have to move, just put it inside you and let you warm his cock. Anything for him. He gently lowered you onto his cock, stretching you out so good. It was a little painful, but it felt so good at the same time. It was a forbidden feeling running through your whole body. Without even thinking, you started bouncing on his cock. It wasn’t even something you knew you were doing.

He grabbed your hips and helped you up and down his cock, grunting and groaning. Your moans echoed through your apartment, a beautiful song only you two would be able to make. You pressed your palms on his knees and rode him harder, whining and moaning, your eyes shutting at his tip pressed against the spot inside you that made you weak.

“That’s it, baby. Use my cock… Use it, baby…” Joseph slapped your ass, making you yelp and go faster, chasing the release you so desperately needed. Joseph moved his hips up against yours, meeting your thrusts and driving you wild. He felt your pussy walls clench around his cock and gritted his teeth. “S-So tight…” Joseph stuttered out.

“I-I’m gonna cum, Joe-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before cumming hard for the second time. Joseph groaned and felt his release snap, filling you up. You fell back against his chest, your breath coming out shaky and hard. Your eyes shut and your hand went back to behind his head, snaking your fingers through his curls. He breathed heavily and gently lifted you off his cock, setting you back down on his lap, too tired to get up. Turning his arms, you snuggled into his chest and fell asleep. He just hugged you close and shut his eyes.

It was a forbidden thing for the two of you. No one would know until they had to. Forbidden, but so amazing. Forbidden pleasure.

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x fem!reader smut #joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #friends to lovers #smut #my work

[laundrybiscuits]

(young man what do you wanna be tag)

“Why won’t you pretend to date me?”

“Jesus fucking—holy goddamn taint-biting hell, Harrington.” Eddie clutches at his chest, trying to recover from a minor cardiac event caused by opening his bedroom door to find Steve Harrington sitting at his desk. “Why the fuck are you here? How the fuck are you here? Also, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Wow, rude,” says Steve. “Wayne let me in. And Jonathan told me about the, uh, the Will plan. I think Argyle called it Operation Happy Ending? I don’t…I never know how serious he is about that stuff, man. Is he, like…okay?”

“Argyle is an enigma beyond mortal ken,” says Eddie fondly. 

“Sure,” says Steve. He sounds doubtful. “Anyway, why won’t you pretend to date me?”

Eddie groans, pitching backwards onto his mattress and scrubbing his palms over his face. “Because that idea sucks! It’s a bad idea! A better question is: why are you letting Jonathan Byers talk you into shit?”

“It sounds like a pretty good idea to me. It’s for Will, right? Jonathan said he needed to, uh, see a healthy model of a same-sex relationship.” 

Eddie would bet just about anything that the last part is a direct J. Byers quote.

“First, I’m not lying to a child. It’s deeply unethical, and as you well know, I am a scrupulously moral individual at all times. Second, do you really think it’s prime role model behavior to construct a fake relationship which will inevitably be unveiled as a sham and a farce? The foundations of young Byers’s world will be rocked, marking the beginning of a slow slide into disillusionment and crime. He’ll be serving twenty to life before you know it.”

Steve sighs, big and gusty like Eddie’s being somehow unreasonable. “God, you’re impossible. So just—actually date me, then.”

“Right,” says Eddie. “Obviously. Why didn’t I think of that. What the fuck, Steve.”

“What’s the difference between fake dating and real dating, anyway? We’ll go see a movie or something, get dinner.”

“Am I having a stroke? Okay, first of all, we cannot and will not do any of those things. Crash course on being gay in Hawkins: it sucks, and we will get jumped.”

“I’ll protect you,” says Steve, because he’s an arrogant dumbass with a white-knight streak a mile wide. Eddie likes him so, so much.

“Jesus. No, okay? You can’t fist-fight the entire goddamn world. They will literally, literally murder me. Lit-er-al-ly. This is—it’s a fucking stupid idea. You’re not even gay, what the fuck.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m bisexual.” Steve’s got a mulish look on his face. “So you should date me.”

“What.” Eddie sits up. “Since when? This is new information. Is this information I was supposed to have had previously? Is this information that other people have?” If Jonathan and Argyle knew and didn’t say anything, Eddie is going to murder them to death. 

Steve looks away, scratching at his jaw, and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t show when he’s nervous, usually, and it dawns on Eddie that Steve probably doesn’t have a lot of experience coming out of his sporty little closet.

“Ah, hey, I didn’t mean…I’m, uh, proud of you? I support you?” Eddie leans over to pat Steve’s shoulder awkwardly, trying his best to channel Murray but probably landing a little closer to Jonathan Byers.

“So…I can pick you up at six tomorrow?” Steve says. 

“Nope, still not happening,” says Eddie, and leaves the room. 

———

“I don’t get it. You’re, like, in love with him—” Jonathan ignores Eddie’s indignant squawking. “And he asked you out, and you said no?”

“He wasn’t asking me out for real! It was your bullshit garbage so-called plan, which is continuing to ruin my life. When I said I wouldn’t fake-date him, he just—switched tactics. He’s obviously trying to trick me into being part of this whole fake dating thing.”

“You realize that’s completely insane and makes no sense, right,” says Jonathan. 

“I am the Dungeon Master. I see all, and I know all.”

Jonathan squints at him with an undisguised and unwarranted skepticism. “You really gotta stop saying that, man. It does not sound as cool as you think it does.”

“I am extremely cool always. Also, I’m not in love with him. Gross,” Eddie grumbles.

“Don’t be homophobic, dude,” says Argyle peaceably. “Love is never gross in any form.”

“Excuse you, I will be as homophobic as I damn well please. Love is gay and I won’t have it in my house.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re joking but this is making me really uncomfortable,” says Jonathan.

“That’s homophobic, dude,” says Eddie. “Hush up and let the queers talk. I’m not in love with Steve, I’m in love with Argyle and we’re gonna run away and get married.”

Argyle shakes his head, laughing. “Nah, I don’t hang with matrimonial attachments. It’s all a scam by Big Wedding.” 

“Wait,” says Jonathan. “Seriously? Like, even if you fell for a girl?”

“If she’s the right lady for me, she won’t need a piece of paper to celebrate love. Love’s gotta live in the heart-house, Jonathan. In the heart-house.” Argyle taps Jonathan’s chest.

“Hear, hear,” says Eddie, who doesn’t have any particular opinions on the matter but would back just about anyone and any position in the entire world against Jonathan Byers at the moment.

#fic: young man what do you wanna be #still choosing chaos with this one #all of the voices here are uhhhh highly questionable in their accuracy #I really am gonna have to look at Jonathan's canon speech patterns at some point bc I have no actual idea what he's supposed to sound like #but that point will not be today #tomorrow's not looking good either

[odetodilfs]

Can I request Tim Rockford getting his ass eaten, in his office, by his boyfriend?

Overtime

Hey anon!! Goddamn it was this request hot to write, I haven't written eating out in a bit tho, so excuse me if it sounds rusty.

Pairing: Tim Rockford x male!reader Warnings: Established relationship, fingering, oral sex, eating out, risky sex.

It was another late night with Tim working on a case, you, as usual, came by to accompany him. It was like your own little ritual between you two, during late nights you came into his office to help him with cases and give him much needed kisses. He was doing his usual pose, sitting backwards in the chair, obviously making his ass stick out. He loved teasing you, but this time you just weren’t gonna have it, so you waited until he moved to the table.

When he sat on it you immediately moved in and kissed him roughly on the lips, putting his back on the table, he moaned slightly as you kissed him, his mustache tickling your upper lip as you immediately put your crotch to his ass, asserting some sort of dominance over him, “Babe- I gotta get this case done-” he writhed under you, “Come on my dear, catch a break” you flirted, he simply moaned in reply, he found it so hot when you spontaneously made him submit.

“Let’s give you what you seem to you want, showing around this ass like I wouldn’t be tempted to eat it” you commented, taking off his pants, “W-what if someone’s working overtime- t-too?” he asked, “Then that’s too bad, you’ve been teasing me too much” his pants were at his knees by now, your head between his quivering thighs, he was horny and he admitted it, “Unbutton your shirt dear” you ordered, soon, his stomach was exposed and so was his hole.

“F-fuck-” he moaned as you put your tongue to his ass,  you tasted the sweet musk on your tongue, fuck, you couldn’t get enough and you plunged your face between your boyfriend’s round ass and licked at him like he was some sort of delicacy, kissing, occasionally biting the round cheeks and leaving a mark on them he’d feel the next day. Tim was in another world, feeling your tongue swirl inside him was the best feeling he’d ever had, it felt so good, all he could do was moan your name and beg in broken sentences for more.

You weren’t just eating his ass now, you were full on making love to it with your tongue, plunging as much of your tongue as it was possible, he was slightly opened up for you now, his hole expanding and contracting around your tongue felt and looked so goddamn hot, “Use- your-” he managed to incomprehensibly mutter out in absolute bliss, “f-fingers-” he asked, you had eaten him out many times and when he said that, that meant he wanted you to use your fingers too, so you grabbed the lube from the drawer which he kept it in for occasions such as these. You put it on your fingers and started to push a finger inside as he moaned and threw his head back in pleasure. You took your dick out and started to jerk off as you ate his ass.

As one finger turned into 2, you curled them around and touched his prostate as you started to suck his cock, you knew it drove him crazy, the way he whimpered and writhed was so hot for you, he moaned your name out loud shamelessly, contradicting himself with his hole “there might be people here” dilemma. He was absolutely drunk in the pleasure you were giving him. You kept licking at the puckered hole, which was now slightly stretched out because of your fingers. After a few minutes, you heard him scream your name louder than the other times and you felt a slightly salty, slightly sweet taste in your mouth as his dick twitched in your mouth and his hole clenched around your fingers, giving him an intense orgasm because you had played so much with his prostate, the man finished unloading into your mouth and was breathless, seeing him all sweaty and tired, you came on the floor and quickly wiped it up with tissue. 

You went up to kiss your man, still catching his breath, “Thank you baby, I needed that” he smiled at you and leaned in to kiss you,

“You can carry on the investigation now” you joked, hoping he’d not carry on,“Screw that, we’re going home baby” he took you under his arm and kissed your forehead as you started helping him dress up to go home, “You know I love you, right?” he said, out of the blue “It’s one of the few things I can be sure of” you smiled, he opened the car door for you as you got on, you couldn’t wait to go back home.

#tim rockford #tim rockford x male reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #male reader #x male reader #gay

[film-in-my-soul]

Dirty Words | 10,207 | morningberries / @morningberriesao3

Summary: Steve gives Eddie a lesson on dirty talk, but things start to get carried away.

Cassiopeia, Orion, Bootes | 10,780 | AidaRonan / @aidaronan

Summary: When Steve finds the flyer for Bayou Bobby's midnight swamp tours, he's excited to finally get the opportunity to do something interesting on his work trip to New Orleans. Until he finds out he's human bait for something that lives in the swamp. Something with claws and scales and eyes that glow red in the moonlight.

if you wanna be my lover (you gotta be my friend) | 10,909 | hopewithfeathers

Summary: Eddie is so unused to being this fucking messed up over one specific person, and it’s driving him absolutely crazy. The fact that it’s Steve fucking Harrington doesn’t make it any better, and even though Eddie knows him now and he’s a good guy (the best guy, actually), it doesn’t help that Steve is probably, one hundred percent not interested.

Bad Timing | 11,071 | Anonymous

Summary: Steve's just trying to keep them all alive. He's stuck in the Upside Down, he's been attacked by flying demon bats and this is turning out to be a really terrible week. He's ignoring the aching in his body and the fever he seems to be developing because getting out of the hell dimension really seems like a more pressing matter. Except it's not just his injuries he's been ignoring. The stress has brought his heat on months early and being surrounded by Eddie Munson's scent is not making things better. Thanks to everything else going on, he doesn't notice until it's too late.

thirty days | 11,570 | Adure / @toburnup

Summary: "Okay, you should probably leave,” Eddie says quietly, hand slipping underneath the blanket. His other hand reaches for the remote and he pauses the movie. “Why?” “‘Cause I’m going to jerk off.” Steve's mouth is dry. His body is heavy. “I don’t want to go.” “Fine." Eddie leans his head back against the wall, reveals the column of his throat. "Stay.”

Please see below for more recommendations!

got a devil's haircut (in my mind) | 11,809 | harmonictechnicality / @harmonictechnicality

Summary: Models are beautiful people, that’s the goddamn gig. Makeup, no makeup. Photoshop, no photoshop. They just look better than the general population and society accepts that as a fact. But Eddie is a grubby little voice actor that burrows himself up in his boxy apartment for days. Very little sunlight, very little human interaction, and a shit ton of takeout. Long story short, he doesn’t get out much. So this? Seeing a biblically hot heartthrob in the flesh? With his own two eyes? It’s knocking him into deep space. Sending him into an astral projection without sticking a tablet on his tongue first.

the pre-show ritual | 12,062 | helix_stomper

Summary: Steve wasn’t really all that surprised to find himself here. He had never seen a gloryhole before. He’d chalked them up to a horny teenager’s pot at the end of the rainbow. Fantasy, and nothing else. A fat old man couldn’t squeeze down a chimney, and a guy couldn’t get his dick sucked in a public bathroom. But here it was, a small circular hole cut into the side of two adjacent stalls, as real and as terrifying as it could be. What surprised Steve about tonight was that he wasn't sticking his dick through the hole. Instead, he found himself sitting on his heels in front of it, hands wringing anxiously in his lap as he licked his lips and waited for someone to shuffle into the other stall.

In My Boxers, Half Stoned | 12,338 | Eddywow

Summary: "You can," Eddie said, almost sounding like he was nodding along to his words. The image was too pure for Steve. "You could say anything you want to me and I'd- I think I'd be into it. Because I saw your pics and like, I know your face isn't in them but- but I really like them. Is it okay that I liked them?"

An Accidental Flogging | 12,965 | ArtaxLivs / @artaxlivs

Summary: Steve is just staring at him, looking at Eddie over his shoulder. Eyes wide, mouth open in a perfect O. The ring of the smack Eddie just delivered on his perfect, beautiful ass still resonating in the empty kitchen.

Bone Mirror | 13,048 | Oonionchiver / @azrielgreen

Summary: Steve has never killed a human being before. It’s all he has. His life is oppressively quiet. Silent. Waiting for the day he’s brave enough to fill the pool again. Waiting for change. Waiting for the moon. It’s all he fucking has. Until Eddie Munson is accused of murder.

Swipe Right | 13,759 | aaliona / @bifuriouswaterbender

Summary: Eddie Munson knew how to take a profile picture, Steve decided right then. The angle was from straight on, but Eddie had his head tilted to the side, somehow managing to give big doe eyes at the viewer as his long hair fell around him. His sleeves were pushed up, showing off tattoos on both arms that he was subtly flexing. Steve had heard a lot about Eddie and didn’t even know which of it to believe. But hey, perhaps this was his chance to find out. At very least, Munson seemed like the kind of guy to know what he was doing. Taking a deep breath, Steve swiped right.

I’m on the Hunt (I’m After You) | 16,362 | OhlioOh

Summary: Odd is Eddie Munson’s thing, acquiring knowledge of the esoteric and strange a core tenet of his personality. Yet Hawkins National Park had been one big, beautiful blind spot. Plenty of people visit, plenty of people vanish, and yet not a soul is talking about it. Something is stalking these woods, and Eddie is going to be the one to find it. If only Park Ranger Steve Harrington wasn’t such a giant, unfairly attractive pain in his ass.

A Gem Beyond Counting | 13,728 | teddywesworl / @teddywesworl

Summary: The wrong feeling pitches and dives toward nausea again. Steve folds in half, eyes squeezed shut. The room spins, and his skin goes clammy. Behind the rush of white noise in his ears, he thinks he hears Eddie’s voice, calling to him, saying his name. There’s a soft pressure on his back that moves up to the back of his neck, and— Gone. Everything’s fine. He feels fine. He feels good, even. Eddie has a hand on the back of his neck and one clutching his forearm. Eddie looks frantic, eyes wide, a sheen of sweat on his face and stray damp curls stuck there. Steve’s gaze is drawn to his mouth, taut and worried and always in motion. He wants to lick into it.

fear is fading fast | 14,389 | amiparanoidmuch (p1013) / @p1013

Summary: Eddie is twenty years old. He lives in a small sprawl of suburbia that holds his heart in a vice grip. He only knows one gay man—himself—and he's never getting laid, ever.

Hard to Learn | 20,285 | DaaroMoltor

Summary: Steve pulls up to just outside the garage door, then cuts the engine. He turns in his seat. “Eddie.” He startles, a visibly painful jerk, and his eyes snap to Steve. Steve meets them steadily, trying to project calm. Eddie’s gaze do linger on him for a moment, before he looks around. The house towers above them, dark and empty. Eddie frowns, plainly confused, then glances to Steve and- Realization dawns, then it’s quickly followed by anger and… hurt? The first quickly eclipses the latter, and Eddie flings open the car door. “See you around, I guess, Harrington,” he spits, beginning to limp away. Steve is so startled that it takes him a moment to get his bearings. “Hey!” he calls, scrambling out of the car. “Hey! Where are you going?! You can barely even walk!” “Home,” Eddie snaps. “And I’m walking because apparently I’m the only one who doesn’t deserve a fucking ride.” “Oh, for the love of-,” Steve mutters, then runs the couple of hobbled steps that Eddie has managed to put between them, grabbing his arm to spin him around. “Your home is half portal, idiot,” Steve says. “You’re staying with me.”

The Adventures of Eddie Munson, Cheerleader | 26,082 | bookworm1805

Summary: Hawkins Indiana, January 1985 The moment the basketball players walked into the gym, all hell broke loose.  Curses were spat. Teenagers whispered in scandalized tones as their nikes squeaked over the polished wood floor. Prayers were chanted. Somewhere across town, a baby probably cried. Eddie Munson grinned. 

the affliction of the feeling | 27,203 | nondz (pinkjook)

Summary: “Hold on,” Robin interrupts. “Hold on, is this— are you, like. Do you know what masochism is?” “I know I act like it sometimes, Robin, but I’m not actually fucking twelve,” Steve says.

for your eyes only (i'll show you my heart) | 32,068 | strawberryspence / @strawberryspence

Summary: “Damn you, Harrington.” Eddie shakes his head, looking back at the box again. He can see Robin looking at him, but Eddie avoids looking at her. He didn’t want to answer questions about his damn crush on Steve freaking Harrington and how he keeps getting more perfect by the minute. Eddie needs him to stop, like literally right now. “Oh my god,” Dustin screams, making Eddie look at him from across the room. Eddie finds him staring at someone, so he follows his line of sight and finds one Steve Harrington, yeah, that one, the one he just asked a second ago to stop being perfect? Yeah, that guy is standing at the bottom of the stairs with a crumpled box in his hands and is wearing glasses. Steve Harrington just exceeded perfect.

off the beaten path | 34,208 | pukner

Summary: "I'm saying this," says Steve, loudly, cutting him off, "because someone I love is, uh, gay. And I love them, but like, platonically. And also me calling you a queer might've been a little hypocritical, in restrospect." There is a long, baffled pause. "What," says Jonathan, "Steve, are you--are you coming out to me?" Steve frowns, "Oh, yeah, I guess I am. Cool."

The Shire is NOT on Fire | 54,148 | kissesforcas

Summary: The kids convince Steve to take them all to a Renaissance Faire and LARP event. Steve has more fun than he admits. And then Steve has a LOT more fun than he admits.

Ahoy, Big Boy | 83,733 | ChronicRabbit

Summary: Scoops Ahoy. America’s favorite place to cool down, and quite possibly the lamest summer job under the blazing Indiana sun. Especially if you were former High School royalty, brutally rejected by each and every university you’d applied to and promptly cut off by your shitty parents in an effort to teach: “some goddamned responsibility.” Between accidentally intercepted secret Russian communications, a meddling preteen matchmaker with no collarbones, and increased proximity with Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, a measly $3 an hour plus tips is nowhere near enough to deal.

caught in the middle, helpless again | 131,425 | margosfairyeye (Skittery) / @margosfairyeye

Summary: Fuck, Eddie has been here before. The deja vu was bad enough but this is like, double, this is like deja deja vu or deja vu vu or something, this is unprecedented shit here. And Eddie knows what comes next, knows like the roiling ache in his stomach that they’re going to go in, go though the portal and into the Upside fucking Down and didn’t they already do this?

Master Reclist · Personal Masterlist · Blog Nav.

#steddie #steve/eddie #steddie reclist #reclist #fanfic reclist #stranger things reclist

[asbealthgn]

cackling at this dumb cursed thought I just had and I greatly apologize in advance

- basically Steve has this habit of just eat anything even things that ARE NOT EDIBLE but he can like puke those right out like an owl or shit. Robin finds this out by accident when she dangles a worm to his face for funsies one day and he,, just slurps it like spaghetti and then easily retches it out alive. she is both disgusted but fascinated and it’s become something like their thing for Robin to see if Steve can devour anything else without either of them getting sick

This is also my set up for how Eddie gets his crush amplified when he shows off his new die set and Steve instinctively eats them off his hand like a fucking horse (Steve realizes a second too late what he just did, throws them up, and cleans them as nicely as possible. Eddie is both mortified and horny)

PLEASE this is so funny

it’s a nice day, so steve, eddie, and robin are lazing around in steve’s backyard. they’re drinking lemonade while eddie shows them all the new stuff he got at that game store he went to with jeff. for the grand finale, he whips out the gorgeous dice set he got, all glossy and opalescent.

“they look like they’d taste like smarties,” steve says and before eddie can even react steve is swooping in and sucking the eight-sided and six-sided dice off his fingers. robin immediately starts cackling while eddie watches in mesmerized horror as steve swallows his brand new dice.

“uh.” he doesn’t even know what to do in this situation. what’s the protocol for when the guy you have a massive crush on eats your dice?

realization registers on steve’s face. “oh, shit, you probably want those back, huh?”

“oh, uh, no,” eddie says as robin laughs even harder. “i think those are yours for good, man.”

“no, i can still feel them in my throat,” steve says, “let me get ‘em for you.”

then he’s on all fours, retching. what the actual fuck? and what’s wrong with eddie that the sight of steve on his hands and knees hacking like a goddamn cat with a hairball is doing so much for him?

steve gives a final heave and the dice are landing on the grass on front of him along with what eddie hopes is just lemonade. steve gives eddie a triumphant grin and scoops up the dice. “let me just clean these for you,” he says.

still in stunned silence, eddie can’t say anything as steve gets up and jogs into the house. as soon as he’s out of sight, eddie turns to robin.

“what the hell?” he asks, “did you know he could do that?”

she nods, eyes twinkling. “jarring, right?”

“that’s a word for it.” eddie drops his head into his heads. “i wanna fuck him so bad.”

that just makes robin cackle again as the sliding door opens and steve comes back outside.

“here,” he says, dropping the dice in front of eddie. “good as new.”

eddie peeks through his fingers to inspect the dice. they do look as good as the other ones, no ill effects from the time they spent in steve’s esophagus (no, eddie’s not jealous of dice).

“alright?” steve asks, looking concerned for the first time at eddie’s lack of response.

eddie drops his hands and smiles at steve. “alright.”

#this was such a funny idea thank you #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things

[theflyingfeeling]

two sweaty, horny dudes ✅

sauna ✅

no plot ✅

enjoy 💦

(or: Olli/Allu get it on at the band's sauna evening for no reason whatsover other than simply wanting each other so goddamn much)

~*~

Don't bother, Joonas, let's leave the IT club to nerd about whatever in peace.

Niko's teasing words had barely stopped echoing in the sauna when Olli's lips were already on Aleksi's shoulder, his tongue peeking out to lick a droplet of sweat above his collarbone. The boldness made Aleksi inhale sharply before nudging Olli away, although there was nothing in the world he wanted more than Olli's mouth on his skin.

"Don't," he whispered. "Not here..." Olli looked up at him from under hooded eyelids and the long lashes that framed his darkened eyes, and suddenly Aleksi could no longer remember why he was denying Olli anything at all. That was why he made no effort to stop Olli when he leaned further in to take a mouthful of Aleksi's skin just below his earlobe in his mouth; in fact, Aleksi tilted his head to give Olli more room to do so and hoped the tinted glass door of the sauna would veil their...carnal activities.

By the time they heard the showers being turned off and the door to the changing room closing, Aleksi was already half-hard from Olli's hot, wet kisses and his fingers digging into Aleksi's inner thigh. By the time the last noises of laughter and friendly banter died out in the next room, Olli was already lying down on the top bench of the sauna, back arching and low moans filling the small room as Aleksi mouthed his stomach with hungry, sloppy kisses landing all around his navel and along the happy trail to savour the salty taste as much as to worship the sweet softness of his belly. By the time Aleksi finally touched the tip of Olli's pulsing cock with his tongue, Olli was but a squirming mess under his touch, all but begging Aleksi to take him in his mouth.

The long, lingering licks Aleksi left on Olli's cock drove Olli crazy – Aleksi knew this from the way Olli's groans adopted a more needy undertone – but he had no intention to fulfil Olli's wordless pleas before he'd have the man tremble for it.

"Ale, I need to cum so bad," Olli panted, grinding his erection against Aleksi's lips that were now leaving light kisses along Olli's hardness. A lone drop of precum appeared at the tip, which Aleksi is quick to kiss away.

"Ale, please," Olli was practically whining now, "please let me cum in your mouth.

"Are you close?" Aleksi asked, although he knew the answer when he took Olli in his hand and felt it twitch in his fingers, and when he saw how Olli's abdomen contracted from the touch, and when he heard the litany of swear words leaving Olli's mouth.

"So fucking close I'm gonna cum on your face if you're not gonna take me in your mouth soon."

There was no doubt Aleksi wouldn't have loved that either, and he almost told Olli so; nevertheless, he guided Olli's cock in between his waiting lips. Hollowing his cheeks, he began sucking in rhythm with Olli's groans, making sure to let his lips graze against the sensitive tip before swallowing down again until his septum ring was nearly touching Olli's pubes. He felt Olli throbbing against his tongue, twitching in between his lips, thrusting towards the ceiling under his hands that rested on Olli's hip bones, and with every lust-filled movement Aleksi felt as if there were two, fatally horny wolves inside him: one that was determined to keep Aleksi bobbing his head up and down to help Olli reach his peak sooner rather than later, and one that was curious to see how long Aleksi could keep Olli on the edge before they'd both lose their minds.

Eventually his motive to please Olli outplayed any other, more selfish desire he might have had and he tightened his lips around Olli's cock. Olli buckled his lips uncontrollably when Aleksi added a hand to the base of his hard-on to massage it, to feel Olli's arousal under his fingertips, to revel in every twitch and throb that inspired Aleksi's own aching cock that stood neglected between his thighs. He was desperate to touch himself – he was only human, after all – but as it turned out, his hands had far more important tasks to tend to: while the other was busy gripping Olli's cock, the other had sneaked up to Olli's chest to bury his fingers in the bush of chest hair which Aleksi so loved; which Olli so loved to leave peeking from the collar of his shirt just to drive Aleksi crazy; which Aleksi couldn't wait to cover in his white semen again, like he had done just the other night on the couch of his studio.

Nearly lost in the memory of frotting himself on Olli's chest, Aleksi was almost caught off guard by Olli starting to shoot his load in his mouth. At the height of his orgasm, Olli's slurred words are a mix of fuck and Ale and don't stop, and Aleksi keeps on working his tongue and lips until every last drop of cum has been swallowed, until the only noises left in the sauna are Olli's heavy breathing and the quiet cracking of the fire.

Seeing Olli's naked body in front of him, all spent and relaxed and beautiful, Aleksi could no longer ignore his own bodily needs. He sat back against the wooden panelling behind him and finally took himself in his hand, but he only had time to give himself a few, much-awaited strokes before Olli's fingers were replacing his own and a pair of lips were crashed against his. As if desperate to taste himself off Aleksi's tongue, Olli kissed him hungrily while pumping Aleksi's erection with vigorous, experienced flicks of his wrists, which had no business making Aleksi as close to his climax as it did. Yet, he found his lips mirroring the hasty movements of Olli's, grinding his erection into Olli's fist the best he could from his tight position in between Olli and the wall, and even letting Olli help Aleksi's knee up against his own chest, pushing him further against the wall as Olli's other hand teased around his hole.

Without warning, Olli slid one of his fingers in, and with even less warning, Aleksi came hard with his bottom lip tightly in between Olli's teeth so that his cry of pleasure was muffled somewhere inside Olli's hot mouth. When Aleksi at last regained the little that was left of his senses, the fire in the sauna stove had already died out; the fire in Olli's eyes, however, drilling into his from up close as he milked the last of Aleksi's cum, only seemed to flare up.

~*~

They made out under the shower, somehow leisurely and with great urgency at the same time. Olli was wet and smooth and hot under Aleksi's palms, his every curve and bone and muscle adding fuel to the already blazing flame that was scorching Aleksi's chest and groin, even without Olli's hand stroking his cock anew.

When Aleksi came again, spilling his load on Olli's fingers and stomach, his knees trembled under him from the strength of his second orgasm that evening, nearly making him fall at Olli's feet.

He wanted to ask Olli if he would catch him if he did; if he'd crumble under the weight of it all, would Olli be there to pick him up again?

Somehow the words never left his mouth.

(Perhaps Aleksi was afraid to hear the answer.)

Instead, he got on his knees again.

#weewoo here it is! sorry it's so late (for those of you on my side of the globe at least) #i had sauna myself tonight and... yeah maybe i had Thoughts™ what of it #ngl though i have wanted to write this exact fic for soooooo long #didn't have any particular universe in mind when writing this but if you imagine this to happen in the infidelity AU i ain't gonna stop you #also pleeeeeeaaase let me know how i did i am so insecure about my pwp-writing skills 😩 #random tumblr ficlets by theflyingfeeling #blind channel rpf #blind channel fanfiction #ollixallu #edit. added a teeny weeny detail before anyone could reblog this lol

[fanvoidkeith]

sooooo i may have. spent my day binge watching dungeon meshi and here are my Opinions, having never read the manga ever (very MINOR ANIME SPOILERS ahead! nothing too in-depth but, y'know, for laughs):

laios is my autistic blorbo son boy and i love him and i want him to be happy. go find your sister, dude, but also eat monsters for fun and research reasons. this is the one context where i would say "eat monsters" like... ever

laios is also 1,000 percent a freak for wanting to eat monsters and study them the way he does. absolutely insane man. stop trying to be a martyr, you dumbass, and also stop poisoning yourself. both of these opinions coexist at the same time and i don't know how to feel about it because feelings (and social cues) are difficult

marcille is a lady who is so so SO smart and cool, but has absolutely ZERO street smarts. (babygirl you are JUST like me, except for the whole "being a woman" thing.) she's a "gifted" kid who now has burnout and needs to feel useful or else she feels like a failure constantly kinda girlie. she doesn't want to be abandoned. relatable. i'm concerned at how much i relate to her. stop being so relatable, dammit!!

chilchuck is INCREDIBLY emotionally constipated. lmao. he also has chronic young-forever face, which means he probably gets mistaken for a twelve-to-sixteen-year-old constantly, which... same, dude, same. i've heard (from the manga readers) that he's divorced with several children, but i don't know if that's true. i hope it is. i really want that to be where part of his issues come from. i want more angsty moments with his character. he'll be my new emotional punching bag when i finish all those other unrelated one-shots i'm planning on writing :)

senshi is a sweet man who just wants to feed and protect his new friends. i think food and acts of service are his love languages. he has a really fuckin' strong pot and knife for some reason lmao

i love falin. she's kind of a freak too, but she knows social cues better than her brother from what i can tell. sure hope nothing bad happens to her- oh gods. well, i sure hope nothing ELSE bad happens to her- OH GODS OH FUCK-

uhhhh. i like that the kobolds in this anime are dog-people. i love dogs. dogs are cool. very cute. 12/10 decision honestly

this anime made me so hungry but i still forgot to eat for most of today. rip. the food in dungeon meshi looks goddamn delicious though, so it's fine

sometimes these characters act just like a D&D party would. like. damn. this is just like that ONE TIME in dungeons and dragons when our party did [X action] and then [Y consequences] happened-

oh my goddddddssss there's ECOSYSTEMS IN THE DUNGEONS??? DUDE I LOVE THAT. CRAZY CONCEPT. FUCKING LOVE THAT. ADVENTURERS AND MONSTERS AND CREATURES (and senshi, who is his own category) ARE PART OF AN ECOSYSTEM. I'M CLIMBING UP THE WALLS AND GOING INSANE RN

oooohhhh shit politics. oh shit background politics that our main characters ignored. no wonder they focused on this other party lol

OH SHIT OTHER CHARACTERS FROM THEIR BACKSTORIES RRRRRAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH

oh yeah i guess this is about whoever gets the big treasure at the bottom of the dungeon or whatever if they defeat the Big Bad or something? okay dude. it's only relevant to me when it's relevant to my New Blorbos honestly. but i WILL jot that down though :eyes emoji:

look. i am NOT calling it "delicious in dungeon". i KNOW that's the creator's intended english translation, but personally i think that title sucks. so DUNGEON MESHI it is, for me personally

PLEASE give me the second season right now i need MORE. i'm slurping up this show like soup and i'm fucking HOMGRY!!!

okay that's it that you for comjng to my ted talk

#void keith talks #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi anime #delicious in dungeon anime #late night thoughts #late night rambling #void keith rambles #anime stuff #show stuff #tv show stuff

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fresh Pain

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Please let me know what you think <3

🍭🍭🍭

Hot pain shoots down your arm. You groan as you wiggle your fingers and give up. It hurts too much. You gnash your teeth and whimper. You puff through your nose as agony courses through your muscles.

The gunshot echoes in your mind. Birdy. You should’ve known she’d blab. You really didn’t think she was that stupid. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth shut?

You sigh. What can you do now? Stay angry? She might deserve it but not as much as they fuckwads who took you. 

“You’re not helping yourself,” the man says as he rouses in the chair. He sits up and stretches his neck. “You tense up like that and it’s only gonna get worse.”

“Like you give a shit,” you growl. “Easier to trade us like cattle if we can’t fight back.”

He snickers, “well, I did tell him not to fire into the goddamn car but I think he did us all a favour clipping your wing.”

Your eyes roll back and you curl your lip. His arrogance reminds you of Sam in a way, but there’s less humour there. He’s king shit among the shitlords.

“So, how much am I worth? Is it a bundle deal?”

He pokes his tongue out, gliding it over his lower lip as he runs his index down the cleft in his chin. He’s amused. You’re not.

“You know, I don’t think there’s a price worthy of you. As much as I could use the pocket change.”

“Bullshit. You’re working for them. I know a goddamn pig when I see one.”

“Ex-pig. Fed.” He explains, “pays a lot more to work for myself.”

“Oh, yeah,” you wince and hiss as another pang coils in your arm, “and what about the other two?”

“Business partners.”

“Oh, if you asked me, I would’ve thought the other one with the shit stache was the leader. You fall in line right behind his greasy ass, don’t you?”

He rumbles, half a growl, half a chuckle. He leans forward, hands clutched together, “you’re trying to provoke me.”

“If this is a job to you, you should finish it,” you sneer, “arm hurts so bad, you’d be doing me a favour.”

“And what about your friends? You don’t care about them? You haven’t even asked.”

“I don’t gotta ask,” you suck in a breath and shake a hand in front of your arm, not daring to touch your wrapped wound, “goddamn it. God… urgh.”

“I told you to relax,” he chides.

“Hard to fucking relax with a jackass sitting in the corner like a goddamn Bond villain.”

“August,” he stands, “if you’re wondering. And you’re Candy. Fitting, you are a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

Your eyes list away and you drop your head back weakly. He’s irritating, almost as much as Sam. This is why you sold a dream to mean and not the real thing.

“I got some painkillers,” he lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, “if you ask nicely, I could slip you a few. Strong stuff, too.”

You glare at him. You’re not stupid. A bullet wound isn’t going to save you. It’s just another disadvantage.

“I’m good,” you snip.

“Strong, I like it. Stubborn, don’t like that so much,” he traces his fingers along your shoulder, “but that face balances the tables, don’t it?”

“You’re fucking disgusting.”

“Hmph, aren’t you a picky bitch?” He scoffs and grips your arm, squeezing until you shriek. You kick as lightning shoots up to the joint and ripples through your flesh. “I’m tryna be a nice guy here and you’re not helping, are you?”

“Fucker–”

He rips his hand away from your arm and taps your cheek. Not a full slap but enough to sting. He frames your chin and forces your head straight.

“Enough of that. I don’t like girls with ugly mouths,” he seethes as he leans in.

“Talk about an ugly mouth,” you retort.

He shoves you back, slipping his hand down to your neck. He squeezes and pins you to the pillows. You cough, arm thrumming until you squeak. As if this couldn’t be worse. A new set of psychos to deal with.

“You got two choices, cupcake. I can feed you some pills or something else. All I’m asking is for a little gratitude. Just… be nice.”

You furrow your nose defiantly. A scream curdles in the air and permeates through the wall. Birdy. As much as you hate her, you don’t want her to be hurt. Your eyes flit to the door and you try to sit up without thinking. He keeps you down without effort.

“She’ll be fine,” he bends over you, close enough that his breath wraps around you, “as long as you behave.”

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #august walker x candy #au #sweet treats #mission impossible: fallout #series #dark!fic #drabble #drabble series

[liaarxse]

hi! main tr boys with a taller s/o? like 6'

I'm baaack !!!

I get this struggle. I'm around 5'10, and I sucks simping for someone who's like 5'7 or below

This also includes real-life

FEE FI FO FUM

Characters: Ryuguji Ken, Hakkai Shiba, Keisuke Baji

Warnings: None, crack

A/n: I'm so sorry for this unannounced break I took, I just truly needed it <3

— Ryuguji Ken

When he first saw you, he was FLABBERGASTED

Why the hell are you so tall??

As if he isn't walking Mount Fuji over here

Bffr

But he never made fun of you

He actually admired you

Why?

You were rocking the height

And slowly, he started falling for you, and your just as big personality

That's how you ended up dating Ryuguji

And to be frank, you couldn't be happier

You knew the kind of environment he was raised in, and the fact he grew to be such a smart and responsible teenager was one of the things you admired most about him

And you always reminded him of that

Which only deepend his love for you

<3

He also likes to slap your ass

BABAHAHAH

It wouldn't be me if I didn't ruin a sweet moment 🫶

He's also very VERY protective of you

As if you aren't a walking mountain as it is

But there still are assholes who could try to hurt you, and you both knew it

And Ryuguji will be damned if he let anything happen to you

If someone, somehow, ended up hurting you, don't worry

Toman will be at their doorstep

Escorting the people who tried to hurt you to the ER

Like goddamn y/n

All jokes aside, the last thing Ken would be looking at are your looks. You could be half his height or half over it, and he'll still love you regardless. <3

The first time you visited the brothel, the girls were amazed

Like

Beauty and height all in one?

Did a model just enter this place?

Would befriend you on the spot

And would, of course, watch what they say to Draken from now on

Would make sure no man comes up to you with the wrong intentions

More devious than Draken himself frfr

Your big sisters love you as much as your big boyfriend <3

Even though you're taller than them <3

— Hakkai Shiba

Baby boy

Will love to be dominated–

–Whilst cuddling

Get your head out of the gutter y/n

But only if he has had a bad day

Good luck trying to little spoon this big boy on a regular basis

Loves to hug you from behind and hide his face in your neck without having to sprain half of the bones in his body

Would be shook when first meeting you

Like

Holy shit they're tall

To this day he's still trying to calculate how much milk you drank as a child to grow this much

And you?

You are too

Because why tf are you this tall?

This ain't jack and the beanstalk y/n

The first time you met Yuzuha she was shook

She knew you were tall but not THIS tall

She loves you regardless

Also babies you both

Why?

Because you're her babies

Her 6'0+ babies

Hakkai wouldn't be as protective as Draken, but will be possessive

Not the yandere psychopath kind of possessive but the kind that would cuddle up to you if you're talking to his sister on the couch

Would also keep a close eye when you're around his brother even though Taiju wouldn't harm you

Also forget about fighting

You might be double the height of his enemies, but you're staying double the distance away from them

Just stay away from fights

Boy only wants to keep his girl safe and sound y/n. Don't be an asshole

Nonetheless, Hakkai will make sure you feel at ease with your appearance no matter what because in his eyes, you were the most gorgeous person he's laid eyes on

And he makes sure you know it

— Keisuke Baji

BAHAHAHAHAHH – Mikey and Smiley

💀 – Mikey and Smiley 2 minutes later

Keisuke does not CARE about height

He'll treat you the same way as if you were half his own

Does not give a fuck if you're tall, he fell in love with you and that's final

Nobody messing with you from now on

You've had bullies? Wanna visit their graves?

A car almost hit you even though you're taller than siren head? Wanna see him light it on fire?

Baji solos your favorites

Wait Baji is your favorite?

Baji solos himself

LMFAO

Bonus points if you like cats

Because who doesn't like to play with cute little pussies?

Especially the big ones

Wanna know Baji's favorite big pussy type?

Black tigers

UGH I LOVE THEM

What did you think I was talking about huh?

HUH?

You nasty

Speaking of cats, Baji loves it when they climb on you

You'd be minding your own business, waiting for Kaisuke to get ready so you could finally go out when you felt something tug on your pants

When you looked down, you saw one cute little black kitten climbing up your pants

Swear to God your heart melted

You started baby-ing the cat, encouraging it while making sure it doesn't fall

Keisuke entered the room, wondering who the fuck you were talking to and when he saw this scenario unfolding before his eyes he deadass dropped to his knees in front of you, encouraging the kitty as well

You were both ecstatic when it managed to reach up to your top, and Baji took a quick family picture, which is now his wallpaper and would beat anyone who made fun of it <3

Jokes aside, Keisuke adores you and will never let anyone or anything make you feel any less

You're perfect inside out in his eyes, and that's more than enough

Just accept the love because there isn't any other way out of this

You're loved

#tokyo revengers #x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #headcanon #hakkai x reader #hakkai shiba #tr hakkai #hakkai x you #tokyo revengers hakkai #tokyo revengers baji #tokyo revengers draken #draken x you #draken x reader #ken ryuguji #ken ryuguji x reader #tr draken #tr baji #baji keisuke #baji keisuke x you #baji keisuke x y/n #baji keisuke x reader #tokyo revengers x y/n #tokyo revengers x you #fluff #crack