#fuck that ugly fuck wad

[bunnyb34r]

I kinda wanna know how that shit anime ended, but I also don't give that much of a shit actually whrgdgdggd

Like I just wanna know what happened to one character and I also don't bc what if he died sgdggdgdgdgdgd shrodieger's character

[tangentofk]

Why does it feel like the moment life starts to get better, a bunch of shit just… starts happening

[riboism]

speed

》 pairing: c.s x f!reader, j.wy

》 genre: smut

》 wc: 1k

》 content: drug dealers! woosan, reader is san’s gf and woo may or may not have a crush on her, voyeurism, voyeur! woo, no mentions of drug use or violence, backseat fucking, reverse cowgirl, pussy slapping.

》 a/n: had to take a break after seeing that woosan outlaw trailer and write this…I literally can’t stop thinking about it.

🎧 speed- kali uchis

Tensions were high, and it didn’t help that Wooyoung’s delivery guy was 20 minutes late and counting. The exchange didn’t go as well as he had hoped, and he figured some fried chicken from this new place that opened downtown would offer him some solace. He noted that this was the first and last time he would order from there.

His partner San had his own way of dealing with stress. A very loud and obnoxious way. Being forced to listen to you and San go at it like wild animals while rattling the van from side to side really didn’t help make his hunger pains go away any faster.

“God damn it, can you guys keep it down back there?” He spat, losing his count of the wad of cash in his hands. 

Neither of you heard him, not over your loud moans. You were sprawled over San’s lap with your back facing him, his fingers grasping on to your waist tightly as he fucked up into your pussy at a harsh pace. You had started off slow and steady, mindful not to make too much noise so as to not bother your boyfriend’s work associate, but San was always impatient, especially on nights like this, and he found your pace a little too slow for his liking. So he decided to take matters into his own hands- literally. He was holding onto you so tight that you were sure it would leave a mark. And as for you, well you tried your best to be quiet, but it was hard when San used you like his own personal cocksleeve. He rolled his hips up to your cunt, his hard tip reaching deep inside your sweet spot, and you two filled the van with the sounds of your guttered moans and slapping skins. 

Growing agitated, Wooyoung slammed his hand on the front dash of the van to grab both your attention. “Hey! Wrap it up already, I got shit to do!” He waved the wads of cash in his hand so that San could see. 

“Shut up or it’s my cock down your throat next!” San huffed, his thrusts getting harder and faster. San always respected Wooyoung, but his obedience would disappear the moment he’d stuff his cock inside of you. There was no way of getting him to listen now, and Wooyoung knew that. Annoyed with his distasteful words, and too exhausted to quarrel any longer, Wooyoung slumped back into his seat and started his count all over again. 

As he swiped each bill through his fingers, his eyes would occasionally glance up at the rear view mirror where he’d get a quick peek at you two. He always thought you had a pretty face, but your body was something else. He was mesmerized by the sight of your soft breasts bouncing up and down as San worked you open from behind. His gaze lingered down on to your wet cunt. He couldn’t understand how something so small and delicate could take something so big and ugly like San’s cock. Maybe it was weird to think this way, but although Wooyoung was smaller, he thought his cock looked a lot prettier than San’s. Shaking his head, he looked back down at the cash and continued his count. 

“Fuck, Sannie, f-feels so good! Gonna cum!” You cried. Your moans grew loud and raspy, and Wooyoung had no choice but to look back up at the rear view mirror. Your sounds alone made his pants tighter but seeing you rub and tug your clit while San continued fucking you made a wet spot form in his boxers. Spreading his legs, Wooyoung couldn’t help but palm over his erection while watching you in the mirror. He thought you were so tight and that you took him so well, and all he wanted to do now was cum at the same time as you. 

“Pretty baby gonna cum for me? Yeah? Gonna cum all over my cock?” San grunted into your ear. His hands slid up to your breasts, kneading them as continued thrusting. You were so wet now that Wooyoung could hear your squelches from up front, and god did it almost destroy him. He stuffed his hand into his pants, rubbed his thumb over his slit, and licked his lips as he watched you turn into more of a hot mess over San’s stiff cock. He noticed your eyes getting droopy and your breathing getting shakier. 

“Go on baby, cum for me,” Wooyoung whispered to himself. “Be a good girl and cum.” 

Right on demand, your thighs squeezed together as a rush of warmth filled up your stomach. Your whole body crunched over as you came until finally your body gave up and you fell back into San’s chest. Your legs opened up again, giving Wooyung a great view of the milky white cum leaking out of your pussy. 

“Yes, yes, yes” Wooyoung mumbled as he stroke himself. “Good girl,” he breathed as his hips jolted up. Your leaky cunt was the last push he needed to cum, forcing him to press his eyes shut and use his free hand to cover his mouth to mask his moans. Once he finished, he carefully peeled his eyes back open and hesitantly looked up at the same mirror, relief rushing over him when he realized neither of you noticed. 

“Good fucking girl” San praised, striking your sensitive cunt with his hand. You yelped at the impact before giving him a giggly kiss. 

Up front, Wooyoung cringed seeing you two kiss. He felt good during his orgasm, but now he was annoyed again. Annoyed with the failed exchange, annoyed with the late delivery person, and annoyed with the fact that he has to sit around in his soiled underwear while listening to you two smooch each other’s faces off. He thought it was more insufferable than hearing you two have sex. 

“Offer’s still on the table, you know,” San winked teasingly. Wooyoung saw San looking back at him in the rear view mirror, a smug look plastered over his face as you kissed along his neck. Wooyoung’s face wrung up in a scowl once he remembered the gross comment San made to him earlier. 

“Fuck off.” 

[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter I: The Seed. Part I.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 1.8k

chapter summary: a glimpse into the world of hwang hyunjin, the artist and the celebrity.

warnings: swearing, smoking, drugs, one night stand, brief sex scene, hyunjin is an asshole for a few moments

~ Masterlist for the series ~ next part

Click. Click. Click.

The flash of the camera illuminates the room and the almost expressionless face, the owner of said face leaning his body towards one of the canvases hanging on the wall.

One of his many pieces that once only existed in the depths of his mind and heart, spilled onto the canvas adorned with a stylish bronze frame.

The flash once hurt his eyes, but as the time went on and the flashes got more frequent, his eyes adjusted and he became desensitized to the attention.

It was all just a familiar cycle. Sit in front of a blank canvas, prepare your paints, prepare your paintbrushes, prepare your fucking inspiration or at least find it somewhere hidden under a carpet, shoved into a metaphorical hole, sucked into the endless void.

Put it on the wall of your gallery, say some pretentious shit, strike a few poses and act like you're happy and motivated to even live.

Rinse and repeat.

As your admirers scream and throw wads of cash at your feet, be happy, you're living your dream, be happy, you got what you wanted, be happy, your life is perfect.

What was the inspiration for this piece?

Just say some poetic shit and everyone will eat it up, thinking how deep you are, admire the artist, admire the art, admire the lie.

Life is perfect.

Hyunjin looks for a moment of peace. He finds just that, one moment, as he manages to slip away to the balcony. He presses his elbows on the cold, hard stone, leans on his open palms and looks down.

The suit he's wearing makes it hard to move, his body is restricted, tied and held in place, the tie around his neck is secured tightly, almost taking his breath away and suffocating him.

He runs a hand through his styled hair, trying to take in a deep breath, his eyes are fixed on the road, everything looks so tiny from up where he's standing, so insignificant and temporary in time. All the people walking around look like ants, cars look like toys he played with when he was a child, it's a hazy cloud of everything and nothing, moving too fast to make sense of it.

Melancholy lingers in the air, together with the smell of a thunderstorm brewing in the distant dark sky, and he lifts his head up, his hand in his pocket.

Hyunjin fishes out a pack of cigarettes, a damned habit he picked up on after hanging out in many fancy clubs with many fancy people whose noses are white, whose smiles are crooked, whose eyes are dull and hearts tainted.

He curses under his breath, realizing that he had no lighter with him, after all, he didn't smoke daily, it was just a rare occurrence to blow off steam, just an excuse to disappear from the stifling crowd, the loud voices and the unnecessary questions he answered a hundred times before.

Footsteps approach him, the moment is broken and his manager appears by his side.

"Looking for this?"- Charlie reaches his zippo to Hyunjin.

"Sure."- Hyunjin's voice is almost inaudible.

"Those'll kill you, you know."- Charlie says, a sympathetic smile on his face.

Hyunjin lights up the cigarette, the quiet crackling sound loud in the space between them as he inhales, his lungs filling with the poison, and his brain filling with fake relief.

"You smoke more than me."- the smoke puffs out like a cloud as Hyunjin talks, eyeing the zippo in his hand, an airplane engraved into it.

"You look ugly when you smoke."- Charlie teases and Hyunjin lets out a chuckle as his manager takes out a cig.

He reaches his hand towards Hyunjin's and he rests the old zippo in his open palm, the thought of teasing his manager only shortly passing through his mind.

Charlie has always had an unhealthy obsession with airplanes and collecting old things, so Hyunjin knew that if he even tried to joke with the lighter, his manager would freak out.

"Why so gloomy? This is the biggest show you've ever hosted. Specifically in your own gallery."- Charlie lets the smoke fizz out as Hyunjin stares off into the distance, the quiet breeze swirling the smoke around, drawing patterns in the dark that surrounds them.

"It is, isn't it?"- Hyunjin nods, watching the ashes flicker around as he taps his cigarette, some of it ending on his perfect suit, staining the expensive material.

"Yeah, we made a lot of money. There are so many interested buyers too, so we're bound to make even more."- Charlie smirks before taking a drag.

Money. It all comes back to the stupid paper that holds more significance than anything else in this world. It's the ruler of everything and everyone, and the more you have it, the more you want.

You become insatiable, one more expensive suit, one more pair of leather shoes, a new couch because why not, a new car that's not even on the market yet because you get exclusive everything.

Complete emptiness. That's all that it is, a void that keeps growing with more stuff you get.

Nothing you buy will ever be enough to fill up the ever growing black hole, everything just gets sucked into it and you're left feeling like you have nothing at all.

That's all Charlie ever talks about, except airplaines. It's all Hyunjin has come to know.

He drowns in so many rare and expensive things, but still what he wants to grasp onto isn't tangible to him.

"Sounds perfect."- Hyunjin's voice comes out flat.

"It is perfect! So, lighten up! We made so. much. cash."- Charlie emphasizes. "We need to celebrate."- he adds, smirking as he sticks his hand into the pocket of his jacket and brings out a little baggy of white powder, waving it in front of Hyunjin's face.

"I'll pass."- he says shortly and Charlie scoffs incredulously.

"What is with the sour attitude, my friend?"- he runs his hand through his curly hair. "You're being ungrateful. There are people who have so much influence here tonight and they're gonna want to meet the star of the show, the one and only Hwang Hyunjin. So you better get your fucking shit together."- Charlie flicks his cigarette as his voice gets deeper and the look in his eyes becomes menacing, before he leaves Hyunjin standing on the balcony.

The storm moves closer, Hyunjin looks down, a flicker of something lights up deep inside him, he stares down as his heart races, he wants to scream and fly. Intrusive thoughts fill his head up and he turns on his heel abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back into the gallery.

It's already 4 am when Hyunjin stumbles into his apartment, some nameless girl giggling behind him. She probably thinks she knows everything about Hyunjin, which academy he went to, what he loved to paint the most, what was his biggest inspiration, when he had his first show.

This was the night of her life.

To Hyunjin, she was just another instrument to play with, something to pass the time and fill the empty space of his king sized bed, at least for one night.

To feel something. He wishes he could feel something.

She will never forget this but he already forgot her name.

Another baggy is opened, white powder spread on the glass table, Hyunjin's credit card used to make four perfect little lines, two for each of them.

The girl giggles and leans over, snorting two lines in as she moans in delight, her eyes rolling back.

Hyunjin mirrors her actions, scrunching up his nose, despise written on his face at the burning feeling in his nostrils and the dull ache behind his eyes.

How did he get to this?

He doesn't care right now, thoughts erased in his high mind as the girl starts touching on him, nimble fingers coming up to untie his tie.

He doesn't resist, lets her undress him as she kisses his neck, his hands are splayed on her tiny waist, she must be a model.

She's probably beautiful but even that doesn't mean anything to Hyunjin, not when he looks at her, kisses her or lays her under him.

He doesn't see her, he looks through her, chasing his high as quickly as he can, his fingers working on her sensitive bundle of nerves just so she doesn't talk shit later that he didn't know how to please her.

With a loud moan of his name that makes his stomach recoil, she cums around him and he spills into the condom, his hand gripping at the sheet next to her head.

Here comes the worst part. She'll want to cuddle. She'll stay the night. She'll probably yell and slap him in the morning when he tells her to get lost.

He'll say something douchy like 'you should feel honored I fucked you' just to get her off his case.

And he won't feel a thing.

"What the hell do you mean, you're leaving?!"- Charlie yells desperately, as Hyunjin sits, tapping his foot against the carpeted floor of his manager's office.

Charlie stands up angrily, the leather chair he was sitting in, creaking and spinning a little.

"I'm leaving, Charlie. I need to leave. I need a break. I can't do this anymore. I don't even know who I am and why I'm doing this anymore. I don't know what to paint anymore and I don't even fucking care right now. I despise painting and art! I fucking despise all of this!"- Hyunjin's suppressed anger and despair starts bubbling up as he stands up.

"Save your sob story, Hyunjin. This isn't just about you. Other people depend on how much you sell and how much your produce. You can't just up and leave everything when you feel like it. People will-"

"I don't fucking care about people! And I'm making it about me. It's about me, for once. If you want me to be fruitful and bring you money so badly, you need to let me take a fucking break."- Hyunjin seethes.

Charlie pinches the bridge of his nose.

"How long?"

"However long I need."

"Fine. Whatever, Hyunjin. I will keep selling the pieces from the last show. They will sell out quickly, just a reminder. You'll need to do something new by then."

"Fine."

Hyunjin leaves the office, his heart beating fast inside his chest as he speeds off faster and faster, away from the gray buildings, away from the tainted hearts, away from the empty fucking void, threatening to suck in his entire existence.

Returning to his cold apartment, Hyunjin packs a suitcase, leaves a note for the cleaning lady, and throws one last look around his modern apartment, his eyes stop on the looming city skyscrapers outside.

No colors could ever illuminate the deep-seated depression of the big city.

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @nchhuhi @1810cl

[astradyke]

warning this might be a nothing post i'm just a little emotional & rambling but like... i think a lot about hometown showdown and gay and not proud a lot. and i understand this was in the peak of YouTube's fuckery with Dan and disrupting his plans for DINOK so i understand there's like a tension behind a lot of what was ongoing. i also realize that YouTube-- more obviously with hometown showdown-- but generally had strong business rationale for wanting Phil to feature in these videos, with Dan & Phil being the duo of HS and Phil being there in gay and not proud (sorry the acronym for this looks ugly).

but man... i think a lot about how hometown showdown was just kind of a lot of dates. i've not seen the other ones but i hear a lot that they were way more competitive versus Dan and Phil were just casually exploring their hometowns together, showing pieces of themselves to the other. i think about all the dialogue that was cut (that I think was alluded to in WDAPTEO 2?)

and i think about like. the seismic Importance of Phil being in gay and not proud as like... Dan's safe space. the same way he's remote crisis manager, the same way he was part of WAD's pre & post show, the same way he filmed that haircut video basically to promo YWGTTN and Dan is leaving me to talk about WAD. the same way that Dan got a taxi to his place after his nightmare experience at the laundromat to do laundry because "for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe."

and after the latest mukbang it's like... it's really insane to me how their personal relationship has continued despite the pressures they've faced as being a comedic influencer duo. the fact that they work as business partners but still have this relationship. the fact that even in these YouTube originals that Dan was resentful of at the time anyway you can still glowingly see how much they love each other. like Phil being in gay and not proud wasn't a cameo, it was a fucking love confession.

i dunno. this is something that's been talked about a Lot but i do think about it frequently. i don't tend to rewatch these specials a lot because Jesus Christ the editing really gets me, but like... idk. "you're next to me in my life," or whatever. 15 years have passed and Phil's still cheerleading for Dan, from his first YouTube video to his first solo tour. i dunno.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x succubus!reader. when blitzø picks a fight with you over your job, the two of your end up in a screaming match. but when tensions between you break, the two of you do what you do best... fuck each other's brains out.

featuring: slut-shaming out of insecurity, misogynistic language, dom!blitzø, orgasm denial, an unsubtle reference to hazbin hotel.

anon request. 2k.

“Fucking Christ, you’re a dick!” you snap, storming into your apartment. You make to slam the door behind you but Blitzø catches hold of it before it can meet the frame and stalks in after you.

“Of course I fuckin’ am!” he bites back, tail snapping behind him like a whip. “You go out and act like a fuckin’ whore and I’m—”

“Excuse me?” you spin on your heel, eyes blazing. “What the fuck did you just say?!”

“You go out there and throw yourself at these fuckin’ Envy cock-sleeve cunts and—”

“It’s my job, Blitz!” you shout, outraged. You toss your bag on the couch, ignoring it when it bounces off the cushion and spills its contents onto the carpet. “I serve drinks, I laugh at their stupid jokes, and I distract them from the game just enough to fuck up their chances at the pot! That’s it!”

“Distract ‘em with your fuckin’ tits in their face?!”

You scoff, an ugly sound, shrugging off your jack and tossing it aside. Your uniform is admittedly reminiscent of the Playboy Bunny look from up on Earth, except with a skirt and thankfully without the ears. You tug at the bowtie and collar your wear irritably. Sure, it was a little ridiculous, but it fit into the décor of the casino, and the Overlord in charge paid well. Plus, he cared enough about his workers that the clientele rarely took their ogling too far.

And outside of the Lust Ring, that’s really the best a Succubus can ask for.

“What, now you have a problem with the fucking uniform?” you snarl incredulously. You’re not sure if you should be flattered or even more outraged that Blitzø actually has the audacity to check you out now that your outfit is on display. “You were such a fucking fan a few weeks ago!”

“Fuuuuck you!”

“No, fuck you, Blitz. This is the best job I’ve had in years, I make great tips, and you’re not gonna make me feel shitty about it!”

Blitzø’s hands are balled into tight fists by his sides, his jaw set into a poisonous, angry line. “That’s because those fish-fuckers think they’ll get a lap dance outta ya if they flash their fuckin’ wad at your dumb cunt—”

“Shut the fuck up!”

Your hand comes up automatically, and Blitzø catches hold of your wrist before your palm can make contact with the side of his face. The two of you glare at each other for a beat before his mouth is on yours in a rough, hungry kiss. Blitzø groans into it, his other hand coming up to the side of your face, fisting in the hair by your ear. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, ignoring the way you try to tug your arm out of his grip. His hand is so tight on your wrist that you can feel the bones ache.

He presses you back against the arm of the couch, pushing his knee up between your thighs. You moan when he releases your hair to grab at your waist instead, urging your hips into movement and grinding you down against the muscle of his thigh.

It takes you a moment to remember your fury, and you push a hand against his chest, shoving him away from you. “Fuck, Blitz! You can’t just call me a whore and then—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, kissing you again, his teeth grazing your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Motherfucker, that’s hot,” Blitzø growls, wrapping a hand around your throat and pulling your back against his chest. You turn your head and his mouth meets yours in a messy, torrid kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You whine into it, breath catching as his other hand comes up to clutch at your breast, squeezing the flesh roughly. You’re sitting on his lap, skirt pulled up around your waist, underwear gone. Blitzø has his tail wrapped possessively around your waist, keeping you against him, and his hand comes down to scratch claws over the flesh that curves between the bands of his tail. They leave lines of red against your skin – claiming marks. “Do it again.”

You nod obediently, eagerly, rolling your hips slowly over his lap. It grinds your soaking, naked cunt over the bulge of his erection, still trapped in the confines of his pants. Blitzø snarls at the feeling of it, hand tightening around your throat enough that your breath catches and your eyes roll back.

“Needy little slut,” he hisses in your ear, pinching your nipple, hard. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“Uhn… Blitz…” you moan, eyes squeezed closed, as his fingers lift your skirt further and rubs at your clit. “Fuck… Fuck, I wanna cum…”

His hand is immediately withdrawn, both hands instead taking hold of your waist and forcing you to still against him.

“I bet you fuckin’ do,” Blitzø snickers as you curse your frustration, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your throat. Your eyelids flutter and your brow furrows at the feeling of it, your cunt throbbing. Blitzø grazes his teeth along your shoulder, his voice rough, husky. “Bet you wanna cum all over this cock, don’t you?”

You whine despite yourself, need outweighing dignity. Still, your mind continues its chant of fuck you as you try once again to grind down onto his lap. Blitzø pushes you off him just enough to remove the temptation, and you hear his pants unfasten, hear him groan as he fists his cock in his hand. He strokes it, the back of his knuckles brushing against your lower back with every movement.

“Say it,” he orders, and the breathlessness of his voice mirrors your own neediness. Still, he doesn’t cave, retaking hold of your thighs and holding you flush against his lap. You can feel his erection against the cleft of your ass. “Say you want me to fuck you like a good little slut.”

“Fuck you, Blitz.”

“Say it,” he repeats, teeth digging into your shoulder for a moment. It makes your eyes roll back. Or maybe that’s the way his claws clutch at your thighs, moving up the soft flesh just enough that his thumbs brush against the edges of your cunt. “Say you want my thick fuckin’ cock to fuck you right in your sweet, tight little pussy.”

The spade of his tail slips between your thighs to tap against your clit, and you buck under his grip. Your head falls forward, eyes squeezed shut. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

You mean to scoff, the sound strangled as he grinds his cock up against you. “If this… fuck… this whole thing is about your goddamned ego, Blitz— fuck…”

He growls into your throat, shifting his hips and sliding his cock up between your thighs. The length of it teases over your clit, and your head falls back against his shoulder, eyes screwed shut as you try to steady your breathing. Blitzø continues to tease his tongue up the side of your throat, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your pulse point. He sucks, tasting the blood that wells up under his fangs, marking you with a bruise.

“Say. It.”

“Fuck me,” you gasp out, wriggling your hips in an attempt to make the head of his cock slip into your dripping cunt. “Please, Blitz… I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” he groans, fisting the base of his cock in one hand and lining it up with your hole. Your breath hitches as the head of him slides into you, and you moan brokenly as he retakes hold of your hips and jerks you back down onto his lap, his cock filling you in one hard, brutal thrust. “Shiiiit…”

“Holy fuck, Blitz,” you moan, reaching one hand up and behind you to grasp at one of his horns, turning your head to kiss him again. Blitzø lets you, using it as a chance to adjust to the feeling of your tight, wet heat around him. The kiss is messy and hungry and he hisses as you catch his lip between your teeth.

He presses his forehead against yours, hands so tight on your hips you’re sure the bruises they leave will bare his fingerprints. “You’re gonna fuck yourself on my cock,” he tells you, a growl rumbling under his words, voice tight. “And you’re gonna tell me just how fuckin’ good it feels, got it?”

You nod quickly, embarrassedly needy, and Blitzø’s hands relax enough for you to begin rolling your hips over his. You don’t ease either of you into it, immediately taking up a pace that reflects both your need and your frustration with his bullshit. The imp continues to curse against your skin, and claws leaving tracks over your thighs.

“Oh, fuck, Blitz…” you moan, voice high-pitched and reedy. You wrap an arm around his neck, grasping at the back of the sofa to help you bounce yourself on his cock. “Oh, fuck, you feel good…”

“Damn fuckin’ right, I do.” he groans, fingers finding your clit again. He pinches it, and you whimper, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. “Tell me who gets to fuck you, bitch.”

“You do,” you reply obediently and he grins, teasing his fingers over your clit ruthlessly as a reward. You seize up, your body tightening as an orgasm breaks inside you, tightening around him as your cum soaks his lap. Your voice comes breathily. “Just… just you.”

“Christ, baby…” he grunts, a break in the tone he’s been using with all night. The desperate lilt to his voice makes you shudde. “Just me.”

“Just you,” you repeat, eyes rolling back as he fucks himself up into you. “Fuck… it’s just you, Blitz…”

Blitzø pushes you off his lap, wrangling you forward so you’re bent over the coffee table, his hips hammering into yours. You moan, loud enough that you hear one of the neighbors pound their fist on the wall in the hopes it will make you shut up.

“’Cause you’re mine.” Blitzø snarls, claws digging into your hips. You clutch at the edge of the coffee table, his thrusts hard enough that you can feel the table shifting on the carpet. His tail wraps so tightly around your thigh that you can feel pins and needles beginning to throb through the muscle. “Fucking mine…”

“I’m yours,” you agree, and you can feel your cum slick on your thighs and your mouth hanging open dumbly as he fucks you. “I’m yours, Blitz. I’m yours, yours, yours…”

“Satan’s fuckin’ ass!” Blitzø shouts as he cums, thrusting into you one final time so hard that your legs give out and you collapse onto the table. He falls against your back, cock sliding out of you and cum dripping down your thighs. “Shiiiit…”

You take gasping breathes as you try to calm down, and you’re sure Blitzø can feel your heart hammering as he presses his face against your spine. The corset of your uniform suddenly feels too tight, your ribs aching beneath it. “Fuck…”

“Fuck is right.”

“Can you…” you gesture blindly towards the corset’s ties. “I can’t…”

You feel Blitzø nod before he pulls back, his claws finally releasing your hips in favor of loosening the strings holding your corset in place. You exhale heavily as soon as you feel them release, holding the corset against your waist as you sit up.

“…We don’t need to talk about what just happened, do we?” you ask cagily. The two of you haven’t ever even approached a conversation about how serious this… thing between you is, and the idea of starting now, still dripping in…

“Nuh-uh,” Blitzø shakes his head so emphatically you’re almost surprised you don’t hear it rattle.

“Thank fuck,” you sigh, letting yourself collapse back onto the table. Blitzø snickers and you smile, punch drunk, as he smooths his hand over the marks he’s left on one thigh. Your throat still throbs where he bit you. “…You know they’re gonna be pissed at work about all these marks you’ve left on me.”

“Good.”

“Asshole.”

“Yooooooou love it.”

[starlightsuffered]

Hate Fuck

Info - enemies, hate fuck, a little cnc, clothes breaking, cocky Timothée, insults during sex, legs not working from a good fuck, unprotected sex

I was so sick of hearing all about Timothée. Timothée this and Timothée that. So he'd landed a small role in a movie. He wasn't a star or anything.

Eleanor only wanted him along because she was ga ga for him. Her brother Henry was as well. Then there was Violet, Mary, and Harry. We'd all been friends since little up. Henry and Elenor were newer to our group and had brought Timothée into it.

Timothée had been like a shiny toy to the lot of them. I used to be the one they followed and admired. I used to be the one to make them laugh. Now everything was about that bastard of a show off Timothée Chalamet.

We had all scraped our money together to go on a trip to Florida and bask in the heat and beauty. It had taken a lot of work and planning but we'd managed it. At the absolute last moment Timothée had waltzed in and asked if he could go.

Everyone had voted yes except for me. It made me so mad that I had saved for SO long to help pay and he had just grabbed a wad of bills from his pocket. I fucking hated him.

The night felt long and I never slept well in hotels. I decided that I would make use of the out door pool. Perhaps the exercise would make my anger decrease.

The whole flight I'd had to listen to Timothée talk about his time on the movie set. As he spoke Eleanor gushed. I was sat beside Henry and he kept turning back to listen and comment since he was also enamoured with Timothée.

I had a migraine by the time we landed. Timothée had also be elected to choose where we ate that night.

Apparently, since he was part French, he would have better taste than us.

It felt like he was possessing my friends and I was sick of it. At least this swim would be Timothée free. I grabbed my towel and bathing suit. I headed into the bathroom and gasped in annoyance.

I thought for sure l'd packed my new bikini. However, in my hand was my old one. They were both pink, so l must've grabbed the wrong one. This one had clips that easily fell apart and my boobs had grown a bit so that there was a worry about them falling out.

I sighed. I'd have to buy a new suit when we went shopping tomorrow. This would do for now. It wasn't as if anyone else would be out there.

I walked the cold hallways, the ac was always blasting. It was like a blanket of humidity was thrown on me as I exited the hotel. I gasped as the heat hit me. The short walk to the pool had me swearing,

I jumped into the cool water. It soothed my heat prickled skin. I felt calm under the quiet surface. I could finally forget Timothée even existed. All would be right in my world.

SPLASH!

Someone jumped into the pool. I wanted to scream. Of course my nice midnight swim had to be ruined by someone. When I came up and saw who it was I wanted to scream again.

Timothée stood there with dripping curls and a smirk. I hated that he looked godlike in this lighting. His high cheekbones and perfect bone structure. It would be a hell of a lot easier if my arch nemesis was ugly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded.

"Taking a swim," he offered as he leisurely paddled.

"It's midnight!" I shot back.

"You're here," he said blandly. I couldn't deny he was right. I put my hands on my hips and took deep breathes to calm myself.

"You know the world doesn't belong to you y/n. I can go places. I can make friends. I can come on trips. I can go swimming. I can-"

We both flinches as the clasp on my bikini top sprung open. My breasts fell out heavily. I would double D bras so there was a lot on display. Timothée's eyes were right on my nipples. I was too stunned to cover myself.

Suddenly, everything changed from slow and stagnant to fast. Timothée moved towards me. He was feeling me up and kissing me. I'd never felt such electricity. No one had handled my tits the way he did. The perfection in the way he squeezed, the way he rolled the nipples, the way he shuddered into my mouth.

"What are you doing?" l asked, but I didn't stop him.

"Kissing you, feeling you, worshiping your perfect body. It's all l've wanted to do since I first met you," he groaned. He pressed against me and I gasped. He was rock hard in his trunks and he felt big.

"Y-you hate me," I stuttered as one of his hands reached around to my ass. It all felt so good. Perhaps he deserved to brag and eloat if he could make someone feel like this.

"No, you hate me., I adore you," he professed.

"Well you're a pompous idiot, always showing off and-"

He grabbed my jaw and looked into my eyes. He looked filled with lust, like someone on the brink. He was pulling against restraints that would break any moment. Then, in the most surprising and gentle movement he leaned forward and placed a sweet kiss on my lips. It left me breathless and needing more.

"Why do you think I show off?" He asked me quietly, and then his long fingers were hooked in my bottoms. "Why do you think I brag and big myself up? Why do you think I mention only my best qualities and abilities?"

"Because, ohhhhh," I cut myself off as my bottoms were pulled all the way down. His large hands left me for a moment. I knew he was pulling his dick free and I couldn't imagine why I wasn't stopping him.

"To feed your own ego. To sound important. To make everyone obsessed with you," I snapped.

"No," he shook his head. I keened when his thick head pressed at my entrance. I could tell he would hit my g spot without even trying. He was so big. My clit throbbed. I hadn't been fucked well in so long.

"For you," he said as he pushed his head in. I grabbed wildly at his biceps.

"All for you, everything I do and say is to get your attention," he said. He had his forehead pressed against mine now. We were heaving together. I nodded slightly to the question that hung in the air.

He pushed all the way inside me. I held back but his moan of gratification was almost enough to make my knees weak. I clung to him. He began to rock his hips. His huge cock was filling me again and again.

"Uh oh fuck, it's even more perfect than I imagined. Uh, uh, uh," he groaned as he slammed home again and again.

I couldn't hold back my pleasure any longer. My nails were already embedded in his skin. I was clenching my jaw so that it ached. I had to make a noise or a sound or something to express how fucking, damn, good I felt!

"I hate you," I whispered, trying out the words on my tongue.

"What's that?" He panted as he pushed deep inside me. He had me against the pool wall. His hands were greedily feeling all over me.

"I hate you," I moaned as he hit a delicious part of me.

"I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world," he whined as he attacked my neck with kisses. I grasped the nape of his neck.

"You're hideous," I responded, my eyes squeezed shut in bliss.

"Your pussy feels, fuck, like heaven," he retorted.

"I can't even tell you're inside me," I nearly cried as he slammed in. He chuckled dark and low in my ear.

The water was splashing everywhere. He was mumbling hot compliments in my ear. I couldn't help but lift my legs up and put them around him.

"Mm, mm, mm," I nearly squealed as he went at me like an animal in heat.

"Please," he gasped

"Please what?" | growled.

"P-please," he said again. He sounded like he was pleading for his life. "Let me cum inside you. You can call me any name you want, just please, can I let loose in this perfect cunt."

"I-l- oh, fuck, yes, you fucking piece of shit, cum inside me raw," | screamed.

"Oh yes!" He shouted and rammed his cock inside me so hard I was seeing stars. My world was spinning as rope after rope of cum filled me up. Then I was coming too. I was exploding with lust and desire and pleasure. I was panting and clawing and making such pathetic noises as we both erupted.

"That was.... Wow," Timothée moaned as he reluctantly pulled out. I sneered at him as best I could.

"Speak for yourself," I said as I got out. However, Timothée giggled when my legs refused to work right when I tried to walk. I glared at the idiot.

[fairyysoup]

insatiable

matters of taste part two (repost)

pairing(s): steve harrington x fem!reader x eddie munson

summary: Stuck between Steve and Eddie, you start to learn the things they have in common, and a few of the things they don't.

content warnings: explicit (18+ MINORS DNI) smut, polyamorous relationship, semi-public sex, car sex, cunnilingus, nipple play, spit kink, forced orgasms, workplace sex, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism, daddy kink, size kink, praise, smoking, marijuana, discussions and appreciation of scars, canon-typical violence toward the end, like one verbatim line from the show as a wink wink nudge nudge, not edited (we die like the demobat)

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

“I feel kinda bad,” you admit glumly, blinking at Eddie through the fog in the back of his van. “Steve’s not here.”

Eddie shrugs a shoulder, his eyes sparkling at you even though they’ve gone just a little bit watery and bloodshot. You both stink like weed, the cramped quarters filling up with the smoke from the joint you pass between you. The speakers from the radio in the dash are playing the local rock station, maybe a bit too loud, but Eddie’s slightly gravelly voice still goes into your ears and plants itself right between your legs. “Yeah. Why d’you feel bad about it?”

“Well… aren’t we sort of going behind his back?”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head slowly. “Only if we don’t tell him. And trust me, I plan on telling him. Harrington and I are a lot closer than you might think, sugarplum.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Your head fills with the image of him biting Steve’s ear, tugging his hair- Steve’s hand fisted in Eddie’s shirt while you go down on him. “Are you guys together?”

“Ah… sort of. We haven’t exactly had the ‘what are we’ talk, but we fool around.” Eddie offers you the burning joint in his hand, and winks as you take it. “Doesn’t mean we don’t want to include you, though. Treat you nice, take you out on dates. The both of us.”

“Is that what this is?” You splutter a kind of half-cough, half giggle, the smoke starting to make your reflexes a little fuzzy. “R’we on a date right now?”

“If you wanna be.”

You should have known that his oddly sweet offer to pick you up and drive you to work today wasn’t exactly coming from a place of wholesome intentions. For starters, he did pose the offer while letting you recover from the first time he fucked you, while Steve was busy with a customer out on the bakery floor. His hand had been stroking a little too close to your aching cunt and your head was a little too full of endorphins for you to think it through before you said okay. 

So, when he picked you up about two hours early, you were a little shocked, to say the least. You were still wearing your pajamas- an ugly pair of sweats, and a cami that absolutely did not cover everything it needed to for you to be technically decent. Your hair a complete mess, a half eaten sandwich in hand as you answered the door. 

Eddie’s eyes did a complete once-over of your body, and then laser-focused in on your pebbled nipples raised through the fabric of your cami, before he cracked a smug smile. “Get all dressed up just for me?” 

You’d asked Eddie to wait for you to put on that itchy fucking uniform dress and apron, at least, but he just waved his hand like it was beyond pointless. “Just grab it and get dressed in the car. I won’t peek at you. Scouts honor.”

Well, now the uniform dress is wadded up in a plastic shopping bag beside you, and you’re parked outside of the Radio Shack across the street and down a ways from Mimi’s Bakery. And he’s not looking at you like any fucking boy scout. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, feeling really hot and sort of uncomfortably confined in your tight cami. He’s been staring at your tits. Not trying to hide that he is in the slightest, either. And your eyes have been lingering on his tattoos. “This can be a date.”

“Good to know,” he hums, checking his watch. “But don’t you need to be getting into that little dress pretty soon?”

“You just want to look at my tits,” you grumble as you shove the joint back into his hand. 

“I do. But I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”

You gnaw on your lip. Your eyes fall to his forearm again, the cluster of bats so dark on his skin. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Eddie laughs, genuinely, his chest heaving. “Tit for tat, huh? All right, sweetheart. You asked for it.”

His hands move to the hem of his shirt. He’s not wearing his uniform either, actually- instead he’s in a weather beaten metallica shirt and dark jeans. You don’t know if he just generally waits until the last second to change into his uniform, or if he was planning on not having any clothes on by the end of this anyways. Maybe a bit of both, but you’re hesitant to ask. 

He rips his shirt over his head, wads it into a ball and throws it somewhere in the vicinity of the front seat. You’re not looking at where it lands, though. You’re looking at his scars. 

Eddie’s covered in them. Large red patches on his skin that look… sort of like they could be burn scars, but more like he got dragged under an eighteen wheeler on a paved highway and lived to tell the tale. You stare, because you have genuinely no idea what to do or say. 

“Has anyone told you, you have a really good poker face?”

You huff a laugh and rip your eyes away, although you don’t really want to. The scars don’t take away from the look of him, or from the tattoos- of which there are a lot. They even help to increase the air of danger and mystery about him that you find so alluring, and you’re more entranced by the combination of the two than anything. Your face burns furiously. “Am I that obvious?”

He grunts, but it doesn’t come off as dismissive as he usually makes it. It sounds almost shy. “You’re no actress, sweetheart. But it’s okay. I know it’s bad.”

“It’s… I mean, maybe it’s alarming. Didn’t expect it,” you tell him honestly, and you sort of reach forward to touch his chest, only stopping your hand at the last second. “But it’s not bad, babe.”

Eddie makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, like he doesn’t entirely believe you, but he reaches up and grabs your hand to pull it against his chest. His skin is hot under your touch. “Don’t bullshit me- I don’t think I could handle it if you were.”

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Eddie,” you whisper to him, moving to straddle his lap while your hand presses into his skin. “Why would I lie about that?”

“Well,” he starts, his eyes turning up toward the roof of the van, “you did say you thought my tattoos were ‘fucking dumb.’”

“That’s… okay, yeah. Fair enough.” Your fingers dig into his chest, dragging along the outline of a spider. He’s riddled with them- zombie heads and spiders and a puppet on a string. You’re absorbed in a fantasy of tracing every one of them with your tongue instead of your fingers. Sucking in a sharp breath through your nose, you take them in slowly and try to content yourself with just touching them instead of tasting them. “I didn’t really think they were dumb, though. They’re not. They’re really, really hot. I think about them all the time, I was just too chicken shit to admit it.” 

Eddie’s wide eyes bore into yours. “Hm. So I fuck you once and you change your tune?”

“Yeah. That’s usually the best way to get me to fess up, anyways. I mean, I also didn’t want to admit that I have a big ol’ crush on you, but… here we are.” Your face heats up, and your eyes fall to his hand on yours so that you can avoid his stare. “And these are really fucking hot. Believe me.” You drag your hand down his chest, and his follows. Your touch lingers over a bit of scar tissue on his lower ribs. His breath hitches when you ghost your fingers across it. 

“Between you and me,” he murmurs quietly, his voice just a little bit shaky as you lace your fingers between his, “you’re the only one besides Harrington who’s seen them.”

Your eyes snap up to his. You open your mouth to say something heartfelt, to thank him or tell him how much it means that he would trust you with something he’s obviously a bit shy about- as shy as Eddie Munson can be. But all that comes out is, “Do they hurt?”

“Not anymore.”

“How did… how…” You struggle to ask him what happened to scar him this much. Somehow, it seems so invasive. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s not-”

“I was attacked by a swarm of bats,” Eddie says flatly. “Fuckers almost ate me alive.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not. His tone is serious, but his nose crinkles just a bit and his lips curl up just at the edges, and his eyes glint in a way that says, ‘I know something you don’t.’ So you bite your lip and scrape your nails lightly along his skin. “Between you and your bats, and Steve and his KGB agents, I’m starting to think you guys are just having fun tripping me up.”

He grins. “Oh, we are. How else are we supposed to keep you coming back for more?”

“Dunno. You have some really good weed.”

“Oof. Ouch. You’re only here for the drugs, babe?” He clicks his tongue and puffs the joint before handing it to you. “Should’a known. Pretty things like you are always so hard to get.”

You smirk, tucking the joint between your lips. One last puff and it’ll be too small to be useful anymore. “Not so hard. I think you got me pretty good last night.”

Eddie hums, and his hand pets up the curve of your arm. “Yeah, I did. I could still feel you squeezing me while I was trying to get to sleep.” 

“Christ, Eddie,” you breathe. Your fingers slip down low enough to skim over the trail of hair below his navel that disappears beneath his belt. “I’m still feeling you. You fucked me hard.”

“Mm. I know.”

You feel fucking insatiable. Maybe it’s the weed, or maybe it’s the way you can’t be in the same room with him, let alone in his lap, without wanting him to just… take advantage. Arousal tickles under your skin and between your legs like an ever-present demon. 

He plucks the little stub of a joint out of your fingers and tosses it into an ashtray by the console. “I showed you mine.”

You don’t really know what to say. You can’t come up with anything, so you just… lift your arms. Straight up in the air. Staring at him, saying nothing.

Eddie looks up at you with an unreadable expression, and his eyes dip to your lips. Just for a moment, long enough for you to think that he might lean in to finally kiss you, but then as soon as the thought is there, the moment is gone and he tugs the hem of your camisole up over your head. 

All that you can think is that Eddie’s really good with his hands. Of course he is- you’d know better than anyone, after what he did last night, but somehow it still gets the better of you when he slides his palms down your vertical arms after pulling your camisole off of them, and letting his thumbs press along the curve of your cleavage to tease over your nipples. His fingertips dig into the sides of your breasts, squeezing them almost reverently. 

“Jesus.” Eddie swallows audibly over the sound of the car radio, shaking his head slowly. His eyes droop as he pets your skin and leans forward to kiss just over the sensitive peak of your breast. “You shouldn’t have hid these from me, sweetheart. Pretty baby, with her pretty little nipples teasing me all morning.”

You hum, feeling a little lightheaded at him toying with you like this. His tongue juts out to wet his lips, and you feel so exposed, trembling on top of him. His eyes are just so big and black, shining in the broad afternoon light coming in from the window behind you. 

You’re in a fucking car. Where anyone passing by could see you, parked just down the sidewalk from your job, where you have to be in… thirty minutes? Twenty? You don’t even fucking know anymore. You think you can probably deal with Mimi Callaghan’s wrath if Eddie just keeps touching you like this-

Your breath hiccups in your chest when he lets his tongue flick gently over your nipple. You feel a wreck with just the slightest touch of his hot mouth to your skin, and you’re overcome with the need to kiss him again. To just allow yourself to taste him for hours. 

He switches over, going for the other one with pursed lips and enough suction to make your toes curl in your shoes. “Question for you,” he says, much too chipper and unaffected when he pulls away almost immediately. He leaves your nipples wet and cold in the atmosphere of the van, achingly hard for him as he drags the rough pads of his thumbs over them. 

You whine petulantly at him, your nails ripping at the wall of the car behind his head. You know Eddie hears it with how he mockingly pouts his lower lip at you, tilting his head just slightly as he draws circles around the sensitive buds. “What’s the quickest you’ve ever made yourself come?”

The question takes you aback. “What?”

“On your own. No assistance,” Eddie clarifies, as if that makes the inquiry any less odd. “Start to finish. Approximate time.”

“Um. I…” You suck a breath through your teeth when he pinches one of your nipples gently, and you blurt, “Six minutes and twenty-five seconds.”

Eddie blinks, pausing the movement of his fingers. You squirm, pushing your chest into his touch, and he unconsciously resumes. “That is… so weirdly specific. How do you know that?”

“Uh.” You press your lips together tightly and hear your heartbeat in your ears. Your face feels hot for all the wrong reasons, and he’s just squinting at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “It’s uhhh… because that’s how long it takes to get halfway through the guitar solo in Stairway to Heaven?”

His face remains blank for half a second. Then, slowly, a smile stretches across his face until he’s grinning from ear to ear. “You got off to Stairway?”

You make a weak noise in the back of your throat. “You haven’t?”

“I didn’t say that.” Eddie leans forward and presses a soft kiss between your breasts, just over your heart. His hands keep up their careful flexing, his thumbs rolling gently around your nipples until you lurch your hips forward against his for some kind of relief. He smirks. “I do think it’s cute that you knew the timestamp, though. What did you do? Go through it afterwards while looking at the clock? Count the seconds?”

“It was a stopwatch,” you snarl at him. 

Eddie makes a silent ‘O’ with his mouth, winking at you as he does. “Pardon me. A stopwatch.” He sighs dramatically and releases his hold on your breasts. Your skin feels oddly chilly without the soothing warmth of his hands there, but you swallow thickly as you watch him fiddle with the electronic watch on his wrist. Under the din of the car radio, he mutters to you, “Well, I’m no Page, but I like to think I’m a pretty good guitarist. Let’s see if I can’t break his record, hm?”

“What- Eddie!” A gasp leaves your mouth as his hand wiggles under the elastic waistband of your sweats. 

“No panties today? Naughty girl,” He tuts, letting his fingers roam through your curls and trace over the wet seam of your pussy, just barely a graze but it’s enough to set you on fire. 

“You destroyed one pair already,” you point out, biting your lip as his fingers gently drag through your folds, parting them teasingly. You don’t have the heart to tell him you do have a pair in the bag with your uniform. “Didn’t feel like losing another.”

Eddie hums in acknowledgement, but he doesn’t sound too terribly interested in your reasoning. “Six minutes and twenty-five seconds, sweetheart. Better be quick, or you’re going into work feeling really needy.” The tip of his finger dips just between your folds and finds the bead of your clit, and your heart drops into your stomach. He leans forward to whisper into your ear conspiratorially, “And I’m not working today.”

The sound that leaves you is maybe less than dignified. “You’d really do that to Steve?”

“Oh, you know that I would,” Eddie murmurs darkly. His fingers curl forward, and he buries them to the knuckle in your cunt, his palm rocking against your clit with it. “And I know he’d take really good care of you, too. But I might feel a little jealous if he gets to feel you come and I don’t.”

You feel like you’ve dug your own grave, and now you have to lie in it. Eddie’s fingers are deadly quick and more precise than you could have imagined. Stroking in down to the third knuckle and then hollowing back out to trace small circles around your clit. Teasing his two fingertips just into your entrance before pulling out to tug on your clit again.  

“So wet for me already,” Eddie coos sweetly, swirling his fingers and spreading the slick around to coat your puffy outer lips. Like he’s just having fun fucking with you, and you’re eating it up all the same. “Yeah… sweet baby. Must be doing something right if you’re this soaked.”

Your fingers ache with the grip you have on the wall. The van isn’t very decked out- you’d almost chance to say it looks like he was gutting it out for a remodeling and then stopped halfway through at some point. With nowhere to comfortably put your hands, you’re holding onto a metal support beam with one, the nails of your other hand scratching into the ridge of a windowsill just above his head. 

“Eddie, please,” you whisper, your voice breathier already than you want it to be. Your hips rock against his hand, whimpering when he pushes his middle and ring into you again. He curls them forward so slowly that you feel pulled closer toward his bare chest. “Please, I’m- shit, I want you to fuck me. Right now.”

But Eddie’s not listening. Or maybe he is, but he doesn’t make it known to you- he’s too busy humming along to the fucking song playing on the radio. An anguished cry leaves you when his fingers flex unexpectedly, and it takes you a moment to recognize that he’s following the guitar riff of the song. Scissoring his fingers inside your cunt to mimic the chords, and brushing up against your g-spot as he does.

You recognize the song. It’s on one of your best friend’s mixtapes- you listened to it some months ago in the car on the way to the drive-in. It’s not a difficult tune to follow, or particularly fast, but it’s incongruous and switches up at the oddest moments. So, just when you think there’s a rhythm to his fingers, they throw you for a loop. Your face screws up, because you can’t fucking remember the name of the song while he’s acting like you’re the neck of his goddamn guitar.

Then Eddie stops humming, and starts singing. And if you weren’t already overwhelmed with everything that’s happening, the sound of his rough voice quietly following the tune would put you on fucking cloud nine. “I’m a wild child, come and love me, I want you…”

You gasp for air, and your hand plants itself on the back of his head, fingers digging into the roots of his fluffy hair and tugging excitedly. Fucking- “W.A.S.P. Wild Child. That’s it.”

Eddie snickers, tilting head as he looks up at you with an endearing smile. His free hand lifts from your hip to grip your chin. “Were you trying to place it?”

You give him a high-pitched whimper in lieu of an answer, nodding your head furiously with your eyes screwed shut. You hear him laugh, and can only imagine the cheeky grin on his face. 

“You’re so fuckin’ cute.” Eddie squeezes your cheeks, pulling on your jaw slightly. “Open.”

You let your jaw slacken, mouth wide open for him so that he can spit into it. Moaning loudly into his face, you swallow and you realize that you… really liked that. Enough that it might give you a complex if you think about it for too long. 

You can feel how wet his skin is, because of you- because of him. The soft, slick glide of his thumb against your clit, the two deep inside you sliding in and out without resistance. Your hips grind forward onto his thrusting fingers, and you come onto his hand, making that wetness even worse. A string of moans leave your mouth, unrestrained and just barely louder than the music. 

Eddie’s nose bumps yours, and then he finally kisses you. For the first time all fucking morning, after two hours of screwing around in the back of his van, he finally kisses you while you’re riding out an orgasm on his fingers. You could smack him. But instead, you just open your mouth and let him take what you’ve wanted to give him since he knocked on your door. 

“You sound so fucking sexy when you do that,” he murmurs between kisses, and he sucks on your lower lip as he pulls away. “Like a cute little pornstar.”

You sigh quietly as he shifts, letting his fingers stroke one last time through your folds as he retracts his hand and lifts his fingers to his lips. It doesn’t surprise you when he sucks your cum from them, unabashed in his hedonism. “Is that a good thing?”

“The best.” He grins at you, then lifts his watch and presses a little button on the side. “Five minutes and fifty-two seconds. Beat that, Jimmy Page.”

“Oh, I think you’re much better than Jimmy Page,” you coo at him, tiredly wrapping your arms around his neck. You peck the tip of his nose. “But the next time you get me back here with the sole intention of fucking me, you might try kissing me first?”

Eddie blushes. “I wasn’t… ah… I didn’t know if that was, um. On the table or not.”

You frown at him. “Baby, I let you fuck me in the back room of the bakery. I kissed you last night- Why the hell wouldn’t I let you kiss me now?”

“I dunno, I’ve been with a couple girls who just… didn’t want to kiss me? You didn’t make a move, and I didn’t want to assume-”

You cut him off with a long, wet kiss that makes him grunt in surprise. You don’t know who the hell wouldn’t want to kiss Eddie, but you’ve always been a romantic at heart. You stare into his eyes, holding his face and stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You kiss me any time, any where you want, Eddie Munson. In front of whoever you want. You have carte blanche.”

“Sounds… sounds good.” Eddie’s round, dark eyes blink up at you, adoration brimming in them. “I’ll kiss you all the time, then. You’ll get sick of me.”

“I’m already sick of you,” you grumble, rubbing his shoulder. “Imagine what would happen if I got really fucking annoyed with you.”

“I can’t wait.” He presses a featherlight kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then smacks your ass so hard it makes you yelp. “C’mon, you gotta get to work.”

“Yeah, about that.” You crawl off of his lap to grab your bag of clothes. “You mean to tell me you went out of your way to drive me to work, pick me up two hours early, and you’re not even scheduled today?”

“What can I say?” Eddie shrugs. “I couldn’t go twenty-four hours without seeing you. You’ve bewitched me- OW!”

You giggle as he rubs the spot on his leg that you kicked as you were tugging your sweats off. “Oops.”

Eddie grabs your ankle and yanks you toward him so that you slip down onto your back, still giggling as he clambers on top of you and starts planting kisses across your bare chest. “Oops.”

Mimi Callaghan is a friendly woman in her mid-sixties, with bright red hair that she likes to pile on top of her head like frosting on a cupcake. It makes extreme sense that she’d surround herself with baked goods as a career move. 

She’s also sharp as a tack, which is why you turn on your heels and crush up against Eddie trying to walk back out of the door when you see that she’s in the building. 

“We gotta go, Mimi’s here,” you whisper, frantically struggling to push him back. You jam your chest up against his and wiggle your arms, grasping at the cool outside air like you can grab onto the afternoon sunlight and pull yourself out of the bakery lobby. 

Eddie’s weight solidly presses you forward. “It’s fine, sweetheart-”

“She’s gonna know we were smoking,” you retort, still pushing yourself weakly against him. You’re making a scene; you can feel your coworkers’ eyes burning into the back of your skull. 

“It’s fine, you’re fine. Je-sus, would you stop.” Eddie plants his hands on your sides and physically drags you into the bakery as you hit at his back. “Hi, Mimi!” 

“Mister Munson! What are you doing here?” Mimi’s jovial voice can be heard loud and clear all the way from the kitchen. She smacks her hands on her apron, covering the green fabric in powdered sugar. “Not that I don’t like seeing your lovely face.” 

Eddie beams at your boss, and it’s like the sunlight from outside begins and ends on his face. “Just dropping this one off.” He turns you around by the shoulders, walking you around the counter and into the kitchen. Eddie kisses the crown of your head and shoves you forward so that you stop across a decorating counter from Steve. 

Steve looks up at you from under his long lashes, a knowing smirk on his pink lips. Caramel colored hair falls over his forehead, and the contrast of the bright pink uniform shirt to his tan skin is more than tempting. 

You nearly vibrate with nerves as Steve does a slow and deliberate once-over of your entire body. “Have a good morning?”

You clear your throat, but something still grates at your voice when you say, “Something like that.”

Steve simply nods, clearly trying to swallow down his smile, and then holds up a flat disc of bread. “What is this?”

“That’s our spinach and feta focaccia,” you say, watching as he roughly shakes open a bag and drops the bread into it. The bread tears through the bottom of the bag and plops loudly onto the ground. You and Steve both stare at the fallen focaccia in silent grief. 

“Wellp. Ashes to ashes,” Eddie quips, brushing a hand through your hair. His mouth touches your ear like he means to kiss you again, but he whispers, “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m gonna kick you again.” Your eyes follow the line of Steve’s body as he bends to pick up the focaccia and toss it into a nearby bin. Saliva pools on your tongue, and you try to swallow the rogue feeling of desire as quickly as it manifests. 

Insatiable. 

Eddie follows your gaze. “Looking good today, Harrington,” he says suggestively, squeezing the back of your neck as he does. “Got some new chapstick or something?”

Steve scoffs good-naturedly, picking up another focaccia and gingerly tucking it into its bag this time. He shoots Eddie a side eye. “Yeah, actually. Wanna try it?”

“You know what, I sure do-”

Steve’s hand whips into the pocket of his apron, and a tube of cherry flavored chapstick hits Eddie right between the eyes. Eddie fumbles to catch it and glares at Steve. “I was fuckin’ kidding.”

“I wasn’t.” Steve goes back to packaging bread, while Eddie grumbles under his breath and pops open the tube to apply some.

You watch him run the chapstick over his plush lips, and he catches you staring out of the corner of his eye. “Want some?”

“Yeah, sure.” You hold out your hand for him to give you the tube. 

Eddie grabs you by the chin and tilts your head up to crash his lips against yours. Saccharine cherry flavored balm bleeds into your mouth, and you falter, your hand coming up to grip the neckline of his Metallica shirt. Your face heats up, both surprised and sort of pleased that he took what you told him in the car to heart. When he pulls back, his mouth is smudged with a translucent pink shine. 

“Hm. So you guys had a really good morning,” Steve observes as you reach up to wipe the mess from around Eddie’s mouth with your thumbs. 

“Only the best for our girl,” Eddie purrs, winking at Steve once you finally let him go and very pointedly tucking Steve’s chapstick into his back pocket. “Take good care of her today?”

Steve grins, first at Eddie, and then at you. “Oh, I will.”

Eddie pats your back and turns to leave, waving at Mimi as he does. He makes it halfway out of the kitchen before her cheery voice stops him. “Before you go, Eddie, there’s free food in the back room.”

You see the baker, Andy, poke his head out of the back room, his mouth full of food. “We got hot dogs!”

“Really?” Eddie turns on his heels and makes his way toward the back room. You jump to follow closely behind, your stomach feeling suddenly hollow. You hear Steve drop what he’s doing, trailing on your heels. 

The setup in the back room isn’t what you thought it would be; some lukewarm franks under a little heat lamp, one bag of buns, miniscule toppings of pickled relish, ketchup, and mustard. Despite the miserable presentation, you’re surprised to find that almost every employee you know at the bakery is crammed in the small back room. Joey and Miranda from the morning team, obviously already clocked out, the cake decorators Clara and Bridgit, and Andy off in the corner. You and Eddie both muscle your way past Joey and go for the food with more fervor than necessary. Steve hangs back, leaning against the towers of backstock icing.

Mimi appears at the doorway with an unsettlingly bright smile on her face. “Good. Now that you’re all here, I want to have a little team meeting-”

Eddie grunts in surprise, his mouth half stuffed with food. His hot dog is already falling apart around his fingers, heaps of relish plopping messily onto a styrofoam plate. He fixes Mimi with a wide-eyed stare, and then looks at Steve with an equally helpless expression. Steve shrugs at him as if to say, ‘What do you want me to do?’

“I thought it would be nice to have a little free lunch for everybody,” Mimi says kindly. “Since we’ve also recently gotten a few new members on the team, I’m sure you’d all like to get to know each other.” She gestures at Steve and Eddie, and then looks pointedly at you beside them. “It’s… lovely to see that our closing team is already getting along so well.”

Eddie coughs, nearly choking on his food and turning away from the room with a bright crimson blush on his cheeks. 

“Eddie and I are both really happy to be here. We’re lucky to have such an… understanding trainer. We know we can be a lot to handle,” Steve says with the phoniest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eddie sort of side-stepping, cramming himself between Steve and the frosting buckets to get to the door. “Hey Eddie, where ya goin’?”

Eddie freezes. “I have… uh… a thing across town.”

“A thing?” Steve says incredulously.

“Really important thing,” Eddie supplements. “Have to pick up my… cat from the… vet?”

“Stay just a moment, Eddie,” Mimi says, still blocking the door to prevent him from leaving. “It’s important that I touch on a few things before you go.”

Eddie shuffles back over beside you, elbowing Steve in the side on the way. Steve whacks him on the back of the head. 

“We have a health inspection coming up, so I want everyone doing their level best to clean as much as possible,” Mimi begins. Still engrossed in your food, you take a look around the group and can tell that everyone is only really half-listening. “If the morning team can focus on cleaning their stations- Andy, the baker’s table needs to be scoured- and the evening team can focus on machinery and displays, that would be ideal. That means you as well, Steve.”

Steve holds up his hands with a confused expression. “I clean!”

“Knocking all the crumbs off of the front counter and onto the floor doesn’t count,” Mimi says flatly. “I want to see your hands looking as chapped as mine by the end of the week.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve nods, dropping his eyes to the floor. 

“And if you closers can do something about the pastry display,” Mimi adds, looking out of the door toward the offending display case at the front of the shop. “There’s a sort of… black grease that’s built up on the back of it. Not sure how, but I need one of you to get in there and scrub that down as soon as possible.”

“Of course, Mimi,” you say around a mouthful of hot dog bun. “We’ll get on that tonight.”

“Excellent.” Mimi sighs, “Well, that’s really all. Everyone, enjoy the rest of your days. Eddie, you’re free to… pick up your cat.”

“Thank go- you, Mimi.” Eddie bats his eyelashes as he approaches the door, chucking his styrofoam plate into a bin. “You’re an absolute goddess.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Mimi chides, but steps away from the door to let him pass. As always, sharp as a tack, she adds passively, “You sure you don’t want to kiss your girl again?”

“Hm?” Eddie pauses at the door, turning to glance at you over his shoulder, like he forgot that he planted one on you right where your boss had a front row seat to see it happen. He considers it for a moment, and then cracks a smirk that makes your heart rate kick up a notch, knowing what’s about to come. “Nah. Harrington’s got her. Don’t ya, big boy?”

He’s… listen.

Listen. 

Steve is so fucking distracting, okay? It’s not like you’re trying to fuck up all your packaging, or… or put the wrong frosting on the macarons. It’s not your fault that Eddie stole your extra pair of panties before you could put them on this afternoon, so you have to feel how sticky the skin is between your thighs, and it’s fucking obnoxious. It’s not your fault that every time Steve gets close enough, he’s brushing his hand across your arm or grabbing your hips to scoot past you. Getting into your personal space, making it a goddamn nightmare to concentrate on anything.

Crouched down beside you, his shoulder nudges your leg as he digs around for a plastic top for a cake box. You know that it’s in the next cabinet over, but you don’t have the heart to tell him. You press your thighs together, trying hard to still your shaking hands as you carefully ice a macaron with the correct frosting this time. 

Steve sighs and pulls back. His hand brushes your knee as he does, and it nearly buckles out from under you. You whimper slightly in the back of your throat, clutching onto the counter for support. 

Jesus Christ. Get a fucking grip.  

“You okay?” Steve asks lightly, peering up at you from his place by your hips. He’s kind of oblivious, but also kind of not. You don’t think he’s aware of how badly his closeness is affecting you, but he is doing it in the hopes of drawing a response from you. Good plan, poor ability to assess the actual damage.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” It sounds unconvincing, high and tight in your throat, but you pick up the bright pink frosting bag again and get back to work. “The lids are in the other cabinet.”

“Oh.” 

He’s such an idiot. You want to jump his bones.

You can’t stop thinking about Steve’s dick in your mouth, and how unfortunate it is that it isn’t there right now. It’s 7:30, getting dark out, and there’s just you, and him, and your fucking monstrous libido alone in the bakery. You should have known it would be like this- it seemed like Eddie was almost certain that it would be, even though he’d given you plenty of attention already.

“So,” Steve starts, his voice lilting as he leans over to grab the lids from the correct cabinet. “You and Eddie?”

He doesn’t have to go into detail for you to know what he’s asking about. The shaking in your hand subsides, for now. “Yeah. You and Eddie?” 

“Mhm, yeah, for a while now.” A pause. A breath of air, suspended over a precipice. “You and me?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Okay.” You look down at him, and he’s smiling to himself. “Okay. Good. So, we’re all on the same page?”

“Eddie laid it out for me pretty well this morning, yeah. You already talked about it?” You grin when he nods, blinking up at you through his lashes. You reach down and stroke his cheek with the knuckle of your finger. “Guess we’re both pretty crazy about you.”

Steve blushes. It’s pretty on him, you think. The pink tinge on his cheeks, his cute little eye roll as he shifts on his heels. “Eddie’s, uh… yeah, when he likes you, he goes all in. He can be pretty handsy, huh?”

“Yeah, it sort of surprised me.” You find yourself smiling too, as you look down at your work. “I like it, though. I like handsy guys.”

Steve is quiet for so long that you wonder if you’ve scared him; but then you feel the warmth of his hand wrap around your ankle. His palm slowly starts to slide up your leg, until his arm nudges your skirt out of the way. 

Your hand slips, painting your thumbnail in violent bright magenta frosting. “Steve…”

“Relax,” Steve murmurs, and his voice grounds you in your place so that you don’t have a way to run from it. His hand turns, fingers brushing up the soft skin of your inner thigh, and you fight not to spread your legs automatically. “I just want to check something.”

“Check what?” you ask, as if it isn’t painfully obvious when his hand stops, fingertips finding the sticky, wet mess at the tops of your thighs. Steve’s breath audibly hitches, and you freeze, your eyes snapping forward to the front of the bakery. 

You should really lock the door.

Steve presses his hand further upwards, and you don’t think he’s expecting to find you without any underwear- his finger dips quite suddenly between your wet folds and you both startle, you fumbling your frosting bag with a quiet gasp and him dropping his forehead to rest against your hip. 

You grind down onto his fingers without thinking, making his fingertip slip just slightly into your hot entrance. Steve groans and digs a white knuckled grip with his free hand into the edge of the counter beside you. 

“We’re gonna take a break,” Steve blurts loudly, without warning, his voice sounding hoarse and strained. 

“Uh-huh, yeah,” you agree shakily, dropping everything in your hands immediately. “We’re closing early tonight.”

“We are?”

You mean to stroke Steve’s hair when he pulls his hand away from you, but in your rush you sort of just bonk him on the head with the flat of your palm and then fucking bolt. You sprint to the front door, turn the latch on the handle and flip the cardboard sign to ‘closed.’

As you turn to make your way back to the kitchen, you glimpse the pastry case and it’s enough to almost make you pause. That’s… okay, that looks like shit. Black grease shining all over the wall behind the shelves, like someone unloaded the oil cache from the donut fryer down the back of it. Your eyes drift back to the kitchen, and find Steve leisurely untying his apron as he walks toward the back room. 

Yeah, no. Dick first. Pastry case later.

Your hands hover over the tie of your apron as you blaze through the kitchen after him. To undress, or not to undress? You’re not totally sure what the vibe is yet, but you can always-

Broad hands grab you as soon as you step through the door into the back room. You yelp as you’re pulled suddenly into a warm embrace, Steve’s arms wrapping around you and his body pressing you up against the book keeper’s desk. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” Steve whispers, his breath touching your neck before his lips do. He grabs your thighs and hoists you up onto the desk, crowding between your knees before you can think to close them. 

His hands are everywhere. Untying your apron, answering your question for you. In your hair, tugging your head back so he can mouth at your neck without obstructions. Undoing the front of your dress so that he can grope at your bare chest. 

Handsy guys. You fucking love handsy guys. And now you have two of them. 

“Mind if I ask,” Steve mutters softly, palms sliding under your skirt, “no underwear…?”

“Eddie stole them.”

“Of fucking course.” He huffs a laugh in your ear; you can hear his eye roll with it. “Can’t say I blame him, though. I kept the ones from last night.”

You whimper high in your throat as he latches onto your lower lip, sucking it between his teeth. There’s a moment when you consider how different he is compared to Eddie; Eddie’s a little rough around the edges in just about every way, and that includes how he handles you. Not that you don’t like it, but Steve is just… gentle. Almost soft, in a way. 

Your breath hitches as his fingers coax your skirt up your legs and your wet cunt hits the cool air. Hips squirming toward him impatiently, trying to meet him in the middle, and Steve’s too busy tasting you to care. “Little needy, are we?”

“Cut the crap, Harrington, I want to fuck you so bad-” You gasp when he bites down on your lip a little bit harder.

“Such a romantic.” Steve doesn’t sound as miffed as he tries to appear, as he reaches to undo his belt. “Wanted to warm you up first, make sure it wouldn’t hurt. Guess not.”

“It won’t.” 

Steve lifts his eyes, staring levelly at you with an amused expression. The twinkling sound of his belt buckle fills the quiet air. “If you say so.”

He’s quick about it, to your relief. Which isn’t to say that he isn’t still infernally gentle, even though you wish he’d just grab you by the throat and slam into you at this point. That’s just not Steve Harrington’s style, apparently. No, his hands grab your hips and rub soothing little circles into the skin as his cock splits you open, and your nails scratch over his collar and up into his hair. 

“Fuck, Steve.” It does hurt, just a bit. That raw aching when he fills you, because you weren’t ready for it and he’s so fucking big that parts of you have to be moved out of the way to accommodate him. Your toes curl, and your mary janes pop off and scitter to the floor behind him when you wrap your legs around his waist. 

His voice low and quiet, right up against your ear, Steve gives you a small groan that tells you more about how desperate he is than his words do. “Told you. You’re so tight- think it’s too much for this little pussy.”

“N-no, it’s no-OT-” You writhe against him when he hollows out just slightly and pushes back in, getting half an inch deeper. Your hands tear at his clothes and his hair, looking for something to hold onto.  “Shitshitshit- Steve, Jesus Christ.”

Steve shushes you, cradling your body against him like he’s trying to console you while he keeps rocking himself into you. “You’re working yourself up, honey, you gotta just relax. Take a deep breath for me, baby. Deep breath, c’mon now-” 

You take a gasping breath that sort of stalls in your lungs because he’s still moving, and it hurts but it also feels so fucking good and cathartic that you’d kill him if he stopped. Steve’s arm is around your back to hold you by the neck, and his other hand has one of yours trapped in a crushing grip between your chests. He squeezes it softly with every slow push and pull he makes inside you. 

“Oh fuck oh fuck.” You’re hissing through your teeth, clawing at his back to urge him deeper and at the same time ground yourself. Each breath leaves you with a shallow, anguished moan attached, which would be embarrassing, except you’re not thinking clearly enough to sort through the muck of your emotions right now. “Don’t- don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop,” Steve assures you, inching forward just enough to sink his cock a little further into you before drawing slowly out, giving it to you in small doses. You whine as he pushes in, and he coos with a bit of gravel in his voice, “I know, it’s a lot. You’re taking it so well.”

“Love your cock,” you mutter weakly, surprising both Steve and yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

“I hope so,” Steve chuckles. He squeezes your hand in his comfortingly. “I’m gonna make you take all of it, I promise.”

That sounds… kind of threatening, when he puts it like that. Like a backhanded slap and then a swift kiss to the cheek. 

You like it so much. 

“Hear that?” he murmurs lightly, way too soft for the way his hand tightens on your neck. In the back of your mind you register what he’s talking about- the obnoxiously slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your cunt absolutely drowning him in your need. “You’re getting my cock all wet, babygirl. Being so good for da- me.”

Steve finally slams into you just then, and you loudly cry out his name at the feeling of him reaching the end of you. It disrupts your train of thought so thoroughly that you almost miss his little slip-up. Almost. 

As you recover you manage to reach up and take his chin in your hand. “Daddy?” 

His eyes are so dark, but he looks a little shy as you stare into his face. He blinks rapidly, cheeks flushing a deep pink. Gotcha. 

“Fuck,” Steve groans, his forehead falling to rest against yours. “Shit, don’t- you don’t have to call me that-”

“Maybe I want to,” you breathe, gasping when his hips lurch forward into yours. “I wanna be good for you, daddy.”

He growls under his breath, blunt nails scraping down your thighs. “Sounds so sweet when you say it.”

“Mm. Harder.”

Steve’s enthusiasm gives you a sort of perverse satisfaction. He hikes your knee up to his waist and buries himself inside you, his skin impacting yours and the desk thudding against the wall behind you. You whimper when he starts up a pace that has him panting against your ear. 

Your head rolls back on your shoulders, and Steve wastes no time tracing the line of it with his tongue. Half aware of what you’re doing, your hand shoots down and around his hip to grab a fistful of his ass, urging him on. He nearly snarls against your throat, hot air bursting across your skin as the arm holding you to him leaves your back and his hand slams loudly against the wall behind you. 

Steve really is a sight to behold when he loses his composure. He’s always gorgeous, of course- infuriatingly so, at times. But now your gaze is clouded with lust and your mind is stumbling while you blink your eyes open at him, and he’s so close to you with his hair falling across his brow and his lips parted as he stares directly into your face. His deep brown eyes are blown wide and black, heavy lidded, and you feel like you might burst.

“I’m gonna come,” you blurt suddenly, hands frantically scrambling up to his shoulders and clutching onto him tightly and trying to lock yourself down at the feeling. It bubbles up out of nowhere, like Steve managed to conjure it up just by looking at you.

You see a smirk break across his face just before your eyes fall shut. “So soon?”

“Yeah,” you whimper. “S’too good. You feel so good, daddy.”

“Oh my god,” he groans, but there’s a little bit of a snicker there in it. His hand skims your thigh and then you feel his thumb touch your clit, and everything whites out of existence. “You’re too perfect. Come for me.”

You don’t answer him. You just do, and it sweeps through you before you’re able to brace yourself for it. Fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders, you cry out, louder than you mean to be but beyond the point of caring. Your legs shake, tense and release with each wave because Steve just keeps going- not speeding up or slowing down, but just remaining the steady constant in the ebb and flow. 

Steve curses lowly, his lips dragging gently over yours but not quite going all the way in for a kiss. “Just like that- get my cock nice and creamy, baby.”

Your face burns. The rest of your skin feels hot and clammy, sticking to him wherever you touch his body. There’s a whirlwind of sound going on in your head; from Steve’s deep grunts, your moans, the desk banging against the wall and his skin impacting yours, you don’t know what’s what anymore. 

You almost don’t even notice it when the phone on the wall above your head starts ringing. 

“Fuck.” Steve rears back, pissed off and rutting his hips into yours so hard that you cry out. He glances at the clock on the far wall and scoffs, “Who the hell calls this late?” before snatching the phone off the hook. 

His free hand finds your throat, pinning you back against the wall. You whimper, defenseless as Steve presses the phone to his ear. “Thank you for calling Mimi’s Bakery, this is Steve.”

For fuck’s sake.  

You feel like you’re going to combust. You’re still too sensitive from your orgasm and Steve’s hand on your throat locks you in place to hold you still while he starts fucking into you harder. Skin on skin on skin, bent backwards over the desk as his hips slam into yours and the messy patch of hair at the base of his cock grinds up against your clit. You whine loudly, and Steve’s hand just tightens that much more to silence you. 

He’s not even looking at you. Steve’s eyes have drifted off to the side, focused on whatever the person on the phone is saying. He tilts his head, gnawing on his lip and humming low in his throat while he considers whatever the question is. 

“Mmm… dunno, let me check on that for you.” Steve finally looks you directly in the eye. “Do we have cream pies tonight?”

Your brain short circuits. What the… what? He… he fucking put the selection of cream pies out himself earlier? Why would he ask you?

Then he nods downward, his eyes flickering to where he pulls back and drives his cock into you. Steve looks back up at you questioningly. 

Oh. Oh fuck.  

You nod your head quickly, your nails biting into the skin of his forearm. You don’t even second guess it. You’re so close to your second orgasm that you can taste it on the back of your tongue, and you don’t think you could handle it if he pulled out now. 

Steve grins, and you think it’s probably the prettiest thing you’ve seen all night. “Yes sir, we do. However the bakery is closed tonight, so those will be available tomorrow. Would you like me to set those aside for you? Mhm, how many?”

He goes on like that for another minute, but you’re barely listening anymore. Your cunt pulses, so wet that you can hear every slow drag of his cock before he reaches the end of you again. All your muscles lock down, your head digs back against the wall, and you come again. Hard.  

“Thank you for calling sir have a good night bye,” Steve chokes out in one long breath, and then his hand slams the phone down onto the receiver. He buckles forward over you and gasps loudly. “Holy shit, oh my god. Good girl, good fucking girl-”

And his mouth is on yours, sucking at your bottom lip as his thrusts turn sloppy. His hand leaves your throat to skim around your waist and pull your chest flush to his. He cradles you close and plants his hips against yours, stealing your breath with kisses and moaning sweetly as he comes. 

Afterwards, the room is way too fucking still and quiet. Your skin tingles, your cunt still pulsing with aftershocks as it milks his cock, but the silence makes your ears ring. You card your fingers through his hair, letting Steve sweep his tongue against yours as many times as he wants as long as it means he’ll stay this close to you for a little while. 

“That wasn’t how I thought it would be.”

He grunts, his teeth grazing your lip. “What did you have in mind?”

“Dunno.” You pause as he presses a chaste kiss to your closed lips, your eyes fluttering. “Maybe we could do it in a bed next time?”

Steve laughs at that. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers to you, his voice touched with something so genuine that it rattles you, nearly making tears prick at your eyes. You just cling to him, squeezing your eyes shut and trying not to sniffle about it. 

“Thank you,” you mumble wetly into his neck. 

Steve sighs when he pulls back. His hand comes up to softly smooth your hair back as he takes in your face. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. “Nothing. You’re just… you’re so sweet.”

He hums softly, catching a stray tear on his thumb as it falls down your cheek. To your relief, he doesn’t mock you or seem disturbed by it, he just takes it in stride. “Do you want me to… not be?”

“No, it’s- it’s a good thing, I swear-” You lean your cheek into his hand, letting him hold your face as you reel yourself in. “I’m just getting used to it, that's all.”

“Good. ‘Cuz it’s only gonna get worse from here,” Steve whispers with a gentle smile. He pets your thigh. “Feel better now?”

You grumble in the back of your throat. “The fuck’s that s’posed to mean?”

He shrugs. “You’ve been looking like you wanted to rip my clothes off since you got here.” Steve chuckles a bit when you whack him on the arm, “Only an observation, you’re not good at hiding it.”

Serves you right for thinking he was oblivious. “You guys have me fucking figured out and I’ve been with you for, like, a day.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He hisses when he takes your hip in his hand and slowly pulls out of you, leaving you whining from the emptiness. “I know, honey. Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you mutter, biting your lip when he adjusts the front of your dress and buttons it back up for you carefully. “No, you’re really wonderful. Daddy.”

Steve tilts his head and purses his lips, trying to hide the smile on his cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting you to pick up on that.”

“You’re not good at hiding it.”

Steve snickers, pulling you close to rest his forehead against yours again. He presses a few slow kisses to your lips, lingering over them like he’s trying to decide whether he really wants to go back to work or not. You’re not about to tell him to stop. 

CRASH!

You both instantly freeze, listening to the ungodly loud clatter of a million pastry boxes hitting the ground. Steve’s brows dig into a deep frown very quickly, while you put the front of his pants to rights and push yourself forward off the desk. 

“The fuck was that?”

“Why are you asking me, hot shot?” You smack him on the back, making him lurch toward the door. “If we’re being burgled, I’m the only one here not wearing pants.”

Still, you grip onto his belt and creep behind him through the door to the kitchen, peering cautiously over his shoulder. You don’t immediately see anything amiss in the bakery, except that half a display of muffins and cinnamon rolls has been knocked halfway to hell. Things are eerily quiet for a few more seconds, before something leaps up off the ground and starts flapping around the bakery lobby, snarling and snapping. 

You scream, clutching onto Steve’s middle and nearly hauling him back into the back room again. It looks like a giant flying… stingray? No, stingrays don’t have teeth. It’s like a weird, disgustingly large bat with no actual head. Like a leech with long teeth and wings. 

You vaguely hear Steve saying something, but you’re too busy trying to battle the bat in a game of who-can-screech-the-loudest. It’s only when Steve finally turns, grabbing you by the shoulders so that you can look at him, that you stop to consider what he’s saying. 

“-fire, get me something with fire, okay?”

“Fire?” You try to maintain a steady balance, keeping an eye on the thing in the bakery lobby and his face. 

“Yes, babe, fire. That hot shit that burns stuff, remember? Get me some of that.”

You nod mutely, starting to shake from adrenaline. You watch Steve pick up a giant metal rolling pin off the baker’s table, twirling the pin in his hand in a way that should not be as attractive as it is. 

You try to think of something in the bakery that creates fire- something handheld, you assume, because the only thing coming to mind is the little stove in the corner used primarily to melt chocolate and different icings. For a kitchen, not too many things in it conjure up flames at a moment's notice. 

But then you remember, on Saturdays the morning team makes crème brûlée for the brunch crowd. 

You dive for the decorators table, but you honestly have no idea where they keep the blow torches. It’s a long shot in the dark, but you just start hauling shit out of the cupboards like your life depends on it. 

It might, you think wearily. 

Over the counter, you can hear Steve scuffling with the screeching bat, and you pause long enough to glance up at what’s going on in the lobby. You manage to catch him at the exact moment that he cracks the bat with the rolling pin, knocking it across the bakery like a baseball and making it slam into the wall beside the pastry case. 

You blink down at the half empty cupboard in front of you and see the emerald green can of a blow torch, shining up at you like the light at the end of the tunnel. Your shaking hands fumble with it as you yank it out. “STEVE!” 

He turns just in time to see you hurl the blowtorch across the front counter at him. Which is probably not great in the grand scheme of safety measures, but y’know. 

He snatches the blowtorch out of the air right as the fucking bat starts writhing around again. Steve flicks it on and lights the damn thing up without a second thought, creating a blazing inferno on the bakery floor. 

It takes a second for the fire to die down, and in that time you kind of army crawl around the counter to sit and stare at the bat with wide, unblinking eyes. 

Steve says your name. You don’t respond. 

He takes a couple steps toward you, but then stops short. When you snap your eyes to him, he’s running his hand frustratedly through his hair, staring at the pastry case. 

You hesitantly inch forward on your knees and look around the side of it at what he’s fussing over. The case itself is intact, a few of the pastries themselves gone askew when, you presume, the giant ass demon bat flew out of it. But the back of it… that’s a whole other story. 

Where before there was what appeared to be just a giant, slick grease stain, now there’s a gaping hole with a glowing membrane across it. You don’t know what it is, but Steve seems to as he swears like a sailor and drops to sit on the ground next to you. 

“Bats,” you blurt out, catching Steve's attention. He turns to gaze at you, holding his head in his hands. You look at him apprehensively. “Eddie said he was attacked by bats.”

Steve is quiet for way too long, blinking at you like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Then, he nods slowly. “We need to call Eddie.”

[deadpool15]

Jealousy

Some say jealousy is an ugly trait. Well, they haven't been in a relationship with Korea's top choreographer. And they especially haven't met Tatter. That bitch is like a roach that won't die. I've tried on multiple occasions to bring up the issue to Bada, though she just gives me constant reassurance. Most would be satisfied with that, "Baby, you're the only woman for me. You're the only one I see. I don't even waste my time thinking about anyone else."

Now, sure, that's amazing, and I love her for that until Tatter steps doing some shit. From the fake tears to looking out for hugs and kisses on the cheek. It's like she lives off the attention. She is sneaky with it, waiting til she believes I'm no longer in the room. Out of site out of mind for her. It's hard to talk to Bada about it, though. She sees Tatter as her little sister. Sadly, Tatter doesn't share the same mindset. Even going as far to fake as being insecure in situations gets some attention.

You see one thing I had to get used to wad the touchy movements. I mean I had met BEBE before I was dating Bada. Even then it was a bother to me. I'm not a touchy person, but Tatter sure is. The slick shit she does when she thinks I'm not around is so fucking funny.

Bada- Baby, if you not busy you can come to the studio with me to keep me company. Seems I'm gonna be here longer then I thought.

I glance down at my phone and see a notification. "Oo, it's from my girl." I say will getting so excited. She has been so busy with work. I miss her. I look down at the message and smile and immediately start getting ready. As we have already established, I'm down bad for this woman. Shit, on our first date, just watching her order food had me fucking wet. How can someone be so fucking beautiful?

I grab a pair of sweatpants that are obviously not mine. In my defense, nothing I wear is mine anymore these days. Then, I put on a top that's basically just a nipple cover at this point. I mean, sue me, it's hot as shit in Korea right now. I then start to get some snacks and making sure to grab my keys and make my way out the door.

Talia- Aww someone misses me. I'll be there soon are the girls there?

Bada- No, everyone left just me, and I need motivation, baby. Hurry up.

I get in the car, making my way to the nearest chicken spot. Got to make sure to get her favorite. And grab a couple of cokes. Then, I start to make my way over to Bada. It's takes about 30 minutes before I sit in the parking lot of JustJerk building, I grab everything inside the car and walk to the entrance. I'm greeting by Gina, the receptionist at the front desk, asking me how my day was and what not. I always feel bad because I can never remember her name. Then, after our little chat, I walked towards Bada's studio. It wasn't hard to find its it seemed she was the only one who was still working. I walk inside with a struggle, "carrying all this fucking food."

I was busy trying to finish working on the choreography for NCT's newest comeback, which I was almost done with until I heard laughing. I turn around and spot my girlfriend. I ran over to her, picking her up and spinning her around the room. "You took forever, I thought you changed your mind about coming." I tell her with a slight pout on my face. She grabs my cheeks, smashing them together, "I would've told you if I changed my mind. Now, before you ran over here like you were raised without any home training, I was carrying so found for you, Ms. Lee, that has now landed on the floor. It better still be good." I place her down, before looking at the floor see the boxes of chicken, "Baby, you didn't have to get me food." She grabs my cheeks again. "Of course, I did. You sit in here all day overworking yourself. And neglecting your health at times. So, you will eat, plus this can be like a little date for us. " I smile at her before hugging her. I truly do love this girl.

"What would I do without you?" I know I tell myself that every day." We then sit there telling each other about our days, how she is struggling in her classes at time, but then she takes breaks and remembers it's not the end of the world. Maybe I should do that. Before we can continue, the door opens. "Tatter? I thought you left and went home for the day." I look over a Talia hoping praying that Tatter leaves before some shit goes down. Talia and Tatter have created this unspoken beef, but for my sake, they keep it cool, sometimes. "Oo, yea, so while I was on my way home, I realized the reason we were struggling with the dance was because the moves are clean. Like they are sloppy. So I came back here to help you with it?" I stare at her, smiling slightly, but before I can tell her to politely leave, Talia speaks up.

"Hello Tatter, nice to see you too. How are you? That's great. I'm doing just fine. Thanks for asking. It's so nice that you take time out of your busy schedule and acknowledge my existence." She says bitterly. Tatter just looks at her and smiles, "O, sorry Tania, I didn't see you there." "it's Talia you knew that though bitch." I look at both of them already seeing where this conversation is heading. "Tatter l, thanks for stopping by. But, I think we should just worry about that tomorrow. Today's been a long day. I see Talia getting ready to make a slick ass remark so I stop her, "Talia don't fucking start. Tatter leave. Now." She rushes out, looking sad, and I turn around to see Talia getting up and leaving.

She rushes to the bathroom and tries to lock me out before I catch the door and push her inside. "Wow Bada how fucking nice of you to welcome yourself. She basically comes in this bitch throwing shots at me and leaps on to you making it see as if im not in the fucking room and your response is Talia dont start. Great job on making your girlfriend feel secure in her relationship." I stand there staring at her before grabbing her hips and placing her on the vanity area. She stops her little rant and simply glares at me. "I was trying to calm the situation before you started coming at each other physically. I know how you are, baby. That would've ended well." I grab her chin titling her head upwards to make eye contact.

"I know how she feels about me. I'm not slow, I'm aware. But I've told you I only have eyes for you, plus it is hard to look anywhere else when you show up taking care of me." I push myself against her. She drives me fucking insane, those big glossy lips, her fucking curly hair sitting at the top of her head in a slick bun. And those big beautiful eyes are just so ready for me to do anything to her. "I'm sorry baby, how about you let me make it up to you, huh? Gonna make you feel so good you know I always do." I slowly start kissing her neck while moving my hand down to her pants.

"You look so fucking good baby, my good girl right?" She sits there nodding her head in a daze. I grab her underwear and push them aside making my way directly to her clit, then I start to press down on it causing her to grab my arms. I'm sitting here whimpering, trying to reach my neck to pull me down for me kiss. "Please... please Bada just fucking put them inside." She tells me while trying to cover up her moans. I immediately stop. "Baby, you know I like to listen. How am I supposed to know I'm doing a good job? Come on baby, be a good girl and move those hands for me. Don't you want my apology, yea? I know you do, baby. She starts to hide in my neck, moaning. "Sound so good, sweet girl. Just sit back and let me make it up to you."

[rebouks]

Something inside Tristen snapped, Vicky’s grating voice quivering over his shoulder almost made him want to smash his head against the pavement just so he wouldn’t have to hear it anymore. “Trissy-…” He cut her off, whirling to face her with such a crazed look in his eyes that she actually balked. “I don’t fucking want this-.. you; I never have!” Her lips twisted into a pout as she regained her composure. She didn’t like it when he was sober, her little games didn’t work so well when he wasn’t shackled to her approval, her money, her connections.

“You’re acting crazy, can we just-…” He cut her off again, getting up in her face this time. He didn’t care if he scared her, didn’t care what he looked like-.. he wasn’t backing down now, lest she get under his skin again. “You created a life you don’t even want, and what for? Out of pure pettiness, because someone dared treat me with the tiniest amount of decency-.. and you couldn’t even keep your panties on long enough to make sure it was mine!” Still intent on keeping up the charade, Vicky tried to interrupt. “But it is y-…” “IT’S FUCKING NOT!” Tristen spat. Her shoulders drooped, a tiny shift in body language that told him he’d finally won. She’d given it her best shot, but the folded wad of paper hidden in Tristen’s pocket had broken her spell on him. It wasn’t his, she wasn’t his; he was free.

He’d tried to keep it together until he was alone, but the tears had fallen long before he’d managed to reach the solace of his makeshift bedroom. Courtney had followed him shortly thereafter, speaking words he didn’t hear, offering consolation where he didn’t want it.

The shame he’d tried so hard to bury bubbled up without permission, an ugly, strangled sob suddenly muffled by her closeness. She cradled him like one of her own. Like Robin after a bad dream, like Byrd when he hurt himself doing something he shouldn’t, or Wren when she couldn’t sleep; and to her surprise, he’d let her.

He could hardly remember what she’d said, or how long she’d held him like that, but before he knew it, he was alone again; drifting off into an emotionally spent slumber like a soothed child.

Tristen had grown fond the Bay, though like anywhere else he’d been, it’d soon become tainted with failure, regret and embarrassment. Oscar had tried all morning to convince him to stay, but it was no use, he’d made up his mind. He didn’t know where he was going, he didn’t care what happened to his flat or what useless possessions lay within; he’d snapped his phone in half, he had his bag, he had his hat, his shaky sobriety and his sanity. That was enough to get by, for now.

Tristen was going to do what he did best, run away; except this time, he’d accepted the situation for what it was. So, what if he was fleeing? Maybe he wasn’t meant to stay in situ, wasn’t meant to let his rotten roots take hold anywhere. The longer he stayed somewhere, the more time there was for things to go pear-shaped. King Midas’s illegitimate bastard, turning everything he touched to shit instead of gold.

Oscar sighed. “You can’t just.. leave.” “I can’t stay either…” Tristen pleaded. He didn’t want to argue, and his resolve wasn’t infinite. Shaking his head, Oscar released Tristen’s shoulder with one last squeeze that said; okay, but you better look after yourself. There wasn’t much more he could’ve said with words. The silence between the pair was broken as Tristen straightened himself, adjusting his hat with a forced, lopsided grin; almost like he was trying to feign excitement. “Thanks for everything…”

Oscar nodded, standing helplessly at the edge of the driveway as Tristen set out. He wondered how many times he’d done this; how many places he’d abandoned, how many people he’d cut off. “Maybe I’ll see you around…” he suggested. Tristen threw a rueful smile over his shoulder. “Maybe.”

Previous // Next

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch (SOTUS) 2/5

Since so many people voted for the two blacklisted shows I was supposed to watch during Pride, it unlocked the wild card of me rewatching my sworn enemy SOTUS. I don't remember anything about the show, and the only thing I truly took away from it was hating Krist for the last eight years, so I'm settling in and revisiting the past to figure out why I forgot about every single plot point of this show including that Jan was in it and that Kongpob x M were the perfect ghost ship.

I left off praying that Arthit gets meaner before he gets nicer, which I consider as getting better before he gets worse, but since I'm getting Dangerous Romance flashbacks flash forwards, I doubt Arthit can commit to bullying Kong much longer before he turns full simp.

How am I not supposed to root for Kong x M when M looks so devastated every time Kong leaves his side to go talk to May. I know M likes May, but the way these scenes are set up, it's hard not to think that M likes Kong and he is in pain when everyone else gets his friend's time since he has known Kong SINCE JUNIOR HIGH!

Thrilled that Wad is always ready to lay hands first and ask questions later. Also excited that he is motivated by pettiness just like me, so the only reason he is playing in the tea product placement game is just to spite the seniors. Petty work makes the dream work. Amen.

The pink milk in this series needs to be studied because on one end of the spectrum, we in BL Land know the pink milk is a staple of a Thai BL (which is slowly coming back in Last Twilight, Only Friends, Addicted Heroin and I Saw You in My Dream), but on the other end, the show itself treats the pink milk like those dumb hot takes from people asking if drinking fruity cocktails makes a man a fruit, or if sucking on popsicles makes a man want to suck a dick, or if eating food in general makes a man queer. It just feels as if this show treats Arthit that way every time he orders it, like "GOTCHA, QUEER!"

If I were that food vendor, and Kong started popping out with these little nuggets while Arthit just kept threatening him, their business would be all up in the group chat because I'd be messaging all my friends that these two gay guys were practically foreplaying right in front of my salad pork skewers.

So of course Arthit would show up to the game just to stand there and glare at a man drenched in sweat from playing a hard game of basketball like the internalized-homophobic asshat he is.

God, some things never change.

WE GOT COCA-COLA MONEY?!

I gasped not because of the note on this conversation but because of the comment coming from AN OPENLY GAY MAN on the hazers squad. I am not Thai, so the only way I can relate to the hazers is through Greek life (fraternities and sororities), and even a long long time ago, I knew openly gay men in frats, and they pulled ALL the girls since girls felt safer around them than the straights, but the look Prem and Arthit are giving Tuta when he says this is what I'm laser-focused on because they show toleration rather than acceptance. I'm taking those looks personally.

Arthit continues to say Kong's face is annoying, but he never says it's ugly. Sir, I see your gay awakening on the horizon.

AND M WITH THE FUCKING LOOKS AGAIN! He is looking at Kong on stage then looking at May looking at Kong on the stage, and I know where this is going, but my god does it feel like M is sad because he believes Kong is straight and wouldn't reciprocate the feelings he has for his best friend SINCE JUNIOR HIGH!

I have made it clear that I do not like Krist (I believe his acting is flimsy but I can't even act like I like people, so who am I to judge), but I don't think the people behind the filming of this show liked him either because these opening title cards between the parts of the episodes are doing him dirty.

Excuse me, little stage presenter, I need to know what the fuck was going on with this performance that they had a western theme with modern guns. Was it Big Sean's "I Don't Fuck With You"?

And why is Jan looking like Taylor Swift in "Teardrops On My Guitar"? This show was in 2016, but the styling and hair are in 2003.

Now the judges are coming for Kong, and Lord knows he is going to answer in the most uncontroversial way because Kong refuses to pick a side against hazing and the boy he likes being punished by.

*eye roll* I did not think I'd make it here this quickly, but I'm on Arthit's side because Kong IS annoying. Jan's character looks full-on Stockholm Syndrome into the camera when Kong is answering, yet homeboy is just over there giving the most ridiculous reason of "our hazers have their reasons for hazing us" and now I see the direct line to GMMTV forgiving parents for abuse (Double Savage!).

Kong can play basketball really well. He remembers everyone's name. The whole class wanted him to be president. He is great in school. Now he is the Freshy Moon. Marsha, Marsha, Marsha. I hate this kid.

M, my most beloved, now I see why you're quiet a lot.

I appreciate M for also stating that Kong is just great at everything without trying, but it also feels that he is hyping up his boy because he has been IN LOVE WITH HIS SINCE JUNIOR HIGH!

In a room full of people, only Kong notices that M is unhappy, and now I see the direct they-are-married-but-not-a-couple line to Peaceful Property. New understands these roles well.

THE QUESTIONS THAT NEED ANSWERS! Can you run 54 laps, Arthit? Can you squat 200 times, Prem? These freshmen won everything, yet Arthit is still being a dickwad, and he just got his ass off of school probation. Bold move, sir! I want the juniors to suffer. Except for Bright. My boy has never done anything wrong, and if he did, he didn't.

I saw an umbrella in The Ex-Morning pilot trailer, and if that show doesn't give me a scene of these two arguing in the rain over the dumbest shit, then what is the point?

All those people watching Arthit, and none of his boys could run with him? If the purpose of hazing is unity, obviously the juniors didn't get that memo when they were being hazed as freshmen, so why continue the traditions that they don't even abide by?! Arthit is better than me because I would have crawled my ass back to my dorm before accepting their help SINCE THEY DIDN'T EVEN RUN LAPS! And now this little freshman wants to be up in his face. What's the point of the umbrella now?! He is a boy in a BL who has been in the rain for hours. HE IS ALREADY GOING TO DIE NO THANKS TO YOU UNHELPFUL DOUCHE NOZZLES!

I was just on Arthit's side, but then the show decided to tell me that entire seniors-hazing-the-juniors thing was a setup, and mixed with most of the images on Arthit's door being black-and-white, and one of those images being Charles Manson's Rolling Stone cover, I'm back to hating him again. So in case anyone is still following along, I now hate both of the leads. Can I get M and Bright back?

Kong says several times that Arthit can punish him, then he irons Arthit's clothes. If this show would just lean into the kink of it all, I would embrace everything about it. If Kong could just be a masochist dom, I would be delighted. JAPAN, COME HERE RIGHT NOW! Fuck remaking Love in the Air! Remake this kinky shit instead!

This is what a sado sub looks likes and Japan would know exactly what to do with him. Now I'm mad that I'm watching the babygirl-fication of a perfectly good jerk.

Well hello there you two! You wanna make out before going to the hospital? Maybe keep it all a secret from everybody else? I'm so pissed that I can't remember this plot now because I don't think they will be a thing BUT THEY WOULD BE PERFECT!

And I'm still rooting for my boy M to get his best friend since unlike Arthit, M can at least acknowledge that his friend is pretty to his face. No internalized homophobia here but probably because M isn't even a homo. I've sailed ships with less.

😬🥴🙃 Thank you subtitler for keeping the word. It's important. So are the looks that I'm taking personally. And BRIGHT IS THE ONE TO SAY IT! So I like M now and only M. Everyone can eat dirt and choke.

Arthit's nickname means warmth? I'm starting to remember why I forgot this show. Like Celine Dion, "It's All Coming Back to Me Now"

And I hate it.

[rainsoftenings]

MOLDY REFUSE HEAP — You study the earth. A pitiful attempt at compost lies before you, a smear of dirt and disarray, with plenty of manmade, shattered objects strewn in alongside the organic material. A loaf of bread, still wrapped in its plastic lining, though with a huge gash on the side exposing it to the elements, is festooned with little brown mushrooms.

INLAND EMPIRE — Those mushrooms are looking at you. Mocking you.

YOU — What? They're mushrooms...

INLAND EMPIRE — Look at that one with its ugly little head. Looks like a big wart, and also like it's giving you the finger. Are you going to let that bastard give you the finger?

HALF-LIGHT — SHOOT IT! It's trying to make you look stupid!

YOU — [Draw your gun and aim it at the mushroom-bread wad.]

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant shifts nervously, trying to parse your movements. He'll no doubt wrest the gun away from you should the need arise.

YOU — [Shout.] "Tell me the name of God, you fungal piece of shit!"

SHIVERS — The bread, which once seemed inert, writhes with life before your very eyes. Wheat from faraway fields is milled into flour, mixed with water and sugar and yeast and baked in some mass-production facility God knows how far away only to come to rest, spurned and uneaten, at your feet. No, not uneaten- the yeast, another fungus, was killed, incinerated, in the process of baking. The mold reclaims what remains of its fallen brethren. If you listen close enough, you can almost hear it speaking...

SHIVERS — CAN YOU FEEL YOUR HEART BURNING. CAN YOU FEEL THE STRUGGLE WITHIN. THE FEAR WITHIN ME IS BEYOND ANYTHING YOUR SOUL CAN MAKE. YOU CANNOT KILL ME IN A WAY THAT MATTERS.

YOU — [Cock your gun.] "I'M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU!"

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant's muscles tense now, poised to strike. A look of apprehension- no, fear and concern- crosses his face...

YOU — [Shoot the piece of moldy bread.] PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT — You hadn't realized it, but your whole frame is trembling, shaking. Tears stream down your face. You hunch, in shame and agony. Like some forgotten gargoyle creature out of myth.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Failure] — The recoil sends a throb down your arm, like you've just been kicked.

KIM KITSURAGI — He places a hand on your shoulder, and you flinch. "Detective, if I may be so bold as to ask... What did you mean by that?"

COMPOSURE [Difficult: Success] — Hey now. Straighten up. It's Kim. You must answer in a coherent fashion.

 INLAND EMPIRE — Screw coherence. The fervent squigglings of your brain will emerge from your mouth until the very stars blink out.

YOU — [Compose yourself.] "Decay exists as an extant form of life."

KIM KITSURAGI — The lieutenant blinks, bewildered. He has no response to that, to your frighteningly calm visage, still stained with drying tears. Behind him, the drunks raise their glasses of brew, yowl a cheer.

IDIOT DOOM SPIRAL — "Terrifying answer, Tequila Sunset! Have a nice day!”

[writeforfandoms]

Click Click Boom

Find my CoD masterlist

My first shot at writing Alex, and he’s a wee bit feral in this one. Because why not. Also, these two do know each other, but I’m just dropping you in without a lot of background.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, imminent threat on life, threat of explosives, reader is having a Very Bad Day. 

Italics is speaking in Arabic.

Word count: 2.1k

Alex x f!reader

You’d been in Urzikstan for two days, and were scheduled to be there for a few days more. You didn’t think it would a problem, since you were staying in the quieter parts of the country. 

You were wrong. 

Someone had clearly fucked up advising how volatile the situation was, because you went from talking to one of your sources over lunch to a hostage situation. Half a dozen armed men held up the entire patio, shouting to each other. 

One of them looked at you and sneered, and your heart plummeted. “An American will make a good sacrifice,” he said, stalking over to you. Your contact cowered a little away from you - not that you could actually blame him. 

But you still closed your eyes when the barrel of a gun kissed your temple, warm from the sun. 

Hands grabbed you, forcing your arms behind your back, wrists bound too tightly together. You opened your eyes just in time to be shoved away from the table, towards one of the men. You stumbled, and he grabbed your upper arm, hauling you with him. 

“What–?” you started to ask, only to gasp in pain when the man nearly wrenched your shoulder of its socket. 

“Quiet,” he growled, pulling you harder towards an unmarked van. You shook your head, half in denial, half pleading. 

But there was no mercy for you as you were shoved into the back of the van, the door slamming shut behind the man who’d grabbed you. 

You opened your mouth to try asking a question, and coughed as a rough wad of fabric was stuffed between your lips instead. He tied it tight behind your head, uncaring. 

“We have what we need,” he said over your head to the driver. “Let’s go.”

The van pulled away from the restaurant, and for a moment you wanted to panic, to cry, to do something. 

But it wouldn’t help. 

Instead you closed your eyes and thought about Alex, how that silly mustache tickled when he kissed you, that syrup-sweet smile after drinks the last time, the warmth of his skin as you fell asleep next to him. 

The realization that you may never see him again was a cold wash down your spine. 

But you didn’t give these bastards the satisfaction of your tears. 

The van stopped sometime later, and the man hopped out first, reaching back in to drag you out into blinding sunlight. You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, eyes watering. 

“She is still conscious?” a new one asked, stalking over to the man holding your arm. “Fool!” The new man raised his gun, butt towards you, and you had a single moment of fear before he hit you, hard, and you knew no more. 

–

Alex really kind of liked Urzikstan… apart from the parts where he got shot at, and sworn at, and had things thrown at him. Other than that, it was a great country, with some great people. 

But if he never had another op here, he’d be thrilled.

“Alex,” Laswell greeted over the phone. “We’ve got a situation.” 

“What kind of situation?” He glanced around, wary. 

“Al-Qatala has taken a hostage. American press.” 

Alex’s stomach dropped all the way to his boots. No. No, there was no way. “Who?” he asked, a little hoarse. 

Laswell read off your name, and Alex’s blood froze. “We need her back alive.”

He swallowed hard. He’d have a chance to get retribution later. He needed to focus now. “Location?” 

“I’ve got a chopper ready to take you most of the way,” Laswell informed him. “This needs to be done quietly.”

“Roger that.” Alex took a deep breath. 

“Keep me updated. Watcher out.” 

Alex had about two seconds to feel fear. To panic. To give the ugly emotions their moment. And then he stuffed it all down, because he needed to be alert to get you out of this alive. 

He restocked everything he needed, and then some. Because he was going to get you back. And he was going to make every single bastard who’d taken you pay. Dearly. 

The rhythmic thumping of the helo had him jogging outside, and he hopped up into it the moment he could. 

“We’re gonna have to drop here, sir,” one of the two Marines aboard told him, holding out a tablet with the location marked in green. “She’s at red.”

It wasn’t terribly far, really, all things considered. But it was too far for Alex, his heart still thrumming with the need to get to you. 

“Understood. You two coming with?” Alex grabbed onto the netting as the helo took off again. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“We do this quick and quiet. I don’t want her being put in an active hostage situation. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Alex settled uneasily for the remainder of the flight, trying hard to stay focused. It wouldn’t help to think of what state you might be in, if you’d been hurt, if you were even still alive–

“Just about there, sir,” the first marine piped up, and Alex was grateful for the imminent drop. 

His feet hit the ground and he was off, trusting the two marines were behind him. He paused at a corner, back pressed tight to the building, listening hard. Nothing. A quick peek showed nothing - no people, no movement for ways. He slipped around the side of the building, advancing carefully, pistol in hand with suppressor attached. 

The first AQ to fall didn’t even see him coming, a quick knife to the throat keeping him silent. Alex swallowed back the first rush of vengeance, of satisfaction, and continued forward. 

Another fell beneath his knife. Three moved out of a building, chatting amongst themselves, at ease. His lips curled and he nodded to one of the marines behind him. All three fell within moments, not given enough time to raise the alarm before bullets pierced their skulls. 

They were getting close now, or they should be, based on the intel. Alex paused, glancing at the two men. 

“We’re gonna start clearing buildings,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. 

“Copy,” both murmured in reply. 

One nod, and Alex was off, checking all his doors and corners as he made his way inside. One more AQ, then two in the next building. Nobody had had a chance to raise the alarm. 

One more building cleared. More bodies left behind. But the vengeance singing in Alex’s blood wasn’t satisfied, not yet. 

He dropped another AQ, the two marines fanning out. And then he stopped.

You were alive. Blood crusted over part of your face from a cut over your eye, the skin puffy and irritated. Your hands were bound behind your back, shoulders pulled tight. But your eyes… your eyes were open and clear and terrified. 

The bomb strapped to your chest beeped once, and started counting down. Alex whirled to see one of the AQ a marine had taken down was not actually dead yet. A headshot corrected that, but the damage was done. 

He turned back to you and swallowed hard. 

–

“Okay, sweetheart.” Alex holstered his pistol, approaching you slowly. You tried to steady your breathing around the gag still stuffed in your mouth, though you couldn’t help the tears slowly leaking from your eyes. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?” Gentle hands tugged the gag down around your neck, and you immediately gasped in a few breaths. 

“Go,” you gasped, tugging uselessly at your hands. Your wrists were already chafed raw, but you barely felt the pain anymore. “Alex, go.”

“No.” Alex crouched in front of you, gaze flitting over the bomb strapped to you. “You two, outside,” he barked without ever looking up. “Keep the perimeter clear.”

“Yes, sir.” Two marines slunk outside, one giving you a last pitying look over his shoulder. You swallowed hard. 

“You don’t have time,” you argued softly, trying hard to blink back tears. You wanted to see him unimpeded before… before. 

“I have time.” He kept his voice pitched low and soothing, hands moving around to your back to feel where the bomb had been fastened. His lips curled in anger, brow furrowing. It was locked on pretty firmly - you knew because the two who had strapped you in had laughed about it. 

“Just go,” you whispered, yanking one more time at your wrists. Something warm dripped from your fingers and you gave up. “Just go, Alex.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you.” Alex rested his hands on the outside of the bomb, carefully checking wires. 

“Alex–” You stopped yourself, biting your lip. He was stubborn, sure, but he could be reasoned with. You just needed to be reasonable. “Alex,” you started again, slower, softer. “How much time is left on the timer?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He clenched his jaw, pulling a pair of snippers from his vest. 

“It doesn’t make sense for you to stay.” You kept the same tone, staring at him, trying to get him to be reasonable for once in his life. “You should go. We don’t both need to–” You stopped, unable to say it. A lump settled in your throat and you had to swallow twice to get it down. “Please, Alex.”

“Told you.” He separated the wires, confident and even. “I’m not leaving without you.” 

“You’re not getting yourself killed for me.” You sniffled, wiggling your fingers. 

“Neither of us are dying today.” Alex sounded a bit like he was trying to bend the universe to his will by sheer force of personality. 

“Don’t make a girl a promise you can’t keep.” You let your head fall back a bit, looking up at the cracks in the ceiling. Your lips felt chapped, dry from hours of being gagged with no water. 

“I love you.”

You froze. Very slowly, you lifted your head again to look at him. He hadn’t even looked up at you, still focused on the wires. 

“Say that again.”

His lips quirked into a little smile. “I love you,” he repeated, as if it were that easy. He snipped a wire. Just one. You barely even heard the snikt over your racing pulse. 

“You absolute bastard,” you breathed, watching him sit back with a sigh. “Now?” 

“Figured I might as well.” He flashed you a grin. 

“You…” You trailed off, staring at him, and then craning your neck to look down at the bomb. A bright red “0:07” showed just how close he’d cut it. “Alex.” 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“Get over here so I can kiss you.”

He laughed, low and quiet, but obligingly leaned in to kiss you. But he kept it chaste, pulling back before you could even try for more. “Later, sweetheart,” he promised. “We’ll have time later. We need to get you out of here first.” 

He moved around behind you, a sharp inhalation his only reaction to the sight of your wrists. Another snip, and your hands were loose and hurting like hell. 

“I need the bolt cutters, Jimenez,” he said into his radio, one hand resting on your shoulder to help steady you. 

Jimenez jogged in, holding out the bolt cutters to Alex. He smiled at you, easy and warm. “We’ll have you outta here in no time,” he assured you before shifting his attention back to the door. 

You felt it when Alex cut through the padlock, the straps loosening around you. A few careful movements and a handful of seconds later, Alex had the bomb off of you. Suddenly it was a lot easier to breathe. 

“Alright, sweetheart. Up we go.” Alex carefully helped you to your feet, holding you steady when you swayed. “We’ll get you bandaged up real soon, I promise.” 

“I know.” You blinked rapidly, holding tight to him as you found your equilibrium again. “I can make it.”

“I know you can.” He smiled, warm and approving. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

“What about that?” You eyed the bomb left on the floor with no small amount of fear.

Alex’s smile shifted, something bloodthirsty peeking out. “Oh, that? Well, it was a nice gift, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to return it.” He winked at you, looping one arm around your waist to help steady you, scooping up the harness of the bomb in the other hand. 

“Hey, Alex?” You timed it right as you rejoined the two marines. A little payback for his earlier stunt. 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you too.” 

Alex stumbled, and the two marines looked away. You smiled serenely, tightening your grip on Alex. You still had a long ways to go before you could kiss him the way you wanted to. 

[nautiscarader]

A monster has Dipper cornered. Unarmed and injured, Dipper tries to back against the wall, no place to hide and too scared and hurt to run. Just as the beast begins to pounce, a voice calls out to get it's attention. "Hey, ugly!" It turns to see an angry Wendy standing behind it. She is holding a double bit axe. Wendy takes a fighting stance and raises her weapon to the ready. "You fuck with the brainiac, you fuck with the axe maniac!" Wendy give a roaring battle cry as she charges the beast. 🪓

And the best - the two-headed troll - charged at her, leaving Dipper alone. But as soon as he did so, he jumped and clutched his hands around one of the heads, covering the only eye. "And you're not gonna even scratch the coolest and bravest woman I know!". Wendy stopped for a while, temporarily stunned. " Dip, get off this thing, I can't-" "No, you help me zip him up!" "Huh?"

Wendy wads confused for a moment, until Dipper forced the beast to turn around a she sa a golden zipper running up its spine. She grabbed it, pulled it up, and ine swift move, the two heads became one, and the monster calmed down.

"Oh, thanks, guys, you have no idea how it feels when your head actually splits in half", the troll stood up and began walking back to his cave, "Oh, and sorry for ruining your date".

Dipper and Wendy both flinched.

"It's-it's not..."

"we're-we're not..."

The troll smiled. "Yeah, sure.", he said as he disappeared.

"So... do you want to go on a date?", Wendy asked, watching as Dipper's eyes widen more than the migraine-suffering-troll's...

[maine-isnt-canadian]

Look. I'm sorry I murdered your "grandma" but growing up I never felt loved. I never got attention. I was bullied in school. I got called ugly. I got rejected. I have PTSD. I'm the victim here. Your grandma messed with the wrong person. I'm not sorry. I do not feel remorse. I don't wish for a better world, infact, I want everyone to not have a grandma. Mine died before I was born. Fuck this community I want my grandma back and you guys remind me of her because she liked true crime. By the way I'm schizophrenic. Imagine yelling at me. I'm innocent and I have mental issues. What is wrong with you. Please consider this. I hope all of your grandma is not in a better place. Goodbye.

Thank you for the ask!

I saw you on Wad's account. Which grandma are you talking about? I need to know so I can calculate how much time I'll have to spend grieving. Don't worry, I won't yell at you... as long as you fix how contradictory you are. Consistency makes a good fellow. Goodbye!

[underworld-park-offical]

TEACHER: Nothing hun! Go sit down!

TWEEK: Uh….wh…where….?

TEACHER: Right next to Craig, the one with the ugly blue hat

CRAIG: (bitch…)

TWEEK: Hhhhh…. okay…. okay..

CRAIG: (Judging him harshly)

CRAIG: (Trying to determine his follower count with telepathy)

TWEEK: (What the fuck is this asshole doing)

TWEEK: What the fuck are you looking at??? Huh???

TWEEK: Do I have like

TWEEK: A wad of Hubba Bubba Tape Awesome Original in my hair or something????

TWEEK: Stop looking at me!

CRAIG: Omg you are literally so fucking rude 

TWEEK: GAH!! W-What!? I'm not r-rude! 

CRAIG: You literally sound like a shy uwu boy lmao ratio

TWEEK: What in the actual hell are you saying???

CRAIG: imagine not being on social media. L 

TWEEK: I- I am on social media!!

CRAIG: Lmao OKAY how many followers you got?

TWEEK: Twenty…

CRAIG: HAHA LMAO L IMAGINE HAVING TWENTY FOLLOWERS CRAIG: IM CRYING OMFL

CRAIG: HOLY SHIT

CRAIG: AHAHHAHH!!!!

CRAIG: FUCKING L L BIG BIG L!!! HAHA!!

TWEEK (Bombastically Taken Aback): ...

CRAIG: Smh my head, but fr tho don't talk to me anymore, I don't talk to people with less than 500 followers

TWEEK (Seething with rage): ...

TWEEK: Are you serious??? God, What the fuck is wrong with you??

TWEEK: I JUST got here!!!

TWEEK: What the FUCK is your problem with me??

TWEEK: What?? You got a crush on me or something??

CRAIG: What ew no! I'm not a boy kissing fag

TWEEK: Then WHAT is it??

CRAIG: Nothing stop being dramatic frfr

CRAIG: (Just the fact you might be a demon or something)

TWEEK: What?

CRAIG: What?

(EDITS MADE BY POOKIE @pissblanket )