#chat's fics

[chatxkilluaxnoir]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Dipper and Mabel Pines' Parents, Dipper Pines & Dipper and Mabel Pines' Parents, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Mabel Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez & Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Alcor the Dreambender & Mizar the Gleeful, Dipper Pines & Original Character(s), Alcor the Dreambender & Original Character(s) Characters: Dipper Pines, Mabel Pines, Dipper & Mabel Pines' Parents, Stan Pines, Jesus "Soos" Alzamirano Ramirez, Belle Sterling, Lionel Sterling, Noie, Naomi "Noie" Argenta, Alcor the Dreambender, Mizar the Gleeful Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Character Study, Introspection, Character Analysis, Dark Thoughts, Family Feels, Familial Issues, Family Issues, The Mindscape, The Mindscape (Gravity Falls), Dipper Pines Needs A Hug, Demon Dipper Pines, dipper is between a darker phase and a lighter phase, leaning more towards dark, Protective Dipper Pines, Dark Dipper Pines, Dipper Pines is a Mess, I wrote this fic because I love dipper, and wanted to analyze him some, Also while I want him to be happy, I do also love angst and to see my faves suffer some too, like dipper, And Thus This Fic Was Born, Oh I almost forgot to tag this, Angst Summary:

Dipper has some time alone in the Mindscape.

And his mind then wanders.

He does not enjoy it.

[lapdogchase]

[gutsby]

Stiff

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵‍💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!

Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’

Word count: 2.9k

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.

Well, maybe that was just his cock.

Joel looked down, scanning his pants.

Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.

At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.

You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all

At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:

“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”

You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.

Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.

It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.

Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?

David was a dick.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.

It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.

If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.

Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—

“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.

Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.

You blinked dreamily up at him.

“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.

I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.

“Again?”

Your word was exhaled in a laugh.

You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.

Stabbing your ass.

You started to turn then, puzzled.

“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.

You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.

But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?

Or had his dick gotten soft at all?

You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.

Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.

Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.

His dick was still hard.

Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.

The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.

Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:

“I think you gave me twins.”

Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.

Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.

Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.

“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.

What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.

He would be fine.

His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.

“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.

When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.

There was a shy smile on your face.

“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.

Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.

“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.

You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.

Hard as a rock.

Throbbing.

Needy.

Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.

He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.

No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.

“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.

Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.

“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.

Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.

You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.

Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.

More desperate.

“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.

You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”

Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.

Thanks to that one stupid pill.

Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.

“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”

Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.

You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”

Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.

His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.

“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.

“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”

Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.

He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”

You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.

Without saying another word, he slid back in.

Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.

How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.

“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”

He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.

You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.

When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.

“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”

The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.

“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”

“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”

That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.

Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.

Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.

It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.

Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.

The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.

“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”

He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.

“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”

And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.

Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.

He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.

All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.

“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”

Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.

“A pill?” you whispered back.

Joel’s gaze locked with yours.

He felt stupid for it all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”

“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.

When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.

“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”

Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.

Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.

“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”

“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.

And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.

Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.

“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”

Joel’s face fell.

“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.

He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.

“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”

Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.

“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.

Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.

He nearly choked hearing what followed:

“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”

[sttoru]

thinking of dating older bf!satoru. . .and i’m talking like you’re in your early 20’s and he’s in his early 30’s.

the way he texts at the start of your blooming relationship is super attractive somehow. like the most simplest of texts would get you weak in the knees. texts like ‘good morning, sweetheart.’ // ‘how’s my pretty girl doing?’ // ‘there’s my gorgeous girl.’ // ‘rise ‘n shine, sleepyhead.’ // ‘it’s okay, baby. i understand.’ // ‘you never fail to amaze me, huh.’

or when you’re being very risky via your messenger app, older bf!satoru is definitely the type to say ‘careful.’ // ‘you’re gonna get me in trouble.’ // ‘you’re being quite brave today, doll. // ‘aww, how adorable of you.’ // ‘mhm? that so?’

also . . . gives you money out of the blue. randomly. doesn’t question it at all. or sends expensive gifts your way too without you asking. older bf!satoru would text you stuff like; ‘here’s some money, gorgeous. want you to spoil yourself for me today, okay?’ // ‘just a little gift.’ // ‘you deserve a break, baby. here you go.’ // ‘got you something small.’

and then you check your bank account and it’s an easy $200 / $500 / $800 ++ added by him. or when he’s sending gifts to your apartment, it’s gonna be one of them reaaaaal expensive ones. probably ones you eyed before or had mention you liked very briefly, but didn’t get it because of the price.

definitely also the type to try and accommodate or match his texting style to yours as the months go by. kinda to match your energy. perhaps fails horribly at it, but it’s cute to see him try.

[skyrigel]

Simon who's known for his dry sarcasm and bland remarks, it doesn't matter what one says to him. It's his natural instinct at this point — to jab back or give a solid burn.

So it happened like this, he was injured after one of the mission, minor wounds, one misplaced bone from wrong landing, but it was the hollow eyed look, the roughed up and neglected state that made you double take over the lieutenant.

“Oh god,” you muttered under your breath, pressing the syringe up in air to check its ejection, “You look terrible !”

The last part was directed on him. Simon whose eyes were pinned on your back moved ever so slightly when you turned around.

“So do you.” He said like the words were placed on his mouth tip and were uttered as soon as his lips parted.

The statement wasn't wrong entirely, there has been shortage on staff and so it's only you and a handful of other nurses over the double hour shifts.

You glanced back at him, regarding, and assessed the minor wounds and some of which were not at all minor whatever the Lieutenant Riley had insisted on to the poor Doctor who was very happy leave him at that and assign the rest to you, a count of stiches and tablets and x-ray sheet rolled through your mind, unaware of the way Simon was biting his lips and looking very alerted. Like he was practicing something in his head.

“I didn't mean it.” He said quietly.

“mmm” You sat beside him, looking for the certain nerve and angling the syringe carefully over the pale wrist.

“I didn't mean it,” Simon said again, all hesitancy gone now replaced with a blazing edge, dragging his gaze along with you.

You could've laughed upon the urgency he said it with, the desperation came off in supersonic waves.

“I know, Simon.” You smiled kindly to his sincerest eyes. The sharp tip penetrating under his skin and emptying transparent vitals into his body.

“I think yer very gorgeous.” He blurted out and was torn between looking away or never letting go, at last he lowered his eyes where you applied little pressure oved his hand to redirect the circulation.

You pressed the gauze with eyes only on him, a sweet shy smile blooming across your exhausted face. “alright, rest now.”

And he did just as he was told. Probably the first time ever.

The last time he'd said, “I would rather rest in peace, than here.” And the doctor who had just dropped the bullet back on grey tray was horrified enough to ask whereabouts of the anthesia guy ASAP.

So if a certain nurse happened to smile throughout the thirteen hour shift, and if a certain soldier was thinking of ways he could end up in medical infirmary again. Then it was purely coincidence.

Masterlist

[ttroubledwaters]

it's 3 in the morning but regulus just called him "Jamie" for the first time

[neon-in-the-night-time]

haven't kept up with miraculous ladybug in years but a fic idea that's lived rent free in my brain is a transfem!adrien lesbian!marinette reverse love square where when adrien gets the black cat miraculous her hero form is a girl and she's like "wow this is so smart, so secret identity, nobody will ever suspect i’m chat noire because chat noire is a girl and adrien agreste is a boy" and plagg, knowing that this is Not the case at all for miraculous holders and it is, in fact, a reflection of the subconscious, says nothing because Don't Crack the Egg. adrien has a crush on marinette but she feels bad about it because marinette is openly a lesbian and adrien's like "if only i could be chat noire forever so i can be with marinette", marinette has a crush on chat noire, it's great.

[eggdrawsthings]

When does a man become a monster? And is he a monster, still, if he  feels nothing but regret and guilt?” [x]

[hwa-hyun]

Prompt: “sorry, my social battery ran out:(”

✰ who: skz ot8 x gn!reader

synopsis - bfs skz when you hide away at a social gathering

a/n: thank you so much to @pardyparderson for offering this prompt on a silver platter without even meaning to

cw: there’s a lot of snacking, running out of social battery is literally the plot, mentions of tiresome aunt/uncle in changbin and han one, han one is a teny-tiny bit suggestive?

skz masterlist

──────────────────────

©hwa-hyun: do not copy or republish as your own, reblogs and replies mean the world though 🫶🏼

[writersmorgue]

Why is the picture quality shit. Idk.

Thank you @yourlunarspice 💕💕💕

[chatxkilluaxnoir]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Wendy Corduroy & Dipper Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines, Dippy Fresh & Dipper Pines, Daryl & Nathan, Alcor the Dreambender & Mizar the Gleeful, Alcor the Dreambender & Original Character(s) Characters: Dipper Pines, Alcor the Dreambender, Wendy Corduroy, Dippy Fresh, Daryl, Nathan, Mabel Pines, Mizar the Gleeful Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Demon Dipper Pines, dipper runs into someone he never thought he would meet again, nor did he ever want to meet him again, dipper still has beef with and hates dippy fresh, for now at least., Maybe. - Freeform, Ficathon, TAUathon, 9th Annual TAUathon, finally posted another fic., this TAUathon inspired me!, now let's hope i can keep posting and updating new fics and stuff now!, but we will just have to see about that! haha., Title Subject to Change, I suck at titles and stuff sometimes so I don't know if my title is that good., So I might it later if I can come up with something better., Or maybe someone else(s) can think of title(s). Summary:

Dipper is trying to win a dare. During doing this, Dipper runs into someone he didn't think it was possible to meet again.

Or maybe it was that he just never wanted to meet this person again.

Or it could be both.

Either way. Dipper runs into someone he could have gone his whole (now VERY long) life without ever meeting again.

[sceletaflores]

where there’s sparks, there’s fire!

pairing: patrick zweig x fem!reader

summary: you can’t tell if patrick hates you as much as you hate him. every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. but he’s only doing all that to piss you off. you think back to tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. you don’t see it. patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special.

—or: patrick zweig is a slut. you can't stand him.

word count: 4.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y’all!), public sex (doing it in a coat closet lmao), more hate sex, swearing, fighting as foreplay, light choking, light hair pulling, degradation, even more hints of mean!reader cause i really do live for that shit, tashi and reader are cute besties always, porn with a little plot, no use of y/n.

author’s note: i originally wanted to post a tashi fic next but i realized i don't have any like actual full on plot filled patrick works lmao i felt bad neglecting him and my patrick girlies so yeah. once again had literally so much fun writing this, like i hardcore love this niche!!! i ride so hard for it!!! the tashi fic i'm working on also falls into this category lols and yes this is fourth of july themed and it's late shut up i cannot write fast for the life of me...anyway! to the anons who requested something like this, hope you love it! okay bye mwah xoxo.

Patrick Zweig is a huge slut.

Everyone knows that. He doesn't even go to Stanford but he's still somehow managed to sleep with a third of the girls on campus, maybe even more than a few guys too if the rumors going around are true.

You hate him. Hate isn't even a strong enough word. You loathe him. You despise him. You detest him. Pick any other fancy synonym, the point still stands. You just really fucking hate him.

It blows your mind that someone as sweet and angelic as Art would be best friends with someone like him. Someone who's so obnoxious, so arrogant, so crass. Art’s the guy that goes out of his way to protect you from the gross frat bros at parties, only to bring his very own as a plus one.

Sigma Nu throws a rager every year on the fourth, extending invites to those who are still in Stanford for the summer. The women’s tennis team is always invited, and Tashi always ends up convincing you to go. Well, she’s less convincing than she is more forcing you, but it’s basically the same thing to her anyway. She did your makeup and wrestled you into a Hollister dress, vowing to get you laid as she straightened your hair.

Tashi’s almost more invested in your sex life than you are, constantly hand-picking guys on campus for your consideration. She actually offered up Patrick once when you told her you wouldn’t fuck any of the guys on campus at all. The two of you were practicing, she suggested it as casual as ever while returning your serve. You were so shocked you stopped in your tracks, letting the ball fly right past you. She assured you she wouldn’t mind if you did, that what the two of them had was quote “Nothing serious, he’s just a really good fuck.” and that you should “Totally do it. He definitely wants to fuck you, I can tell.” 

You just brushed her off, ignored the way she smirked knowingly at you over the net. Your cheeks burned as you served again, you wrote it off as annoyance. As if you would ever let Patrick Zweig fuck you.

You lost Tashi when she took off to the bathroom, texting you that she’d be a while thanks to a long line outside the door. You were leaning against a wall nursing a half-empty cup of jungle juice when he came up to you. You can’t remember his name, you think it starts with a B. Something like Brandon? Or maybe Brian? One or the other.

He’s Sigma Nu’s secretary, you sit three seats down from him in your economics lecture. Tashi says he has a crush on you, and he’s nice for a frat guy but he’s definitely not your type. He’s been droning on about his upcoming trip to his family's summer house in Cabo for almost ten minutes. You try your best to seem interested, humming and nodding every couple seconds. You’re in the middle of tuning him out when a loud, familiar voice calls out your name. 

“There you are!” Patrick Zweig shouts from a few feet away, ugly American flag patterned flip flops smacking against the ground as he makes his way over to you. He’s wearing a bright red button down and white cargo shorts you scrunch your nose up at. He’s tanner than the last time you saw him, legs long and even more toned. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that pretty face.” He coos sweetly, his hand that isn't holding a bottle of Bud Light comes up to pinch your cheek.

You scoff, smacking his hand off your face. “You found me, so you can go bother someone else now,” you say, rubbing your cheek lightly. “Bye.” You press, waving your hand dismissively when he makes no move to walk away.

Patrick grins, unfazed by your reaction, he steps in even closer. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he says breezily, his breath smells like cheap beer and camel blues. He’s just as tall as you remember. He has tacky blue shutter shades resting on the top of his head. His eyes rake over your body shamelessly, lingering on the low dip of your neckline. “Cute dress.” 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes before turning your attention back towards Brandon/Brian. He’s silent now, eyes flicking between you and Patrick skeptically. “Are you like, together, or something?” 

You laugh loudly, quickly shaking your head ‘No’. Patrick beats you to speaking though, “God no, man.” he says through a laugh, dark curls bouncing as he shakes his head. “I came over here to warn you.” He continues, voice and expression going overly serious like he’s not talking out of his ass.

Brandon/Brian’s brows furrow, clearly confused. “Warn me?” he asks, head tilting to the left slightly. His puka shell necklace makes a small clicking sound as he moves. 

Patrick nods his head gravely, clapping his free hand down on Brandon/Brian's shoulder a little too roughly to be considered friendly, shaking him back and forth like a rag doll. “Yeah, best of luck trying to get inside that snatch, man.” he says earnestly, jerking his head in your direction. “Cause’ she’s really fucking picky–”

You whip your head in his direction to cut him off, grimacing in disgust. “You would say snatch, you sick fuck.” you snap, red solo cup crunching quietly in your hand. Patrick just laughs, dropping his hand from Brandon/Brian’s shoulder. Anger stews inside you the longer he looks at you with that stupid shit-eating smirk on his face. 

You can’t tell if Patrick hates you as much as you hate him. Every time you see him he’s constantly talking to you, touching you, trailing behind you. But he’s only doing all that to piss you off. You think back to Tashi telling you it’s obvious that he wants to fuck you. You don’t see it.

Patrick wants to fuck everyone, you’re not special. Sure, he may feel the constant need to be a horn-dog when he’s around you. That doesn’t mean anything. Patrick’s just gross, constantly making crude comments or lame innuendos. What Tashi fails to see is him making sex jokes around you is just another way he can piss you off. It’s not an open invitation into those god-awful shorts. 

Patrick takes a small step back, big hands raising in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Put the claws away,” You try to ignore the way him saying your name in that goddamn infuriating condescending tone makes your cheeks start heating up. Patrick leans his shoulder on the wall next to you, looking down at you with a small grin on his face. “I actually wanted to congratulate you on cracking the top twenty.” He takes a long sip of his beer, head lolling to the side lazily as he swallows. “Lucky number 14.”

You’re not too proud to admit that Patrick is kind of hot, especially in this lighting. He’s objectively a hot guy, and he knows it. All tall and firm looking even in his horrendous outfit. But he’s kind of cute too, in an ass-holey way. His hair's a mess of soft-looking black curls and his ears stick out from his head sort of endearingly. He’s close enough that you can see he’s got a little brown in his eyes, and long lashes. There’s a handful of freckles sprinkled over the bridge of his nose. 

His big, strong nose that looks like it could work wonders between your legs. Or at least that’s what you’ve heard from Jen in your chem lab. Maybe this jungle juice is stronger than you thought.

Patrick's smirk widens, wolfish and dirty like he can see what you’re thinking. “That’s pretty impressive.” he continues, his tone a mix of genuine admiration and teasing. "Especially for someone who's always so...busy." He lets the last word hang in the air, a clear innuendo that makes your blood boil all over again.

"Busy training," you snap back, not willing to let him get under your skin any more than he already has. "Some of us have actual work ethic, Patrick. We put in the hours on the court instead of fucking anything that breathes, you know? So we don’t look like idiots that get their ass handed to them on tour by nobody scrubs."

You can feel the heat start to simmer in your stomach, anger and frustration bubbling beneath the surface as Patrick's presence continues to grate on your nerves. The tension between you is thick, amplified by the chaotic energy of the party swirling around you. You see Brandon/Brian take a long, awkward sip of his beer as he steps away, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the sea of bodies crowding the living room. You roll your eyes internally, pussy.

Patrick grins, not deterred in the slightest. “You’ve been keeping up with my matches?” His voice is low and pleased sounding, shiny green eyes slowly getting swallowed by the black of his pupils. 

You pause, owlishly blinking up at him in silence. You’ve been caught. Shit.

You can feel the immediate warmth of embarrassment burning hot on your cheeks as you cast your gaze to the floor. “Only when I need to cheer myself up, a losing streak that high is actually laughable.” You mutter to the floor, lightly swirling your drink in your cup. 

Patrick laughs loudly, throwing his head back in amusement. “Still thinking about me though.” he says matter-of-factly, a lazy grin taking over his face.

His audacity sends another wave of anger and embarrassment through you, your grip tightens around your cup. "Only because you make such a spectacle of yourself," you retort sharply. "It's hard not to notice when you're crashing and burning so publicly."

Patrick's grin doesn't falter. If anything, it widens. "I'll take what I can get from you," he says, his tone a blend of amusement and something else that you can't place. "But seriously, congratulations. You deserve it."

His unexpected sincerity throws you off, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. It's rare to see Patrick in a light that isn’t coated in sarcasm or sleaze. You catch a glimpse of something genuine in his expression, something that almost resembles respect, and it confuses you.

It confuses you, and it makes something warm start to burn in your stomach. You can’t afford to feel any warm, fuzzy feelings around a guy like Patrick, not if you don’t want to get majorly fucked over the second he gets bored of you. 

You don’t know how to react so you do what makes sense, you lash out.

“God, will you just fuck off and leave me alone Patrick,” you say, tone over-dramatic and long-suffering as you tip your head up to the ceiling in annoyance. “I’m trying to have fun.” A lie. The party kind of sucked compared to last years. You were planning on talking Tashi into leaving when she came back, but he didn’t need to know that.

Patrick’s cool exterior finally cracks, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief as a frown starts tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Jesus Christ, what the hell is your fucking problem? I’m being sincere.” The playful light in his eyes is gone, replaced by something darker.

You let out a loud laugh, shaking your head in amusement. “Maybe I’d believe that if you weren’t such an ass. I know you too well, Patrick.” You say, tone mean and condescending. You know he’s right, on some level, but that doesn’t stop you. 

Patrick is silent for a beat, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes you want to start squirming. He lets out a quiet, bitter laugh, bringing his beer up to his lips to take a long sip. You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lips look wrapped around the neck of the bottle. You feel a familiar heat start to pool between your legs, thighs clenching involuntarily as your mind envisions something else his slick, pink lips would look good wrapped around. 

He drops the bottle to his side, finally breaking the silence. “You know, now I do believe you.” he says casually, swiping his tongue over his lips lazily. “You must really not be getting any dick acting like this much of an uptight bitch.”

You reel back in shock, his words hitting you like a punch in the gut. The wave of fury that sweeps through you is almost tangible, your vision narrowing to a tunnel that begins and ends with Patrick’s infuriatingly smug face. “What did you just say?” you ask completely taken aback, voice low and rough. Your hand twitches at your side with the need to throw your drink in his face, anger and embarrassment lapping white hot flames in your stomach. 

Patrick just scoffs, heated gaze not breaking from your own. “You heard me.” He says, jaw set stubbornly. “You need like, emergency dick, or something to chill the fuck out for once.” 

You feel your heart rate spike, your free hand clenching into a tight wrist by your side. “You’re a fucking pig.” your voice shakes with anger, you feel sweaty and hot all over. The heat swirling between your legs is persistent.

Patrick laughs, a loud and infuriating sound. “Come on, we both know you’re fucking begging for someone to give you what you need.” He says like it’s obvious, you clench your fist a little tighter. He takes a step closer, voice dropping down to a whisper meant just for you. “I can help you with that. I can fuck all that bratty shit right out of yo–”

You’re reacting before you can stop yourself, hand flying up to slap him hard across the face. The loud crack pierces through the room, loud enough that a few eyes turn in your direction. Patrick's head snaps to the side, the shades resting on the top of his head fly off. 

Your heart stops, hands shaking with the realization of what you just did. You expect Patrick to flip out, start shouting and threatening to sue you or whatever else it is that rich people do. Time seems to slow down as he turns his head, and when he looks back at you, there's no trace of anger in his eyes. Instead, they're dark with something else entirely— something that makes your stomach flip.

He licks his lips, a slow, deliberate motion, and then he laughs, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine. A clear hand print grows steadily, red and angry on his cheek. "Fuck." he breathes, his hazy eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch in your throat. 

You’re stuck staring at each other for what feels like hours, the music and chatter from the party reduced down to a low hum as you’re caught under Patrick’s heavy gaze.

He drops his beer bottle on the floor carelessly, hand shooting out to grab your wrist tightly and drag you away from the living room. Your cup falls from your grip, splashing down onto the hardwood in a red sticky mess. You fall into step behind him, letting him guide you into the hallway outside the living room before he lurches to a stop in front of a closed door, ripping it open and shoving you inside. Patrick follows quickly, closing the door behind him and bathing the coat closet in darkness. 

It’s a tiny closet, you’re pressed up against too many coats fighting for space on the tiny rack, kicking loose shoes around as you try to find your footing. “Patrick, I–” You start, but you're cut off by a strong hand gripping your forearm and whipping you around. Your back hits the door with a dull thud, you don’t have any time to react before his lips are on yours.

The kiss is the opposite of gentle, Patrick’s lips are almost violent as they move with yours. Your hands tangle in his soft hair, kissing back just as roughly. He hisses into your mouth as you twist the strands in your grip meanly, pressing you into the door harder. His tongue forces its way past your parted lips, claiming your mouth fiercely. He tastes like beer, his fingertips are rough and calloused on your skin, pulling you closer as if he wants to meld into you.

“If you don’t want this, say the word and I’ll stop right now.” He says against your lips, breathless and rumbly. His hands squeeze your hips reassuringly, his own version of sincerity softening the moment.

Yeah fucking right.

“Zweig,” you say slowly, yanking his hair roughly. “If you don’t shut up and fuck me in the next ten seconds, I’ll kill you.”

Patrick grins wildly, surging forward to connect your lips again. Your hands find the buttons of his shirt as the two of you kiss, working them open one by one until you get too frustrated and rip the two half-open sides apart. Buttons clatter onto the floor of the closet, Patrick groans into your mouth, breaking the kiss with a huff. “I liked that shirt, dick. You owe me twenty bucks.”

You’re not listening, eyes trained on the bare skin of his chest as everything seems to slow down for a second. Of course, you’ve seen Patrick shirtless before, when he’s on the court and it’s above ninety or when he’s taking up space in Art’s dorm. This feels different, a completely new situation where it’s actually okay for you to stare at the expanse of his torso. 

You can’t help reaching out to touch him again— running your greedy hands down his chest, his abs, the sharp ‘v’ cut of his hips that makes its way into the waistband of his shorts. Your manicured nails scratch through the dark hair of his happy trail, you can see the muscles in his stomach jump.

“Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly and immediately regret it. He was already insufferable— all you fucking needed was for him to know how you felt right now. How the sight of his barely undressed body is making your pussy soak through your panties.

Patrick doesn’t even gloat, just uses his tight grip on your hips to flip you so you’re pressing onto the door harshly. He impatiently yanks the skirt of your dress up, wasting no time in hooking a finger on the lace of your panties and moving the fabric to the side for easier access.

You hear him pop the button of his shorts open, his zipper following close behind. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” He says, sliding the thick tip of his cock through your slick lips, brushing himself against your entrance teasingly. “I’m gonna make you think twice about bitching me out ever again.” He seals his promise by grabbing your hair and yanking, causing a surprised whine to fall from your lips. His voice is so patronizing, but you aren’t getting mad like you should be. You’re just getting wetter, getting desperate with the need for him to get inside you right fucking now.

You grit your teeth in frustration, exhaling sharply through your nose. “I hate you.” You hiss, grinding back against his hard cock. You gasp raggedly as he starts to sink himself inside you, not stopping until his hips are flush against your ass. “Shit!” Your hands grip the door so hard you’re scared one of your nails will break. The stretch of him burns in the best way possible. You’d never say it out loud, not wanting to inflate his ego anymore than you probably already have, but he’s definitely the biggest cock you’ve taken. Almost porn-star big.

“I know.” He replies easily, hiking your thigh up with his hand as his hips start to pound mercilessly into the meat of your ass, not even giving you time to get used to the thick stretch of him. The loud smack of skin on skin fills the tiny closet easily, you hope to God the amount of clothes shoved in here somehow muffles the sound. The rough denim of his shorts scratches against your raw skin, adding to the sting of his hips.

Patrick was pounding into you in a way that makes you feel every inch of him. His cock felt impossibly big, filling you up like he was carving a place for himself inside of you. The sting in your pussy at the stretch of him is mind-numbing, you think you’d collapse from how hard your thighs were shaking if he wasn’t practically holding you up.

His big hand grips the sensitive skin of your inner thigh hard enough that it’ll probably be bruised by tomorrow. You distantly hope he’s high up enough that your tennis skirt will cover it, because if not it’ll be a hard thing to talk your way out of.

You throw your head back, a strained moan erupting from your lips. Your nails scratch at the paint on the door's edges, raking small lines down the wall. The loud squelch of your pussy’s overflowing wetness every time he sinks back inside you would be embarrassing if you had the mental capacity to care.

“Fuck yeah, keep making those slutty sounds, baby. Want the whole fucking party to hear how good I’m making you feel on this cock,” he mutters, hiking your leg up higher so he can pound into you deeper.

He drops your thigh, sliding his hand up your body and around your throat. You whine loudly, pushing back into his thrusts harder. Guys have tried the choking thing in the past, but Patrick’s hand is the only one that’s felt right. His long fingers curling around your throat like they belong there.

“Shit, fuck- don’t stop.” you mewl, lips parted in ecstasy. His hand squeezes a little tighter, not enough to cut off your breathing, just enough to get your eyes rolling back into your head as your pussy weeps around the thick length of his cock.

“That’s it, taking my fucking cock like you were made for it,” Patrick grates through a groan, gripping your hips and pulling out from your tight hole to spit on where his cock bumps up against your entrance before plunging back in.  You jolt at the extra wetness, whining at how dirty it is. “So fucking tight— does it hurt, baby?” he asks in a barely breathless voice, laughter edging his tone. “Is my fat cock hurting your tight little pussy?”

“God– shit, yes!” you sob loudly, cheek rubbing against the wood of the door as you nod your head frantically. “Hurts so fucking good.” You stop caring about inflating his ego, letting moans fall freely from your lips as you get closer to the edge.

“Fuck yeah, I’m gonna come,” he grunts, his rhythm growing sloppy and erratic as his muscles tense. He wraps your hair in his other hand, pulling hard enough to make your neck crane back awkwardly. He leans forward, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “I can feel you, fucking clenching up on me so tight,” he whispers, still pounding into you roughly. “I know you’re close. Do it. Come all over my cock like a slut.”

Patrick's hand tightens around your throat as he talks, cutting off your air for just a second. “Patrick!” Your voice sounds weak and strained, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist desperately.

He pulls out abruptly, dropping your hair from his fist to frantically jerk his cock, burying his face in your neck. You can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick of your wetness help his hand glide over the skin of his cock quickly. Patrick lets out a loud growl before you feel the sharp bite of his teeth sinking in where your shoulder meets your neck, muffling a loud groan of your name as he sprays hot come over the skin of your lower back and the swell of your ass. 

The feeling of Patrick’s hand wrapped around your throat as his come paints your skin has you catapulting over the edge. Eyes rolling back in your head as your convulsing pussy gushes wet over his spent cock. 

You drag in greedy lungfuls of air, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. “You came first.” You say breathlessly, voice scratchy and hushed. Patrick chuckles against your skin, swatting the tender flesh of your ass lightly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters half-heartedly, nuzzling his nose in your neck in a way that seems far too intimate for what the two of you just did. You don’t say anything.

Patrick eventually peels himself off your back, but the warmth of his body stays wrapped around you as he starts to gently wipe your skin clean. You’re ready to scold him for using some poor guy's coat as a come-rag, but when you turn your head to glare at him he’s using the inside of his own shirt. You wrinkle your nose, but a tiny smile fights its way onto your lips. So gross, you think with a sort of reluctant fondness.

He leans over to fix your panties back over your puffy, abused pussy. Your thighs continue to shake weakly as you try to stand on your own, still unsteady without Patrick holding you up. He gives you a sweet kiss on the back of your shoulder, smacking his lips loudly. You huff out a tiny laugh, pushing away from the door to face him.

You watch him as he languidly gets re-dressed. He looks well-fucked, his hair and clothes are mess, his face is flushed and sweaty. Your eyes trail down to where he’s buttoning up his atrocious shorts. 

The fabric around the crotch is darkened with your release, wetness soaking the denim around the zipper and front pockets. You gawk at it, a mix of terror and excitement swirling through your stomach. “You can’t go back out like that.” you say to his shorts, shame burning your cheeks. 

Patrick follows your gaze down to his crotch. A pleased smirk plays on his lips when he looks back at you. “I’ll text you later.” Is all he says, zipping his fly and turning towards the door. 

“You don’t have my number.” You say, tugging the skirt of your dress down over your hips. You can slowly feel the horny fog leave your brain, leaving you clear-minded and a little panicked.

He cracks the door open, but before walking out of the closet he looks back at you over his shoulder. “Art’ll give me your number. “ He says casually with a small shrug of his shoulder. You suddenly feel sick, wondering how many other people have heard that line before getting completely ghosted. 

Patrick must see the negative thoughts running through your mind play out on your face. He gives you an actual smile, one that has his eyes crinkling up the tiniest bit at the corners. “Promise.” He says with a reassuring nod, it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen him. You bite your lip to stop from smiling at the hope blooming in your stomach, nodding back at him slowly. He throws you one last toothy grin before he’s walking out and closing the door behind him.

You sigh contently, staring at the closed door for a few beats before your phone buzzes to life from where it's laying on the floor. You bend over to search for it, blindly rooting around until you see the tiny display light. The ringing stops before you can answer, when you flip the screen up to check your inbox you have seven missed texts and two missed calls.

Four texts and two calls from Art, and just three texts from Tashi.

arty where are you? i’ve been looking for you are you okay? hello???

tash you know you're not invisible right? everyone saw your little show have fun <3

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini a/n: yes i did change the title leave me lmao love you!

[gracieheartspedro]

Cotton Mouth

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 6.6k

description: you need a new dealer and you know a guy through the unfortunate grapevine you used to be wrapped up in. but I mean... the banter is great, and you cannot help but fall for him. but don't fret, he feels the same way.

warnings: MDNI! 18+ only pls, marijuana use is a huge theme, reader smokes, reader is 19/20 and so is eddie, eddie is a drug dealer, major flirting and banter, mentions of cults, mentions of human sacrifice and blood/sex rituals, eddie and reader jokingly call him 'leader', pet names (sweetheart, baby), reader gets cotton mouth, unprotected p-in-v, eddie cums inside, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, oral (m!receiving), choking (m!receiving)

author’s note: what the fuck am i doin' here you ask? good question. I don't know. but I'm glad this is not rotting my brain. i like writing for eddie!!! he makes me blush!!! shut up!!! okay, anyway, thank you @amanitacowboy like always for helping me beta this and also being so encouraging every time i get obsessed with writing something. bitches really be moaning for this one.

also happy birthday, joe. ha ha ha.....

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @cafekitsune

You never expected to contact Eddie Munson for your drug needs. 

When your dealer skips town because of suspicion of drug smuggling over state lines, you call up your former best friend’s ex boyfriend to give you your usual. 4 grams to last you through your stressful work week and to make sure your tolerance does not drastically fall to the lowest of lows. 

You had not been in school for two years and you knew that Eddie had successfully dropped out the year prior. After a chaotic last year, he was basically a recluse, only dealing to his usual clients. Luckily, you were still friends with Gareth, who in turn, put you in contact with Eddie again. 

After a humiliating senior year, you had practically become a recluse as well. You found a job at the Sheriff’s office where you sat at a desk all day and filed paper work, hardly talking to anyone. You would go back to your parent’s house and smoke weed until the sun set and then you would do it all over again. 

You hated this stupid life you fell into since you neglected to go to college, so you numbed the anxieties with marijuana. 

That’s where Eddie comes in. 

You meet him by Lover’s Lake. A picnic table that you used to sit at as a small child and play in the lake with your cousins and friends. The air is crisp, the leaves falling all around you. He pulls up in his rickety old van and stumbles out with his usual smirk. 

“Fancy seein’ you here,” He practically giggles as he settles across from you at the table. He was the same Eddie you remembered from senior year. His hair is a bit longer, but still cut in the same way. Long frizzy curls with long bangs across his forehead. His style is the same, as well. Ripped black jeans and random torn up metal band t-shirt. The rings were a bit excessive now, but the silver jewelry matched the chain on his pants. He was coordinated at the very least. “Hey, Munson,” You smirk, finally relaxing your shoulders. “Been awhile.” “Yeah, last I saw you was the night Lori dumped my ass,” He says it so blase, not really noting your tonal shift, “Good times.” Your heart sinks hearing your former best friend’s name fall from his lips. You glance down at the carvings on the wooden table, trying to disguise your disgust. He notices your demeanor shift. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bring her up. Gareth told me about-” You don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to hear about how she fucked up your life, your plans, your former relationship, anything. Rehashing it led nowhere for you. You put your hand in the air, signaling him to stop speaking. “She fucked my boyfriend, yep,” You state bluntly, finally glancing up at him. “You’re selling me weed, right?”

Eddie’s eyes widen at your rush to change the subject, instantly going back to the reason he was actually sitting in front of you. As much as he wanted to chat with his long time secret crush, he knew that you were only here for one thing. He could tell the personal topic was not on the table. 

“Right, this is not therapy,” He practically whispers to himself. He pulls out a baggie of weed, more than 4 grams for sure. “Got this much. How much do you want?”

You scope out the baggie. The bud looked good, the same color as the last stuff you used to get from the random guy down the street from you. It’s not that you did not trust Eddie, you just were hesitant towards most guys in Hawkins. You had been screwed so many times. “I usually got 4 grams from my last dealer.” He nods, pulling open the bag and pulling out a couple pieces of the bud. He seems to be just eyeballing, which worries you. You know how much 4 grams looks like, so you watch him with a careful eye. “You know how much that is?” “Yes, I can usually eyeball it. Don’t you worry, sweetheart.” The nickname sends butterflies shooting through your tummy. You look up from his fingers, up to his neck, where you spot a couple hickies. You smirk, shaking your head at the idea Eddie’s getting girls. It was such a shift from his early high school days, when you knew him. Back then, he was such a nervous loser that he could hardly land your friend. You always thought she dated him because she pitied him. You had no clue he was only acting like that because he secretly wanted you, not her. 

You watch him put the distributed bud in a baggie for you. “I’ll do $8 per gram, for you. Dealer’s discount.”

You raise your eyebrows, looking at the overstuffed bag. “$32?”

He looks up at you, a goofy smile on his face. “She’s a math whiz, how cute.”

If your eyes could roll out of your head, they would in that moment. He was always snarky. You enjoyed it though. You always loved bickering with him because it would usually end with you two in a fit of giggles. He never took you seriously, and you vice versa. You pull your wallet out of your black leather purse and pull out two twenty dollar bills. “Here’s $40.”

He hands you the baggie as you hand him the cash. You hand pulls away a bit, but his lingers on the bag, keeping your hand close to his. The action is dragged out, a bit too long for comfort. You glance at him, noticing his dropping smile. 

“You haven’t changed a bit.” You do not know if it’s a jab or a compliment. You tilt your head at him, trying to see if his face changes at all at your discontent. But he still has a half-smirk painted across his stupidly cute face. You yank your hand away with the plastic bag, slamming it on the wooden tabletop. “God, I hope I have. I used to be flat chested and annoying.” He throws his head back in laughter, enjoying the slight fun you poke at yourself. You never noticed how loud and booming his laugh is until you two are outside, alone in the quiet woods. “Still funny,” He chuckles, shutting his metal lunch box of goodies, “Never annoying.” You bite your lip, trying to refrain from entertaining the conversation further, but you cannot help yourself. “But still flat chested?”

More giggles, this time more toned down, due to the fact that he’s now looking down at your chest. “Jury’s out on that one.”

You smile, trying not to let on that you are actually enjoying this interaction even when it started off a bit rocky. You tuck your baggie of weed into your purse, making sure it’s buried underneath all your random necessities. You look back at him and he’s still eyeing you with a cocky grin. 

“Well, it was nice doin’ business with you, Munson. Do you mind if I,” You lick your lips, contemplating if you should refrain the question. You stick to your original formulated word vomit, “call you again if I need a reup?” His eyes twinkle at the idea of you calling him. “Sure thing. As long as I get to call you if I’m in need of some conversation.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, completely taken aback from his up front suggestion. You did not mind the idea of talking to him more. Frankly, you needed a friend that was not your high school aged sister. You hadn’t been successful making any new friends. This was your way to do so. 

“I’ll talk to you tonight, then?” His smirk drifts, “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

-

You are smoking a bowl when your landline in your phone starts ringing loudly. You haphazardly stand up and rush to it, picking it up in 5 seconds flat. 

“Hello?” When he clears his throat, you know who it is immediately. “Evenin’, princess.”

You smirk, letting some of the smoke out of your lungs. “Who’s this?”

You can imagine the grin plastered across his face as he responds. He had a very good smile. 

“The boogeyman.” You play into the antics. You do not know any better, “Eddie Munson! What are you doin’ callin’ me at this hour?”

“Just callin’ to see if you smoked the stuff yet?”

You breathe out and inhale to clear your lungs before you start coughing directly in his ear.

“Sure am, right this very second.”

His dry chuckle sends shockwaves through your body. “Is it good enough for you?” You wrap your phone’s cord around your finger as you start pacing your bedroom. You used to do this type of thing when you were on the phone with a boy you liked as a teen. Was this not the same thing?

“So far, so good. I will report back if there’s anything awry.”

He’s quiet for a moment which makes your stomach a bit uneasy. “Well… I’m about to start lighting up myself, you mind keeping me company?”

-

Eddie calls you every time he smokes. For four days straight. 

You two talk about everything. The way you hated your job. The way he hates living with his uncle still. You both vent your frustrations about the state of the world while smoking a bong or a bowl, giggling from time to time when one of you chokes on the smoke. It was usually always him. 

By day four, you were on your last pack in your bowl that morning. You smoked before work, hoping the bloodshot eyes would not raise any eyebrows. 

When Eddie calls that night and you are not smoking with him, he gets worried. “Taking a break, sweetheart?” “I smoked my last bit this morning.” The confession rattles him. You told him before that you would let him know when you needed more. He feels like he’s neglected your needs. And Eddie hates feeling like a failure, especially for you. 

“Do you need me to drop by with more?” 

You have not had a boy in your room since your stupid cheating ex. The idea of having Eddie coming over makes your stomach twist. And while you were a grown woman and graduated, you still lived with your parents. Having him in your childhood bedroom felt childish, embarrassing. You glance around your room, thinking of all the judgments he would pass looking at the posters on your wall. 

But this was Eddie. The nerd, Dungeons and Dragons playing, drug dealing, metal head. 

Your Rob Lowe poster would be the last of his concerns, you think.

“Do you even remember where I live?” Was the dumbest question to follow up with, but it’s the one you chose to go with. 

“Yeah, right off Sanders. I drove you home when I first got my car, remember? You and Lori-” You cut him off, already jogging your own memory. You did not need to think about her again. “Right! Yeah… if you want to stop by and… hang out, I could use a reup. My p-parents aren’t home tonight.”

He’s silent on the other end for a brief beat. “Are you inviting me over for a sleepover? Should I bring my jammies, princess?”

He was always such a sarcastic asshole. But you could not help but laugh. “Yeah, bring yourself your own pillow and blanket, too. Don’t want you laying on mine.” “So we aren’t sharing your bed?”

You groan, acting annoyed with his comments and questions. “Just get your ass over here, Munson.” “I’ll be there in 10.”

-

He’s sat across the room in your giant red bean bag chair. He seems so at ease out of his usual environment. You watch him use the wooden stool you have had since you were a child as a way to prep his bong for you to hit it. 

You sit on the edge of your bed, your hands wedged between your legs nervously. He finally looks up at you, noting your odd positioning. “You good, sweetheart?”

You shake your head back and forth, “I’m good. Just… need to smoke.”

He gestures out a black lighter for you, bowing his head. “Come hither.”

You stand up, grabbing the lighter and sitting criss cross in front of the stool where he has set up shop. The glassware looks surprisingly clean. You pick it up slowly, not wanting to mess up the pack or drop it due to your nerves. Eddie watches you, his eyebrows furrowed a bit. 

“You’re psyching me out.” He mutters, dusting his bangs away from his forehead a bit. Before he set up, you made sure to open your window right above him so the smoke would escape and not stink up your entire house. Your parents did not care all that much, but you did it out of respect. You did not need to rock the boat. 

“Sorry,” You bring the mouthpiece up to your lips, holding the neck. You had made the mistake of holding the base before and burnt the fuck out of yourself. You light the bowl piece, burning the weed as you suck in. When it bubbles enough, you pick up the piece to inhale. Once the smoke hits your throat and lungs, you try to not cough. But the burn hurts and you let loose. You put the bong down on the stool, lurching forward to cough until your lungs could recoup. 

“Jesus, princess. Never heard you cough so much,” He grabs the bong, inhaling the remaining smoke from your hit. You try not to laugh, mostly due to the fact that your throat feels like it’s on fire. “I don’t use bongs.”

He giggles at that before he puts the mouthpiece up to his lips and finishes off the bowl. 

He makes it look so easy, his Adam's apple bobbing as he inhales and slowly exhales the smoke. Once he does the one hit, he sits back in the bean bag, making a loud swoosh sound. 

“That’s gonna get me high quick, damn,” You say, already feeling the lightness behind your eyes. Your high usually started in your head, moving slowly down to your limbs, all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. You were also always sporting bloodshot eyes and cottonmouth. Eddie grins as he relaxes into the chair. “We can smoke some more if need be. I have prerolls, too.” You walk to the opposite side of the room, pulling on the other random bean bag that you have stored in your room. You are almost positive this is the one your sister tore a hole in, but you needed something to sit on. You prop it right next to Eddie and the stool, settling in and staring at the ceiling.

“What do you do after you smoke?” You pose, trying to start light conversation so you did not spiral in front of him. You were not used to smoking with another person, so you had some unnecessary nerves. “You want honesty?” His voice breaks a bit before he clears his throat. As he says this, you realize the room is uncharacteristically quiet. To hide further conversation, you stand up and head to your record player. The resting record on the turntable is Fleetwood Mac, so that would just have to do. You turn it on, resting the needle on the edge of the record. The music flows through the room as you turn your head towards him. He has this shit-eating grin that could only hint that he does something mischievous or inappropriate.

“Yeah, go on.”

He first acts like he is thinking for a moment, but he knows his exact next words. They are on the very tip of his tongue, but he just wants to see if you pester him forward. The cat and mouse game seemed to be you two’s specialty at this point. He clears his throat, “I usually just jerk off.” You give him a disdainful glance, trying not to feel the knots tying themselves in the base of your stomach. “You’re gross.” “You asked!” You move the chair closer to him as you sit and lay back, “And hey, that’s not gross. Everyone does it.” You snort, turning your nose away from him. “You could have lied.” “What’s the fun in lying? I don’t lie to my friends.”

You would be lying if you said you did not like to hear that he considers you a friend. But teasing Eddie was your favorite hobby. “Oh, so we are friends?”

He shrugs, his face a bit twisted. “I’d like to think so.”

“Oh, okay.”

It is such a bland comment, you can tell he is squirming in his chair. He leans forward, pulling a baggie out of his pocket. You watch him place three pre rolls on the stool next to the bong. 

“What, you think I’m a freak like everyone else does?” As he says it, you watch him put a pre roll between his lips and fumble with the lighter, “It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

Eddie’s reputation was a pivotal part of why you liked him more than everyone else at school. He liked what he liked and did not bend to anyone’s rules. He liked Dungeons and Dragons and the darker undertones of it. He dressed in all black and enjoyed the heavy metal. He was born and bred to be an outcast. 

And you loved it. 

You had to hide a good part of yourself from the outside world because your Bible Belt town would reprimand you if you dressed how you actually wanted to. You would have been ostracized by your friends you had known your whole life. 

So you put on the stupid act of being normal and wore what was in fashion. You only liked the things you did in private. 

“People think you are weird because of that Satanic shit they think you believe in,” You state, watching him take a drag from the joint. You pay attention to one of his rings specifically. A silver pig head, wrapped around his left middle finger. When your eyes flicker back to his, he takes note of you staring at his hands. “Oh, so you don’t think I’m a crazy satanist that deals drugs and is starting a blood drinking cult?” “If you were, I think we would have been way closer friends.”

The way you say it so matter-of-factly piques Eddie’s interest. He knew all along you were different. That’s why he liked you so much. Why he chose to mess around your best friend instead is forever a mystery. But he had now to make up for it. “Oh, so you’d be in my cult, that I’m actually starting?” He rasps, offering you the joint. You gladly accept it, bringing it to your lips before you respond. 

“For sure,” You exhale some smoke, eyes roaming all over his face. “What does this cult entail?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face is inches from yours and he tones down his voice, like you two are passing secrets. You extend the joint back to him, letting his fingertips grace yours as he grabs it. “Bunch of outcast freaks that wear robes and do insane rituals.” You scoff, thinking out the hypotheticals of this cult, “Human sacrifice, type shit?”

“No cult has ever been successful without some human sacrifice, princess,” His grin grows across his face as he scans you up and down. ”So, are you in?”

The weed only makes you bolder, bringing your body even closer, “Sounds like a great time to me.”

“Oh, it will be. You, me, some fuckin’ weirdos I find off the streets. Maybe you can be my right-hand woman. May need someone else to keep them all in check.”

His head shifts to look between your eyes and lips. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “You not capable of doin’ that all by yourself?”

“Maybe,” He drags out the last syllable, ticking his tongue, “Just thought you’d wanna help is all.”

The thought sends shivers down your spine. But you try to act like his words have no effect on you, so you swallow shallowly and glance away. You want to say something that will drive him crazy, just to get one up on him. “I mean… I guess. As long as I get paid with a mass amount of drugs and ritualistic sex.” The last part of the sentence has him in a tizzy.

“Oh, that’s a given. You’ll be set for life.”

You clear your throat, the taste of weed reentering your mouth, “I’m hoping you have some good ideas for these rituals. I’m pretty useless.”

But you had plenty of ideas for him. And while you were truly into Eddie, you do not know if you would ever be bold enough to share those ideas out loud. You have read plenty of books, seen enough films, but you could never just outwardly say such obscene things to another person. Eddie’s lips quirk up, “I’ve got plenty of ideas, baby.”

The boldness he shows you gives you a rise. Your heart starts to beat fast, and before you can even really debate your next words, they spill out of your mouth.

“Enlighten me, leader.”

Eddie’s demeanor shifts completely. His brown eyes grow darker as he leans forward towards you, placing his large hand on your thigh. The touch sends goosebumps throughout your entire body, all the way up to your neck. His smirk changes into a mischievous grin.

“Enlighten you? You want me to show you all the things that are rattling around in my brain, sweetheart?”

The song stops and there’s a stillness that fills the room. The tension is thick like the marijuana smoke that radiates around your bedroom’s four walls. You place your hand delicately on top of Eddie’s. 

“Please.” You rasp, your eyes flickering all around his face. His nose, his slightly ajar lips, his doe eyes that show lust instead of innocence.

His hand slips behind the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and closer. Instead of meeting in the middle, you jump the gun pressing yourself closer and closing the gap. You could not stop yourself, you had to feel him against you. When your lips press against him, the sound from your throat brings him to be urgent with his movements.

When his tongue lips past your lips, you start to realize how dry your mouth really was. You always experienced cottonmouth, but with the way you were practically drooling for Eddie’s attention, you are surprised to offer your mouth and tongue to him and find them sticking to the roof of your mouth. 

You pull away, your hand still on his, squeezing it reassuringly, “My mouth is-” “I don’t care,” And he’s pulling you back into his lips. He could not care less if your mouth was dry or if your hair is sticking up weird because of where his hand is placed. He just needed to feel you against him. And you wanted the same.

His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you across his lap. With the new position, you rest your hips on top of him and cradle his jaw with your hands. The kiss turns into him just giving you all of the saliva in his mouth, which you gladly take. His lips move at a perfect drawn-out pace. His hand adds more encouragement to your frenching, traveling all around your sides and hips. You retreat, pulling back for some air.

His eyes never leave yours as you settle onto his thighs as you catch your breath, your shorts riding up to your hips as you slide across him. 

“Tell me if I’m misinterpreting signs, sweetheart.”

You shake your head ‘no’, your arms slowly moving up from his chest to his shoulders. “Nothing to misinterpret, Munson.”

He gives you a smug grin, leaning his back further into the chair. His eyes trace down the curvature of your body, admiring you mounting his lap. 

“Do you need some water? Sorry, I just… you stopped kissing me so suddenly-” You shake your head, cutting him off. “Right above you on the windowsill…that water bottle. Just give me that.”

He steadies you on his lap by resting a firm grip on your waist as he extends his body upward to grab the plastic water bottle. While he shifts, you can feel his hardness against your thighs. Your lips purse in a half grin.

He grabs it, opens it for you, and gestures for you to lean your head back. “I can do it myself, dear,” You retort, trying to reach out for the bottle. He pulls it away, chuckling slyly to himself. “Let me do it.” It is the stupid banter like this that is making you fall so hard for him. Whether it’s the two of you on the phone, or hanging out in person, he always found a way to tease you or pick at you. 

You lean your head back slightly as he pours the perfect amount in your mouth. You swish it around, already feeling a lot better. The dryness will probably come back, but at least you had your own personal water fountain to supply you with more. You watch him screw the cap back on and put it next to him on the floor. His other hand returns to your waist, his touch lowering a bit more to your ass.

“So… you like this, right?” The question is so dumb and forward, you have to give him credit. For crying out loud, you are mounting his lap and wildly making out with him. You cannot help but laugh. “Yeah, dumbass.”

“Okay, good. I like this, too…”

“So…Is this just the sneak preview?” You jab, thinking back to the conversation you two were just having about starting a cult. You are slightly hinting that you would like more, but you do not know how to word it without sounding desperate.

Eddie is so in his own head, he looks at you confused. “What?”

“The ritualistic sex or whatever.”

He lifts you up swiftly, his palms raising you up by your asscheeks. You yelp, holding onto him for dear life. He chuckles as he walks you about 7 steps towards your bed. When he drops you, your arms flail backward to catch yourself landing with a bounce. He does not give you any time to recover, his hands running up the sides of your body, while his hips align with yours. His face breaks into something more mischievous. “Nah, this is just something I’ve wanted to do to you for a long time. The ritualistic sex will involve way more blood.”

You lace your hands around his neck, pulling his face closer to your lips. You completely disregard the blood comment. That is a conversation for another time.  “You’ve wanted to do this for a while?” “Longer than I care to admit.” He captures your lips in another bruising kiss, his hand leaving your hip to cup your face. You eagerly offer your newly wet tongue to his accepting mouth. You are kissing each other like you are trying to suck the life out of him. You both tasted like weed which only added to the intoxication of the exchange. 

Your hands were roaming every part of his upper chest, your hand wrapping so perfectly around his neck and jaw. When he tilts your head back with his thumb to push your face upward so he can access your neck, you release him. He tuts, kissing your neck, “You wanna have your hands around my throat, baby?”

You can feel the wetness rush out of you, soaking your panties at the huskiness of his voice. “If you’re into that.”

He can feel his smile against you, lifting his face up to meet your eyes. 

“Very into that.”

The disposal of clothes happens in rapid succession. You watch him plop down in his boxers, while you have already removed your underwear. His eyes fly open at the realization that you are laying it all out there immediately. You are too high to give a fuck, watching his eyes scan you as you undo your bra in the back. 

“Are you fucking with your underwear on?” He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing at the question. “Uh, no. I just…” You lower yourself in front of him, feigning innocence as you rub his bare thighs. The tent in his boxers is fully apparent, waiting for you to take it in your hands. “You what? You want me to take them off for you?” His cocky smirk returns in full force. “If you’re into that.”

You notice his teasing tone, repeating your previous statement from moments before. You pull at the waistband of his boxers as he shifts himself so you can release him out of his confides. “Very into that.”

When his cock springs free, you practically gasp. The surprise on your face is all apparent and Eddie loves it. He looks at you through hooded lids, enjoying the sight of you taking him in your hands. You wrap around him so perfectly, jerking him off with slow methodical movements. You tilt forward, pressing your wet lips to his shaft. His lips form into an ‘o’ as you wrap your lips around his dick, taking him gradually into your mouth. He cannot stop staring at your actions. You are quick to switch it up on him when he gets too quiet for your comfort. You speed up your movements, the saliva you are finally making, starts dripping around his cock as you take him further into your throat. 

He slides so easily into your mouth, your high brain keeps thinking ‘God, he’s made for me’. It sounds so insane and a bit delusional, but you loved hearing him whimper as you continued to slurp up and down on his cock. “Oh my god, you’re so fuckin’ good at that,” His voice is dripping with lust, “You keep goin’ and I’m cumming in that mouth.” You do one last slow up and down on him, releasing him from your mouth. “Need you inside me before you cum.”

You give him one last long, lingering lick up his shaft before pressing a tender kiss on the tip. He rolls his eyes back, his lips twisted up in a smile. “Dirty girl.” You stand up on your heels, stepping forward and mounting his lap again. His hands settle on your sides immediately, dragging you closer to him as you side further towards his knees. “You want a condom?” His dilated pupils cannot look away from your core hovering so close to his spit covered cock. “Do we need one?” You tilt his head up with your fingers. “You safe?” “Always.” “Good, then. I take a pill every morning. So unless you’re weird about fuckin’ raw-” He shakes his head, pressing his lips into yours to quiet your ramblings. You return the kiss, moaning into him as you draw your cunt closer to his erection. When you nudge him, he hisses.

“Fuck me how you want, princess.”

You give him a smug expression, lifting yourself up on your knees and reaching between your own legs. You feel for his cockhead, tilting it towards where your entrance is. You lower yourself slowly, eyes catching Eddie’s as he looks up at you. He looks so hot in this light, his jaw clenched, his gaze burning through you, his hair swept back over his shoulders. When his tip graces your core, you practically squeeze him without any penetration.

Once he’s right where you need him, you sink all the way down. The moans you both let out in unison is like music to your ears. You can practically hear your heartbeat in your ears as you lift up again and slam down, his watchful eye observing your actions. When you realize the intrusion will not hurt if you speed up, you push him onto his back. 

He grabs one of your pillows from the top of the bed, his wingspan somehow long enough to do such things. You enjoy watching him prop his head up to observe you, a devious smile on his face. He keeps his hands under his head, like he’s just enjoying the show. You settle your one hand on his stomach, the other on his chest, right below a tattoo of what appears to be a demon head. 

“Your tattoos are so random,” You babble, spreading your fingers over the art.

He tilts his head, still just appreciating the way your tits sit over him. “You are not very good at dirty talk, sweetheart.”

You grimace at his comment, dragging your hips forward which allows your clit some stimulation while he’s inside you. “My apologies. I’ll stick to the normal buzzer words.”

He rolls his eyes initially but once you raise your hips up to bounce on him, he forces his eyes closed. 

You grin, your hands resting a bit further up his chest, slowly creeping your way up to his pretty little neck. His guitar pick necklace is a staple in his appearance, but right now it was just in your way. You continue your movements, finally resting your hand right below his Adam’s apple. He reveals his brown eyes again when you tighten your grip, his expression indicating that he is enjoying you like this.

You are starting to feel weak in your knees as you fuck yourself on him, but you are not a quitter and it feels too good to stop. You balance one hand on his chest, the other one constricting more of his airways. The way he heaves under you sends a shockwave right to your clit. The stimulation is becoming almost too much, but you clench your pelvic muscles, edging yourself.

“Oh my god,” You whine, finally returning to just sliding yourself back and forth on his pelvis, “I’m gonna cum, Eddie.”

You release his throat, allowing him to catch his breath. “I can feel you gripping me so good, baby.”

Eddie moves his hands up your legs, clutching onto the sides of your hips first, before massaging the flesh right below your boobs. When they travel to toy with your nipples, you can feel the urgent flood of your orgasm hit the pit of your stomach. You roll your eyes back, lulling your head back as your hips stutter against his. As you jerk your body across him, you can feel his dick twitching inside you. Your vision is a bit clouded as you fix your gaze back on the man below you. 

You feel his hands roughly grab your hips, practically rag dolling you to the spot next to him. He fixes himself between your legs, slotting his cock back into your cunt. “I’m so close but I need to go at my pace.”

“Eddie, I’m so sensitive,” You mewl, your hands rubbing your eyes to regain some of your normal function back. The endorphins from the sex is intertwining weirdly with the high you already have, which makes your body feel like it’s only a matter of time before you are cumming all over him again. 

“I know, baby, but I know you got more in you. One more? You think you can do that for your leader?”

You gasp when he grinds himself into you. You cannot even say anything back to the horniest thing he has said all night because the feeling of him fully sheathed inside you again has your head spinning. He starts with a slower pace that only speeds up when you are moaning his name over and over again. You then realize, he will, in fact, have you cumming again. 

He reaches up under your knee, slotting it right in the bend of his arm. He slowly starts to raise it up in the air to plow into you from a different angle, stretching you further and further to your limit. His hair is starting to stick to his forehead, as he continues to chase his release. He opens you up some more by spreading your leg out more. You watch as he licks his thumb and stares down at your swollen clit. You know what he’s about to do and you may just lose your mind. He slots his finger right on top of your sensitive bud and presses, rubbing methodical circles. 

“Cum, baby, I know you wanna.”

You gasp, letting the orgasm take over every nerve ending in your body. The way you clench down on him sends him into overdrive. His grunts fill the room, while you are silently writhe under him, unable to catch your breath from the explosion of your climax. The feeling of you seizing around his cock makes him drop your leg lazily and drop on top of your naked body. 

He holds onto you like you are the only thing anchoring him in reality as he fucks his seed deep inside you. 

Your sweaty bodies lace around each other as you both regain your composure. His weight is pressing you deeply into the mattress, so you languidly pat his shoulder. 

“Squishing me, Munson.”

He presses up into a push up to look at you, his hair falling over your face. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

He rolls onto his side, his half hard cock slipping out of your pussy, dragging some of his cum out with it. You can feel him dripping out of you, which is an absolutely surreal experience. He settles beside you, still huffing a bit. “Well… That was…”

You did not really have the right adjective to explain your feelings about the entire ordeal. You were definitely satisfied. More than you ever had been before. 

Eddie smacks his lips, pushing some hair away from his eyes. “Incomparable. On my part, at least.”

You sneer, trying your best to clear out the rasp you feel in your throat. Your mouth is starting to feel dry all over again. You think for a moment, wondering if you should give in and share that it was the best sex you have ever had or just act nonchalant. 

“Yeah, definitely something,” You remark dryly. You wanted banter with him, it was only fitting after such sacrilege.

He looks at you with a half-grin, his eyes scanning down your body for a beat. When he gets to your chest, he just stares at your tits while he speaks. 

“Not annoying. And not flat-chested. Just perfect,” He taunts, reaching out to tweak one of your nipples, “I was right, you were wrong.”

He always has to one up you. You lean forward, resting your palm on your bed as you get in his sphere. “I’m not joining your cult. You are too cocky and I think you will get too power hungry.”

His finger still toys with your chest as you speak, the words just sliding right off his shoulders. 

“Power hungry? No, no, no,” He places his hand right in the center of your chest, the coldness of his rings sending shockwaves up your arms, “The only thing I’m ever gonna be hungry for is you, my dear.”

You shake your head, propping yourself on your elbow as you stare down at him. “Apparently you have been for a while… According to what you said earlier.”

That comment tickles him. He finally chuckles, leaning up so he’s millimeters from your lips. 

“Guilty as charged.”

His mouth presses back onto yours, tongue and all. It finally brings back some moisture back into your mouth. Maybe you didn’t need the damn water bottle. Maybe you just needed him to keep kissing you.

tags of ppl i love and who may wanna read, idk:

@hauntedhowlett @pedgito @hockeyhughes @chaotic-mystery

[mammons-lover]

Prank Gone Pregnant [Happy New Years!]

MC (grinning mischievously at Mammon's camera): Hey guys, welcome back! Today, I’m going to prank my boyfriend by pretending to break up with him. Let’s see how hard he panics. Spoiler: It’s Mammon, so… a lot. Let’s do this.

MC (fake sniffling, eyes cast down): Mammon, sweetie…

Mammon (striding over dramatically, already looking concerned): Yeah, babe? What’s wrong? You okay?

MC (turning their head away to stifle a laugh, voice trembling for effect): I think… it’s time we break—

Mammon (interrupting with wide eyes, completely serious): I’m pregnant.

MC (now genuinely stunned, blinking): Wait. What?

Mammon (doubling down like his life depends on it, hand over his heart): Yeah, you heard me. Pregnant. Bun in the oven. Lil’ Mammon Jr. on the way.

MC (trying not to lose it, but also trying to keep it logical): Mammon, that’s literally not possible. You’re a—

Mammon (jumping to his feet, hands on hips, voice dripping with indignation): Oh, so now you don’t want OUR baby?!

MC (deadpan): You’re male!

Mammon (scoffing like this is the least of their concerns): And I’m also a demon, something ya didn’t even know existed till you landed here! Maybe you need to stop slackin’ in bio class, MC!

MC (completely breaking character, laughing): Oh my god, I love you, babe. And I love how far you’re willing to go to keep me, but—

Mammon (dropping to his knees mid-sentence, clutching at MC’s hands dramatically): Please don’t leave me! I’ll DIE! I’ll do anything! Beg, grovel, get a second job, whatever you want!

MC (still giggling): Mammon! Let me finish! I was gonna say it’s a prank!

Mammon (pausing, looking betrayed): A PRANK?! You got me cryin’ over here for a PRANK?!

MC (trying to hold in laughter, patting his shoulder): I’m sorry, but once you hit me with the ‘I’m pregnant’, I had to see this through!

Mammon (standing dramatically, wiping his tears): Well, guess what? You’re not sleepin’ in my bed tonight. And we’re OVER.

MC (mock-pouting): Aw, c’mon, Mammon, don’t be like that—

Mammon (cutting them off immediately, arms crossed but already relenting): No, wait, I take it back. We ain’t over. But I’m still mad. You’re on thin ice!

MC (grinning): I’ll make it up to you with snacks?

Mammon (grumbling, but already caving): …Fine. But only ‘cause I’m pregnant and I need to eat for two!

(Enter Leviathan, standing nearby with headphones half-off, looking completely bewildered as he stares after them.)

Leviathan: Wait. WHAT THE FUCK?! Mammon’s PREGNANT?!

Mammon (yelling back over his shoulder): Yeah, Levi! Start plannin’ the baby shower!

Leviathan (suddenly panicking, pacing): Oh my daivolo, I’m gonna be an uncle! We need to babyproof the house! There’s sharp corners everywhere, and that stair railing is a death trap! Do demons even have car seats?! Someone get me a checklist—WHERE’S THE CHECKLIST?!

{Haven’t posted any fics lately? Uhh… do we even call these fics? 🤔 Who knows! Anyway, I seriously miss making them, but college is not what I expected (first semester, woo-hoo! 🥲) and, uh… I'm definitely failing three classes. BUT!! I’ve figured out how to balance college and life, so next semester is gonna be great!. I miss writing, though, so you better believe more is coming soon! Stay tuned, besties!}

[motherofoompaloompas]

Even more memes that have been sent to the Corrie group chat Pt 5

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3, Pt 4