#cant tell if this sucks dick or not but like screw it we're here to mess around

[powderblueblood]

YES! NO! OKAY! I DUNNO!

ronnie and eddie volunteer at the hawkins high carnival to start their senior year off wrong right. wc: 2.4k warnings: eh, none. swearing. era-typical misogyny and shit. ronnie ecker gay as hell. was this inspired by the opening scene of bottoms (2023)? maybe! mind your business! requested by the lovely @joejoequinnquinn

“The thing is, man, when Ms. Kelley calls, you answer.” Ronnie shrugs through a mouthful of kettle corn and Eddie can almost hear the like Ghostbusters! She doesn’t even need to say it. 

“Kelley did not call you, first of all–”

“--well, no, we met at the market. Which is way more intimate, if you think about it. Romantic.”

“Second of all, this is a total fucking betrayal of your anti-school spirit ethos.” Eddie, with his wound cloud of cotton candy stuck in a cone, gesticulates wildly. Dude’s even scaring away the flies that might dare land on it. "What, you’re all pep squad now because you gotta nosebone some teachers into giving you scholarship recommendation letters? Volunteering for the fucking carnival?” His hands go up, a makeshift bandleader for the jaunty circus soundtrack that twinkles through the humid September air. “What’s next, the Young Republicans?” 

Ronnie’s whole face crushes in disgust. As per usual, she’s overestimated his perception in these matters. Dumbdumb is totally missing the point. 

“Edweiner,” she says, adjusting the strap of her overalls, “What I think you’re failing to essentially recognize here is the fact that–look around!--there are girls here.”

Damn fuckin’ skippy. Cheerleaders, nerd girls, regular girls, artsy girls, band girls, chess club girls, girls all wearing marginally hipper clothing than they usually would. Because the Hawkins High school carnival is prime hunting ground for hookups. 

Not that Ronnie's looking for any such thing, but it doesn't hurt to see how the other half live.

“Yyyyeah, girls that have spent the last four years ignoring u–” 

Okay, ixnay. Ronnie cuts Eddie off right at the knees, shoving a full palm into his face.

“Mmmm, glass half full me for a hot sec,” y’know, god knows what brought this optimism on for Ronnie. Maybe her job directing lowly freshmen toward the gaming booths, maybe it’s the kettle corn that kind of tastes like carpet, but she’s rolling with it, “These are girls that are still in fuck-it-it’s-summer mode. Girls that are entering their senior year of high school. Girls, okay, girls who may have finally realized that the social hierarchies of Hawkins are total bullshit and want to start off their year with a bang.”

She and Eddie stop in their tracks, identical brown eyes staring each other down. 

“A finger bang,” Ronnie encourages.

Eddie blinks, slow and spacey, like a cow.

“Fruuuhm you.”

Again, with Eddie’s shaking of the fucking cotton candy. There’s a wasp trapped in there right now. “Are you fucking high right now? Are you insane?”

“Technically, yes!” Ronnie can smoke and bike, it’s fine. “Hereditarily, jury’s still out!” Eddie sorta cringes at that one, and she smirks. “See, I can make those jokes, because of the loopy mom of it all. You can’t make those jokes.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Cue disheartened shrug. ”But. Y’know. We can leave.” 

Her metalhead comrade grimaces, Reeboks kicking through the grass as a bunch of freshmen scatter in his path. 

Ronnie sighs real big. “We can leave… if you’re too chicken to stay.”

Pump the fuckin’ breaks. Ronnie keeps walking a few paces, intentionally leaving Eddie in her dust.

“Ronald James.”

And then she pivots. All that’s missing is Ennio Morricone playing from the heavens. Or the PA, whatever.

“Edward… ward.”

Eddie squints, his heavy brown knitting furiously. “You just call me a chicken?”

And Ronnie shrugs, cool as crushed ice. “If it walks and it buh-kawks.”

Scoff. Scoff. Scoff. Eddie’s whole torso is wracking with scoffs, he’s like a courtesan dying of consumption with scoffs, he’s about to keel over with scoffs, he quite simply can’t believe–

“Quit hawkin’ up hairballs and square up, pardner!” Ronnie yells. 

Enough with the theatrics! It’s like clicking in a seatbelt, the way their competitive nature with each other activates. Just add chicken and they are off, Eddie flinging his cotton candy to the wayside, the sticky mess hitting a nearby kid. The two of them jostle through the carnival, tracking on up to the sad-looking shooting gallery that’s being manned by one of their greasier classmates that neither of them recognise. Eddie, that big-handed buffoon, beats Ronnie to the punch of slamming down his fluorescent green tickets. 

“Hi! I’d like to shoot to kill, please,” he booms. 

The kid just stares at him, shifting to the left. “‘kay. Whatever. It’s three turns.”

Ronnie rolls her eyes as Eddie slams the pellet rifle into his shoulder– she’s seen his hand-eye coordination, alright? It sucks dick, the dude can barely walk in a straight line. It’s a miracle he can play guitar at all! 

Ptew! The first of the little tin duckies barely makes it away with its life, narrowly avoiding a blow to the head from Munson. Ptew! Second one, not so lucky. 

Eddie, roving around with the rifle for his final victim, yells to Ronnie. “Looks like havin’ a dad with a rap sheet pays off, Ron!”

Ptew! Third and final. Eddie’s face peels back into that terrifier of a grin that’s like, okay, calm down, Bozo the Clown.

“Pfff… beginner’s luck,” Ronnie tuts.  

“Like you’ve ever even held a gun before,” Eddie says and pivots back to the kid manning the booth, who’s passing him his prize. “Hold on, nonono, gimme that bear. The like, the zebra print one. With the fuck me eyes.”

The volunteer carnie doesn’t budge. “You only hit two. The bears are if you hit three. You win green Papa Smurf if you get two.” 

And gingerly, Eddie accepts the little off-brand Smurf. Where do they get this shit? Does it fall off the back of the same truck that carries Bev’s off-brand liquor at The Hideout or what?

Whatever, Ronnie grabs the rifle from him and settles it against her shoulder. She can already hear Eddie tutting like, there’s no way and don’t embarrass yourself, Ron, but the thing is–ptew!--you don’t get to be as good of a drummer as Ronnie Ecker–ptew!--without learning a little precision. 

Ptew!

“What?” she shrugs to an open-mouthed Munson as the pimply kid passes her a big ol’ overstuffed bear, with the fuck me eyes painted on and all (weird feature. Ronnie might regret having this in her bedroom later on), “Like it’s hard?”

Eddie huffs, because that’s a boy that hates to be shown up even if he spends so much of his loser ass time being shown up. But, it’s usually not by Ronnie, so! 

They keep movin’ through the fair, like that old folk song goes, two heat seeking missiles looking to outdo each other. Ring toss? Piss. Cornhole? Are you fucking kidding me? Balloon darts– okay, so they maybe blew their wad a little early by going straight to the gun range but there’s gotta be something… 

Then, Ronnie spots it, because it’s all flailing and water and choking and drama and shit. 

Dunk tank.

She yanks Eddie over by the collar. 

Whoever the poor sucker was that they’d been dunking made an extremely dramatic exit. Ronnie overhears something about, ‘What do you mean, you never asked him if he could swim!’ squawked from the irate mouth of one Nancy Wheeler. Because of course she’s involved in cruise directing this, somehow. Like, where does she get the time? How does she have even a minute gap in her schedule for this? How can someone look so pretty when she’s stressed? 

Then, next thing Ronnie knows, ol’ Blue Eyes Wheeler is walking towards them. Orbs of azure all ringed apologetic and Ronnie’s rooted to the ground, she can’t move, she can’t think– 

–and naturally, Nancy’s looking at Eddie.

“I would usually never, never ask this…”

“He’ll do it.” She says it without hesitation, without thinking, without considering Eddie, like, at all. 

Which naturally makes him bark, “I’ll do what?!”

“Be the dunkee. Be the dunked man,” Ronnie hisses, eyes flicking from a confused Nancy to an enraged Eddie. 

“Oh god, would you? Please?” Nancy asks, almost begging– and look, the girl knows how to turn on the charm. She might not be Eddie’s type, not in eight million bajillion lightyears, but it’s near impossible to say no to her. “You can swim, right?”

“And it’s just about time for his yearly bath! So! Heh!” Ronnie gasps a little too loud for her own good, earning a gravitational pull back from Nancy and Eddie. No? No giggles for that one? Fine.

Eddie just shakes his head, sour expression immovable because he knows there’s no saying no to this– it’s for charity. A dumb charity he doesn’t care about, sure, but it’s for charity and also a girl is asking him and also he is determined to not look chicken. Ronnie knows this. It’s why she keeps winning.

“Yeah, Wheeler, I’ve been known to doggy– hold this,” and Eddie pushes green Papa Smurf into Ronnie’s chest, peeling off his jacket on the ascent to the dunk tank. 

Nancy lingers by Ronnie a second, resting her forehead against her clipboard. 

“Oh, thank god. We might actually make our donation target–like, everybody’s gonna want to drown him.”

A beat. Nancy raises her permed head, glances toward Ronnie.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“You did.”

“Sorry.”

“Eh, I get it.”

Nancy flutters on by, muttering something like a thanks and a good luck and an I really hope he can swim. 

Now, to his credit, Eddie makes for a pretty great picture of defiance as he straddles the plank, still fully dressed in his Hellfire shirt (Ronnie’d call nerd, if she wasn’t also wearing hers) and his shredded up jeans. Then it occurs to her that he may not have completely disrobed because he’s not wearing underwear. And that’s disgusting. Moving on.

Ronnie lets him have it, for a while anyway. Nancy was onto something– an alarmingly hefty line of would-be dunkers start to gather, everyone from cheerleaders to underclassmen trying to prove something. Not to side with the idea of gender conformity or whatever, but the couple of cheerleaders that step up to the mark don’t quite throw hard enough to hit. The sophomore that follows them is thrown off his game immediately when Eddie pretend-lunges at him, devil horns at the ready. 

Gareth, their newest freshman recruit and Ronnie’s personal drum mentee, sidles up beside the tank to hype up his fearless (pffft) leader. 

“Doin’ pretty good up there, Eddie!”

Loud enough for Ronnie to hear, Eddie hollers, “Piece of fuckin’ cake, freshman…” 

“Gareth…” he mumbles.

“...I��m gonna be bone dry ‘til the end of this shift.”

Well, y’know, so like, he asked for it. 

Ronnie tosses their hard won stuffies to the side and elbows a couple of basketball players out of the way. Cue watch it, freak!, yadda yadda, who cares, give her the ball!

“That’s what the last girl who hooked up with you said, right?” Ronnie bats to Eddie, stretching her arms above her head like a pitcher. 

If she’s not mistaken, he’s relieved to see that she’s cut the basketball boys (who’ve got much more experience tossing balls than she does) out of the way. 

“Ecker, I’ve seen you in gym class! You throw like an amputee! Bring it!”

Again, he asked. So Ronnie goes ahead and winds up. 

Eddie, in all of his your ass should have learned by now have you not been watching do you not see the signs ego, turns to Gareth. 

“See, Ronnie doesn’t seem like much of a girl but she does throw like o–”

Boom! And the metalheads goes down into the murky depths, not unlike Gareth’s DnD character that Eddie so mercilessly merked at the last Hellfire session. Ronnie doesn’t hold back a cackle, seeing Eddie resurfacing like a drowned river rat and spluttering. 

“Ffflfpfpfl! Fluke! That was a flu–” he jabs a finger through the mesh to something behind Ronnie’s head, “Wheeler, that was a fluke throw!” 

“Is he floating? Oh, good.” Oh. Nancy’s back. Nancy’s back and she’s watching Ronnie. Oh. Oh that’s… Ronnie makes the grave error of glancing over her shoulder to see Nancy grinning, clipboard bound to her chest. “She’s got two more to prove it, Eddie.” 

“Just take the–” Eddie struggles to make it back to the plank, sodden clothes and all that shit, “Just take the ball because she’s not gonna get–”

Bullseye! See, that’s how you don’t choke in front of a pretty girl and all the rest of your classmates, dude, you just wind it up and get it done! Ronnie’s buzzing with a touch more adrenaline now, and it’s going straight to her mouth. 

“Come again, water boy?!”

“Water boy?” Eddie babbles once he floats upward again, struggling under the weight of, I don’t know, his waterlogged hair to straddle first position.

“‘Cuz you’re wet.”

“Not your best. Not your b–”

Not even a full sentence out and Ronnie’s put him back under again. Hello. Why has she never tried out for softball. Would that be too obvious. This is kind of making her wacky, a little.

“What was that, Munson? Whawassat?” Ronnie stomps as the poor bastard tending to this wretched machine helps a soggy Eddie back onto dry land. “Couldn’t hear you over the sound of women’s rights! Can I hear it for women’s rights?! … Ladies?” 

Zero response. Crickets. Nancy Wheeler’s even disappeared. 

Scooping up their stuffed creatures, Ronnie’s shoulders sag– and she narrowly gets out of the way of Eddie, who’s racing towards her, helicoptering his soaked hair. 

“Don’t be– don’t be shaking your Lassie locks at me like some damn dog! Jesus Christ… my sweater.”

“My apologies to the Gap by way of the Salvation Army,” Eddie sneers, draping a towel over his head as he struggles to put his shoes on. 

“One more?” Because Ronnie’s nothing if not sympathetic, alright? Dude’s drenched. She'll let him win this one.

Squelching, Eddie nods. And just like that, to their left, shining like a beacon with a trail of suckers lined up outside…

“One more… to prove we’re not…” …staffed by a multitude of cute-as-a-button beauties…

“We’re not chicken…” …glowing with the radiant halos of fuck it, it’s summer, fuck it, it’s my senior year…

The Kissing Booth. 

Ronnie and Eddie each wear a thousand yard stare. 

Eddie, for reasons pertaining to freakdom and Ronnie, also that, but jacked up to a degree of potential social pariah. God, could you imagine? Could you imagine if she had the nerve to go completely fuck it, completely hetero-nuclear and march on up there with her dollars in quarters dug out of the couch and be like, Yeah, Tina Burton. Lay one on me. Oh, you’re switching shifts? Oh, that’s okay, I can wait… And who is that? Nancy Wheeler? Well, hell! Isn’t it just my gay lucky day!

Because Ronnie can imagine. Is imagining. 

“But I'm… I’m kinda cold.” In truth, Eddie’s kinda turning blue. That September chill is starting to set in, finally… so it’s back to the parking lot they go. 

“And I’m kinda hungry. You shouldn’t kiss people when you’re hungry, right?”

“No, that’s how they discovered cannibalism.”

“Right. So let’s–”

“--Big Boy Burger?”

“For the big boys, yep.”

[ava-achlys]

The Boyz NSFW Scenarios

Lee Sangyeon - Captive

cop! Sangyeon x crime boss! fem! reader

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it up kids), dubious consent, slight degradation, sub!Sangyeon

Submissive Sangyeon is a kink I never knew I had. JK I definitely have a thing for turning dominant-seeming men into little darling subbies. Welp, I hope you enjoy this filth I put together in 3 hours.

Sangyeon's an undercover cop trying to bust you and your crew. Things don't go entirely according to plan.

Sangyeon awoke with a start, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. His wrists are chained to the wall and he is completely naked except for his underwear. He starts to get angry, shaking his chains to try to loosen them.

"You'd best not do that, officer. One wrong move and it'll cut off your blood circulation." A sickeningly sweet voice cuts through the darkness and Sangyeon whips his head around, trying to find you. A light turns on, and dimly illuminates your figure. Sangyeon growls and tugs at his restraints again.

"Let me go," Sangyeon growled. "Or you're gonna regret it." You laugh airily. "Actually I think you're going to regret it if I let you go." His eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Darling, if you leave, you're gonna miss out on a lot of fun," you bring a hand up to stroke his cheek. "Don't touch me," he spits. You shrug nonchalantly, walking back to the table.

"Fine. I won't touch you." You retrieve a vibrator and walk back towards him with a devilish grin. Sangyeon widens his eyes in horror at what you're wielding and begins to protest.

"No, no stop, what are you- ahh!" He yelps as you press the vibrator into his cockhead that's leaking through his tight, white briefs. The wet patch of fabric that has turned translucent grows as Sangyeon gushes more precum from the stimulation. He thrashes around, chains clanging as he begs for you to stop. You ignore his cries and continue to run the vibrator up and down his impressive length.

You pull away the vibrator for a moment and watch as he bucks his hips forward, chasing that delicious sensation. You laugh, slapping him on the thigh, which elicits a pained moan. "You keep telling me to stop, but it seems like you don't actually want me to. Make up your mind, silly officer."

You continue to mock him by pressing the vibrator against his cock for a second, then removing it, and repeating it over and over until he actually starts terafully whining in frustration. You laugh at his misery, sneering at him, "Big, scary officer turning into a whiny little bitch? Pathetic." You take away the vibrator and grab his balls harshly, making him howl in pain.

You grope him through his drenched briefs and he starts to welcome the feeling of pain mixed with pleasure. He hates that he enjoys being tortured by you, a criminal he had sworn to take down, but he can't deny that you were hot, and that this situation was wonderfully wrong on so many levels. But since he was trapped here, might as well enjoy it right?

Sangyeon snaps out of his thoughts when he hears you switch the vibrator on with a click. He looks down at your devilish smirk and watches as you pull the waistband of his briefs open, only to shove the vibrator into his underwear, right between his balls and cock, before snapping the elastic back into place. His whole body jolts and he starts trembling from the intense stimulation in such a sensitive area.

The chains around his wrists clang as he thrashes around, hips canting up wildly, desperate for release. You stand back to admire your masterpiece. He's flushed red all over, teary eyes screwed shut, drool spilling from his lips as he shamelessly moaned, toes curling in pleasure. He's calling your name, begging you for something, anything. He doesn't even know what he's begging for, all he knows is that he wants is to cum.

And he does, spilling hot semen into his soaked briefs, some of it spurting through the fabric and landing on the floor with the force of his orgasm. He screams in pain and pleasure as the vibrations continue to overstimulate him and his blushing cock just keeps pulsing out more and more cum. He begs you to make it stop, knees nearly buckling from exhaustion.

You pretend to think for a moment, and you decide to give a him a little break. You walk over to him and wrench the vibrator from his ruined underwear and switch it off. He sobs in relief and his body goes slack, slinking against the wall, panting harshly. You look at the cum that's covering the head of the vibrator, and dip your tongue in it to taste. You hum at the bittersweet taste of your archenemy, the man who had made the past few months so difficult for you, ruining every operation you tried to initiate.

You continue to lick his cum off the vibrator as you bask in your victory. You finally broke him. You adored how small and pathetic he looked after just one round of torture playtime. He hung his head in shame, body still twitching occasionally with aftershocks from his orgasm. You take your panties off, which had been getting progressively wetter as you were extremely aroused by watching Sangyeon come undone.

You walk over to him and undo his chains, making him fall to the ground on his knees. He looks up at you in surprise, his dark brown orbs filled with confusion. You grip his hair harshly and he whines, as you slowly hitch up the bottom of your dress, exposing your slick folds. He licks his lips nervously, his confusion slowly turning into excitement. He eyes your pussy and glances back up to meet your intense gaze.

"You didn't think we're actually done, did you? Why do you get to cum and I don't?" You smile sinisterly down at him. He gulps, readying himself for what's to come. Somewhere along the way he lost his inhibitions and was overcome with the desire to please you. He calls your name in a whisper. Your smile widens, and his chest swells. He wants to see you smile more. He wants to impress you. He wants to pleasure you.

You move to stand over him, legs spread and your pussy dripping tantalizingly before his eyes. You nod at him, and he dives in to lick at your folds ravenously, as if the sweet taste of your juices would quench the burning thirst within him. You let out a moan, gripping his sweaty locks even tighter, pushing his face into your cunt. He sucks hard on your clit, he kisses your folds, he thrusts his tongue into your tight hole and makes a filthy mess, complete with wet, squelching sounds.

You grind onto his face as he continues to tongue-fuck you, breathy moans spilling from your own lips. His hands come up to grab your ass, pulling you impossibly closer so he can thrust his tongue deeper into you. You feel a familiar sensation building in your tummy and pull him away, a line of spit trailing from his lips to your clit.

He looks up at you, dazed. Was he not doing well enough? Before he could ask, you push him down to lay on his back and rip his briefs off and start pumping his half-hard cock. He was getting aroused again just by making out with your pussy and you smile at the thought. You rub your folds up and down his length, slicking him up with your juices. He watches you in excitement, hands coming up to rest on your waist. He guides you to seat yourself on his dick, both of you moaning at the feeling of his thick cock stretching out your tight, wet heat.

Once he bottomed out, you lean forward to press a kiss to his lips, which he accepts hungrily. "Make me cum," you commanded him simply. He begins to thrust up into you, and you bounce on his dick, meeting his thrusts halfway each time. The sounds of moans and wet skin slapping fill the cavernous room, echoing off the walls. He groans at the sight of your tits bouncing in his face and he pulls you down so he can suck on your nipples. He's got one hand on your ass and the other is groping your tits and pinching your nipples.

You moan loudly at the pinches, licks and twists he's giving to your hard nipples, loving the way your body makes him go cross-eyed in pleasure. He's moaning intermittently around your breasts too, his hips continuously pistoning into your pussy once he'd found that sweet spot. He mumbles that he's getting close again, and you wrap a hand around his throat.

"Make me cum first, then you can cum inside me." He nods furiously, giving his all into fucking you, chasing both your orgasms. You let him take control of the pace, burying your face in his neck as he pounds into you, breathlessly chanting your name in praises. Fuck you feel so good, so tight and wet, you're driving me crazy, my cock feels like it'll burst, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise and you scream in pleasure, choking Sangyeon unintentionally. His hips stutter and he cums for the second time that night, the pressure around his throat pushing him over the limit. He grinds up into you, filling you up with his seed. He moans lowly as he rides his orgasm out with you, holding you close.

The room is silent, save for the sounds of both of you panting, trying to catch your breaths. He kisses you on your shoulder with a dazed, fucked out look on his face, and you stifle a giggle. You stroke his hair as a means of assuring him that he did well, before getting up and off his dick. Your dress was soaked with sweat and his cum dribbled out of your abused cunt and down your thighs. Your knees were a little wobbly but you managed to stand in your high heels.

You start to walk away and he panickedly calls after you, legs too jelly to even attempt to stand. You shoot him a look over your shoulder, calling out "It was fun, you did so well. Unfortunately that's all for tonight." He scrambles to sit up, but you're already too far away for him to crawl after. He's protesting and spluttering in panic as you give him a little wave before slamming the door shut, leaving him alone in the darkness, covered in sweat and filth.

As you walk away, you hear him wail in despair, and you smirk triumphantly. Serves you right, officer.