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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

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Simmer #9

CH9. Simmer | The Menu 18+ [6K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

“We’re gonna be late.”

Your voice wasn’t much more than a high keen, a breathy thing that you managed to squeak out between Eddie’s kisses. You were at an awkward angle - not that you cared - leaning over the stick shift in the boy’s van to meet his lips. It was early, almost eight in the morning, your work day ready to start in only a few minutes. You weren’t even in uniform, not yet, still in a pair of worn jeans and one of Eddie’s stolen sweaters.

September had crept in without you knowing, the heat leaving town with every new morning. The skies were still blue, an endless stretch of it, the clouds still big and white. But the suffocating warmth gave way to cooler mornings and colder nights, the sun dipping behind the diner by seven in the evening and leaving the tables in navy shadows. It was nicer. It gave you an excuse to curl into Eddie on the nights you shared a bed.

Not that you needed one.

“What do you mean we?” Eddie laughed, the noise vibrating against your throat, his mouth pushed there in an affectionate kiss. He nosed at the skin along your jaw, stretched over the centre console so he could sneak a hand underneath the maroon sweater, fingers grazing your ribs. “I’m not workin’ until tonight.”

You whined at the reminder, a needy, frustrated noise because even though Eddie had spent the night at your apartment, you still hadn’t had your fill. It had been weeks of seeing each other - dating - letting the boy take you out like he’d promised, dinners and movies and walks and late night conversations that bled into sleepovers that were filled with kisses and tangled legs, shared pillows and new pieces of information about the boy that you collected like jewels.

Eddie Munson liked sleeping with the window open no matter what the weather.

Every Saturday morning, before the sun had really risen, Eddie drove to the next town over to a place called Duck’s Farm and bought all the fresh produce he could from a man called Mr Duffy. They shared a coffee and swapped recipes under the shade of the apple trees.

There were seven cats in the trailer park that Eddie fed every evening on his porch. Sushi, Mochi, Ramen, Cheeseburger, Toast, Nacho and Lasagna. Tiny plates full of kibble and leftover chicken beside a bowl of water and Eddie didn’t close the door until each cat had had their full and curled against his legs before hopping off into the night.

Eddie liked to press kisses to your cheek when you least expected. Awfully sweet things, making your throat thick with fondness, sticky in affection. He’d dot them over your skin, across the apple of your cheeks and towards your temple, one on your forehead when your head lay next to his on his pillow.

Eddie had an awful habit of insisting on driving you to work even when he had a day off or a chance to lie in, but then loved to make you late by pulling you into a soft kiss that turned into a make out session in the front of his van.

Eddie Munson made you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, an agonising thing that took up every waking thought.

It was lovely.

You hadn’t done more than kiss, albeit heated, all encompassing, hot and messy in the cradle of his lap, pressed against your apartment walls, the side of his van after work. But that’s as far as it had gone, for now.

For now.

“You’re awful,” you pretended to complain, titling your chin up so Eddie could kiss down your throat. “Leaving me all alone.”

The boy hummed, mouthing along your jaw until you were squirming, his big hand squeezed between the tops of your thighs as you pressed your legs around his fingers. “I know, m’the worst.” Another kiss, to the corner of your mouth. He still tasted like your toothpaste, the coffee you’d poured for him in your mug with the little fried eggs on it. “I’ll see you later, though. Bring you in something sweet, if that’ll keep me in the good books.”

You wanted to beam, you wanted to squeal. You wanted to scrabble into the boy’s lap and bury your face in the crook of his neck so he couldn’t see the effect he had on you. “You don’t have to,” is what you murmured instead. “It’s your afternoon off.”

Eddie nipped at your jaw, teeth grazing and making you jump. “I know I don’t have to,” he whispered back. He smoothed his love bite with a kiss. “But I wanna, that okay?”

You nodded, shy even after spending the night tucked into his side, his shirt in lieu of pyjamas, his sweater keeping you warm now. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

“Good,” Eddie grinned, smile matching yours although his seemed brighter, more lovely. “I’ll see you soon, don’t get any prettier, alright?”

You flushed hot and rolled your eyes to hide the way he’d got you flustered, gathering your bag as you opened the van door, leaning over to meet Eddie halfway. You hummed when his hand cupped your cheek, bringing you in for the fortieth kiss that morning, or at least there abouts. A longing thing, full of flirt and affection and built up tension. Then two short ones, lingering when you didn’t have time to, dots of Eddie’s lips on each cheek and then he was letting you go.

“Have a good day, sweetheart.”

You wanted to pout and tell him you couldn’t possibly without him, but that seemed a little pathetic even for your standards. So you smiled and told him to do the same, your bag heavy against your side, packed with your uniform and a flask of tomato and basil soup eddie had made the night before, complaining with a smile about how your knives weren’t sharp enough, your pots too small for his big hands.

—————

You were tying your apron when Chrissy caught you coming out the staff room, Eddie’s sweater swapped for your dress and you missed the smell of his cologne almost immediately.

“Was that Eddie? Dropping you off?” Chrissy asked sweetly. Her hair was down today, curly and she smelled like lavender. “That’s sweet.”

You didn’t trust yourself to talk around the girl, not even now, too worried your voice would come out too small, too weak, cracking down the middle with anxiety. For what reason, you weren’t really sure, but if you thought about it hard enough, the image of Chrissy lounging over Eddie’s workstation was still stuck in your head even weeks later.

“Mmm,” you hummed instead, smiling tightly as you both walked out through the kitchen and into the diner.

It was a quiet day, the lunch service was slow and Steve was talking to a girl in a summer camp T-shirt in the corner booth, grinning at her with pink cheeks and bright eyes. Jonathan was whistling along to the radio, scooping fresh beans into the coffee machine with one hand as he played hacky sack with Argyle through the kitchen hatch with the other.

It wasn’t until you were placing new cutlery on a recently cleaned table that you realised the girl was still lingering. Bubblegum snapping against peach tinted lips, Chrissy appraised you with a tilt of her head. “So, what’s Eddie doing today?”

“What?” You didn’t mean to sound so defensive, so snappy. But Chrissy sounded so sure and so confident with Eddie’s name in her mouth and it set your teeth on edge. “Uh, I’m, I’m not sure?”

“You’re not?” Chrissy pouted and pulled on a strawberry blonde curl. “You mean, you don’t know what your boyfriend is doing today?”

You placed the fork down a little too hard, the metal clattering against the table top, your chest a little too tight.

Chrissy leaned in, dainty fingers straightening it up for you. “He is your boyfriend, right?”

You didn’t know the answer to that. Eddie had called you his girl, a public declaration for sure, but since that day there hadn’t been anymore talk about relationship statuses. And between the sleepovers and dates and kisses and the rides to work, you hadn’t worried about it, didn't doubt it. But now, with Chrissy staring at you with an expectant smile on her lips, question after question came back. Insecurity flooded your head, your chest, your thoughts. Had you read too much into it? Was Eddie looking for something serious?

You thought back to Eddie’s words, what he liked to call you, hands on your hips, in your hair, lips on yours. Pretty girl, sweet girl, shy girl. And ‘my girl,’ you couldn’t forget that one. But the absence of the world ‘girlfriend’ seemed more apparent than ever in your relationship.

“I, uh— yeah? Yes.” You sounded so much more confident than you felt but the regret stabbed you sharp as soon as you let the words leave your lips.

Chrissy’s mouth curled up but it didn’t seem like a smile, not a particularly friendly one anyway. “Yes, he’s your boyfriend? Or yes, you don’t know what he’s doing today?”

You blinked, heat rising up your neck in a way that felt familiar. It felt like panic, like being tricked and trapped and suddenly you wished you could turn on your heel and scramble for the safety of the kitchen, the safety of Eddie’s arms. But for now, the walk-in might just have to do.

“Um. Uh, both?”

You didn’t hang around for more questioning. No, you dropped the cutlery and breezed past Mr Creel, ignoring the way he scowled at you over the rim of his coffee mug. And when you skittered into the kitchen, Argyle was dicing chicken and Steve was dumping empty plates into the sink. Both boys looked up as you burst in, surprised at your sudden appearance but you held your breath and smiled tightly before heading straight for the walk-in.

“Is everything oka—?” The door snapped shut before Steve could finish his sentence, but he reckoned that as long as you came out before your fingertips were blue, it wasn’t a concern.

That’s how the rest of the shift went, the afternoon clinging onto the last of the sunlight as it faded into evening and you tried your best to avoid Chrissy for the most part. You waited on the few tables that filled, had some of Eddie’s soup and talked to Argyle over the sizzle of grilled chicken, disappearing into the walk-in whenever Chrissy said something that made your heart stutter and stop.

“I can’t wait for Eddie to come in, think he’ll make me some of his ramen?”

“Oh my god, did Eddie tell you about the time there was a storm? The power went out and he drove across town to get me home safe, isn’t he such a sweetheart?”

“How long have you and Eddie been official? Did he buy you a present? Did he ask you in a super cute way?”

So by the time the boy did appear for his shift, a whole six hours after he’d dropped you off, your fingertips were numb and you couldn’t feel your feet. But you lit up at the sight of him through the kitchen hatch, scribbling down Mr and Mrs Adele’s order in a messier scrawl than normal as you watched Eddie button up his chef whites over the shirt you’d watched him pull on that morning.

You tried not to skip your way into the kitchen and honestly, you couldn’t even let the fact that Chrissy was already lingering pull down your mood. You put through your order before sliding up to the boy, smiling as he grinned at the sight of you, his hands busy tying back his curls but he still ducked his face down to yours, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Thought I told you that you weren’t allowed to get any prettier?” He scowled, dramatic and grumpy and lovely all at once.

You wrinkled your nose at him, knowing fine well you had a collection of stains on the front of your apron and your hair wasn’t anywhere as neat as it had been the last time you saw him. “You’re a liar, Eddie Munson,” was all you could say, cheeks warm enough to make you forget about your cold hands.

“I’m ain’t no such thing,” he murmured as he tucked a dish towel into his own apron. He didn’t even seem to notice Steve swanning into the kitchen, snorting at the sight of you both. “Y’had a good day?”

You hummed, noncommittal, too aware of the other girl who was pretending to look at the pantry shelves. So you shrugged and nodded at the same time, giving into your urges and letting yourself lean against the boy, your head against his chest.

“You just missed me, huh?” Eddie whispered against the shell of your ear, all faux conspiracy and your skin prickled at the feel of his lips against you.

That question gained another hum as an answer, but this one was much warmer, softer, much more agreeable. “You could say that,” you whispered back.

The question was on the tip of your tongue, an awkward one for the workplace, sure, and you didn’t dare ask it with an audience but the not knowing ate away at a piece of your heart. And surely you couldn’t survive that. Right?

What are we? Are you mine? I know I’m yours. Do you want me? Can I have you? Can we do this? Please, let’s do this.

Eddie must’ve sensed your mood, your apprehension, because he pulled back enough so he could see your face, one big hand cupping your chin so he could guide it upwards until your eyes met his. That grumpy face came into view, that lovely, pretty, frowning expression you’d come to understand so well. It meant he was worried, it meant he was concerned. It meant that he cared.

“You okay?”

You nodded after a beat of hesitation, smiling enough that your eyes crinkled in the corners.

“You had food?”

You nodded again, heart aching as your hands reached out almost as if you couldn’t stop them, sliding around his sides and clinging to his clean chef jacket.

“You gonna come hang out w’me after dinner rush?”

Your hands weren’t cold anymore and although you couldn’t see it, you heard the swing of the door as Chrissy left. “Yeah,” you finally spoke. “Yes please.”

—————

Jim’s emptied out after eight o’clock. No one in Hawkins seemed to crave any burgers or shakes on a Tuesday night and that was okay with you. Steve’s shift had long ended, Chrissy was getting ready to hang up her apron at nine o’clock and hand over to Nancy. But when Argyle turned off the last grill, Eddie looked out the hatch at the empty tables, he turned to Nancy and told her to take the night off.

She’d raised a pointed brow, suspicious. “Will you take me off the timesheet?”

Eddie scoffed, “no.”

“Will you tell Jim?”

“You callin’ me a snitch, Wheeler?”

So Nancy took the night off, the diner stayed empty, the neon light above the bar flickered and you and Eddie were alone.

It was tempting to lock the door, but the roads and the parking lot were quiet, lit by old street lights, the air turning cooler now the sun was gone. You watched Eddie pull out a mixing bowl, the radio playing a song you didn’t know, perched on the countertop with your apron in a crushed heap beside you. You swung your legs to the beat as you watched him, eyes curious as he dumped heaps of flour, brown sugar and cinnamon into the bowl.

Butter and eggs, huge chunks of chocolate and fudge.

“What’re you making?” You asked, smiling warmly as Eddie grinned and sauntered over to you, leftover chocolate between his fingers.

Eddie hummed, nudging at your knees with his hips until you spread them for him, cheeks warm as the hem of your dress slid up a little. He stood close, curls pulled loose, a chunk of sweetness between his finger and thumb. He lifted it to your mouth, brushing at your lips, his eyes tracking the movement the whole time.

You were sure you heard him breathe out a little heavier than before when you parted them for him, lips grazing his fingertips, tongue barely touching as you took the piece of chocolate. Eddie didn’t say anything when you bit into it, milky, sweet, rich. With nothing to hold, his hands fell to your thighs, palms warm and strong as they gripped you tighter than expected. You watched the boy swallow, throat bobbing and his gaze still on your mouth.

“Cookies,” he murmured distractedly. “Was gonna make cookies.”

“Going to—?”

Eddie leaned in without much preamble, catching your lips in a kiss you almost didn’t expect. It wasn’t the soft, gentle kind you had been used to, the coaxing type that he always began with. This was a kiss that reminded you of the night in the trailer, the night with grilled cheeses and distractions. He was on you fast, desperate and you met him with just as much eagerness.

You gasped into his mouth, lips parting immediately, sighing when his tongue licked over yours. It was easy for your hands to wind into his hair, nails scraping nicely over his scalp, making him groan and pull you closer to the edge of the counter. His hands were already wandering, a needy touch, fingertips skating upupup under your dress, skimming over the elastic edge of your underwear and suddenly all the kisses you’d shared weren’t nearly enough anymore.

Maybe it was insecurity, maybe it was possessiveness. Maybe it was just the way Eddie was kissing you, but suddenly you needed all of him, all at once.

“Eddie,” you sighed his name, gave it to him on a breath and it tasted like chocolate, sweet and sugary and you. It made his expression crumple, his hands pulling you closer still, fingers digging into the dough of your ass and suddenly you were flush enough against him that you could wrap your legs around his hips. “I— I just—”

The boy nodded like you knew, even if you weren’t sure what you were asking for yourself. So he let you throw yourself back at him, lips pressed almost clumsily to his, teeth clacking before your nose bumped his and you tilted your head just the right way. Eddie made pretty noises for you, hands roaming up to your hips, trapped between the cheap material of your dress and bare skin. Fingers gripped at your underwear, tugging just enough for the cotton to peel away from you.

“Fuck, fuck,” Eddie gasped, breath taken from him, sounding wrecked. He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, chest heaving. “Shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t— we should… stop…”

The rejection stung for just a second, maybe two, but you watched Eddie’s gaze fall back to your mouth and he didn’t take his hand away from your bare legs. You shook your head, lips parted and glossy from his kisses, your nose nudging up against his as you leaned in again, needy, wanting.

“Please don’t,” you murmured and Eddie thought it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

“Should be takin’ you to a bed,” Eddie told you, stern sounding but he was kissing across your jaw, dotting his lips over your chin, the apple of your cheek.

You whined, not agreeing or disagreeing, but you tugged at Eddie’s curls all the same, coaxing Eddie back into a kiss and it was heated, it was longing, it was teeth and tongues and everything you weren’t supposed to be doing in the workplace.

“Should be takin’ my time with you,” Eddie groaned, sucking marks into your neck, palming at your ass and hissing when you rocked yourself against him, trying to gain some friction to ease the throb between your thighs. “Should be stripping you down and getting you in my sheets.”

The idea of it made you keen but Eddie was popping the top buttons of your dress and nosing at the collar, pushing it out of his way so he could see the swell of your breasts and kissing at your shoulder over your bra strap. “You need to tell me to stop, sweetheart, or—”

“Nonono,” you told him, “don’t wanna stop. Don’t need a bed, don’t need— Eddie, I just want you, please.” You sounded as shy as you did desperate, cheeks warm, eyes heavy with need, squirming on top of the metal station as you tried to keep yourself together.

“Hey, hey, don’t ever gotta say please for me, ‘kay?” Eddie’s brows knitted together, hands leaving your legs just to cup your cheeks. His thumbs smoothed over your cheeks, pressing sweetly into them until you nodded. “Gotta be quick though, yeah? M’gonna take my time with you later, promise, baby.”

You nodded as you both spared a glance at the empty diner. Luckily, the hatch was at an angle where no one would see much if they happened to walk through the door, but Hawkins seemed to be asleep and the night was just for you and Eddie.

“Hold onto me,” Eddie ordered and he sounded gruff, voice heavy with emotion, with want and you watched his lashes flutter when you did as were told, looping your arms around his neck. It helped you lift your hips for him, made it all the easier for the boy to hook his fingers into the sides of your underwear and pull. “Atta girl, there you go.”

He pocketed the cotton and lace, glancing back at the door one more time and the radio changed, static interrupting the station before a new song kicked in, a familiar voice crooning through the speakers.

“Well, here I am, my honey. C’mon, you cry to me.”

No time was wasted when Eddie pulled your legs apart, thumbs sweeping at the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, a soothing touch that only made you burn worse, the heat from the summer coming creeping back into the autumn night, the kitchen burning, a simmer under your skin. You reached up, searching, looking for a kiss but Eddie shook his head, curls falling into his eyes and the softest of smiles on his lips.

“Wanna watch, yeah? Can I do that?” He asked, a hand sweeping from your neck to your chest, fingers played over your sternum, sneaking into the open buttons until they flirted with the lace edge of your bra and he could push you back a little. You leaned onto the palms of your hands, stretched out for him, waiting, breath held. “You’re so pretty. Prettiest girl, my shy girl, huh? So good for me.”

Eddie spoke quietly, praise mixing with the music and you keened, eyes shuttering closed as his thumb swept softly over your folds, barely parting you, just letting you get used to his touch. If he’d had more time, if he’d had you in his bed, he would’ve kissed his way from ankle to hip bone, pressed kisses and marks into your skin until you looked like a painting. But for now, he watched your face crumple and scrunch when his thumb pushed in and found your clit, wet and slick for him, your mouth falling open in a quiet moan as he rubbed small circles.

“Good?” He asked and it wasn’t cocky, it wasn’t dirty, it was an earnest question. Teach me, it said. Help me make it good for you, show me what you like. “Like that, sweetheart? Or harder?”

You gasped, nodding your head and trying to keep your gaze locked on Eddie’s. He moved his hand perfectly, pace steady and his touch gentle, before it built a little, pressing a little firmer and your toes curled. “Like that,” you whimpered, voice cracking. “Just like that, Eddie.”

“Good girl,” Eddie told you, his free hand sweeping up your ribs, fingers dancing over the buttons he didn’t dare undo. Not here. Not yet. Not like this. He leaned over you, dotting kisses where he could reach. Your cheek, your nose. “You’re so good for me, baby. So fuckin’ cute, you know that? Those noises? Gonna knock me dead, sweetheart, Christ.”

You made that noise, a gasping, breathy thing as Eddie slid a finger into you, a slow, tight stretch that had you spreading your legs for him again and this went against so many health code violations it wasn’t even funny, but you were past caring. Nothing else mattered except the way Eddie was looking at you and how he crooked his finger just right.

“I need you,” you told him, a hot whisper, an almost cry and you leaned back into him, tugging at his collar until he got the hint and kissed you something filthy, tongue licking over yours until your cunt got a little tighter around his knuckle. “Eddie, now, please.”

“Barely got you ready, babe,” Eddie panted, another finger joining the first and the stretch was delicious. The boy swore when you rocked your hips against his hand, pushing his own into your thigh so he could gain some friction on his aching cock. “Shit, shit, okay, fuck—”

“This isn’t what I had planned,” he rasped as he tore off his chef's jacket and let it bundle on the tiles. His hands were shaking as he popped the button on his jeans, the noise of his zipper quiet under the music.

“Loneliness, loneliness, such a waste of time, woah, yeah…”

“Wanted to treat you right, wanted to take my time,” Eddie assured you again, but he groaned when your hands took over from his and you went searching under the band of his boxers. You found his cock, thick and hard, twitching at your touch. “Shit, sweetheart. Wanted to make you mine.”

There it was, the words that filled the hole in your chest. You were kicked into high gear, surging forward to press kisses to the boy��s neck, upupup until you were mouthing along his jaw, catching his lobe between your lips as you pumped your hand a little faster. Eddie clung to you, hips jerking as he rested his head heavy against the side of your own, his cheeks warm, his breath catching.

“I am,” you told him. Your voice sounded watery, emotions caught between your teeth and tongue, your heart pounding so hard surely Eddie could hear it behind your bones. “Already am, okay? You’re mine right? That’s what this is?”

“Christ, yeah, sweetheart,” Eddie gasped, hands cradling your cheeks so he could kiss you, messy, distracted kisses that were broken up with groans and cries. “Thought you knew? Huh? You didn’t know that?”

You shrugged, half hearted because you were still too caught up in touching the boy, your fingers curled around his cock, revelling in how heavy it felt for you, how thick and hot and ready. “I wasn’t sure,” you admitted softly, teeth leaving marks on your bottom lip and you leaned in, forehead against Eddie’s as you watched him, transfixed, loving the way he was falling apart for you.

Another gasp, Eddie’s jaw hanging open as you pumped him slowly, fingers getting tighter around him when you stroked over his tip. He was all pink cheeks and a wrinkled brow, his expression everything from pouty and flustered to completely gone. “Fuck, shit, slowdownpleasefuck— baby, you’ve had me since the day Wayne told me to drive you home. Made myself dumb over you,” he laughed, breathless. “Thought you knew you were my girl.”

“S’nice to hear it again, I guess,” you whispered and there it was, the thing you’d wanted. Reassurance. “Just felt… silly.”

Eddie pushed your hand away from him, soft, gentle, before he threw an uncaring glance over his shoulder at the empty diner and then pulled you in by the crooks of your knees. You let him hold you there, legs hitched around his hips and he pumped himself once, twice, before lining up his cock with your entrance, the tip of him brushing through your folds, slick and warm.

“Gonna tell you all the time, ‘kay?” He whispered and he ducked his head down to yours, kissing you soft and sweet, his breath heavy against your cheek as you widened your legs, spreading open for him. “Jesus, sweetheart, alright? You ready?”

You nodded, mumbling your agreement against Eddie’s lips because your brain was too fuzzy to work properly. He was solid against you, holding your legs around his hips, broad shoulders under your hands and he smelled like brown sugar and chocolate, like smoke and your laundry detergent. You tensed, just a little when he pushed in, blinking at him when he paused and swept a thumb over your cheek.

“Babe?”

“S’just been a while,” you admitted. “Keep going? Please?”

This wasn’t the quickie you both needed to have for the situation but the doors stayed closed and there hadn’t been any headlights from the road bouncing along the diner walls in an age. The evening was fading into night fast, a late night hour that usually stayed dead, the diners neon signs lighting up the tiles and the empty parking lot and the only thing that made a noise was the radio.

“I’ll go slow, I promise,” Eddie assured you and he held you close as he pushed in, your body giving way to him and you gasped at the stretch, the heavy pressure of him filling you up until you were biting down at his shoulder and trying not to groan too loud. “There you go, baby, that’s it, you good?”

Eddie was panting, the breath punched from him at the feeling of you tight around him, clenching down on his cock until he felt his vision go a little sparkly. You were too much, looking at him with those big, glassy eyes all while your cunt fluttered around him, lips parted, red and swollen because of him.

“I’m good,” you whined, breathless. You squirmed, both of you moaning at the feeling and you nodded, hands fisting Eddie’s shirt. “You can move, it’s okay.”

“M’not gonna last long,” Eddie admitted, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he hooked his arms under your thighs and started to flex his hips. “It’s been a while for me too - fuck - and you feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

It was a slow slide, in and out, in and out, Eddie’s hips meeting the cradle of yours, flush and warm and you were so wet, obscenely so, enough for the dirty sounds of the boy fucking you to fill the kitchen and suddenly gentle wasn’t what you needed anymore. A car drove past, lighting you both up in yellow-white light for just a second and the need to come now was too much.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you cried for him, eyes wet with all the emotion, all the pent up tension you’d held on to for today and longer. “Faster, go faster—”

You didn’t need to repeat yourself. Eddie moaned, eyes fluttering as he pushed you back just a little, readjusting his grip on you until he was taking more of your weight than the table was. One arm under your knee, keeping you open for him, the other palming at your ass and he picked up the pace tenfold, pumping his hips into yours until his cock was pushing into a spot that had you keening high for him.

“That’s it? Yeah? Right there, pretty girl?” He cooed, dipping down to kiss you, moaning filthy into your mouth as you got wetter still, the slick sounds filling the kitchen. “Touch yourself baby, touch your clit for me, that’s a girl, fu-uck—”

If someone had to have walked in then, you were you both would have had to leave town, never mind the job. One of your legs hanging off the from the table, muscles lax, dress hitched up around your thighs, your other leg bent of Eddie’s arm and held open so he could fuck into you, your ass barely perched on the edge of the table. Tits spilling out the top of your bra, one shoulder exposed, Eddie’s teeth marks on your skin and the chef himself was whispering dirty, sweet things to you, kissing at your cheeks, your chin, the corner of your mouth, his curls wild and the muscles in his arms flexing every time he held you still and thrust his hips into yours.

“I’m close,” you told him, eyes watering at the white hot pleasure of it, crying out when the hook in your tummy got tighter and tighter, your fingers swirling messily over your clit as Eddie watched and groaned, his skin slapping against yours.

“Yeah?” He asked and his voice was wrecked, his gaze heavy lidded and dark. He was a pretty picture, pink cheeked and a damp forehead, his curls clinging there, bottom lip pressed between his teeth. “Want me to tell you again, hmm? Tell you that I’m yours? That I’m all fucking yours, sweetheart? ‘Cause god, I am, I really am.”

He punctuated each word with a thrust, groaning every time his cock slid into you a little deeper, coming back out glistening, soaked. His words did magical things to you, breath hitching and back arching as you came, forehead falling lax against Eddie’s cheek before he nosed at your jaw and trapped you in a kiss, his thrusts stuttering as your cunt clenched down on him again and again and again—

He pulled out, almost too close, pumping himself over your thigh, cum dripping onto your skin and Eddie groaned into your mouth, letting you swallow down his moans as you petted over his cheeks, his hair, coaxing him through it with soft sounds.

When you both caught your breath, you were both messy, hair everywhere, uniform askew, sweat dotting your brows. But the bowl of cookie mix had fallen to the floor without you noticing, a sludge across the tiles along with a dropped bag of flour. The radio was still playing, there was a spatula and three whisks on the ground and the worktop you were sitting on had made a crack in the tiles behind you.

You laughed first, a soft, breathy thing that Eddie joined in on, smothering his joy with a kiss to your cheek, a happy, smacking thing against your skin that made you feel warm all over.

“Need’t clean you up,” Eddie murmured sweetly. “Then this place, Jesus.”

You hummed, too lazy, too relaxed to talk. So you let Eddie swipe at your thighs with a dish towel he then shoved at the bottom of the bin, grinning the whole time. You helped him sweep up the mess with shaky legs, mourning the loss of your cookies as he laughed, eyes brighter than they should’ve been for the late night hour.

And when you were perched on your stool at his station, sharing a plate of fries, Eddie reached out to brush away a crumb from your lip and said:

“I guess I should’ve asked you, huh?” He squinted at you, cheeks flushed, a little embarrassed. “So, uh, not too sound like we’re in middle school or anything, but you wanna do this properly? Be my girlfriend? God, I sound like a dumba—”

You cut him off with a laugh, a happy, bright thing and nodded, stealing his insult with a kiss as you nodded, murmuring yes against his lips.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson oneshot #linecook!eddie

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marsdontbesade · 2 months

Text

𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑂𝑁 ₁

𝑣𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑘𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠:

ted logan —

type of guy:

sweet lovey-dovey dork, this himbo will be all over the place

as soon as bill mentions valentines day, all the hairs on his body just stand

the thought of him being so lovey cringes him out but he's just can't remove the obsession with you.

he's so tooth-rottenly cute, when you're around him, he just don't know what to do with himself. you approaching him is like him seeing an alien. either runs away or just freezes and breaks a sweat when you talk to him.

you’re his brainrot and ted's just sadistically a victim to it, completely wrapped around your fingers

musters up the courage and makes it his objective to make the most excellent v-day ever

creating planning boards in his room, preparation talks with Bill, lowkey stalking you at school

saves up every penny in his piggy bank, not wasting a single dollar

reads up on things on what girls would like

love language is quality time and words of affirmation

valentines plans:

excellent adventure ted— you first spend the day on an afternoon at an arcade; you and ted wearing casual formal outfits (ted in his tuxedo and converses, you in a dress and sneakers), playing on all of the arcade machines, giggling, screaming and laughing and goofing around.

he then takes you to his favourite spot by the Circle K, chilling down on the pavement. playing some UNO/tells you his wild adventure stories/jamming out to punk & pop rock on his speaker, sitting and eating slushies and a hot dog

after the arcade, he takes you to a diner, ordering a classic American meal (two burgers, fries, onion rings, two milkshakes with the extra cream & a cherry-on-top)

finishes the date with a trip back to Bill's, awaiting a heartwarming surprise (aka the anticipated secret)

he cutely takes your hand and sits you down on a chair, closing your eyes whilst you wait. 5 minutes later, you take them off at his command, waterworks immediately start to run as you look at the sight infront of you.

ted, with his guitar, announces his special song for you.

hands begin to strum on the guitar, puppy loving eyes gazing into yours, heartfully. ted serenades you with a sweet melody, accompanied by his surprisingly sweet voice

in the garage that's decorated in cutesy heart decor; red and pink balloons and banners all over the place, you feel as if you're in a safe haven, enchanted away here by your adorable, innocent boyfriend

mid performance, ted brings you up to the stage, twirling you around and then dancing with you. his big BFG self towers over you, slowly rocks your body and embraces you tight with his bulky arms. leaning in his head, ted finally caresses your face and kisses you— signing off the most excellent Valentines day ever. . .

bogus journey ted— either takes you to the movies or rents a movie at the local blockbuster, so he can watch with you in his apartment

for the outing, he takes you to the movies to watch a cheap chick flick he thinks you'd like; popcorn, nachos and a big shake

at home, he puts on a sci-fi movie, both stuffing down on a large pepperoni pizza, watching contently

afterwards, you kick back and relax for a long smoke sesh, getting high on some good weed whilst he puts an arm around you, nestling and cuddling with you close

he'll definitely brings out a guitar and sing to you, smoking a spliff that still rests between his lips (typical lightskin moment)

one way or another in ol' netflix and chill fashion, the night ends with ted loving on your body— giving you the most ultimate rocker boy finale his bodacious girl needs . . .

face the music ted— buys two VIP tickets, for the both of you, to a summer rock festival across state; booking an all-inclusive hotel nearby so you and him can rest in with convenience (away from the kids)

packs all the necessities— snacks, water, a pack of beer, foldable chairs, portable fans, sunscreen, a pair of sunglasses, and a charging bank

you both get to the airport, getting on a plane and travelling off into the concert place

arriving at the hotel; you unlock and enter your room— spacious king-sized double bed, tv, automated bathroom and a great view outside the window. the hotel has an all-you-can-buffet that you never forget to not miss

following the next day, you dress up for the concert; you wear a house of sunny 'lemons on a plate' dress with yellow sandals, and ted wears a white t shirt and cargo shorts, styling up with sandals and a hat

for the whole three days, you and ted rock out to live iconic rock music. screaming, jumping, and partying; dancing like you never you could

golden retriever ted watches out for you; handing you snacks, cleaning after you, supplying water, emergency hugs, cheering you up

breaks into a chuckle and laughs when he catches your boomer self taking videos and pictures, uploading them onto facebook and instagram ('me and hubby @/tedtheologan rocking out at the _____ festival! party on, dudes ! 😎🤩😀😍😆❤️👩‍❤️‍👨💍⚡️🤘🤙🎫🏴‍☠️🎸❤ #____festival #summer #sunny #fun #mostexcellent #smiley #happy #happyvalentinesday #rockfestival #yolo #youngforever #foreveryoung #tb #throwback #80s #1988 #2024 #thenvsnow #wyldstallyns #mosttriumphant #rockmusic #date #valentines #couple #airguitar #happy36thyearanniversary')

last night of the festival ends with a colourful night show, fireworks lighting up and crackling the night sky. under the bright lights, ted takes your hand and holds them. warm, tall body pressed against yours, he gazes down on you with such love. gently caresses your face, hazel orbs boring into yours, rubbing the small of your back soothingly. he closes in and kisses you on the lips, passionately making out with you

the fireworks continuously keep lighting up in the background, looking like a happy ending straight out of a movie.

type of gifts:

handmade stuff: arts and craft/DIY cards with cute stickers, colourful glitter, ribbons and drawings (imagine him getting glue all over his fingers and hands, big 6'1 self hunched over his little creations uwu)— gifts you a teddy bear and says something along the lines of: "babe, i got you this teddy bear, even though i'm, like, totally your teddy bear... and my name is Ted!", some candies, 'girly stuff' like makeup, "..because you're a babe and all..", a handwritten song personally made for you (with the help of wingman Bill), tulips and roses he got from his England expedition, an antique necklace he got from his Greece expedition, heart-shaped chocolates, some tapes and vinyls of your favourite music

john constantine —

type of guy:

typically indifferent

depressingly and callously cynical

not the one to be celebrating stuff like that, but he'll do what it takes to make you happy

he knows it's still worth it, just as long as it's with you

love language is gift giving and physical touch

valentines plans:

literally remembers ON the day, springing up from bed and bolting outside. goes to like 30 different stores, searching for the best presents he can find

runs back home with last minute stuff before the sunset. doorbell suddenly rings and john opens up, smiling as he sees the love of his life, you all prettied up in a cherry red dress, heels and matte makeup (something is bulging...)

you and john get in the car and he drives you out to a late night dinner, only to be met with disappointment when the restaurant he spoke to earlier informs him that the reservations are all booked up

sighing in devastation, john bows his head and shakes disapprovingly. he looks up to give you a weak smile and rubs your back reassuringly, gesturing you to head back inside the car. the both of you drive back to his, decidedly opting for some Chinese

you both head back to his, decidedly opting on some Chinese

john resumes back to finishing the set up of the living room; red candles and roses on the coffee table

impromptu date begins: candle lit dinner in front of the tv, you both drink some wine and eat some takeout, watching a random movie

finishing up, you doze off asleep, snoring on his lap

john still watches the tv, glancing down on you every 5 minutes. he wraps a warm cloth around you, resting a hand on your back. the urge of him to kiss you is burning him alive but he remains neutral.

he's upset that the day has been ruined, the one thing that he could've gotten right all slipped and fell out of his fingers. his callous self for once actually cares about something, something he originally thought was 'insignificant', something he wished it could've gone more better

even though the day didn't go out as planned, you've insisted that it's not too bad—grateful for the date overall. it's small and disorganised, but as least it's something, , as least it all ended with him

types of gifts:

silver antique jewellery, a card, giant teddy bear, a box of chocolates, and roses

john wick —

type of guy:

DILF, DILF, DILF

valentines day with baba yaga?!

already got the whole day planned and sketched out, back-to-back

john's fat wallet's will treat you well

always 'knows a guy', so you know your ass is about to be showered to filth

the wholesome family man side of him will be coming out, abandoning the stoic, brutally cold assassin behind

no more john wick— now it is jardani jovonovich

love language is gift giving, acts of service and physical touch

valentines plans:

he would start the morning with cooking you a nice sunny side up and toast, a side of maple pancakes and coffee. whilst you eat, he calls up a spa centre and gets you booked in at a lavish clinic, ordering some men to take you there privately. he asks you to call up your friends, inviting them to the spa day as well. gives you his card and some change just in case. once you leave, he cleans up your plate and cleans up the house, decorating and preparing whilst you're gone.

a full day later with hanging out with your girls, you return back home, deeply relaxed from the tantalising spa treatment. opening up, the house is completely dark and quiet, only seeing rose petals leading off to somewhere. walking along the rose covered path, you follow it and halt at the dining room. right there at the table, sits your husband of 5 years, warm smile on his face; white polo shirt and jeans. he gets up to greet you, kissing you on the lips and forehead

john's whipped up a classic candle lit dinner, steak and baked potatoes with a glass of wine. after a nice hearty meal, he takes you upstairs via the rose-petal lane, leading you to the bathroom. you're welcomed to a bubbling hot bathtub; two glasses of champagne, face masks, scented candles, and a charcuterie board sitting on the bath rack. you two hop in and relax in the tub, slippery naked bodies against each other. you watch a drama series on his laptop, silently staring at the screen

one blink later and you're in bed with john. big hands clasping on your small waist, bearded kisses and pecks littering on your stomach, muscular strong body dominating over yours, stocky fingers slipping to unholy places; john ends the day with pleasuring you for the night, showing you what no other man but him can give.

types of gifts:

surprise trips, full package spa treatments, his card for shopping trips, makeup, perfume, high end clothes, expensive wine, a bouquet of flowers, chocolate, a small teddy bear, menstruation stuff (pads, tampons, pills, hot water bottle pouch, snacks, his masseuse expertise, baby— this man loves you), anything you want, name a price, john will be your man

thomas anderson (neo) —

type of guy:

similar to constantine but more open-minded in his indifference

either forgot or is pretty clueless on what to do

casually flips through calender and scares himself shocked as he realise the date is tomorrow

goes on a forum to ask for help: "@/cyberspacecatontheweb: any suggestions for valentines day ?? I (37M) and a girlfriend (34F) are going out on a date and I don't know what to do. sm1 help a guy out thx"

goes on the internet and researches on ideas

eventually gives up and just scraps the ideas, goes with the flow

love language is quality time and physical touch

valentines plans:

thomas wakes up early and gets changed; black shirt and suit on. you arriving to the 101 apartment, he takes you out to a Chinese restaurant downtown. orders quite a lot of food— dumplings, stir fry, sweet and sour chicken, rice, hot pot, and bbq ribs. he pays the bill and you two leave, walking out to window shop.

later in the evening, thomas takes you up to a rooftop, sitting down and watching the city below. he hesitates, but then opts to spontaneously show you 'something cool'. gets out a tech device and presses a button, opening up a cybernetic portal. jumps inside and pulls you with him. you both teleport to a white void, confused and scared as fuck. thomas reassures you and shows you some of his latest tricks like emerging buildings and cities out of nowhere, binary codes that pop up and creates a giant ass dog that almost eats you, floating and flying through a cyberspace wormhole. for the last bit, he gently grabs your hand and shows you the last thing he promised: binary codes formulate and change, syncing up together and creating a love heart. thomas presses another button and the heart opens up, revealing a cybernetically generated portrait of you and him, written underneath 'happy valentines day xoxo'. his hands move to your waist and he slowly kisses you, simultaneously taking you back to the real world.

types of gifts:

digitally-made things: flowers, teddy bear, heart, a picture of you. makes a hologram gadget that does origami, a scented candle he remembers you like, cool tech glasses, paired with some gloves, that's installed with a program that allows you to do things- holographic games and worlds all built into these spectacles (norman jayden from heavy rain reference)

jonathan harker —

type of guy:

mr darcy-coded

valentines day with him would be a fairytale, straight out of a book

sensitive, kind, chivalrous, charming, courteous, and hardworking, your princelike husband who will always know how to woo you to your knees

planned everything in his sanctuary, ready to show you how he can treat you well

love language is gift giving, acts of service and quality time

valentines plans:

you wake up to a traditional english breakfast-in-bed; hot tea, coffee, porridge, bread, and eggs, served by maids. then you're being dressed up for the day, maids helping you out into your modest and elegant attire, fixing your hair, doing your makeup, and dusting you down. jonathan escorts you onto to the carriage, heading off first to a picnic at an expansive, spacious garden. The place is embroidered with pretty plants and flowers, fresh fragrance of pollen filling your nose. you and jonathan settle on the grass, laying a blanket. you enjoy some tea, crumpets, scones, and sandwiches, admiring the floral nature. jonathan dotes you inbetween small talk, complimenting your look frequently. for some short time, you both get up and walk around, appreciating the afternoon. after the picnic, he hires a photographer to have your picture taken. you sit on a chair as jonathan stands behind you, posing for the camera.

shortly comes the evening and it's time for the special occasion. you both get onto the carriage again, heading off to a restaurant. the restaurant is filled to the brim of posh people alike, halls decked with chandeliers and embellished with statues and paintings. the pair of you enjoy the night, relishing and dinning happily. jonathan brings you back home, taking you to the bedroom to surprise you with a bundle of flowers and a toy bear. he kisses you softly and gracefully on the head, reminding you of his love. you both tuck into bed and lay down for the night, sleeping peacefully into each other's arms.

type of gifts:

a basket full of roses, lilies, orchids and carnations. handwritten poem, a card enveloped and stamped with a red heart wax seal, chocolates from romania, dainty jewellery, toy bear, fragrance, a trip to paris, tickets to see an opera and a theatre performance, small trinkets, fruits, and a pocketwatch locket.

kevin lomax —

type of guy:

sugar daddy kevinnnnn

toxic but fine husband

will absolutely spoil you rotten, pampering you like a princess

love language is gift giving, physical touch, and acts of service

valentines plans:

first thing in the morning, breakfast's being sent to you at the penthouse. kevin leaves a note on the nightstand: "hey sweetheart, it's me. how was breakfast? it was good, right? i've called in your boss to let him that you're sick, so no need to go to the office. your whole day will be booked: spa treatment, nails, hair, and a private boutique booked so you can try on some new outfits that you'll be choosing for the evening. make sure you wear that lingerie i got you and don't miss any of those appointments. daddy's gonna have fun with you tonight.

love kevin xoxo"

you do as exactly he says, rushing up & down, excitedly getting changed. a black limo takes you to and back of all destinations, attending all your scheduled appointments. at the boutique, a blonde clerk waits for you, standing by a row of clothing racks with designer clothes hanged and heels below to select from. after carefully selecting, you choose a snug black dress and heels, fully dolled up for the occasion. a makeup artist quickly does your makeup, just in the nick of time kevin arrives, black waist coat and suit & tie. you exit the building to find him standing by the car. his eyes wonder around and check you out, hypnotised by your beauty. linking arm to arm, you two are driven to the wall street restaurant. the place is luxurious; interior design opulent and rich. kevin grabs a seat at the vip section, inviting some of his fellow law firm coworkers along. you cheers to a good night and dig in to the fine dining, enjoying the night. almost midnight, you and kevin return back home, immediately jumping into the jacuzzi.

you strip out of your clothes and wear the cute swim piece that kevin's bought for you— a black skimpy bikini that hugs all of your curves and cleavage. you sit back and relax with your man, peacefully sipping some champagne and enjoying each other's company. many drinks and pillowtalks later, the night ends with what you exactly expects: sounds of skin slapping and bed shaking; your moans echo throughout the bedroom. kevin's tall body thrusts repeatedly into you, grunting and groaning as he fucks your pussy. lasting with the real pillow princess treatment, kevin worships your body and makes love to you, showing you who you really belong to. . .

types of gifts:

expensive makeup, luxury trips abroad, designer outfits, exclusive spa treatments, sexy lingerie, his black card for those shopping trips, perfume, deluxe jewellery and accessories, a bouquet of roses tied in a bow, heart-box of chocolates, expensive wine and champagne, adult toys (wink wink), a white teddy bear, polaroid photos of you and him

#𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑠𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑎𝑑𝑒.#ted logan #ted logan x reader #john constantine #constantine 2005 #john constantine x reader #john wick #john wick x reader #neo the matrix #neo x reader #jonathan harker #jonathan harker x reader #kevin lomax #kevin lomax x reader #keanu reeves #valentines day #headcanon #𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑆𝐷𝑂𝑁𝑇𝐵𝐸𝑆𝐴𝐷𝐸.

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el-michoacano · 10 months

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Imagine Nacho surviving, having run into the desert rather than threatening Bolsa. Imagine him running all the way up to Canada. Gus has already killed Manuel, but Nacho knows there's no point in seeking vengeance. He's learned his lesson. He's pretty happy now, running an upholstery shop of his own.

He's alone up there for a few years, but one day, he's at a diner for lunch, and in steps a familiar figure. There's Mike, who managed to drive off unhindered by Walt.

They're both tough, quiet guys, but they're thrilled to see each other. They go fishing and hunting and camping, and they just have fun together. They're kindred spirits, after all.

Then one day, Mike suggests they head over to Alaska. There's a friend there he wants to check up on.

#i would give anything for this to be the real ending #nacho varga #mike ehrmantraut #jesse pinkman #better call saul #breaking bad #my bcs #in which nacho and jesse work together to make furniture and pop pop gets to enjoy his retirement #the boys occasionally send money down south for kaylee though mike would never ask them to #i wish this was real

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asgardianangel · 11 months

Note

Could I request a smutty Nacho x fem!Reader? I’m not picky I am just dying for Nacho content 👀 ❤️

Never take you away from me (Nacho/Ignacio Varga X GN! Smut)

Summary: Nacho has had it with Lalo flirting with you

Warnings: 18+ smut, gender neutral! reader, filthy smut, jealous! Nacho, possessive!Nacho, sex against car hood, oral sex (nacho receiving), degradation kink, obsessive behavior, bittersweet

It was late and Nacho was pissed he hasn’t spoken a word to you after the events of today. You watched on as he gripped the steering wheel and drove into the night. The stern look on his face told you not ask him questions. Lalo kept you both on your feet and working hard on the Salamanca business.

Even though Lalo knew well that you were in a relationship with Nacho, it didn’t stop him from flirting with you and trying to charm your ass off.

Sometimes you couldn’t help but blush at some of his charming remarks (mainly about your appearance and business intelligence). Nacho caught onto to it every time studying you and Lalo like a hawk. Nacho however wouldn’t speak up about Lalo’s behaviour towards you but rather kept his thoughts to himself and put up with it.

As Nacho drove on you couldn’t handle the silent treatment any longer “N-Nacho?” you uttered out his name placing your hand on his thigh. Trying to seek comfort in his jealous demeaner. You knew Lalo crossed the line tonight when his hand slapped your ass playfully in the diner.

‘Hm Nachito is a lucky guy’ he commented in a purr. You just gave out a nervous laugh in response looking back at your boyfriend.

If looks can kill both you and Lalo would be six feet under.

Nacho stared down at your hand on his thigh and huffs and takes a sharp turn to the left. Causing your body slam into that direction in surprise. It was not the way to Nacho’s place. “Where are we going baby?” You questioned steadying yourself.

Nacho stopped the car “get out” he sternly ordered you looked around noticing you were still in the silent outskirts of Alburquerque. “What?” you asked in confusion.

“Get out” he orders you again this time more loudly. He wouldn’t leave you all the way out here, would he? Alone and cold

“Why?” You asked shifting in your seat uncomfortably. Nacho stared you down "just do as I say” he sharply tells you. You must have fucked up big time never in your relationship has Nacho acted like this.

Quietly you obeyed his orders getting out the car and standing by. A chill ran down your spin and you stared down at your feet not wanting to look at your possibly ex-boyfriend.

When suddenly you heard a slam of a car door you looked up to see Nacho charging slightly towards you. Before you could move away Nacho grabs you like a doll and forces you against the hood of his car. Almost like the time you were arrested.

You tried speaking his name to ask what was going he slaps his hand around your mouth and caging your body between him and his car.

“I tell you what you are going to do baby. You are going to leave the Salamanca business and tell that grinning fucker Lalo” his hand strokes your hair in a rather possessive manner “that you are mine” He turned your body to look him in the eye.

There was no denying that you were turned on by his rough tone and behaviour. His brown eyes looked black matching the sky above the two of you. “Do you understand?” He then askes lifting his hand from your mouth expecting an answer.

Sighing lightly, you kissed his lips “yes Ignacio” you hummed Nacho placed his hand behind your neck and deepened the kiss. Pressing his strong body against you forcing you to feel his hardened cock in his jeans.

As you made out with him you smoothed your hands down his muscular chest under his tight t shirt. Moaning as his lush lips met your sensitive neck sucking like some sort of vampire.

You were so aroused and so was Nacho. In your mind you realised he had been tormented far too long by Lalo (especially when he was using you to get a rise out of your poor boyfriend). You decided to make it up to him.

Your hands met his belt buckle undoing it. Nacho hums in approval “That’s it baby” he places his hands on both of your shoulders and pushes you down to the ground “on your knees where you belong” he tells you with a groan.

Nacho looks down at you watching as you pulled down his pants. He rarely wears any boxers since it makes it easier to have you when he wants to. His throbbing cock bounced in front of you eager for attention. You glanced up at Nacho wrapping your hand around his thickness.

Licking your lips, you started to suck his cock working your mouth up and down him all by looking him in eye. Nacho groaned deeply watching and feeling how desperately you were sucking him off.

“M-mierda (shit) babe such a little fuckin slut” he moaned watching you move your hand along with your hot mouth covering the part of his big cock you couldn’t get to as well as playing with his throbbing balls

Nacho still couldn’t get enough of you suddenly gripping your hair moving your mouth up and down him as well as thrusting his strong hips. You almost gagged as your lover practically fucked your mouth.

Soon you felt him becoming close to that peak and needed him to cum down your throat to get that pent frustration out of him. But then he pulled his pulsating cock from your needy lips.

You whined a little then Nacho pulled you up to your feet using that strength you admired “bend that sweet ass over my hood bebe” he breathily ordered. Doing as you were told you lay your hands on the hood of his car and bent your awaiting body for him.

Nacho grabs both hands placing them behind your back keeping you there. “beg me slut” he whispers biting your ear lobe and kissing.

“P-please baby just fuck me” you let out a pathetic whine making him laugh. “Ay que lindo (aw how cute)” He presses his lips to yours and you moan in delight swaying your ass against him.

His hands reach around your waist unbuckling your pants and then Nacho slowly pulls them down along with your underwear in a teasingly fashion. You gasped as the coolness of the night hits in-between your legs adding to that arousing sensation.

Nacho pecks kisses along your neck and making his way down your back as he prepared you below for his cock. Your body was responding needly as the heat raised between the two of you.

“Oh bebe are you ready for me?” he asks deeply caressing your hair.

“Y-yes Ignacio please fuck me” you answered desperately like the slut you were. You so needed your boyfriend to have you right in the middle of nowhere.

Nacho kissed you again as he reared back with his cock and thrusted deep inside you. Moaning in usion Nacho pressed you against the hood tightly as he found a very rough and deep pace. Fucking you like an animal in the wild.

Nacho had always been an animalistic lover but this was a whole new experience as he hammered into you with might. His cock meeting that sweet spot inside your delicate body as he watched the act before him.

You whined his name feeling yourself grow closer each second Nacho shushed you “I-I know baby I know I’m almost there too” he tells you feeling his cock throb violently as he fondles your heated chest.

He still has you pinned as he thrusts in a much slower and harder pace listening to the creek of his car and your lustful moaning. He can feel your almost there and fuck he loves it.

“That’s it cum for me babe do it just for me” he encourages that everlasting intense orgasm and then he soon follows filling you up with a rough groan.

Nacho stays inside you for a while listening to you whimper and kisses you more.

He had been so jealous but he knows that asshole Lalo can never take you away from him.

#better call saul fanfic #nacho varga x reader #ignacio varga x reader #ignacio varga #nacho varga #Smut #gn reader

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paramar · 2 years

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peter gould in that one interview entertaining the idea of the fly in breaking bad as a karmik incarnation of howard or lalo or even both, really makes me notice the presence of the dead characters and how they still inhabit the story to the point where it isn't explicitly supernatural, but it could be very easy to read it that way and how much of the series feels like a ghost story. like, the clock that gene saw at that diner at 12:16. the portrait in HHM's office watching it all unfold, the space blanket jimmy uses in the desert and then discards, the single blue flower that grows over nacho's grave, even little mementos like marco's ring and jimmy's shoebox, and now the lab in breaking bad. it really evokes a sense of magic realism in the way that they can easily play more into these fantastic elements without making them fantastic, without breaking immersion or suspension of disbelief.

#better call saul #bcs #bcs spoilers

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ofstoriesandstardust · 11 months

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it’s just a tattoo, charlie brown! (p.m.m.)

a/n: this came up in an anon ask months ago (i’ve since lost it) and i need something wholesome in my life. in honor of me seeing tg:m a year ago, have this. this was the inspiration for the tattoo.

summary: The one where Rebel convinces a begrudging Maverick to get matching tattoos.

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist | same mistakes-verse

warnings: dialogue heavy, unedited, i think i swore, this was just for fun

word count: 1.3k

You clear your throat, clasping your hands on the table in front of you. Your Dad raises an eyebrow as he glances up at you from his pancakes. “I have a proposition for you.”

"Oh dear.” He mutters, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “What?”

You slouch at his response. “You don’t even know what I was proposing. I could’ve been proposing we take a day trip to Anaheim and go see an Angels game tonight.”

“Are you proposing we go see an Angels game tonight?”

You hesitate. “...No.” You straighten up, shooting him a bright smile. “But it’s a good proposition! I promise.”

He sighs, leaning back into the squishy material of the booth he’s sitting at. “Ho ahead.” He nods his head, gesturing for you to speak.

A grin spreads across your face as you eye him carefully. “What if we got matching tattoos?”

“Absolutely not.” It only takes him a half second to respond and you slouch again.

“Why not?”

He shakes his head, picking his fork up. “I don’t care what stupid things you and Machado get tattooed on your bodies-”

“Oh, they’re not stupid, I promise!” You pick up your phone from the table next to you, pulling up your camera roll. “Look, I was thinking we could get matching Snoopy and Woodstock tattoos.” You slide the phone across the table to him. “April even drew up a cute one of Snoopy and Woodstock in a plane.”

He sighs, sliding the phone back across the table to you. “They are cute. Why don’t you just get a Snoopy and Woodstock tattoo?”

“Because that’s not the point.”

“I’m in my sixties.” He says, mouth full of pancake. “I’ve gone this long without a tattoo.”

“Which is why you should start now. You know, before you get old and gross.”

“You’re not doing yourself any favors.” He says with a pointed look.

“But-”

“I do kind of like the idea of going toAanaheim now. Wonder if we can find tickets the game tonight.”

“Would you at least think about it?”

“No.” He says, pulling out his phone. “We’re not getting matching tattoos. My answer is no.”

“That’s what you said about the dog.” You mutter under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

You huff, turning in your chair to face your boyfriend. “Bradley, I need your opinion on something.”

He nods, pulling his attention way from the Angels game to you. “What’s up honey?”

“Look at this tattoo April drew up for me.”

He huffs out a laugh, taking the phone out of your grasp. “’S cute, honey. You thinking for you?”

You nod. “Yeah, me and Dad.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Mav’s getting a matching tattoo with you?” d says, sitting back down in his seat next to you. He hands you the nachos he’d gotten with the same pointed look he’d given you this morning in the diner. “I told you no.”

“No.” Your Dad says, sitting back down in his seat next to you. He hands you the nachos he’d gotten with the same pointed look he’d given you this morning in the diner. “I told you no.”

“Also what you said about the dog, Mav.” Coyote says from the other side of Bradley. “You don’t have much ground to stand on here.”

“Javy’s got a good point.” Penny comments from the other side of your Dad.

He whips towards her. “Who’s side are you on here?”

She laughs, nudging him as he gives her a grin. As his attention turns back to the game, you grumble.

“I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

“Hey Hondo, should my Dad get a matching tattoo with me?”

He chuckles, turning. “Obviously, my vote’s yes.”

“Hondo!” Your Dad calls from further behind you.

“What tattoo are we talking about?”

You pull your phone out, pulling up the sketch April had drawn. “This.”

“Oh wait, that’s not half bad.”

“Thank you-”

“My answer is still no.” Your Dad says, out of breath as he jogs up to you and Hondo.

“You’ll push past Mach 10 but won’t get a tattoo with your only daughter and child.” Hondo says, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” You agree, crossing your arms.

“I have plenty of children. Thirteen of them to be exact.”

You huff.

“Please.” You borderline whine, slumping down on to the couch. “Don’t tell me you haven’t given it any thought.”

You jut out your lip, pouting. Your Dad raises an eyebrow, giving you an unimpressed look. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Only one I’ve got.”

His face doesn’t change, still looking thoroughly unimpressed. “That face hasn’t worked on me since you were seven.”

“You’re a liar, I could get anything I wanted with this face.”

“It’s not happening.”

“Oh, c’mon!”

“Hypothetically,” Your Dad starts, prompting you to raise your head. “If we got these tattoos, where would you want to get them?”

Your fork clatters to the plate.

You dive for your phone across the table, trying to pull up the new sketches April had drawn up for you. “Okay, I ended up hating the original one, so April redrew them. I was think just above the inside of your elbow? So there’s sort of a flat line?” You say, sliding the phone across the table. “I liked this more since Snoopy’s on the top of the doghouse. April drew up a little one with Woodstock for me too.”

He chuckles, looking at the phone. “Okay, I don’t hate this.”

“So you’ll do it?”

He sighs, handing the phone back to you. “I’ll think about it.”

“I can not believe you convinced me of this.” He grumbles, pushing the front door of the tattoo shop.

“Won’t it be so fun? We’re bonding.”

He huffs, shaking his head. “That’s one way to look at it.”

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Mitchell.” April calls as she walks out of the back. Her eyes drift over to you, coming to stand in front of the two of you. “Oh, you’re here too.”

You roll your eyes as your Dad chuckles. “Shut up April.”

“Hi April.” You Dad say warmly. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, I’ve been good. Nice to see you both. You daughter tells me you want to ge thatching tattoos today?”

Your Dad gives a weary sigh as you grin.

“I’ve been told I can’t say no to her.”

“To be fair, Mr. Mitchell, you’ve always been like that.”

“Soooo....” You draw out, watching your Dad carefully. “Do you it hate it?”

He lets out a little laugh. “Honestly, no.” He says with a shake of his head. “If only Ice could see us now. He probably thinks I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, Slider’s impressed you managed to hold out this long.”

“Two months.” He says, holding up his fingers. “I held two months.”

“Yeah, and that’s the longest it’s ever taken me to get what I wanted.”

“This is something permanent. On my body.”

“With all due respect, you took significantly less time to say yes to the dog, Mr. Mitchell.” April comments.

Your Dad sighs, unable to argue with that.

You straighten up in your seat. “Well, I’m thrilled you finally said yes. Now, when people ask me about it, I get to see that I have a matching tattoo with my Dad because we were both pilots. I get tell them how he always read me the Peanuts comics and told me abridged stories growing up. That I’m a pilot because of him and now I get to have a matching tattoo with him that reflects it.”

Your Dad sighs, taking a long look at you as he lets his hands fall to your shoulders.

“Well, if you had just put it that way, I probably would’ve said yes the first time you asked.”

“Oh, I hate you.”

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #pete maverick mitchell #top gun: maverick fic #top gun: maverick #pete maverick mitchell fic #same mistakes

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fieriframes · 10 months

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[These are your pork sisig nachos. WOMAN: Filipino food is something but sartre had to return to teaching, initially in Le Havre again to. Not many people know about it, and Señor Sisig is doing a great job introducing it to the general public.]

#s18e04 cannoli fritters and wings #guy fieri #guyfieri #diners drive-ins and dives #pork sisig nachos #señor sisig #filipino food #le havre #many people #great job #general public #woman #something #sartre

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tv-moments · 2 years

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Better Call Saul

Season 6, “Carrot and Stick”

Director: Vince Gilligan

DoP: Paul Donachie

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extra-stout-stories · 18 days

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The Weight Clinic

A fat man who's unsure about losing weight signs up for a very unusual treatment program led by a dominant doctor with an agenda of her own. (SSBHM feedee, SSBBW feeder, implicit XWG. CW: Dubious consent, drugs, medical and deathfeedist elements.)

This story was written swiftly in response to an ask on my old blog: "A man signs up for a blind study of a weight loss drug (he doesn't want to lose weight, but you know how society is.) Unfortunately for him, it's run by a less than honest BBW scientist who decides to fatten him up instead." When I read that, I had to immediately sit down and transcribe the thunderbolt of inspiration before it passed. This could easily turn into a much longer story, and now that I've created this little fictional universe, I might come back to it some day. The dubcon is because I wanted to write a dommy mad scientist feeder, but if the story continued, our protagonist would definitely come to enjoy it and realize that she was right all along.

(April 2024: This is by far the most popular story I've written, and I'm moving it here so I can centralize likes/reblogs and deactivate my defunct account. I'm slowly working on a sequel as the inspiration strikes me.)

Please read the content warnings. If dubcon and medical/deathfeedist themes upset you, please don't click.

If you like it, on the other hand, please reblog.

He sighed inwardly as the receptionist led him past the double doors and into the medical suite of the clinic.

He didn't want to be doing this. Being fat had never bothered him. He had been fat since childhood, and as an adult he embraced the freedom of eating whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. In fact, there were times when he secretly enjoyed being fat. There was something profoundly satisfying about the way his belly was soft and heavy in his lap when he sat, the way his double chin was like a cushion when he tilted his head. Lately it seemed like he was inching closer and closer to 400 pounds whenever he stepped on the scale, and sometimes a part of him even looked forward to it.

But he was getting sick of how the rest of the world treated him. At Thanksgiving dinner, after he had gone back to the side table for a fourth helping of mashed potatoes, his parents had given him a fierce tag-team lecture about how his weight was out of control and he was overdue for a diet. Buying new clothes was getting expensive. And while the thought of 400 seemed strangely intriguing sometimes -- that's only a hundred pounds away from a quarter ton, he thought to himself -- he worried that if he got any bigger, he'd become one of those fat guys who was so big that they had trouble walking and had to use a scooter or wheelchair to get around.

There was a wheelchair in the corner of the room that the receptionist led him into. He couldn't help notice its gigantic width. "This is the suite where you'll be staying." The room looked like it was outfitted for a patient much bigger than he was. The king-sized bed was equipped with a bariatric Hoyer lift, and in addition to the usual IV bags and oxygen tanks, there were all sorts of medical machines he didn't recognize. The door to the bathroom and shower was only a few steps away from the edge of the bed, and he noticed a stainless steel railing to allow someone to steady themselves as they walked.

Noticing his expression, the receptionist continued. "You'll be staying here in the regular suite, since you don't have any serious mobility issues. Further down the hallway there's a second suite for larger patients. Both rooms will be kept operational during your stay in case there are any complications. As we discussed earlier, you'll be forbidden to leave the premises for the duration of the study. We can't have you going out to eat and breaking your diet."

He sighed inwardly again. He was already thinking of his usual Friday night meal, nachos and mozzarella sticks followed by a hamburger and fries at his favorite diner, washed down with a milkshake or two with each course. I guess I am a binge eater, he thought to himself sadly. This isn't going to be fun, but if I don't get myself under control, I really am going to end up weighing 400.

As if reading his mind, the receptionist gave a prim smile. "I hope you'll find the results of the study to be satisfactory. Dr. Moore is excited to be taking you on as a patient. Come back to the front desk with me and we'll get your paperwork finalized."

They returned to the waiting room through the double doors and he sat down on a double-wide chair to review the clipboard full of paperwork. HIPAA, check. Records release form, check. Insurance card, check.

After several more signatures, he came to the final document on the clipboard. Consent to Experimental Treatment, the header read. He skimmed through the legal verbiage, trying his best to take note of anything significant. The clinic was a private enterprise, he read. Dr. Moore had affiliations with several prestigious universities, but he waived his right to hold them liable for treatment outcomes. No guarantees were made as to results. "The Moore Clinic program is designed to help patients reach a satisfactory body weight through the application of both physiological and cognitive-emotional treatments. To ensure accurate data collection and clinical efficacy, all care will be taken by the clinic staff to prevent external influences from interfering with treatment. Patients acknowledge that for the duration of the study they will be under the exclusive supervision of Dr. Moore. Her permission will be required before patients can contact outside parties via phone or Internet."

He thought to himself for a moment. Well, I'm no good at sticking to a diet on my own. I might as well give this a shot. He signed his name on the last page of the form.

"Congratulations." The receptionist smiled as he turned over the stack of forms. "We're glad to have you here. I'm sorry Dr. Moore couldn't be here to welcome you to the first night of the study, but she had another engagement. These are our nurses, Sandra and Kevin. They'll help you get settled."

Soon he was being ushered into the hospital suite by the two nurses. Sandra was short and curvaceous, Kevin tall and stocky, and he couldn't help notice that neither of them was skinny. Both of them were chubby, in fact. Chubby verging on fat. They gave him a hospital gown and a plastic bin to store his belongings in, then drew a curtain around the bed and waited patiently while he changed.

Naked beneath the loose-fitting hospital gown, he couldn't help being aware of how fat he was as the two nurses drew the curtain aside and began to prep him for the treatment. He could feel the softness of his belly against his thighs, the subtle motion of his rolls quivering, as Kevin attached electrodes to his moobs and belly. A fold of his fat upper arm brushed against his elbow as Sandra straightened his arm and swabbed to insert an IV. I'm going to miss all this, he thought to himself. If this works, I'll be just another skinny guy in a size M. I might even have abs. And I'll probably never eat mozzarella sticks again. As the drugs in the IV began to take hold, making him woozy and disoriented and sleepy, he couldn't help wondering if waking up skinny was going to feel like a nightmare.

"Well, well. My patient has finally come to."

From the slant of the light in the hospital suite, it was late afternoon. He lay in bed, still naked beneath his hospital gown, the IV tube still in his arm, the electrodes still on his chest. Staring down at him from the foot of the bed, an appraising smile on her face, was a fat woman. A very fat woman.

She wore a crisp white coat over a snug set of scrubs that did little to conceal how gigantic she was. Her stethoscope bounced against her enormous belly as she stepped around to the bedside and lowered herself onto a double-wide chair next to the IV bags. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her triple chins swayed and quivered as she craned her neck slightly to take a readout from one of the machines beside the bed, then bent her head down to type some notes on a tablet.

"Welcome to the clinic. I'm Dr. Moore."

He couldn't help but be baffled by her size. A private clinic specializing in weight loss, and she was the doctor in charge? She must have read the expression on his face, because she immediately burst out laughing. "Yes, I'm really Dr. Moore. And I'm very excited to have you as my patient." She scrolled through the tablet, her eyes moving rapidly as she reviewed his case file. "You're here for morbid obesity. You say you struggle with binge eating. And you're concerned that your weight is continuing to rise."

He nodded, feeling suddenly hazy. The anesthetic had worn off, but whatever else was in the IV was still taking effect.

"Tell me." Dr. Moore's voice was suddenly stern. "Did you come here to lose weight?"

"Yes." His throat went dry as he began to speak. He realized with a start that he was dreadfully thirsty, and something in Dr. Moore's tone made him nervous. "My primary care doctor says my goal weight is 180 pounds. I've tried a couple of different diets, but nothing worked."

"One hundred and eighty pounds?" Her voice was full of disbelief. "Oh, no, no, no. That won't do at all. I'm going to write you a new prescription."

His heart was suddenly pounding. He didn't like the way she was talking to him. "I think your goal weight should be… five hundred and eighty pounds. For a start."

He tried to speak but no words came out. His throat was terribly dry. Dr. Moore turned the tablet to face him. "See? Goal weight five hundred and eighty pounds." There it was on his patient chart, as clear as day. She smiled. "I think you must be disoriented. Did you know you've been under anesthesia for four days? The treatment takes time to take effect. I'm going to get you something to drink." Without rising from her chair, she reached to open a refrigerator by the side of the bed. He had seen it during his tour and had assumed it was full of syringes and dry ice, but it was full of… cups? Giant cardboard cups with straws, the kind a fast food restaurant might use for a soda or a milkshake. She reached out and grabbed two.

"Drink. This will help settle you down." He wrapped his lips around the straw and sucked eagerly, feeling a cool, sweet, creamy liquid flow down his throat, soothing the dryness. It was a milkshake, he realized. Then he realized that he was ravenously hungry.

"Yes, that's your appetite coming back. Or rather, coming to. It never left, but you've been getting your nutrients intravenously while you were under. We call that one the 'feedbag.'" She gestured to one of the IV bags that fed into the tube leading to his wrist. In the color scheme he had already come to recognize as the Moore Clinic's branding, it was stamped with the words: "HIGH CALORIE FORMULA."

His heart was still pounding, but he was feeling more relaxed now. He heard a rustling behind him and realized that Sandra, the nurse, was busy adjusting the proportions of the IV bags.

"Yes, that's a sedative." Dr. Moore smiled. "I thought it might help put you at ease while I explain the details of my treatment program." Her voice took on a firm and didactic tone, as if she were giving a lecture to an auditorium full of med students, but underneath it he felt that he could hear something almost… flirtatious?

"The Moore Clinic takes an unorthodox approach to the treatment of obesity. As a dual-certified endocrinologist and psychiatrist, I bring a unique perspective to both the metabolic and biosocial components of extreme weight gain." She paused. "Sandra, another high-calorie bag. Thank you." As the nurse replaced the now empty bag of formula, Dr. Moore continued. "Many of my patients arrive with deeply disordered cognitive attitudes towards body weight. They are unduly susceptible to social influences, preventing their full psychological individuation as a mentally well, hedonically satisfied obese person. They regard themselves as suffering from morbid obesity instead of enjoying it." She reached out to pat his belly. "I'm afraid you're a textbook case."

He could feel himself getting hazier and hazier until the world seemed to shrink to himself, the milkshakes and Dr. Moore. He couldn't tear himself away from her gaze as she continued to speak, her triple chins and dimpled fat cheeks quivering hypnotically as her eyes seemed to pierce right into him. "This is why the use of psychotropic drugs is a key component of my program. To fully undo the traumatic effects of societal fatphobia on my patients, I must be prepared to use the entire arsenal of modern psychopharmacology."

Sandra laughed, catching a hint of the shock on his face. "It's a real cocktail in these IV bags, honey. If Dr. Moore tried to sell this stuff at a nightclub, she'd be arrested."

The doctor smiled at her nurse. "That's right. Some of these are experimental drugs, and Federally scheduled. I'm fortunate to have a license, and a substantial research grant which pays for high-grade laboratory synthesis. And the same is true for my metabolic work."

She reached out and slipped a hand under his hospital gown, grabbing ahold of the fold of one of his moobs and squeezing playfully. Even through the increasingly powerful haze of the drug cocktail, he could feel himself blushing. "The other vector of cure," she continued, "is to address the body itself. Too many patients labor under the delusion that the unfortunate medical side effects of morbid obesity are somehow a reason they must lose weight." Her voice grew stern. "Nothing could be further from the truth. Obesity is not a disease. It's a lifestyle. And it's beautiful."

"But sometimes," she continued, a frown on her face, "my patients resist. This is why I require a minimum of four weeks' supervised stay at the clinic. The setting here accustoms my patients to the possibility of living with bariatric equipment as a full-time lifestyle." He looked around the room, suddenly seeing it with new eyes. "And while my patients get used to the pace and challenges of their new lifestyle, my metabolic treatment can do its work."

Despite the sedatives, his heart was pounding faster than ever. Her words seemed to move as slowly as molasses, her chins swaying back and forth like a pendulum, as her eyes gazed into his. "There's more than just calories and party drugs in those bags, you know. There's drugs to shock your system, break down your metabolism, destroy your body's resistance to gaining ever more weight. Even if you left the clinic right now, all the diets in the world couldn't fix your metabolism. My treatment has taken you to the point of no return."

Just barely, as if fighting his way through a slowly moving fog, he managed to gasp out a single word. "When?"

"When?" Dr. Moore threw her head back in laughter, exposing a beautiful smile, her cheeks and chins quivering with mirth. "Darling, I told you -- you were under anesthesia for four days, and my treatment works quickly. It's already happened."

He tried to protest, but before he could speak another word, the fog seemed to close around him and he drifted into a deep anesthetic sleep. When he dreamed, he dreamed of being fatter than ever.

#feedist fiction #wg fiction #ssbhm feedee #weight gain fiction #deathfeedism #fat feeder #mutual gaining #mutual feeding #wg fic

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faithrainee · 8 months

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But your honor, Kim and Nacho would be best friends. Both have a hatred love of Jimmy's crazy ass self, both like being little slimeballs when they're bored, both find Jimmy to be the most irritating, annoying, dumbass man in the world but they love him ofc.

Kim being bored, needing something fun to do, turning to Nacho for crazy "let's ruin a cartel boss' day" fun. Because as she said in the one episode, her and Jimmy are too chaotic to do fun pranks together because they take it too far. But her and Nacho? Nacho who has a sense of self control unlike Jimmy. Hell yeah. Kim and Jimmy could still be married for shits n' giggles and she could still have her fun with Nacho without going crazy and killing someone not saying any names.

They would have so much fun together you don't understand!! They'd be the tag team of pranksters! + Jimmy! The justice dealing duo! + Jimmy!

Kim and Nacho at the diner planning what asshole cartel leader they're gonna tactically plant cocaine on in broad daylight while Jimmy sits across from them eating pancakes and hash browns and a strawberry milkshake with an extra cherry. No Jimmy, you cannot get involved, focus on your pancakes.

They'd be such a good duo because both have self control and the ability to keep the other in check, while Jimmy and Kim don't have that relationship and work better as a silly husband and wife duo. I'm sure Nacho would work to keep Jimmy out of trouble, and since he's "friends" with Mike, the two would likely both make sure Jimmy doesn't get back into cartel stuff for his own good.

#bcs #better call saul #bettercallsaul #jimmy mcgill #saul goodman #kim wexler #mike erhmantraut #nacho varga #bcs theories?#kim + nacho duo my beloved

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upsidedownwithsteve · 8 months

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hmmmm maybe simmer eddie acting like rs puppy when girls try to talk to him , hes like 👀 to us

You could see Eddie from across the diner.

He’d come out from the safety of the kitchen only to help Jonathan plug in a new coffee machine behind the bar and before he could get back to his omelette mix, a girl from out of town had struck up a conversation.

It had been about something as normal as the coffee beans Jonathan had handed to him and you watched as Eddie showed the girl the packet. But then she was leaning in and tapping at his name badge and you could see the way her lips wrapped around his name even if you were too far away to hear.

She was touching his arm, fingers curled around his chefs jacket and from across the diner, Eddie looked around, eyes wide and searching, trying to find yours.

He looked like a trapped rabbit, something akin to a baby deer perhaps, caught in headlights. He stared at you, brows raised as if he were waiting on you doing something. What that something was, you were unsure, but it was rather funny to watch the blush rise over the boy’s cheeks as the girl stepped a little closer.

You would’ve went over to save him if it weren’t for the family of five that stole you to take their order, taking too long to decide between pizza and pasta and the loaded nachos. When you looked back up, scribbling down five glasses of lemonade on your pad, you saw Eddie shaking his head, frowning in that way he did and looking panicked. He was pointing to you and then looking back at the girl, his hands held up in surrender, making a show of not touching his new friend back.

As if you had any reason not to trust him. You smothered a grin and told your customers you’d be right back with drinks. By the time you reached the kitchen, Eddie had dipped back inside and he grabbed you on entry, a full bodied thing that felt more like you were his life raft than him hugging you.

“Did you see her!” He intoned, disbelief colouring his voice. “I told her, sweetheart, told her all about you and how pretty you were but she kept puttin’ her damn hand on me—”

Argyle was slicing peppers across the station and he shook his head in solidarity. “Women,” he agreed.

You snorted, sliding your order over to Argyle before giving Eddie your full attention. You grinned, slipping your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, something sweet and quick for the sake of professionalism. “I saw,” you told him, nodding in faux seriousness, matching his tone. “Hope you let her down gently, chef.”

“What?” Eddie’s brow furrowed. “You aren’t mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad, handsome,” you laughed, moving away to pull out the giant containers of ketchup and mustard that you could never really lift. Eddie sighed and moved to help you, lifting both with ease. You peered at him, amused. “Should I have reason to be mad?”

“What? No,” Eddie said again, as serious as a heart attack. “But you could’ve come and fuckin’ saved me at least, I was being eaten alive.”

“Eddie, she touched your arm.”

“Yeah, like some kind of scarlet woman.”

#Eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson blurb #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie baby blurb #simmer blurb

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edibl3-m0nger · 7 months

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By any means - A Trevor Philips Fanfic

pairings: trevor philips x ftm!reader (mlm)

cw: drugs, eating/food, blood, dysphoria possibly, fluffy!trevor

enjoy! <3 sumthn to weigh out the smut fics ;)

“Fuck..” (Y/N) cursed under his breath. Rummaging frantically, he realized that not only was his carton of cigarettes spent but there was none left in his bag. (Y/N) tossed it aside in frustration, letting his face collapse in his hands.

He knew that Trevor wouldn’t mind getting them for him (knowing how broke he was right now), but he wasn’t even home right now. It was only a matter of patience but (Y/N) already thought they saved their last, ready for that second hit of nicotine.

After raiding the house for butts, (Y/N) found one, lit it and flopped down on Trevor's bed. His trailer, musky and dank strangely felt more home like than anywhere else. Especially needing a safehouse after getting your new “job” at Trevor Philips Industries.

Flopping down on his bed, the young man searched for his phone to shoot his boss a text. Trevor was swift in response, even going as far to call beforehand. “Hey, kid! What’s your poison?” His gruff yet boisterous tone came through immediately.

The nickname felt endearing and surprisingly gentle for him. Trevor's fondness of (Y/N) resulted in his undying protection and loyalty, the closest thing to love Trev knew of. Hence his choice to house and basically take care of him.

“A pack of Reds should do it,” (Y/N) spoke softly, his voice still filled with bashfulness from the pet name. “And what are we having for dinner?” Shuffling into the kitchen, he opened the cabinets and the fridge to find only molded leftovers and empty nooks. “Well I was thinking we could go to the diner, or something fast—-You know what? I’ll just pick you up.” And with a beep, the conversation ended and (Y/N) found his shoes, grabbed his bag and stood outside.

The yellowing headlights of Trev’s beat-up old pickup nearly blinded (Y/N). Holding his hand over his eyes until the truck stopped. “(Y/N), catch!” After opening the door, a red box of peace flew into your hands. “Thanks, Trev. I really appreciate it.” Pawing at the plastic and getting it open, he waited for a stop to light it.

“It’s nothing,” Trevor’s humble tone was coated in affection. A scarred and inked hand reaching over and stealing the cigarette from back again. “Hey, I just lit that!” “Hey, I just lit that!” He mocked, snorting a bit, “You didn’t think it was a scott-free transaction did you?” (Y/N) didn’t protest, just watched him smoke away.

With his sunglasses and his mullet and flaming shirt whipping in the wind. The younger man only took him in, feeling admiration and passion flood his senses.

“Mm! Now those are good cigarettes,” He handed it back, (Y/N) taking his time to take it back. Driving was probably one of his favorite things to do with Trevor, not for any reason in particular but he could tell that Trevor drove a little safer when he was in the car.

Pulling closer to the diner, a car swerved directly in front of the two. “Watch it, fuckwad!”

Trevor shouted at the car ahead, causing the driver to steer away quickly.

The diner was fluorescent but dim, T choosing a booth in the middle and near the window. “Here we go, fine American cuisine.” His tone was indistinguishable between sarcastic and authentic. (Y/N) had a seat before Trevor, starting to look over the menu. A lot of the food was simple american food with a few exceptions like nachos or pizza.

Seeing a few things he liked, (Y/N)’s eyes wandered back up to the man who had brought him here. Somehow still perfectly shaggy mullet and dark glasses still on. He smirked and laughed to himself as he thought about the time that Trev stole that cop car and uniform.

(Y/N) was driving back to Trevor’s trailer, pretty late when sirens and flashing lights started

following him. Cursing he continued to drive until they got closer and finally pulled over. “This is so stupid,” he hadn’t done anything wrong he could think of but still complied.

Slightly annoyed and confused they rolled down their window and immediately met the blinding flashlight. “Yes..?” (Y/N) tried his best not to sound rude, wanting a relatively easy let off. The light finally fell after a minute and Trevor lifted his glasses. The younger male could now make out the small blood stains on the uniform—-poor fuck.

“Scared your ass shitless, didn’t I?!” Trevor chuckled, followed by a clap on the roof of (Y/N)’s car. “Dammit Trev! What the hell is wrong with you?” All of that frustration finally bled through as he let out an even bigger laugh along with his psychotic roommate.

“Had to pull another job with the boys and got this bad boy,” Trev gestured towards the still sirening car. He sighed, “Only thing is… I don’t feel like letting it go quite yet. Wanna spin?” (Y/N) Thought for a moment and soon the two were speeding off and down traffic, Trevor and (Y/N) blasting shots into the air down the road as dispatches rang through in vain.

The memory was close to the younger man’s heart. It was the first time he really felt alive, outside of first meeting Trevor. The two actually met through Lester, who had hired (Y/N) for a job after meeting him in an anti-capitalist chatroom. The job was okay—-mainly consisted of assisting him in organization of jobs and errands, but paid enough to keep (Y/N) “persuaded” not to let on about what he did.

Trevor actually threatened (Y/N)’s life upon first hearing about him, which wasn’t out of the ordinary for him but when actually meeting, they were taken with each other. Instantly, Trevor recognized his quiet grit and saw himself in him. At times in more ways than one.

Deciding the employ and house him was the ground deal but Trevor was basically (Y/N)’s guard dog if you asked anyone. Of course, it was more intimate than that. Trevor was a passionate and loving guy beneath it all and (Y/N) cherished that deeply, on top of all the other obvious reasons he loved the guy.

Another reason Trevor was so different to (Y/N) was because of their acceptance. Being trans was always a roadblock it seemed for most relationships but telling Trev was truly a breeze. While Trevor’s intelligence isn't often the most accredited thing to him, he was logically and emotionally receptive, but it wouldn’t be Trevor if he didn’t crack a few jokes.

Trevor had already got (Y/N)'s favorite for him, indulging in his right away and his counterpart joining. “Did you ever find out, uh,” Trev set his fork down, nearly done already, “What that NUYU cosmetic surgery clinic was on about?” He asked.

“Yeah, they said that… It’ll be another year until they perform top surgery.” (Y/N) began to pick around his food, looking away from Trevor’s hurt puppy expression, “Oh, uh… I’m sorry, kid.. You have what you need cash wise, though, right?” Working for Trevor had gotten you close enough but it was the waiting.

“I do, but because of what I can afford I can’t afford an expensive surgeon to do it sooner.” Defeat was present in (Y/N)’s body language and the positivity they usually seemed to have waning. This upset Trevor, too, usually (Y/N) was one of his favorite pick-me-up’s outside of huffing gas.

“You know money is no issue, kid. By any means. And anything that makes you like this,” he gestured towards the younger man’s depleted state, “I’ve gotta take it personally. Gimme a few days, I’ll see if Mo’s got something.” (Y/N)’s guts became warm, knowing Trevor’s word was solid and the sentiment was beyond anything he recieved.

Pulling a twenty from the pocket of his jean and fur coat and beginning to stand, (Y/N) rushed to do the same, throwing his arms around the musky man who accepted with a grunt and embracing him back. It was a long and good hug, Trevor squeezing and lifting him with a happy roar of laughter coming from both.

Leaving the restaurant, Trevor was texted about a job from Micheal. It seemed like a huge pay off. Agreeing, Trevor took (Y/N) home, peering over as they stopped to see him fast asleep.Trevor took his hands off the wheel for a second to take off his coat and drape it over (Y/N), shifting in his position.

Trevor took one one last glance at him, he rested his arm on the car door as they cruised home.

Once they got back to the trailer, Trevor tried to be as gentle as possible when exiting and carrying (Y/N) into his bed. Trev set him down with a sigh, looking at his peace in his sleep. That’s the only way he wanted to see him; peaceful. He walked out with the intention to do whatever it meant to give (Y/N) that.

— A few days later, after the mission was passed

“Sir,” A disgruntled looking young nurse spoke directly to Trevor in a disinterested tone, “You can absolutely not do any drugs in this office.” “Why not? This is a clinic after all, why shouldn’t I be as high as every other bastard back there?” Trevor huffed, begrudgingly shoving his bag of horse tranquilizer back in his pocket. With him, he brought a balloon, card and bear.

An expensive looking woman stepped out—the surgeon, looking around for a moment. “Mr. Philips?” Trevor sprung up and walked back to see (Y/N). “How is he, doc?” Trev asked following her down the busy and packed hallway, “He’s great. (Y/N)’s operation went as smoothly as we hoped.” She stopped and waited for Trevor to enter. “Recovery information should be sent to you,” Smiling, she stepped away.

Trevor’s expression was soft and happy, smiling gently at (Y/N). “You can work a gown,” handing over the bear and card. “And you can handle stuffed animals without defiling them. Everyday we learn something new.” You both laugh, “Yeah, I guess so,” Trevor parked on the edge of the bed.

(Y/N) looked through the card: It read “Congrats!” in the front and inside was a note from the older man. “And hey, uh, if you end up not being into this,” He motioned between you two, “Just let me down easy, you know?” Trevor sounded hard for him, a lot of focus to do it.

‘Mozaltoff getting your tits cut off! Now you’re as happy as you make me, and you make me happier than any drug ever could. You’re a high I never wanna come down from. Let me take care of you and we’ll be unstoppable together.’

“Oh, Trev,” Peace had seemed to finally descend upon (Y/N), true peace. The man that he loved unconditionally now wanted something more and he just felt better in general. He looked up at the man responsible for some of the most joyful moments in his life and he looked down and away, clearly not used to being this open.

(Y/N) grabs his arm, stroking his skin with thumb. Trevor made soft sobbing sounds before finally turning to his counterpart, his expression emotional and his brown eyes begging. “Oh, you big lug,” trailing up his hands, “Come here.” (Y/N) pulled Trevor into his arms as much as they could with their chest still aching but Trev crawled to his side the rest of the way.

Trevor’s heavily inked body making space besides (Y/N)’s as carefully as he could and looking at the other, holding longing eye contact with one another. (Y/N) reached up to hold his partner’s stubbly, scarred yet gentle and sweet mug and smiled. He inched towards the other and Trevor did the same until their lips met.

Cherishing each other’s lips: Trevor lips were chapped but plush and a bit iron-tasting from blood cracking. Regardless, it was the one thing that would make this truly magical: kissing this man that he’s been crushing on forever. “Fuck..” (Y/N) winced, “What, what?” he asked, “Surgery,” adjusting again and collapsing slowly again, “Oh right..” Trev got comfortable himself and sighing in contentment.

“And…” The younger one started again, “What is it?” Trevor looked up. “Could you go grab me another pack of Reds?”

#trevor philips #trevor gta #x reader #trevor philips x reader #ftm!reader #fluff #mlm yearning

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