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indouloureux · 2 years

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𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 (part two)

summary: she sought for validation; he sought for acceptance. two juveniles who believed they’d spend the rest of their lives playing red guitars and borrowed claviers, (along with the trepidation of isolation), meet in one boring afternoon, and find themselves reveling in caterwaul voices, laying in a field of colossal grass, and writing lyrics with botched ballpens and crumpled papers.

— or: two people bond over emotional trauma, and fall in love through great manifestos

warnings: 1hr reading time, slow burn, friends to lovers, slight teenage angst, jealousy, tooth-rotting fluff, eddie being a sap, weird manifestos, reader being adopted, eddie and reader both having a self discovery whilst falling in love, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), me not knowing how to write both piano and guitar playing properly, deep words (sorry guys open google), lengthy, idiots in love, a love story about two sad teens going through a phase (jk) eddie has a bit of a corruption thing (not kink) bc he introduces reader into new things lol!

explicit warnings (for part two): virgin!reader, virgin!eddie; piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), creampie, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, overstimulation, first time, soft, vanilla porn, mentions of blood, handjob, cum eating, biting, marking, missionary, maybe soft!dom eddie bc he watched porn a lot and thinks he "knows his way", sweet but short aftercare

a/n: this is a story of fiction. i do not know the locations in both indiana and illinois. this is written in the way i prefer it to be to fit its story telling, and i am well aware of the things i write in here, and how i write this story. based on the song '1979' by the smashing pumpkins. hope you all enjoy part two!

PART ONE; SERIES MASTERLIST

That we don't even care

To shake these zipper blues

And we don't know

Just where our bones will rest

When you were young, you remember sneaking out of your room from the orphanage to sneak into the living room and watch the television with a low volume, loud enough for you to hear so as to not disturb the Nuns asleep in their rooms.

You thought falling in love was exchanged between lingering stares, a ring of hope and yearning in their eyes; sharing gospels about yourselves that you’d never tell anyone else, compliments coming from Freudian slips. The ‘will they, won’t they,’ the supportive friends. And months, maybe years, of mutual pinings until they end up confessing beneath the rain in the middle of the road as if there’d been no cars passing by. Yelling through the thunderous storm their words of utter devotion and kiss like their lives depended on it.

For years, before you’d been adopted, you watched the same scenario of love stories on a small screen for hours until your eyes ran dry. Boy and girl meet, one fell first and the other fell harder, an almost confession, an almost kiss, a secret that could ruin their relationship and it almost did, a confession spat in a dangerous situation right before everything went to shit, and then they lived happily ever after.

The same one every movie.

But they never really expressed how falling in love truly felt. They just showed it.

Your mother, adoptive mother, had once said that you’d feel this electricity inside you. That sparks fly when you see their smile, or just see them in general. That you’ll feel a thousand butterflies consume you until you feel like you’re floating in the clouds with their hand in yours as you fly into eternity together.

That everything else falls apart and it’s just the two of you. Heartbeats heard in your ears as you get lost in this abyss of abiding love. Or a spotlight would compel you to look at him like a sacred artifact in a museum. That you’ll find yourself wanting to be closer to them no matter how dangerous it has been—like moth to a flame.

Eleven year old you had stared at her with a look that told her you understood. And you did. Kind of. A young mind like yours couldn’t fully understand that feeling.

So you waited.

Up until Eddie Munson came to your life.

Eddie Munson, who’s been hiding something from you the past couple of weeks.

Every time you were together, whether it had been for school purposes, songwriting, or just for the hell of it, he’d be stuck in this small mental corner with his front facing you, the back of his notebook keeping a somewhat barrier to hide whatever he was doing. And whenever you asked, he’d stop writing, tap your nose with the tip of his pen, and say

“A satanic ritual.”

Then he’d go back into writing.

Your curiosity would sometimes almost get the best of you; debating if you should take a quick peek when Eddie leaves the notebook with you (closed) and excuses himself to the bathroom. But it was an invasion of privacy.

And he’s doing it right now.

Walking through the somewhat crowded hallway, you’ve got a hand clutching the sleeve of his unbuttoned black plaid shirt, just right on his elbow as he writes while walking. Just like you’d been all those months ago.

His tongue darts out, his feet stumbling across his own, muttering short apologies to the people he accidentally bumps too. But he lets you guide him through your small tugs.

“Christ, Eddie!” you push him away when one of the students comes running in with their projects, almost smacking him against the locker. “Put that down!”

Eddie laughs a bit before he finally snaps it shut, shoving his pen in his pocket. You drop your hand from his elbow. “Sorry, Mands.”

“You’re gonna trip,” you avoid the judgemental stares. Of gossiping kids speaking behind locker doors; you focus on Eddie. “And honestly, if you did, I’ll just make fun of you and pretend you don’t exist.”

“You wound me, pretty girl,” he slaps his hand to his heart, a sardonic pout coming with. But the pout is gone sooner when he realizes what he’d just said, and he clears his throat. “You gonna sit with us at lunch, or you’re still sticking with Wheeler and her friend?”

“They’re revising for the school paper,” you fiddle with the clasp of your bag. “So, uh, maybe I can sit with you if that’s alright?”

“It’s more than alright,” he smiles. Eddie’s palm slams on the cafeteria doors and pushes it open, letting you in first before he follows, letting the door swing until it hinders and settles closed. He scratches his jaw, looking up at the ceiling. “But, uh, you gotta sit beside me. Or else you’ll be stuck between a sticky mess of Sour Patch Kids and, well, kids.”

You walk between the chairs from his table and the one beside him. Eddie takes an empty chair beside Dustin, dragging it beside him at the head of the table and pulls it out for you to sit on. You smile at him, sitting down.

“Oh, hey, (y/n),” Dustin smiles, braces a different color this week that leaves you endeared. “Hey, Eddie.”

Mike chews on his pudding pie. The same brand as Nancy’s, and he’s got a confused frown on his face that’s almost mistaken as repulsion had you not known him. “What are you doing here?”

“Eddie has stained my reputation. I’m a pariah now.”

“Hey,” Eddie laughs, pulling his ball pen out of his pocket. “I could embarrass you right now,”

“I’m always embarrassed. For you, at least,” you jest.

Gareth opens his small lunchbox, his name written on the side in capital letters. “You ready for tonight?” he asks Eddie.

You whip your head back at the boy beside you, sleeves rolled above his elbows, which reminds you of the one he posited just on your arm. If people didn’t look at you for walking around unabashed beside Eddie Munson, they were looking at the tattoo on your arm. It had caught Principal Higgins’ attention, and you saw him visibly parley to himself if he should punish you for it.

But then his eyes flitted to Eddie and he sighed, sauntering back to his office with a shake of his head and muttering something about blemishing the temple of God with your tattoos.

“Been practicing our asses off for the past few weeks. ‘Course I’m fucking ready,” Eddie scoffs. Then he lifts his head off the notebook and looks at you. “You’re coming, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile softly.

He returns the same smile with the same fondness, his eyes twinkling in appreciation. The hand on his lap comes up to twirl his pinky around yours, dimples deepening in glee. You feel your heart pound at the small touch; see how everything behind him blurs. And you flutter your lashes.

Dustin clears his throat that breaks your eye contact. Eddie shoots him an almost murderous glare, unhooking his finger from yours.

The Hideout was dark. With stone walls and chipped wooden tables. The bartender looked like he was nearing his fifties, but looked approachable and kind when he’d greeted you with a rag in his hand as he wiped the glasses when you stepped inside. The lights were dim but bright above the small stage with band equipment—where you saw Gareth’s Corroded Coffin drums.

Eddie had been over exaggerating when he said he had a crowd of five drunks. But they’re not exactly many either. There were people scattered around, preoccupied in conversations you don’t, and couldn’t be bothered to know.

You nervously tug on your dress. A deep shade of red that’s almost black to match him. You walk between tables and old men, sitting on the table second to the front, giving you a clear view of the stage.

Earlier, you’d told Eddie you’d meet him there before he dropped you off at your home despite his protests. He told you to wear something pretty—simple, but pretty. Something that’s you, in his words.

Waiting patiently, you hear the soft clinkings of glass against bottles of alcohol at the bar, the quite boastful laughter of the men in the corner. Your knee bounces, hands clasped in front of you as you trace the rigid strikes of Corroded Coffin’s band poster, and startle yourself when a looming presence hovers over you, casting a shadow over the light.

You yelp, looking up to see a man. His hair gray as his hairline recedes, exposing his forehead. He had a nose that looked a bit like Eddie’s, and his blue eyes shimmer in curiosity as they settle on you; his stare is anything but creepy.

“Are you…Mandy?” he says gruffly, a lilt of uncertainty in his voice, and he sounds as nervous as you are.

“No. I’m (y/n)...” you furrow your eyebrows. “Oh, shit. Are you Eddie’s uncle?”

His hands rub the back panel of his hat, nodding. “Yes ma’am. Wayne Munson. D’you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all,” you gesture to the chair beside you. Wayne pulls the chair out, moves it a bit more to the side to give you an appropriate distance so he wouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable, and he sits down with a grunt. “S-sorry for cursing. I’m Eddie’s friend—”

He says your name. “I know. He can’t stop talking about you,” he chuckles lightly. “I finally get to meet the girl that makes my nephew wake up before his alarm clock.”

“That’s me,” you twiddle your thumbs. “Um, Eddie told me you worked at night.”

Wayne understands what you mean, placing his cap on his lap and rubbing his hand on his knee. “I do. But it’s a holiday and I couldn’t pass on the opportunity to see him play.” he scratches his silver beard. “Do you drink? I could order us some.”

“I’m eighteen, Mr. Munson” you tell him. “I can’t drink yet.”

“Coke it is,” he hollers for a waiter, a man a bit younger than the bartender. He orders a pale ale and two cans of coke before he takes out his pack of cigarettes when the waiter leaves. You notice how he’s got a small lighter wedged to the side of his cigarettes like Eddie’s, and you wonder if he’d caught it from his uncle. “You smoke?”

You look around cautiously when he sticks one in his mouth. “Will they let me?”

“You ain’t gonna go to jail for it,” his eyebrows raise. “I’m not pressuring you, kid. I’m just offering,”

Finally, in an impassive shrug, you take one and you place it in your mouth. When Wayne lights up his own, he offers you his lighter. “Thank you, Mr. Munson,”

You sit in silence for a short beat, the smoke of your cigars mixing in the weak waft of the ac. He wasn’t as menacing as you expected, and you didn’t know why you expected it in the first place. Based on Eddie’s stories, Wayne had never questioned his love for his fantasy game, or complained about his love for metal. He’d been the first person to accept Eddie for who he is, the only family in his life that stayed and cared.

“You know, I-uh-I’d like to thank you,” he turns to you. “You never judged my nephew for who he was. You made him happier and, hell, I haven’t seen him this happy in years. He’s always hogging up the phone talking and laughing with you. I’m not there for him as much as I used to; and I’m glad you gave him back his smile,”

Flushing, you look away and hide your parlously proud smile behind the borrowed cigarette, stained by your fuliginous lipstick. “Nothing to thank me for, Mr. Munson. Glad I could make him happy.”

“Ah, please,” he waves his hand, cigarette in the air. “Call me Wayne. Makes me feel old.” then he waves around his face. “I know my- hair says otherwise. But I’m still in my forties.”

“Copy that,” you take a quick hit. “Wayne.”

Wayne nods his head in acknowledgement, a guttural grunt leaving him. “My nephew hasn’t been this happy in a while. Eddie tends to… hide his emotions. Likes to distract himself with that god-deafening music and his fantasy game. And since you came to his life,” his arm lifts, as if to give your shoulder a pat before he clenches it to a fist and puts it back on his lap.

You chuckle. “You can pat me, Mr. Muns- Wayne.”

“You sure?”

“It’s just a shoulder pat, sir,”

Balky, his hand comes up to clap at your shoulder, shaking it lightly. You smile, placing the cigarette back in your lips and sucking until you couldn’t breathe, and let it all out.

“You helped him… (y/n),” he swallows. “And I thank you for that.”

When your drinks come, footsteps advance the stage. First came Gareth who settled behind the drums, who saw you immediately and gave you an ebullient wave, then Jeff and the other guy who’s name you’ve (sadly) forgotten.

Then Eddie came just when you opened your can. The fizzle of soda coalesce with his eager footsteps. Your hand stops around the ring, eyes trailing up to Eddie’s face.

You try to bite back a gasp.

There’s dark eyeliner beneath his eyes that names him hellaciously unique; the liquid kohl renders his eyes wider—his umber eyes darker, almost voluminously black, although fulgurated with the dim lights and his buzzing excitement. His vogue is eccentric, almost a masquerade that fools, had you not known him. But it’s so him, and at the same time, it isn’t.

But Eddie looks unashamed and proud of his look of ripped sleeves and borrowed eyeliner, his hair asininely wild, curlier like he’d gotten himself a perm. He’s wearing black jeans with more tears, his Dio vest that accentuates his lanky arms, the pudge of his stomach seen through his shirt but he wears it proudly; happy trail peeking underneath when he lifts his hand to pull on the mic.

He taps on the silver mesh head of the mic. Eddie clears his throat. “Uh, hello?”

You see everyone turn their heads, unamused, but forcing themselves to acknowledge his presence. Eddie smiles nervously, before his eyes settle on you and Wayne.

“Good evening gentlemen and lady,” he winks at you. “Uh, yeah, thanks for being here tonight. It means so much to the owner who’s been working his ass off so, give him a round of— ah, screw it no one’s listening,” Eddie tuts with a ridiculous smile, eyes meeting yours in a short apology. He’s not upset, but he finds it amusing. “This first song is, um, Breaking the Law by Judas Priest. Hope you guys enjoy it and if it gets too loud, I suggest you cover your ears.”

He picks up his red Warlock NJ guitar (Sweetheart, he names her) resting on the amplifier beside Gareth’s guitar, slinging it around himself before he pulls on the vermillion pick on his neck. Eddie settles himself up front, lips hovering over the mic. Then he looks back at Gareth, who throws one of the dumstricks into the air but fails to catch it and falls to the ground with an awkward cattle.

Beside you, Wayne smiles at the inconvenience, but doesn’t elicit a laugh out of him. Gareth shoots the both of you a penitent smile, picking up the stick. He taps it together three times to signal preparation, before you’re startled with his sudden slam on the snare.

You’ve never really seen Eddie play the electric guitar. Well, you have. You’ve just unfortunately forgotten the first time you actually did. And you wonder if thirteen year old Eddie was just as great as twenty year old him, playing the guitar with such precision; he was, indeed, a virtuoso with guitars—electric or not.

The sight holds you ransom. Eddie, with his hair unruly, an unforgiving proud smile on his face when he darts his tongue out to glide his dexterous fingers across the bronze strings of Sweetheart, his voice a caterwaul as he recites the almost innocuous lyrics.

“Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die.”

But his eyes were passionate—not of the barely there crowd, but it was obvious he loves what he’s doing. Especially now that you’re here, witnessing this for the first time with his beloved uncle. In that small stage, it stymies all judgment of conservative people, and he lets himself relish in the freedom of doing what he desires.

A gloss of pursuit sybaritism coats his eyes; with a white ring of sheer wanton hedonism just above his dark irises. The rest of the boys mimic the same passion, arms kinetic at their own playing, noses scrunched in glee.

Eddie doesn’t look like an angel tonight. When the lights shine horns on top of his head—the cardinal hue of serpentine antlers usurps the halo over his head. He’s devilishly handsome, wickedly catching your eye through the palls of branded cigarettes that spread across the room.

Beside you, Wayne claps and whistles, showing his everloving support. Eddie smiles brightly, leaning back when he does a riff you’re certain you’ll struggle studying it. When the song ends, scattered claps gift him. Few, but loud to show their support.

He’s sweaty all of a sudden, and he runs his hand through his dampened hair, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Thanks. Thank you- hey, man, you owe me a beer,” he points at the guy sitting in the corner, who raises his bottle and tips his hat. You don’t know him. “This next song is dedicated to this lovely lady up front,”

You feel eyes on you. Suddenly, you want to sink into your chair just to avoid the unwanted eyes, and you tell yourself to forgive Eddie for making you off-guard. But the strangers give you either confused eyes, or looks that say they could care less. But Wayne claps, which makes you hide your flustered smile behind the coca-cola can that you drink from.

“It’s Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police. I know it’s unusual for us to play something that’s not metal, but I practiced this song just for her. A…token of gratitude. And also for my uncle,” he adjusts his mic. “Um. Hope you guys enjoy,”

You appreciate the fact that he’d practiced a song from one of your favorite bands just for you, despite it being out of his taste. You clap, a silly smile on your face that hurts your cheeks.

He strums, benign in all his dexterity, and shoots you a cheeky wink. You playfully grimace at his action, and you fail to miss the laugh Wayne lets out at the wordless banter.

You gently sway to the indie music, see the way his rings glide across his nylon strings, how the bones of his fingers move through his skin when he plucks, mouth pressing up to the mic to sing clemently. You copy his nods, your own fingers tapping on the tin of your can.

The only thing the song lacked was the piano; you, basically. Eddie started playing with his eyes on you, and suddenly you remember being eight years old in the dark living room of the orphanage you stayed in. Except you hadn’t been the one watching — this time, you’re in the screen of that small box, finally feeling what it’s like to stare at someone so completely enamored with everything they did. With everything Eddie did.

Because everything slows and everything else blurs, a flame igniting across every vein that brings you into a lovelorn haze. You hear your heart beat with the precious song Eddie has dedicated to you right in your ear, and you feel like floating off the chair. The halo comes back to slot itself between his horns, luring you in like a moth to a flame; like a venerated, fallen angel that has you plunging your hand through the clouds and taking his, flying you to his safe haven.

“I resolved to call her up, a thousand times a day. And ask her if she'll marry me, some old-fashioned way,”

His once caterwaul cry of a voice shifts into a soft, canorous sway from baritone to tenor. Eddie smiles at you, a look in his eyes you can’t fathom but makes your heart burst, blood dripping down your chest but you don’t care.

For four minutes and twenty seconds, your eyes never leave Eddie. And neither does he, like he knows he won’t so much as place the wrong finger on the wrong string or fuck up his plucking. Everything’s a scene on a cheesy romcom, a feeling told through a lovesick song, a story told through a galore of rhyming words in a poem.

“Every little thing she does is magic; everything she do just turns me on. Even though my life before was tragic. Now I know my love for her goes on,”

In your mind, you push yourself off the table, chair falling to the ground, coke spilling onto the wooden top, walking yourself up to him and tackle him in a kiss; one of his arms would be around your waist and the other holding the mic stand tightly, your hands cupping his delicate face and mold your lips with his like some puzzle piece waiting to be connected.

That the spotlight settles on the both of you, and you’ll fly up to the skies to spend the rest of your lives loving each other in eternity like everyone else did.

But you stay on your seat with a fluttering heart and an agape mouth. You don’t realize Gareth has sped up his drums for the denouement of the song, and Eddie leaves on last hard strum before the small crowd claps for him, seemingly happy to finally watch someone play a song they knew.

Eddie bows, an abashed smile for gratitude. “T-thank you, everyone—”

“Holy shit. They’re actually clapping for us—”

“Shut up, Jeff,”

“Thanks for coming, uncle Wayne,”

Their hug is tight with claps on the back and prolonged grunts. Wayne breaks away, hands on his nephew’s shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

“No problem,” he nods at him. “Needed a break from work, anyway,”

You stand behind Eddie, fingers joint in front of you. Wayne gives you a kind smile that you return, one that makes Eddie turn to his shoulder to look at you, and you can see the roseate glow that dusts his cheeks. He bats you his eyelashes, eyeliner slightly smudged, before he turns back to his uncle.

“I like this whole… makeup thing,” he points at his eyes.

“Thanks,”

He leans in to whisper something in Eddie’s ear that you can hear, hushed words that are suspicious when Wayne looks at you again and when Eddie laughs nervously and lightly pushes at his uncle’s shoulder with a small whine of uncle Wayne, shut up!

“Nice meeting you, Mandy,” Wayne tips his hat to you. “Drive safe, kids. I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds.” he pats his shoulder, shaking it lightly before he walks away.

Eddie walks you to his van, a hand on the back of your waist with his notebook clutched to his side. It’s quiet, with your shoes crunching with the gravel ground; he opens the door for you, right before he moves to his side. You watch in the side mirror as Wayne gets in his own car and pulls out of the driveway.

Eddie throws his black notebook in the back, key twisting to start the car, and Broken Wings by Mr. Mister plays. It startles you, whipping your head at him.

“Where exactly are you taking me, Munson?” you narrow your eyes in feigned suspicion. He chuckles, buckling in his seat belt. “Well, that’s a first.”

“We’re leaving Hawkins. I can’t go to jail,”

“Oh?” you raise a brow. Eddie laughs, humming along to the song which peaks your interest but you’re more curious about something else when he pulls out the driveway. “So where is it?”

He gives you a quick glance, the corner of his lip twitching up. “Illinois,”

Your smile falls a bit, shifting into something confused when you squirm in your seat and rest your hands on your lap. “Oh,” you purse your lips. “What’s up in Illinois?”

“A surprise,” Eddie chuckles. “I’m not kidnapping you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Noooo ritualistic sacrifice.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” you toy with your fingers, scratching gently at your tattoo. “You do know that when we get there, it’ll be one in the morning,”

He slows the van for a moment, driving with one hand as he reaches blindly behind him. Finally, he pulls out a pillow. It looks new, smells fresh, even, like laundry detergent. Eddie places it on your lap. “Figured. Take a nap, then,”

You don’t. You hug the pillow to your chest, but you rest your head on it after you say a small thanks. Eddie adjusts the volume of the radio, redirecting the acs and when you give him a silent thanks with an abashed smile, he takes this as an opportunity to talk again.

“I’m really glad you came, by the way,” he smiles. “I mean, I know you said you’d come a while ago. And I’m really happy that you came even though our gig kept on being canceled for months.”

“I made a promise,” you lightly slur. “Your uncle’s really nice, by the way. He showed me this picture of you in his wallet when you were a baby. All ass and naked-”

“Shit, really?”

“No. I’m kidding.”

He tsks. “Would have been a nice, PG way to show you my ass but hey, it’s good to know my uncle doesn’t go around showing my butt.”

You laugh, unabashed. “I think I’d prefer grown up ass than baby ass, Eddie,”

Is this… flirting?

Flirting that’s not PG-13? Although, when has flirting been family friendly?

Why is he flirting with you?

Eddie’s smile dwindles. “You also look nice,” then he stammers. “I mean, more than nice. You look good- great- pretty- b-beautiful.” he sighs, the embarrassed pink tinge on his cheeks hidden by the darkness of his van. “You look… beauteous”

A rush of heat convulsing from your head to your toes that makes you squirm on your seat and toy with the ends of your red dress. “Beauteous, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Big word,”

“You know me,” he makes a psh sound, tapping his fingertips on the leather of his steering wheel. “I like it when they’re big…words,”

You turn your head to him. “Are you alright?”

Eddie’s fidgeting on his seat, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, feeling like he’s been berated for something so small. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be? I’m- sorry for, uh, the whole ass thing.”

“It’s just ass, Eddie,” you laugh.

“Yeah, but it’s my ass,” he motions to himself. “Isn’t it weird that I’m talking about my ass as a baby to you- you know what?” Eddie suddenly stops the van, right in the middle of the road, where it was just the two of you in his van in the asphalt ground.

You gawp. “What are you doing?”

He unbuckles his seatbelt, leaning forward to shrug his vest off, leaving him in the extra shirt he brought along after his show—The Van Halen shirt he opted to shoplift one time, but you’d stopped him by buying it which he thanked you with an ice cream. And coincidentally, Runnin’ With the Devil starts playing.

Eddie places his vest on top of you, the entire shoulder length covering your chest; it’s as if he wants to keep you warm. You pout, hugging the pillow with one arm and the other tugging the vest around your right arm.

“Take a nap,” he pats your knee gingerly, giving you a small smile. “We’re gonna have a long night, sweetheart— god fucking damnit,”

You blush at his moniker but laugh at his rabelaisian accident. He sings beneath his breath, gives your bare knee a rub with his thumb before he starts driving again, forgetting to put his seatbelt back on.

“Oh my god, you are so gonna sacrifice me to the Devil,”

“Only bad girls get punished, (y/n)— I’m just gonna shut up now,”

When Eddie said he’d be taking you to Illinois for a surprise, you don’t expect to be brought to some abandoned home in a place you’re an alien to. Upon you stood a house which hangs on rusted nails and broken cement walls. It seemed to be a small historic mansion, built in a hamlet a couple minutes from the suburbs.

You feel like you’re one of the protagonists who idiotically explore a home they shouldn’t be exploring in some horror movie. That behind the bushes hid a man with a burnt face and knives for fingers. The trees rustle, crickets chirp and the wings of birds flap into the night sky. There’s a dog that barks from a distance, cars that speed across the asphalt road to their destination, and Eddie’s labored breathing as he stares at you for any signs of fear or hesitance.

You should be afraid — it’s one in the morning, and Eddie’s brought you to a place that’s hours away from your home. Are you afraid of him? Never.

But are you afraid of ghosts…?

“Is this safe?” you look around, surrounded by low hills and trees from afar that hide the city and the suburb. “Are we gonna get arrested?”

“We’re safe,” his eyebrows raise a little. “No ghosts, I promise. Although I can’t guarantee you there won't be any bugs and weird creepy crawlies in there, but I’ll protect you from them,” Eddie jokes.

You laugh, looking at the broken windows, the shape making it seem like someone had thrown a rock inside. There’s a small graffiti beside the door. Mellon Collie & Infinite Sadness, motherfucker!

“Mands, come on,” Eddie offers his hand, a glint of hope that bejewels his dark eyes. He’s gotten rid of his eyeliner already (sadly), but he looks just as handsome. Shyly, you place your hand on top of his.

His palm is rough; the same goes for his fingertips. But they’re warm and gentle and so welcoming. It’s like your hands are made to hold his, with the way they connect like some padlock. Eddie holds your hand the same way you hold his heart: of reverential attentiveness and utter devotion.

Eddie beams, bearing a smile that reaches his eyes. He tugs you close to him, pocketing his keys. “I got you, ‘kay?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Copy that, rockstar,”

He blushes.

Slowly, Eddie pushes the door open. An eerie creak emits from the decrepit door, loud that you worry it would be heard from the houses a couple minutes away. He visibly winces at the sound, your hand tightening around his when he tiptoes his way in.

“Fuck, I forgot the door did that,”

You look at him. “You forgot?”

“Well, how’d you think I knew about this place?” he smirks at you. “Gotta impress you, sweetheart. You, as an avid lover of pianos and Billy Joel, need to take you somewhere you’ll love,”

In all honesty, you appreciate the effort. And the thought of Eddie wanting—needing to impress you, makes your heart perform an elegant summersault. “Well, that’s nice of you. I can learn how to love some dingy home.”

Eddie laughs.

There’s a spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, its balusters broken in half, the risers in the middle having foot-sized holes, the handrails covered in green veins. There’s an arched entrance beside the foyer, leading to a living room with couches covered in a thin white sheet, with a coffee table fallen sideways and a couple of smashed plates on the ground. There’s a window beside the fireplace, too, although what only remains to be the frame itself.

The carpeted floor is covered in mold, and you wonder what its design might have been before it had turned into this disgusting, brown color.

“Don’t worry, there’s a room in here that doesn’t look this… mlegh,” he frowns deeply, wiping his hand on his thigh. “God, that was gross. This way, m’lady,”

He leads you through the spacey hallway, passing by ripped picture frames, a kitchen full of smashed plates and open cabinets filled with moldy and spoiled food; bedrooms with blankets covered in dust and démodé clothes inside unhinged wardrobes. Each item and corner harbor cobwebs from lingering spiders, and you almost ran into one if it weren’t for Eddie warning you to be careful.

Finally, your feet meet the marbled floor of a new room; moldy carpets gone, the darkness gone as this room is lit with the moonlight that sparks through the broken window. But there’s a clean blanket in the middle of the room, a picnic basket and a pack of beer—both fresh and clean.

You look at Eddie with a parted mouth and he says,

“Behold,” his arm stretches, moving behind him to guide your vision. Eddie’s ringed hands unearth his surprise, where your eyes follow his direction. “A piano,”

There’s a primeval grand piano in the middle of the room, the dust wiped off of its existence; its legs had been duct taped, the lid chipped and it’s missing two wheels but it was beautiful nonetheless.

“You said you’ve always imagined playing Billy Joel on a grand piano, so here you go,” he lightly punches a wall. “Now, I know I’m no rich, snobby person, but I would applaud you, sweetheart,”

You near the piano, running your fingertips across the keys, pressing on one of them to see if they’re in tune and they are. You snap your head at Eddie with a slack jaw, tears welling your eyes.

“Gareth and I drove up here, fixed up this room. Luckily, he knew someone here in Illinois who could tune the piano. And as for the blanket, and the beer, and the sandwiches, well, uncle Wayne did me a favor and brought all that shit up here. Now, I know it’s kind of gross in here and it’s like, one in the morning but—oh!”

Eddie’s tackled by your hug, feet knocking him back and almost to the ground. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck, nose digging onto his hair and eyes slammed shut to fight back the overwhelming tears. There’s not a single bone in him that’s hesitant to hug you back, holding you close to his chest, his heart pounding against yours when he presses his lips on top of your head.

“This is amazing,” you say against him. “I can’t believe you-you did this for…me.”

You pull away from him, hands on his biceps when you turn to look back at the grand piano. Eddie’s arms run back and forth on your waist, looking down at you with a triumphant smile before he twists you so that your back’s to his chest.

“Anything for you, Mandy,” he moves his hands up to your arms, rubbing them. “This was all I could do but-”

“I accept anything you give me,” you murmur with a smile, starstruck with the piano and his gift.

“Yeah, I know,” he rests his chin on your head. “Now, you’ve got something to play for me?”

The lively music created by your adroit fingers was enough to make Eddie sway. You lack the guitars, the drums, and the trumpet but it’s robust with buoyancy nonetheless.

You play the same way Eddie did—with a bobbing head, a bewitching voice, and dexterous fingers that know their way to your beloved instrument. He sips his beer, sitting cross-legged on the blanket, watching you with such awe; an exact mirror of you and him in the Hideout.

You keep your eyes riveted on the piano lest of mistakes. But Eddie thinks you’re far from failure, with how nimble your fingers are, and how your voice was as angelic as it had always been.

“You mighta heard I run with a dangerous crowd, we ain't too pretty, we ain't too proud,” your fingers glide, from left to right, pressing on all chords in quick speed, and it makes him holler. “We might be laughing a bit too loud. Aw, but that never hurt no one.”

“YES!” he claps. “You’re amazing! A fuckin’ star!”

Eddie takes a swig of the bitter liquor, headbanging to a song that wasn’t even metal but you could headbang to any song, right?

When you’re done, he pulls out a rose from a basket and throws it at you, falling on top of the piano as he stands up from the blanket, clapping loudly that it ricochets outside the empty, broken halls. You flush, smiling bashfully when you stand up and take the red rose into your hand, bringing it up to your nose and bowing as if you just finished an hour-long concert.

“Felt like I was in church,” Eddie pants, wiping his palms on his jeans. “You’re goddamn amazing, Mands. You really could be the next Billy Joel,”

“Oh, stop,” you wave him off, playing with the stem of the rose. “You’re just-”

“Complementing? Praising you?” he cocks a brow, walking towards you and places his hand on your back. “Okay, now sit. I’ve got a surprise for you, babe,”

“I swear, if you’ve got Billy Joel around, I won’t hesitate to kiss him in front of you,”

“Keep it in your pants, young lady,”

You guffaw. “How could I keep my lips inside my pants?”

“By- shh. I’m trying to show off here,” he stretches his arms, fingers settling over the keys. “Um, Dustin taught me this. Kid’s great with the piano and all that shit. Not as great as you, though. He’s more…superior with his mind than he is with music. But, he was able to help me with this so let’s thank the little shrimp for that.”

Nodding, you bump your shoulder with his. A smile paints your face, having already been surprised that Eddie Munson learned how to play the piano for you. But you wait for the real one, eager to see what he has in store when he positions his fingers on the piano, rings pressing against the ivory.

“Uhhh- oh!”

You peer quietly, watching the way his fingers keep a leisurely pace; an obvious sign that he’s still unsure of which keys to press next. But he knows the words by heart — something you’ve never heard of, and it’s obvious that he’s written this himself. You deem the meaning behind them salient, singing with his voice a dulcet tenor, eyes evident that he’s repeating all the words Dustin said:

Remember the keys. Play gently. Make sure you don’t get pinched by the keys, and you can always go slow. This isn’t some Corroded Coffin show where you start headbangin’ and making those fucking riffs. You play- gently! What did I just say? God, you’re gonna die a virgin.

Eddie looks at you for a split second, nervous, worried with the way your eyebrows furrow and your mouth parted. If he were being honest, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. The minute he sat down on the bench, he'd forgotten half of what Dustin had said, mind almost omitting to remember the lyrics he’d worked hard for for weeks.

And god, you’re staring at his hands and his face with bewilderment. And you’re beautiful. He feels so fucked up (in a good way). He’d probably kill himself if he fucks this one up.

But you regard the lyrics. They’re meaningful and heartwarming, meant just for you when he takes those short glances, but there’s a part that stitches all your wounds together, provided by his dangerously blunt needle.

“You whisper into my heart. And I've never been quite smart, but I heed your words in a tempest; just where our bones will rest,”

Piano played with fidelity, lyrics sang with breathless devotion, fingers genuflect to please you with its core venerated. Eddie Munson plays for the key to your heart even though he’s had it in his palm for a long time; shakedown your mind with a flickering flame in his mind, veins high on morphine.

Suddenly he stops, and Eddie looks at you with a face so wrecked with nervousness you just want to kiss hug him.

“That’s- that’s everything that I remember,” he flops his hands down to his lap with a huff. “It’s actually unfinished. But I couldn’t wait any longer,”

You croon. “Why not?”

“Well, why’d you think I brought you here in the first place?” he whispers. “Other than me wanting to surprise you. I mean, Mands, I wanted to impress you. Think of any other guys who’d bring someone to an abandoned home for anything but a date.”

“A date, huh?” you repeat, slowly smirking. “This is a date?”

Eddie pales. “Well, I mean, if you want it to be… a date...”

You decide to play with him. “I hardly think of this as a date,”

“Why not?”

“I’ve barely eaten,”

He giggles, leaning back with his head lulling back. “Sorry! Sorry I jus’- wanted to see you play.” Boldly he reaches up to push your hair behind your ear, the side of his face glimmering by the bright moon seen from the huge hole on the wall of the room. “I stole your lyric, by the way. Kind of makes me not want to give you some credit,”

Flushing, you look away, mustering up the courage to place your hand on top of his. “I’d really appreciate the credit, Munson,” you murmur. “That way the world would know who I was,”

“But who cares about the world?” he cups your face, thumb resting on top of your cheek. “I’m here, Mandy. I’ll… heed your words. Y’know? I’ve never been smart but I’ll heed your words in- what was the next word?”

“Tempest,”

“Tempest,” Eddie repeats. You giggle, leaning into his touch. “I am…stupid for you. But I’ll understand you. I’ll listen to you, and I’ll take care of you, (y/n). I…”

He’s redolent of piety to genuine amor. Eddie looks at you like you painted the stars on the dark sky, like someone who’d pulled him out of hellfire and thought that all his devilish, leather and metal glory was worthy of your attention and acceptance. He cradles your heart in his hand.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he states. “I didn’t know anyone could fall in love twice but, life is full of possibilities.”

Tears well your eyes, rivulets transferring to your eyelashes. It seems like Eddie has mirrored you, too. You cock your head to the side, letting out a dry chuckle.

“Me too,” you bite your lip. “I really like you. And I think I’m in love with you,”

“Thank fuck. My next option was to sacrifice you to Satan if everything went to shit,”

“Hey!”

“Kidding,” he smiles softly. “Can I kiss you?”

Four words enough to sweetly kill you, only to be resurrected by his yearning stare. You nod. “I don’t know. Can you?”

He doesn’t answer, but yeah, he can kiss you.

It’s tender, it's soft, it's warm, it's free, and it’s loving. It feels like summer in the dead of the night; like sitting in front of the fireplace with hot choco during winter. Eddie kisses you the way a lover would, with megawatts of avidity. And his lips are soft and home and so validating. I see you. I feel you, I understand you.

Eddie fully carries your face in his hand, slanting his mouth against yours when he takes a deep breath. He breaks away for a moment before he tackles you with an open mouthed kiss that you reciprocate, the feeling of his balmy tongue grazing your plump bottom lip.

You feel the heat wave itself from your chest to the space between your legs that makes you subconsciously lean closer to him, thighs bumping. Eddie’s hand crawls from your cheek, to pressing lightly on the dip of your neck, to your plump shoulder, grazing the tattoo he painted on your skin until they land on your thigh, lifting it on top of his.

You moan softly that vibrates across his warm chest. Eddie hums, playing with the ruffles of your red dress, keeping your hot mouth locked against his. But when your hand comes down to grasp at his bicep, moving behind to tangle lightly on his curls, your body searches for friction and uses his thigh as the nearest solution.

“Christ, babe,” he breaks away, the tip of his nose still pressed on your cheek. “You only got panties beneath?”

“You never know,” you pant.

He groans, feeling blood rush down to his cock that immediately hardens. You feel an acute bump beneath your knee, giving Eddie a rubicund glow. You press the back of your knee against it, which makes him squeak. “Y’ really wanna- wanna do this? I mean, I just kissed you.” he swallows thickly. “And I’ve- I’ve never done this before,”

Eddie looks ashamed, like it’s embarrassing to be a virgin in your twenties. Your heart melts for him, face softening, taking his hand into yours and kissing his knuckles.

“Me, too,” you confess. “But I trust you and- and I wanna do this with you. Besides, it’s better than to leave high and dry, right?”

I trust you.

He laughs jovially.

“You’re right,” he gives your mouth quick pecks, too short for your liking but he makes up for it when Eddie readjusts himself so that he’s fully facing you, urging you to do the same so that he’d wrap your legs around his waist. “‘M gonna take care of you, Mands.”

He easily lifts himself off the old bench, carrying you with him. You sway with every step, arms locked around his neck, lips slotted against him with his eyes closed tightly but luckily he knows his way to the thin blanket.

Eddie kneels, almost falling down with your weight. He places a hand to the back of your head and the other on the bottom of your spine when he gently lays you on the light eiderdown.

Immediately, he lays himself on top of you, a forearm on the side of your head with the other palming at your waist. Your dress rides up to your thigh, pooling beneath you when Eddie moves forward to caress his thigh against yours, your knees pressing up at his sides.

“Can I- Can I remove your dress?” he asks gently, eyebrows joint. “Please?”

“Yes, please,”

His hands wander to the buttons in front, removing them with ease until your bra appears. It doesn’t match what’s below you, something you’re slightly embarrassed about, but Eddie goggles at them as soon as he pulls on your strap. “Oh, god, you’re hot.”

He mouths at the top of your breasts, sucking gently as he begins to pull down on your dress until he sees your cotton panties. He drags them down until your body’s free of restraint, where he moves back so he’d remove them off your legs and place them on top of the basket to avoid any dust ruining the fabric.

Then he goes back to kissing your tits, hands cupping them together, bunching the material of your bra in his fists. You moan softly, grasping his shoulders.

“Beautiful,” he says. “Goddess divine,”

Eddie helps you sit up slightly so he could reach behind and clumsily unclasp your bra. His tongue pokes out in determination, makes a happy sound of success once he sees your bra loosen, straps draping down your shoulders that he gladly removes from you.

“Hold on,” he leans back, moving to his knees to remove his vest and shirt. Eddie stuns you with his alabaster skin tainted with black ink. A gnarly demon on his chest beside a black widow, the infamous bats on his outer forearm, the puppet master on the inside and the butterfly on his wrist; the wyvern on his bicep, and there’s a huge, hotly formidable tattoo of a pair of bat wings starting from his v-line, curving around his waist, and a skull beneath his left pec. “There. Now we’re even,”

“You look… christ, I’m not even gonna fucking hold back. You look hot. Very fuckable,”

He laughs with a light shake of his head. “I’m gonna pretend you were looking at my face while you were saying that.”

When he goes back down, his lips attach to your hard nipple. You mewl softly, feeling his hot saliva lather around your tit when he suckles hard like he searches for something in there. You clutch at his hair, head tipping back, hips jolting up to grind against his bulge which makes him groan.

“Do you have to suck on my tits longer or should I start touching myself already?”

Eddie chuckles in disbelief. “Patience, honey. ‘M gonna give you what you want, don’t worry.”

His hand grips at the warm flesh of your thigh, index finger moving up to slip beneath the waistband of your panties, massaging your flesh. And he treats the other breast with the same hunger, doesn’t stop until he’s certain they’re sensitive (they are. They really are.)

Finally, he starts moving down, pressing wet, open mouthed kisses on your belly, down to your navel, until he reaches your dampening underwear. You prop yourself up to your elbows when he stutters in his movements, staring up at the wet spot that reveals the indent of your little cunt.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, a forming billow of insecurity preparing to tackle you the longer he stares at your clothes sex.

“Nothing,” he clears his throat. “Jus’ that I’ve never… eaten a girl out, before. Well, I’ve had practice. Just not at a girl’s p-pussy,”

Curiosity waves insecurity off. “Well, where? At your hand?”

“At a fleshlight,”

Your head feels like burning. “Oh,” you blink. “Well, do your best, I guess. Good luck,”

“Thanks,”

Eddie sniffs at your arousal, biting back an animalistic groan that scratches at his throat when the aroma of nectar fills his nostrils. Eddie leisurely removes your panties, lifting his eyes up to connect with yours. They’re achingly concupiscent, pupils blown in the thick glaze of frisson that makes the hair on his arms raise with anticipation.

Finally, he tugs them down, wiggling them off you. Eddie’s practically edging himself, with the way he slowly reveals your cunt, mouth watering at the shiny gloss at your clit from your slick. He growls lowly, sliding them off faster until he tosses them into nowhere (you make a note to hit him later for that).

His hands push at your knees, spreading your legs apart, making your pussy open and splay out for him to press his tongue against.

Which he does; Eddie’s lips purse, lets a thick glob of his spit cascade down to your clit before leaving a featherlight kiss to it, until he licks a fat stripe from your tiny hole to the bud. You keen, back arching, which makes him link his arms around your legs and press a hand on your navel to keep you down.

It’s a foreign feeling you know you’d relish for the rest of your life, especially when it comes to his tongue. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper.

“You taste- taste fucking amazing,” you do. Like honey; like a pétillant sweet moscato, syrup on pancakes and all other sweet shit he could think of. Eddie repeats his action, which makes your hole flutter around nothing. He suctions his mouth at your clit, sucking all the juices that continue to leak out of your blushing cunt. “Christ on a fucking clutch- oh, god, Mandy.”

There’s an embarrassing sound that seems to be like quiet slurping and the raw music of wetness created by his lips and your arousal. Your toes curl, the tip of his tongue dragging along your folds like some kitten before he returns to taking your clit back in his mouth.

Mewling, your elbows give out and your head falls down to the sheets, eyes squeezing shut. His vacant hand comes down to drag itself along the mess of your hot sex, amalgamated with his saliva and your lubricous dampness, rubbing your clit with his index and middle finger in slow, pressured circles that begins to ignite the flame below your stomach.

“God- Eddie- I-”

“Wanna use your words, babe?” he laps at your hole, nose rubbing at your clit when he shakes his head vigorously. “Tell me how good it feels, come on. Don’t go shy on me.”

You nod, your wrist pressing on your forehead when Eddie parts your slick petals with his fingers, formed into a v to expose more of you. He licks at it, teasing your folds, gawking at you.

“Feels- feels amazing. Felt like I was gonna pee whenever you- fuck- suck at my clit. God, Eds, I want more,” you whine, bucking your hips at his face. “Please. Please please please,”

He laughs against you. “You weren’t gonna pee, sweetheart.”

“How’d you know?”

“Porn,” he furrows his eyebrows. “Eavesdropping works sometimes.”

Eddie licks at his fingers, index and middle stuck together in his mouth as he twirls his tongue around them. He pulls them out with a small pop, eyes wandering up to your bare, heaving chest, and he couldn’t resist a teasing squeeze using the hand pressed on your navel.

Then, he begins to ease one finger, lips apart, breathless as he watches you take in his digit slowly. It’s a strange feeling, with something prodding deep at your entrance, where Eddie doesn’t stop until he’s practically knuckle deep into you, pressing against your viscid walls; an alien sensation that feels good, albeit you still don’t feel full, even so, it’s tingly and blissful.

Your brows furrow, lips disjoined to produce heartily mewls, evoking Eddie of his altruism. He can’t get enough of how you taste, of how heavenly your sounds are despite the deed being so irreverent. He’s thrusting the single digit slowly. So you buck your hips against his face, almost shoving your clit into his mouth.

“M-more,” you whine. “Please. I can take it,”

“Yeah?” he kisses the outside of your cunt, nipping at your thighs. “Gotta stretch you open first, right?”

The tone’s a question, though it careens to remind you of what he’s going to do next. Eddie pulls his finger out, moaning quietly at his scintillating limb. He lifts his middle finger, placing it beside the sticky index before he gingerly impels inside. Your hips raise, your wails turning a bit louder, bursting into pleasured linns of coloratura.

When he brushes that sensitive spot that makes you sob, one that abuts the waves and fluxes delirium on every blood that swims on your insides. Eddie looks up at you, hair in a tangled mess when you keep pulling on them as he picks up his pace and quaffs at your pulpy button, shoulders spreading your legs at an almost uncomfortable distance that puts an ache from your legs to your thighs.

The sounds you make are absolutely empyrean. They reverberate from the torn walls of the hallway just outside, like angels warbling as they play the harmonious harp with their cherubic fingers; like the skies had opened, let out a beam of sunlight surround him in a circle and take him up to heaven where you remain.

And they shouldn’t be taking sinners like him; a devil worshiper as they rudely opine. Yet here he was, listening to an angel cry, her teardrops leaking down his fingers to his gyrating wrist, combing through his hair pruriently.

But now, because of him, he doesn’t think you're an angel anymore. With what’s happening — angels don’t submit to the devil now, do they?

Eddie’s hair is a blazing abradation against your sensitive skin, heightens every part of your senses that explodes your mind. You feel an overwhelming, anomalous twist in the pit of your stomach.

He places gentle kisses on your silky thighs, looking up at you with such vehemence. “You make the prettiest sounds, Mands. Just as pretty as your voice, hm? Wanna sing for me? Gon’ make you sing so loud, baby.”

Fingers fasten. They scissor, and they spread, and they augment on your viscous in your tight canal. An amoral sound produced by his neophyte hands and your needy, swelling cunt that aches for more despite already having been split open by his fingers.

You moan, loud, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as his arm begins to shake the faster he moves his hand inside you. Eddie begins moving up, fingers still fucking you, kissing his way up to your face. He leaves wet spots on your skin, both of his saliva and your wetness. Your hands leave his hair, eyes scrunched close to weep coarsely, pushing at his hand, urging him to go deeper that his cold rings sting your raw folds.

“I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, stomach flexing, arm grasping at his hastening hand. You clench around his fingers, locking him in place for a split second from how tight it was. “God, Eddie, I’m- you’re making me cu- I’m close,”

“You can cum,” he kisses your cheek, dragging his lips up to kiss the corners of your eyes. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Come on, be a good girl and cum for me,”

You do, with your back bowed, jaw slack with mewls and moans, thighs shaking when he continues to rub your clit even when your cum starts to coat his fingers, dripping down to his rings and wrist. Liquid spurts, a hollow but wet sound when he slows his fingering and fucks your tiny entrance open.

Finally, Eddie pulls them out with a humiliating shlick, cum leaking out of your hole and onto the thin blanket. He shoves his fingers in his mouth, like it’s his libation —god of fingerfucking, as you’d call him in your mind when he sucks all the white sap.

“Felt good?” he pokes your cheekbone with the button of his nose. “Because if it didn’t, I might as well leave you here and go back to Hawkins butt naked.”

You laugh, slapping lightly at his arm. “It felt amazing, Eddie. Don’t worry.”

Your hands fumble with his jeans. But Eddie kisses you, unrestrained with his tongue sweet, a faint bitter taste of the beer he drank earlier. He places his hands on top of yours, placing them on top of your stomach before he goes back to removing his jeans.

The sound of his pants unzipping excites you, eyebrows raising as you kiss him harder, hands coming up to grasp his face gently, thumb on his cheek and the rest of your fingers below his jaw that you caress its emolliency. Eddie raises his hips, tugging them down until he’s clad in nothing but silver rings and checkered boxers.

He nods towards his crotch when you break away from him, eyes leading from his chest, to the fuzzy brown hair of his happy trail, to the bulge that pokes out of his loose underwear. “Wanna see it, babe?”

“Can I?”

Eddie snorts. “Yes you abso-fucking-lutely can. Take it out, sweetheart. You can play with it a little,”

He moves to lay halfway beside you, legs dropped and slightly spread, hands on his back to support himself. You get on your knees, face aflame when Eddie’s eyes watch your every move with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You wonder how he could be so calm; if he felt the same nervous sensation overwhelm your core, both being neophyte to sex. Nevertheless, you’re not nervous enough that you want to stop.

But when you tug down on the band of his boxers and his cock vaults up, he tries to hide how overwhelmed he is. You ogle, and if you could, you would have foamed at the mouth at the sight of his thick girth, tip swell with precum, how a vein bulges beneath and how his sack hung heavy. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if he could even fit inside you but suddenly you’re starved.

“Pretty,” you breathe out, tongue licking your lips. “Dude, you’re big,”

“Thanks.” he blushes.

Gallantly, you swipe your hand across your slick heat to lubricate your palm. He visibly shudders, eyes glassy, groaning when your fingers enclose around him.

“Fuck,” your wrist gyrates, starts moving up and down on his length. Eddie’s hips buck into your fist, your movement leisurely, like you’re relishing the feeling of his hot cock in your hand. But you lean down, mimicking him earlier by letting a dollop of your spit drizzle down on top of his tip. “Oh- oh god, that felt good,”

You slant down to wrap your lips delicately around his engorged helmet. He moans, breath ruptured when you sink down onto him, taking only what you could and coat the rest with your trembling hand. “Fuck- shit- yeah, baby, your mouth’s amazing,”

He tries not to buck up into your mouth, restraining himself by carding a hand through your hair to cup it on the back of your head. His hearing becomes muffled, nothing but the opaque sound of birds, deluging it with your gurgles, your spit and his fluid that continues to leak from his slit leaking down to his balls.

Eddie had imagined this once- twice- three, he doesn’t know. It had been too many to count and he feels bad thinking about it; what kind of normal person would imagine their friend being on their knees, naked, sucking on their cock?

You look up at him, eyes vast and credulously submissive with enameled innocence, like you’re repenting with his dick in your mouth, as if it had been your god and you beg for forgiveness for all the sins that you’ve caused.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph. Oh…fuck.

Cardinal paints the alabaster marble of his cheeks, brushing over it until it spreads down to his clenching neck and heaving chest as you imbibe his tip, suctioning your cheeks around his length and jerk him off. You look like you know what you’re doing, leading him to wonder if you’d done this before. He should be jealous, let that fraught warp in his mind and spread over his nerves until he stops you and begins to ask. But pleasure besets him, too much, that the question withers away into the carnal haze.

You gag and he almost cums. “Shit, ‘ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Eddie’s voice is rough, sweat dripping down his temples and onto his hair that settles over his shoulders. You break away from his head, moving down to lave your tongue up from the base above his sack to the ridge beneath his tip. “Ohhh- fuck,”

Eddie gently pulls himself off your mouth, his hand coming down to your cheek and raising your head. His cock grazes your upper lip when it pops out and arches to his stomach, leaking down his happy trail. A luster of his precum and your spit smears on your plump lips, mouth parted to take a short gasp of air as he pulls you up to him.

“How’d you learn how to do that?” he wipes the fluid off the corner of your lip, bringing you into a kiss because he misses you, and just because he wants to taste himself.

“Gave a guy head before I left New York,” you murmur against him. “He came all over my face and some of his cum went in my eye. Got pink eye for two weeks,”

He winces. “Ouch,”

Then he gives you a kiss on your eyelids, your laugh that he interrupts with his mouth, cajoling you with kisses as he lays you onto your back beneath him where he slots himself between your legs, his cock grazing your still sensitive folds that makes you whimper in his mouth.

Craving, Eddie’s hand ventures from your waist, squeezing your ample thigh, stopping on your calf to hike your leg up his waist. He grinds down onto you, pressing his hardness against the swell of your cunt.

“Still want to do this?” he questions between wet kisses, your hands venturing the slope of his back. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t,” your eyebrows furrow in frustration. “I mean, I still want to do this. Christ, please,”

“Okay,” he breaks away, moving across you to check the basket. “Okay okay okay okay- fuck. Gareth forgot the fucking condoms.”

You stammer. “W-you knew we were going to have sex?”

“You never know,” he laughs nervously, copying you. “Um. I could pull out. I mean, I can’t exactly promise you I’d have the- the energy to do so. But I could just eat you out ‘till you’re okay. OH! Sixty-nine! We could do that! That way we’re both satisfied,”

“Eddie,” you reach between to grab his cock, squeezing lightly. His eyes flutter, groaning. “Just- just fuck me, okay? We can figure it out later.”

“Shit, okay,” he leans down to kiss you. “And I’m not gonna fuck you, babe,”

Eddie digs his nose into the crook of your neck, his hand replacing yours, slapping his tip on your bud. His forehead rests on your cheek when he does this, relishing in your small moan. “Why not?”

“‘Cause I’m gonna make love to you,” he lazily kisses your cheek. “‘Y need to stop being vulgar sometimes, sweetheart.”

He jabs at your entrance, before he slowly pushes himself in.

A searing pain threads around your cunt, chiefly at your entrance and your inner walls; though, when the pain spreads across your body, it numbs on your nerves, so the only thing burning was your sex. But Eddie’s taking it slow, agonizingly slow, feeling the tension that radiates. He comforts you through soft strokes against, kissing your cheek at every inch he pushes in.

When you wince once his pelvis pushes against your clit, Eddie lifts his head from your shoulder, his eye twitching lightly from holding back. He massages your thigh, other hand coming up to cup your face and rest his thumb on the corner of your eye when tears begin to form.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, trying not to move, but his tip’s right at your spot. “Do you want me to pull out? Does it hurt too much?”

“It’s supposed to hurt right?”

“Well, I heard it does,” he kisses your nose. “Sometimes it doesn’t for others, though,”

“Okay,” you chuckle lightly, grasping harder at his back.

It took almost a minute for the sting to retire, and he stayed pliant inside you, waiting until he felt your walls relax around him; until your crumbled face slackened and your mouth opened, letting out sacred breaths.

“You can move now,” Eddie smiles, slanting his mouth against yours. His tongue explores your mouth, mouth staying closed around yours as he begins to pull out halfway, before he pushes back in slowly.

Eddie sheathes himself inside you, an omnipotent surge of sybaritism divaricates your senses. He brushes his hair behind your ears, gazing down at you even though your eyes are closed and you stare into a void with your body aflame. And he feels good- amazing, with every stretch that enkindles every nerve.

You look blissed beneath him, every bone submitting to every grind, every time his head hits that very spot that lets you create sensual croons, soft ones that it seems like you’re silently gasping with your parted lips. He places a kiss to where your eyebrows join, sloppy with his hedonistic thrust.

It’s nothing but soft, breathless moans, his grunts and your whimpers when the pain numbs out, his lips moving down until he meets yours with his ever loving tongue brushing your bottom lip from the lax kiss. The tush of hair tickles your skin, his balls slapping gently against your ass, his hand leaving your thigh to push your silky coiffed hair off your shoulder.

He doesn’t hurry, takes his time with you like he’s got every second of your lives, like you both don’t lack sleep. And Eddie can’t stop kissing every inch that he could reach — whether it be the hollow skin of your collarbone, or leaving bites on your neck to mark you, not because he claims your being but because he wants to own your heart. He kisses your cheekbones dampened by your tears, taking your hand from his back, leaning down to kiss the tattoo he stabbed onto your skin.

“You can cry,” Eddie whispers. “I got you. You look so pretty, hm — fuck, my pretty, pretty girl.”

You let your tears fall down to his thumbs, slowly opening your eyes even though it stings to do so with the tears that prod at your eyeballs. Eddie smiles, clasping his hand around yours and kisses every calloused fingertip.

“Ah, Eddie,” your bottom lip juts out, letting the moans flow. “Feels- f-feels so good. Your cock feels amazing,”

“Shit, Mands, don’t say that,” he laughs weakly. “You’re gon’ make me cum faster than I intend to,”

Each thrust builds a bubble inside, until it explodes and floods you in rhapsodic waves. A heavy feeling that tells you that you’d never get sick of feeling him buried deep in your gummy walls, or of hearing his breathless moans, or the love that radiates through every caress of his that brings you comfort.

The lacuna is almost not there, like he wants to melt his skin with yours. His sweat drips down to your bare chest, where his lips venture until he wraps his mouth around your sensitive nipples that had been chafing against his chest. You run your fingers through his hair, your hips lunging up to grind with his.

Eddie’s definitely not fucking you. No, no with his velvet sighs, or with his naughty suckles. He’s making love to you like he said; like he promised.

“You feel me making love to you?” you nod, taking his face down to smush it against yours. “Put your legs around me, sweetheart,”

You do, gently circling your legs around his waist, heel pressing onto the bottom of his spine. You feel yourself split open, suctioning his cock, driving him deeper. It’s when the lewd sounds increase their volume, whenever his heavy sack hits your wet cunt as he picks up the pace of his thrust, pushing in and in and in.

“Fuck,” you cry out, pulling lightly on his hair. When you suck on his collarbone, a claret bruise colors his pearlescent skin, his chest reddening from the amount of sanguine blood that flows through. “You’re so deep,”

“Can you look at me, honey?” your eyes force itself open to stare deep in his doe eyes, roaring with ecstasy, staring right at the windows of your soul. “Hi there, Mandy.”

Eddie gathers both your hands in one hand and pins them above you, which you meekly allow him to while his vacant one slithers itself between your bodies to rub on your clit. The words in your mouth turn into moans, getting drunk at the bliss.

He moves faster, the sounds making it seem like he’s fucking you but you’re too lost to care. Eddie moans, keeps on nudging your nose whenever your eyes begin to flutter shut from lethargy.

“You’re taking me so well, hm?” he nips at your jawline. “Pretty little pussy just taking my cock, yeah?”

It’s just you and Eddie inside that abandoned home, you believe. You feel him carve his skin against yours like a promise, when you exchange your slick sweat and your breathy moans swallowed by his open mouth that hovers yours; his hips folding against yours in corybantic impetus. He refuses to close his eyes as if he’d lose you when he blinks, devotion swelling his waterline.

He drills faster and deeper, the hollow and wet sound of your arousals spurs him on more. There’s a sting on the inside of your cunt, though too faint for it to even dwell in your mind. Then that now familiar feeling of something twisting at the bottom of your stomach comes to surface, burgons over your senses, and so did Eddie’s.

“I’m gonna cum,” you mewl softly. “I’m gonna cum, Eddie.”

“I know, baby,” his grip tightens on your wrists, his thumb on your clit adding pressure and fastens his rubs. Eddie wantonly fucks his cock inside you now, moaning at your small cries when he hits that spot over and over again. “I gotta pull out, okay?”

“No!” you push his chest against yours, locking your feet around him. “Cum- cum in me. Want it in me, please.”

And who was he to resist you?

(Someone who isn’t ready to be a father, technically. But he seriously couldn’t resist you.)

Eddie kisses over your fluttering pulse, his cock snug, pressing himself against your thighs. He continues rubbing your clit, his blunt nails pressing on the sides of your wrist. And he coaxes you through the billow of your orgasm. “That’s it, baby. Good girl- shit- oh, fuck, gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah? Gon’ give you all of me.”

You cum with a gasp, lewd sloshing from your pussy as you gush around him weakly. You feel his cock twitch inside you, right before he tries to muffle his moans by kissing you sloppily, mixing his sultry seed with yours when he slows his thrust, pushing it inside deeper.

He mouths at your chest, licking across the top of your breast before he works up your nipples. Eddie moves his hips again for a couple more times before he slowly pulls out of you.

Your legs fall to your sides. Eddie kisses your knees, massaging your legs, spreading them apart.

Then he pales. “Fuck, (y/n), you’re bleeding-”

“Huh?” your head lifts, seeing the small pink puddle beneath your ass. Eddie wipes his sweat on his thighs, reaching for his shirt that’s been thrown somewhere to wipe it across your cunt hastily. “Babe that’s normal…”

You hide your eyes behind your wrist, panting heavily. The pounding on his heart eases, gently wiping across your cunt. “Really?”

“To some. But I did,”

Eddie reaches for a new bottle of beer from the basket on top of your head, opening it with his teeth before he slots himself back between your legs. You prop yourself up to your elbows, his hand cupping below your mouth when he brings the bottle to your lips.

You drink the bittersweet liquor, swallowing slowly. He smiles at you. “You did a great job, yeah?” He kisses your forehead, and he can’t help but cheekily lather your cunt with his cum when he reaches down to slide his fingers between your semi-bleeding folds.

“Ah-” you squirm away, gripping tightly onto him. “Ouch. Sen- sensitive, c-christ,”

“Sorry, baby,” he plucks his finger inside his mouth, morsel of cum and your blood filling his taste buds. “Couldn’t resist,”

Eddie slants his lips onto yours, letting your pulse relax in the frenzied mist, the afterglow ensnaring your beating hearts. You see that the moon grants his eyes a vermeil glow when he pulls back, skin glistening like stars in the night sky, luring you in for you to lose yourself in them — you do, basking in the comfort of his gaze, pilfering your soul.

Double-cross the vacant and the bored

They’re not sure just what we have in store

In November of 1979, Eddie Munson stood breathless on the stage of the theater room for the Middle School Talent Show, electric guitar in hand, buzzed hair drenched with sweat that dripped down to his Bauhaus black shirt. The aftermath of his oh-so-metal performance of Breaking The Law left the parents clapping scatteredly, and his classmates hollering and yelling from their seats.

He looked back on his then bandmates and little Gareth who sat proudly behind the large drum set. Eddie laughed, clapped with them before he genuflected, ignoring the judgemental stares of conservative parents who watched his every move as he walked down the stage.

“Well, that was a very loud and brazen performance from… Corroded Coffin,” Mr. Clarke smiled brightly at them, holding the card in his hand. “Up next we have a very, very lovely girl named-”

He said a name, which Eddie deemed as the girl who sat in front of him during History, who wrote things on top of her books that he recognized were lyrics he’s unfamiliar to. Eddie ran his hand across his buzzed head, looking around and wondered where that girl may be.

Little Gareth stood beside Eddie, who pointed behind to the backdoors. When he turned, the doors were swinging open, the exit seen through the small window where he saw her running away to Hawkins High.

Eddie patted his friend’s back, deciding to follow that girl in a purple dress and short pigtails that disappeared into the darkness of the school parking lot.

The doors slammed against the walls, twice, and he ran and ran until he reached Hawkins High where she hid. He roamed the unfamiliar walls, knocking against the dents of the lockers, until he heard the gentle sound of piano from the music room nearby.

Like an angel’s cry for help, as he remembered. The tune of that song his uncle sang every morning familiarizes itself in his eardrums. Eddie approached the door, peaked through the small window, and saw

You.

Your back to him, back hunched, purple dress resting down to your knees with your hands idly pressed at the keys with a melancholy mist surrounding you. Eddie listened to you sing, a couple pitches wrong but nevertheless soft and dulcet, even though he heard something restraining your throat with what seemed to be held back sobs.

“Oh Mandy, well you came—”

When he stormed in, the doorknob slamming at the wall, you yelled, high pitched and laced with fear. Eddie’s eyes had widened and closed the door, placing a finger up to his lips to shush you.

“Hey- hey hey hey no, shh, quiet—” he lunged at you, cupping his hand over your mouth. Your screams had died instantly, though your eyes remained wide with distress and tears that stained his hand. You placed your hands on the bench, waiting until Eddie removed his hands from your mouth.

He saw that you had missing teeth like his, both on the same spot when you hissed at him. That you looked like you had been freshly crying (which you were) with your lips pouted and eyes stained red with the tears that priced your eyes.

Once his hand returned to his side, you kicked his shin, hard enough that Eddie knew he’d have a bruise (he did. A big one that lasted for a week). He winced loudly, rubbing the spot “What is wrong with you? Why didn't you knock?”

“Dramatic entrance,” he spread his arms, bowing down to you like he’d just finished a show. “I didn't mean to scare you like that. S-sorry. Are you okay?”

You had surveyed his intimidating demeanor of oversized black Bauhaus tee, ripped jeans, a single skeleton ring with a slick buzzcut that shone from the fluorescent lights of the music room with puffy eyes. Eddie felt that nervousness bubble in his stomach, knowing how well you’re judging him. But your posture remained relaxed and you showed no ounce of fear so he thought that was new.

When you remained silent, he took the opportunity to speak again. “My uncle loves that song,” he sat beside you, making you scoot over. “He sings it almost every morning.”

“Mandy?” you said, fiddling with your fingers, sniffing.

“Yeah,” his tongue prods at the gaps between his teeth, feeling the gums that protected his adult teeth. “Oh, Mandy. Well, you kissed me and stopped me from shaking,”

You smiled weakly, sniffling. “My mom likes it too,”

“Really?” You nodded, tugging on your dress. “I wouldn’t blame her. I like it, too.” Eddie had reached for his pocket, pulling on his skull handkerchief as he spoke again. “Why did you run away? You were next and you ran.”

“I was nervous,” you huffed, tears welled your eyes. “Tammy Thompson said I sounded like a muppet singing so I ran away so I wouldn't embarrass myself,”

Eddie gasped. “She said that?” he furrowed his eyebrows. “She’s the one who sounds like a muppet.”

You gawped. “No she doesn’t!”

“Yes she does!” Eddie pressed his fingers on either side of his nose, before he began singing in a voice shrill and deafening that made you laugh hard. “Yesterday's a dream- oh! I face the morning yeah yeah crying on a breeze woah ooh The pain is calling- aaaaaaa!!”

You laughed beside him, both your small chests aching for the lack of breath that had been wheezed out, cheeks strained and eyes welled with tears. “Okay, maybe she does sound like that,” your smile withered. “But, what if she’s right?”

“She isn’t.”

“You didn't even hear me sing,”

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie scooted closer, bumping his arm with yours. “You sounded cool. You sounded like an angel. A pretty metal angel.”

You remembered that it had been the first time you blushed — thirteen year old Eddie Munson, who still had baby teeth at his age, had been the receiving end of that bashful smile; you remembered that he asked if you could play, and you did, with the ends of your purple dress tickling his knees that exposed from his jeans.

“Metal?” Eddie nodded. “I was playing the piano.”

“Well, anything can be metal,” he pulled out his handkerchief. “Crying is metal. Singing is metal. This chair,” he used his other hand to grasp at the leg of the bench and shook it, making you giggle. “Is metal.”

That night, not only did Eddie Munson offer you his handkerchief for aid (that he wiped beneath your nose himself, unbothered by the thick snot dampening the fabric), but he offered you friendship. He offered you comfort and validation, and you offered him acceptance.

That he proceeded to compliment not just your voice but your hair and your dress. Eddie Munson made you comfortable that night, had kindled something between the two of you that you called a friendship. He watched you play that piano in the music room unabashedly and confidently, him being your first ever audience, and Eddie stood up from the bench, and clapped at you like you’d performed at a concert.

That he sang Don’t Fear The Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult (and gave you a mixtape right before you left) in front of you so you’d get even.

He took your feelings seriously, said that you’d do great and it’s normal to get nervous before a performance; talked to you with his innocent, doe-eyes gaze with his hand on your shoulder for comfort.

And that he watched you, standing in front of the crowd, cheering you on as you sang Mandy with full confidence and carelessness of the judgemental eyes and insults from Tammy Thompson.

You went back home with the thought of that boy with a buzzcut that made you smile brighter than anyone else had. And you had a silly little childish crush on him for god knows how long.

But Eddie had a crush on you until 1982, where he unfortunately started to forget. And you, the same.

Yet he never forgot. He always thought about that girl in the pretty purple dress who had a pretty smile and a cute laugh, who gave him a kiss on the cheek for cheering her on during the talent show.

He thought about her — you — every night before going to bed and he dreamt of you.

And now, here in 1986 where you sat on the passenger seat of his car with a cigarette in your mouth, racing the borrowed time before the sun begins to rise, the open window that blew the hair out of your face as you stared out with a blissed smile, Eddie realizes he’s been playing that dangerous love game since he was thirteen.

That he’s already charged Vecna and his swarm of bats with nothing more than a blunt spear, courage, a dream and a crush that blossomed into love. He’s been there since 1979, having it paused for four years before returning to the Upside Down when you came back.

He’s already played that dangerous game of love and now, he’s killed Vecna with a stake through his heart and won.

Eddie parks his car beside the broken fence of weathertop, the black sky now a bright shade of gray. You smile at him, unbuckling your seatbelt, before you simultaneously open the doors together and exit.

You hold the basket in your hand, the other laced around Eddie’s, climbing up that hill until you reach that spot you both were in weeks ago, with the tall grass tickling your bare ankles, hands tight against each other, a silent promise of protection as he holds you close to him.

Your equilibrium is askew from earlier events, his shirt hangs well over your body that tickles your sensitive skin, and Eddie actually is shirtless, after unfortunately getting too much dust on your dress.

But he feels free, standing on top of the hill with his tattoos and the love of his life holding his hand. When the white clouds start to emerge and levitate above him, its shapeshifting glory; pertinently gifting you with peaceful vapor that flows through the town.

You both sat down, and soon you’ve both got a sandwich and a beer in your hands, sitting side by side, watching as the sun deliberately rises from the earth. You rest your head on his shoulder, munching on the sandwich, bottles balanced between your legs.

“No wonder why your mom’s eager to watch the sunrise,” you smell his musk of faint sex and cigarettes. Eddie presses a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s beautiful,”

He looks at you, the afterglow of sex still dawned on your vogue. You rip a piece of bread off and pop it into your mouth, and Eddie says, “I love you,”

You look up at him, the warm, dandelion smolder of the sun illuminates your face stupendously. He doesn't need to go further into detail how pretty you looked.

But you? — with all the darkness of the world put on pause like some movie, the pastel colors of dawn that crawl up from his chin to the entirety of his face, his tangled mush of curls that frame his picturesque, devilishly handsome face, it heralds safety; love and adoration that you harbor for this man.

“Yeah?” you press your chin on his shoulder. “Didn’t peg you as the type to fall after sex, Munson,”

“Oh, sweetheart, I fell a long time ago,” he rubs his nose against yours. “I just forgot,”

“How romantic,”

Eddie places his sandwich on his lap, just so he could push your hair behind your ear and stare at you. So he could see you, validating you for all your worth.

You both sit there, on the field just where your bones will rest, until it withers into dust and disappear behind those dirt and stone and go one like you both never existed. But death was the least of your concerns, relishing in the moment you have with this person who'd given you validation when you sought for it (and Eddie, who stares at you with such devotion like you'd given him everything he fought for — acceptance).

“But yeah,” you whisper. “Maybe me too,”

He leans down to kiss you. And when the sun rises and coats you with its celestial brilliance, with his kiss chaste and soft and so loving, you break away with a small click created by your wet, plump lips.

“I love you,” you say. And you mean it.

songs played by sequence: unnamed Mötley Crüe song/ Mandy - Barry Manilow/ Your Love - The Outfield/ Third Uncle - Bauhaus/ Marian - Sisters of Mercy/ Message in a Bottle - The Police/ I Wanna Be Somebody - W.A.S.P./ I Want To Know What Love Is - The Foreigner/ Paranoid - Black Sabbath/ Breaking the Law - Judas Priest/ Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic - The Police/ Broken Wings - Mr. Mister/ Runnin' With the Devil - Van Halen/ Only The Good Die Young - Billy Joel/ 1979 - The Smashing Pumpkins (not in the fic)

special thanks to @poppy-metal and her very horny anons who inspired me for the smut i love u

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED 💕

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changbunnies · 11 months

Text

Sugar (Outlaw 2) 18+

♡ Pairing: Cowboy/Outlaw!Changbin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: wild west au, cowboy/outlaw au, porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k (i got carried away lmao)

♡ Summary: Despite how terrible of an idea it is, Y/N can't seem to stop herself from continuously going back to the outlaw she let defile her. This is a sequel, and you can read part 1 here !

♡ Warnings: strong language, changbin is still mean and condescending in a "nice" sort of way. not as dubcon as part 1 but it is still a major theme, references to guns and gun fights, bounty hunters, and death + murder, discussions about morality + having a morally gray sense of right and wrong, discussions on purity and being impure / tainted / a "whore" (remember that this is a historical setting, and those views don't hold up! your worth as a person is not measured by purity and sex), their relationship is probs toxic lmao

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): references to part 1 and other past dubcon situations, petnames (darlin, sugar, sweetheart, good girl, baby. reader is also refered to as a toy once but not outwardly called one), power play, oral (f+m receiving), fingering (f receiving), orgasm denial, dacryphilia, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: a sequel to Outlaw that no one asked for but i was compelled to write :') as usual, if you’re interested you can check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams !

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

no first paragraph before read more because it goes straight into a dubcon discussion and i don't want anyone who would be bothered to accidentally see it! <3 just click the read more and enjoy !

You really should know better. You should know it’s a bad idea to keep going back to the outlaw who violated you, who treated you like a toy, who’s sense of morality was gray at best and entirely nonexistent at worst. How foolish must you be to continually make the same mistake over and over again? To return to the man who treats you as an object suited to his needs and entertainment?

Yes, you really should know better. And yet, here you are again, with the object of your fury and desire standing before you with that signature smirk and amused glint in his eye. Because despite everything, you find yourself addicted to him. You seek him out, again and again, unable to resist no matter how much the rational part of your brain screams at you not to.

The first time you met him again following that fateful first encounter was by coincidence. Changbin had strolled into your town as the sun hung low in the horizon, tying his horse to one of the many hitching posts outside your family’s saloon before entering. You didn’t notice him right away, much too busy serving drinks to the men on the opposite end of the bar from where he sat, but once your gaze finally reached his..

You froze completely, eyes wide and breath halted. His brow raised when yours eyes met, a delighted glint in his eye as his famous smirk overtook his features. Your mind and heart were racing, grappling between what you should do and how you will look if you make a scene out of him being here. He didn’t intend to stumble upon you here when deciding to settle in town for the night, but by God, was he glad this was the place he chose.

He had noticed you first evidently, and was just waiting for the moment when you’d notice him too. And it was amusing seeing you so disconcerted by his presence, your strong persona faltering the minute he entered your space. He knew where your safe space was now, knew where you called home and where to come find you if he ever so chose to. You, the timid rabbit ensnared in a trap, and Changbin, the deadly hawk ready to devour.

You had to get it together, had to proceed as normal if you didn’t want someone else taking notice of your odd behavior and asking questions. If you were in your right mind, you could probably think of an appropriate excuse to why you were pushed off kilter, but Changbin left you anything but in your right mind.

“What can I get you tonight, sir?” You said after taking a brief moment to steady yourself. The entire exchange of looks the two of you shared likely lasted mere seconds in reality, but it felt like an eternity. He smiled, a mischievous one that did your racing heart no favors, before he answered, “A bourbon, if ya please.”

The night continued as normal for a time following that, with Changbin acting as a surprisingly well behaved bar patron. Though, the only reason he was well behaved was because his eyes were fixed on you. He watched in delight as you wrangled in rowdy patrons and ducked advances from drunken men left and right. It was fun for him; watching you in your element like that, navigating the clamorous saloon with ease and redirecting trouble with a well practiced stern sweetness. Even your rejections to your patrons were sweet, almost sickeningly so; batted eyelashes, rehearsed apologies and excuses, with empty promises of a ‘next time.’

Eventually it came time for the saloon to close, with locals shuffling through the streets back to their homes while guests from out of town had to decide whether or not they’d be paying for a room to sleep off the drink in. And it’s during that time that Changbin finally caught you alone, the door to one of the saloon’s secluded storage cupboards left ajar after you entered the room.

You were just following your nightly routine, checking what stock you had left and taking note of what you’d need to get more of before the week’s end, when you heard the subtle squeak of boots behind you. “Hey there, darlin’,” he smiled as he closed the door behind himself, stepping closer to you after the lock clicked.

“Changbin-,” your voice came out in a stern whisper, unconsciously taking a step back as he moved closer, though there wasn’t far for you to go in the small space, “Get out.” “Now, now,” he tuts, feigning disappoint as he takes another step forward, further closing the gap between you, “is that any way to treat a payin’ guest?”

“Regardless of that, you still aren’t allowed in here,” you scowled, but his grin didn’t falter; if anything, it grew larger, gratified by the brave front you were putting on. If it were with anyone else, your bravery wouldn’t be a front at all, because you certainly are a brave woman- just not with Changbin. With him, you’re weak, your spark diminishing the instant his eyes fall on you. And you’ll fight it, of course you will, but when all is said and done, you will give in. Because that’s just the effect he has on you.

“If you’d rather we do this out in the hall, I’m fine with that,” he challenged you, knowing very well that’s the last thing you’d want. His hand reached up to your neck, pushing your hair behind your shoulder and exposing your neck. “It’s a shame the marks have faded,” he said, voice low as his fingers traced your skin, “what do ya say we bring ‘em back, hmm?”

“Absolutely not,” you hissed, your hands landing on his shoulders as you tried to push him away from you. He stood firm despite your pushing, letting out a low chuckle as his fingers moved from your neck to your shoulder, and down the length of your torso. And to be fair, you weren’t actually using your full strength; you were holding back, and he could tell.

He’s familiar with how a woman who's desperate to get away will react- screaming, hitting, clawing; none of which is what you’re doing. And maybe that would make sense if you were the sort of person who’s fight or flight instinct was to freeze instead, but you're not. You’re brave, you fight, you don’t let men get the better of you.

So why is it that when it’s Changbin putting you in this situation, you easily relinquish control? Why were your attempts to put up a fight so feeble, as if you want to let him overpower you? The answer to that question is clear- the biting words and scornful looks doing little to hide the glimmer that hides underneath. You want him. And if you weren’t ready to admit that to yourself yet, he’d help you see it.

He brought his face close to yours, foreheads just barely touching, the scent of bourbon strong on his breath. The saloon had grown quiet with the closing of the bar and guests retiring to their rooms, and it made you wonder if Changbin could hear how hard your heart was beating. Your eyes were looking to the side, avoiding his piercing gaze.

Eyes that looked straight through you, eyes that uncovered your deepest, darkest desires with ease, eyes that left no room for secrets or lies. Those were the kind of eyes Changbin had, and he used the power they held to his advantage with you. You can’t hide from him; his eyes strip you bare, leaving you as transparent as glass.

Whether you admitted to your desires or not, he’d be the winner. If you gave in right away, confess that he filled you with an impulsive need you previously thought impossible, he’d take pride in the fact that he made you that way. And if you fought, if you denied and rejected, you’d grant him satisfaction when you inevitably crumbled to his touch. Either option left you the loser, because he knows he’s right, and there’s no escaping it.

A one-sided stalemate, where the victor was already predetermined. Your fate unavoidable, Changbin’s hold on your senses undeniable. He has you, and that's why you couldn't look at him. Because no matter how hard you denied it, the truth would be apparent. Much to your dismay, he sees you for who you are- try as you might, there would be no hiding it.

“Look at me, sugar,” he said as his hand hiked up your dress. He wanted to see the expression you held, wanted to see how far your self determination had fallen. Whether it was a look of submission this early on, or a look of pure contempt, it wouldn’t matter; because either way, there’s fun for him to have with you.

“What do you want from me?” you asked with eyes squeezed shut, voice beginning to tremble as his hand rubbed between your thighs. You’re not even sure why you asked, entirely; you knew this was nothing but a game for him, an addictive cat and mouse. He’s in it for the pleasure, for the thrill of making you crumble to his whims- it was as simple and clear as that.

“Oh, darlin,” he cooed as he leaned his head further down, lips brushing against your ear, “you already know what I want.” Fuck. He could see goosebumps erupting on your skin, noticed the way you instinctively tried to close your legs together, though his hand instantly stopped the act from happening. Fun, he thinks. Toying with you is so fun.

“I want you,” Changbin continued, bringing his other hand to your face and forcing you to look back at him. “I want you pinned down underneath me. I want to hold you by the throat while I fuck you. I want to watch you become stupid from my cock.”

Oh, God. Your face was on fire, heart bursting out of your chest, hopelessly ensnared by him; caught in a trap you had no hope of escaping from unscathed.

“I’m not going to let you do that,” you managed to say without stuttering, a feeble attempt to stand your ground, though the proverbial floor to stand on no longer existed. But with his hand nestled between your legs, you couldn’t hide the way your body reacted to his words; couldn’t hide the way arousal pooled in your underwear. Once again, your body has betrayed you.

“Is that right?” he grinned as he spoke, the amusement in his voice clear. He knew you’d let him have you, but the fact that you were denying it makes things much more exciting. “I don’t think that’s true, sugar,” Changbin said, now directly rubbing over your soaked underwear, “I think you’ll let me do anything I want.. I think ya want me just as bad as I want you.”

He was right, of course. Maybe you’d hide it for a time, but you won’t be able to resist for long. He’s frustratingly smug and assured, but it’s not without reason. Your self respect, your dignity, your purity- what had become of it? In blatant terms, it’d been ruined- forever marred by his touch, the damage to your body and mind irreparable. And whatever you could reclaim from what was left has been forever tarnished by your own actions. Tainted by your desire for the man in front of you, your thirst forever unquenchable, the very sanctity of your being in the hands of a criminal.

And in the end, he fucked you right there, in the small, tucked away storage cupboard, with your back against the wall, and legs around his waist. His strength held you up, his arms hooked under your own and supporting all of your weight, your desperate noises muffled only by clamping your hands over your mouth.

He made regular visits to the town after that, becoming a loyal regular of the saloon, charming staff and other patrons alike with his wit and allure. It was infuriating watching him play the role of a simple wanderer looking for work, his true nature and motives known only to you. No one else seemed to know what lied underneath the charming front. The worst kind of man, a manipulator through and through, a deviant who beckoned you to his room in the late hours of the night, the proprietor to a secret affair not yet uncovered by those around you.

However, he couldn’t hide his identity forever; his past actions eventually caught up to him when a gang of bounty hunters began to sweep the area with wanted posters in hand, eager to collect the reward for the head of Seo Changbin. He left town in a blaze of smoke and gunfire, shooting back at anyone who dared follow him.

You were relieved at first, knowing that Changbin couldn’t return without instigating a fierce gun fight for his life. But as the weeks passed, a gnawing feeling began to eat away at your chest. The bounty hunters moved on, carried by the promise of wealth further west, and yet Changbin hadn’t returned to town. And that was a good thing- or at least, it was supposed to be.

Did you.. Miss him? No, that was impossible. Completely unfeasible, utterly out of the realm of possibility. That’s what you told yourself, but the gnawing feeling doesn’t recede in the slightest; if anything, it grew stronger with each passing day. Did you really want to see Changbin again? No, it had to be the hormones talking- surely you weren’t actually hoping to see him again. He twisted your beliefs and made you confused, that’s all; you could recover from this with time.

But you’d been thinking a lot lately about what made Changbin different from the bounty hunters that hunted him, and you came to the conclusion that they weren’t much different in the end; they went wherever money and women called to them, a penchant for violence ingrained in the very essence of their actions. The only difference between them and Changbin was that he didn’t live under false pretenses or a faux sense of morality; he knew exactly who he was, and he didn’t pretend to be anything different in front of you.

And can you call yourself morally superior when at the end of the day you are still taking a life in exchange for money? Can you really say that one sin justifies another? Is it okay to kill someone if that person was in the wrong first? You didn’t think about these things until you met Changbin, and if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know where you stood anymore on whether or not someone like him deserved to die.

You found yourself questioning the people you used to applaud, and wondering if you were really as good of a person as you thought you were. Maybe these complicated feelings always lied within you, and all it took to bring them out was meeting the right person.

No, it was all Changbin’s fault that you’ve begun to feel this way. He warped your thoughts and desires, he made you doubt what you once held firm to, he’s bad for you.

But even so, knowing he’s bad for you, knowing that he makes you act irrationally, knowing that he triggers your deepest impulses, you are here again. Back in the place you first met him, the place you once called home, surrounded by the ghosts of your past, of the person you were before you met him.

“So we meet again, darlin’,” he said when your figure first emerged in his doorway, tense frame instantly relaxing when met with the sight of you, hand falling from its readied position on his gun holster. You are no threat to him, hungry for his touch as you are. Any threat from you would ring hollow, because for better or worse, he knows you. And you're certainly capable of a lot of things, but fighting against your basest desires doesn’t seem to be one of them.

You stepped inside fully, trying to have a nonchalant air about you, though you’re sure Changbin was able to see through it. He always reads you easily, always takes notice of even the most minute of changes in your body language. You’re sure that even now, he can sense the subtle shy anxiety that wells under the surface. But regardless, you’re here now, having come too far to retreat at the last minute.

And you know that he knows what it is you want, knows why you are here, but should you still be honest? Debase yourself by admitting your most carnal of desires? But at this point, what were you if not tarnished? Your worth can’t go any lower than it already is- you were already brought to your lowest point, so what was the harm in indulgence? If you were already ruined, why shouldn’t you disregard all you’ve ever been taught, all you ever thought you knew, and let him devastate you?

But no, you can’t do that. It would be too easy, and if there’s anything you’ve learned about Changbin, it’s that he doesn’t like easy. He wants you to stand your ground, he wants you to argue and fight against everything he says and does. He wants your eyes angry, for your voice to tremble with indignation, because it’ll make it that much better when he dismantles you.

He wants to be the object of your ire, for your resentment to build to the point of eruption, only for it to be eclipsed by how good it feels when he fucks you. Whether or not you truly hate him is up for debate at this point, and ultimately doesn’t matter much. What does matter is the fun you grant him, the cat and mouse game culminating into a moment that can only be described as pure bliss.

“I know, I know. Ya want me to fuck you, don’t ya darlin’?” He smiles as he says it, anticipating what your reaction will ultimately be. A glare maybe, with your face hot and red, or mousy as you finally admit openly how bad you want him. While the looks of animosity are his favorite, he likes the shy looks too; the timid expression on your face when he catches you off guard, a quick glimmer of embarrassment or sheepishness before you can conjure your antipathy to replace it.

“No. I want to fuck you. And you’ll let me,” you say, hoping to come across as confident and stern, “You’ll do whatever I want you to do.” “Oh? Is that right?” Changbin lets out a laugh, head tilting as he grants you another amused look. That’s certainly a surprise, but he’s not opposed to it. He can easily do that- give you a taste of control, that is. It’s an interesting proposition; a fun one.

He can let you believe you’re the one in charge, that you have the power to make the rules and that he’ll follow them. And maybe he will follow them- to an extent, of course. He’ll give you his ‘yes, ma’am’s’ and ‘whatever ya say, darlin’ ‘s, play the role of the obedient man cursed to follow your whims, hit you with tongue-in-cheek remarks and let you ‘tame’ him with harsh looks and biting words when he steps out of line. All so that in the end, when he easily takes all the control away from you, it’ll be that much sweeter.

It’s a fun game you’re offering him, so he’ll play the hell out of it. “Sure, sweetheart. You’ve been a good girl for me, I can give ya a reward,” Changbin smirks as he says it, clearly not taking you seriously in the slightest. But that’s okay, because you didn’t expect him to; you knew any attempt to wrestle control would be met with an amused smirk, you knew that none of your harsh words would do anything but fuel his delight.

The reason you’re doing this isn’t to try and gain some sense of control that you know you won’t be granted, and you don’t intend to make him genuinely submit to you; it’s just part of the game between you, and you’re doing your part to make it the most enjoyable it can be. Because if you’re addicted to Changbin, if you can’t escape the way his touch makes you feel, if you can’t get past the need and craving for him, then you need to make him just as addicted to you.

Just as your thoughts are consumed by him, you want his to be consumed by you. Think of only you, crave only you, make it so that no one else in the world can compare. You want to be the first person, the only person, he goes to when he wants to fuck, you want to be the drug in his veins, you want to eat away at his self-control the same way he eats away at yours.

Changbin could easily fight against your touches, stand firm in place and overpower you if he so chooses, but he’s letting you push him to his knees. “Oh, this is what you want?” he asks with his usual smirk, his hands already moving under your dress to squeeze at your thighs. “You could’ve just asked, sweetheart. I’ll do it if you ask me nicely.”

You roll your eyes, letting a scoff escape your lips. The only way he’d listen to a request from you is if he relentlessly teased and embarrassed you first. You can easily picture the way he’d grin at you, and the condescending tone and words he’d use to make your fists tremble and skin flush. Yes, even if you asked nicely, begged sweetly, or even desperately, he’d use it to ruin you.

“I’m not asking,” you say as you pull your dress up and over your head, tossing it to the floor beside you, because if Changbin is going to be between your legs, you want a full view of it. Rather than act though, he stays completely still, looking up at you with a lifted brow and not at all subtle smirk, as if to challenge you. A look that says ‘aren’t you going to make me?’

You bring your hand to his hair, tugging roughly as you pull him closer to your center, commanding him to get started. “So pushy, are you always this needy?” he teases with a laugh, but adheres to your demand nonetheless, wasting no time in letting his tongue out to lap at you, his hands now squeezing your thighs rougher than before.

Your previous affairs were a secret you held close to your chest, as you knew you’d be branded a “whore” if it was known you’ve had sex whilst unwed. That being said, you’d only done the act with those you had serious interest in. Sweet men, who treated you like an angel, with the utmost care and consideration. Careful touches and soft kisses that were carried through all interactions with you.

When they ate you out, they did so sweetly, with slow kitten licks and gentle caresses to your thighs. And it was nice, you even thought you liked it at the time, but you know that’s not what you want now. Everything about Changbin is different from every other man you’ve been with, and you want this moment to be different too. You want him to devour you, to make a mess of you, to make you feel a pleasure so foreign and intense that it consumes you.

And that’s exactly what he grants you- a pleasure so explosive you have to bite your lip to hold back the noises that threaten to leave you. The drag of his tongue can only be described as euphoric, and when his lips wrap around your clit and suck, you can’t help but let out a loud, shuddering gasp. You want to keep watching him, but you can’t- your eyes refuse to stay open, the pleasure much too intense to do anything else.

He can tell you’re close when your thighs start twitching, quick breathy pants and whines leaving you freely. And that’s when he gets an evil idea- an idea that will make you desperate and whiny, one that will rip any semblance of control out from your hands and place it back into his. A strong suck on your clit, a few quick flicks of his tongue, your body trembling as your mind screams close, close, close-

And in an instant the feeling is gone, all the built up pleasure receding into nothing. A frustrated whine leaves your lips, looking down to see Changbin staring back at you with that stupid fucking smile he has every time he successfully drives you crazy. “F-Fuck, you fucking asshole, you-” you prattle off insults, though the act does nothing but add to the satisfaction he feels; this is exactly the reaction he was hoping for.

You move your hand to the back of his head, pushing him back to where you want him and demanding that he keep going. And to your surprise, he does, though not without a muffled snicker first. And if your mind wasn’t so clouded by the desire to cum, you might have realized what his intentions were by going back in without a fight, but you didn’t have the mental capacity for that any longer. All you knew is that you wanted, needed, to release all over his tongue.

Changbin goes through the same motions as before, expertly building you up to your release, getting you so, so close, before pulling away again right before you can. Another frustrated, high pitched whine leaves you, hips stuttering in an effort to feel something, anything to bring your release to you. You look down at him again, eyes glossy from the tears welling in them, and fuck, that look really does it for him. The pretty look of aggravation mixed with desperation makes his cock impossibly hard.

You try to push him to your center again, but this time he resists, staying firmly in place and watching the way your expression twists into one of near anguish with an amused satisfaction. “Changbin-” your voice doesn’t come out anywhere near as stern and commanding as you wish it to; instead, his name leaves you as an urgent, desperate mewl. “Aww, poor thing. Ya gonna cry?” he mocks you, head tilted and an infuriating grin plastered on his face.

Fuck. You knew it wouldn’t be long until Changbin flipped the script and put you back at his mercy, but this soon? And he didn’t know whether you were genuinely vying for control or not, if you went into this with the intent to fight until the bitter end or if you were resolved to relinquish it after some time; what he did know is that he loved seeing you like this. Broken almost, resolve crumbled like a sand castle hit by a wave, so weak and ruined, all because of him.

“Want me to keep going?” he asks in a tone that is almost sickeningly sweet, another twisted smile of satisfaction on his face. You nod frantically, a shameless display of your need, and he smirks, answering your reaction with a condescending, “Why should I?” Another whine, hot tears rolling down your cheeks as indignation and desperation eat away at you.

Changbin coos when he sees the tears fall, another “poor thing” leaving him. Funny how he’s the one on his knees, yet is the one entirely in control. You beg wantonly now, countless utterances of “please” and “i need it”, all sense of restraint and shame seeming to have evaporated the moment your tears began to fall. The display makes his cock throb in his trousers, erotic beyond words, utterly enthralling and so pretty.

“Shh, that’s enough darlin’,” he says as he takes one of your legs and guides it over his shoulder, fully ready to support your weight and keep you standing for what he plans to do next. You keen when his tongue finally makes contact with you again, body shuddering as your head lolls back. One arm snakes around the leg not propped up on him, squeezing at the flesh within his reach, while the other moves between your thighs, fingers prodding at your entrance for just a moment before sliding easily inside.

He gives you no time to adjust to the thickness of his fingers, setting a fast pace with them from the very start. Your eyes roll back, a cacophony of lewd noises filling the space as your high quickly builds back up for the third time. Between the earlier denied orgasms, the relentless pace he’s setting now with his fingers and the way his lips feel wrapped around your clit, you’re already dangerously close.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, both as a means to ground yourself and to keep him as close to you as possible; and it only takes a few more thrusts of his fingers and flicks of his tongue to send you over the edge. You cum hard, Changbin’s body and hold on your leg being the only thing keeping you upright as the waves of pleasure course through you. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your entire body shaking, with the only noise you’re capable of making being sharp gasps as your release spills on his tongue and fingers.

You sink to the floor when he moves back and lets you go, legs akin to jello and no longer able to support your weight after having what was easily the most intense orgasm of your life. Your eyes are still closed, breathing labored as you try to bring your mind back down to earth. Changbin meanwhile rises to his feet, being the one to look down at you now.

It’s a pretty sight; your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, tear stains on your cheeks and body flushed. But it could still be prettier, and he knows exactly how he wants to achieve that look. “Open your eyes, sweetheart,” you hear Changbin’s voice call to you from above, and when you do you’re met with quite the sight.

His cock is in one of his hands, trousers having fallen to the floor around his ankles. You must have been too lost in your haze to hear him unzip his pants, or to hear the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor. You look up at his face next, taking in the expectant gaze he’s shooting at you.

You’re half tempted to say no, to make a big show out of protesting and coax him to put you back in your place, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want his cock in your mouth right now. It’s not often you’re granted the pleasure of sucking him off, as he usually he goes straight into fucking you after he’s done with his merciless teasing- so you’ll play the good girl role, just this once.

You shift to be fully on your knees, opening your mouth wide for him and letting your hands rest on his thighs. He brings a hand to the back of your head, pushing you the rest of the way when you hesitate, ensuring you take the entirety of his length in your mouth in one go. You gag when the tip touches your throat, but Changbin’s hand holds you in place, preventing you from instinctively retreating.

The way you're looking up at him through your lashes, eyes glossy with fresh, unshed tears and nose touching his pubic bone- it’s enough to drive him wild. But he won’t lose it just yet; he’ll grant you a small kindness by giving you a few moments to adjust, to familiarize yourself with the feeling of his cock down your throat and learn how to breathe through it. He can’t let his favorite toy completely suffocate on him, after all.

He sets a brutal pace once he’s sure you’re adjusted, sparing your poor throat no mercy. You can barely even hear the low groans he lets out over the salacious sounds leaving your mouth and throat. It’s a struggle not to choke and sputter every time he thrusts back into your mouth, and each failed attempt causes the tears on your lashes to spill over.

The saliva that has pooled in your mouth escapes out of the sides, sliding down your chin and dripping onto your chest. You can’t help but squirm as he holds your head in place, your nails digging into his thighs as you try your hardest to ignore the growing ache in your jaw and effectively breathe through your nose. You can feel his cock twitch against your tongue as his pace becomes the slightest bit more sporadic, and for a moment you think he intends to cum down your throat, but he doesn’t.

He pulls out instead, a subtle smirk on his face as he watches you take big, gulping breaths to allow air back into your lungs. You wipe your face clean with the back of your hand before you look up at him, knowing he’s far from done with you. He takes you in his arms, helping you rise to your feet (though you doubt he’s helping you due to any sort of caring, and is only doing it to get you where he wants you faster.)

“Come with me, darlin’,” he says as he leads you to the bed with him, paying no mind to the unsteadiness in your legs as you try to keep up with his pace. Changbin sits first, pulling you onto his lap immediately after. You already know what he wants, but you can’t- your knees ache from the time spent on the hard floor, and the usual strength in your legs has all but evaporated.

“Bin-” you start to whine, complaints lingering on your lips, but he tuts before you can even begin to speak them. “What’s wrong, sugar? Didn’t ya say you wanted to fuck me?” Fucking asshole, throwing your words back at you and looking at you with that devilish smile. He should know you weren’t even that serious about it! He’s just being cruel. “I can’t, I-”

“You can,” he interrupts, guiding you to align yourself with him, “You will.” His hands are holding your hips, another expectant look on his face as he waits for you to sink down on him. “You’re so fucking mean-” you cry, body trembling as you lower yourself onto his cock. He just grins, knowing very well that if you truly hated how mean he was, you wouldn’t have crawled your way back to him.

Your pace isn’t all that fast given the ache in your knees, but contrary to what you’d expect, Changbin doesn’t scold you. Instead, he cups your face under the chin, directing you to look at him. “So sweet, aren’t ya sugar?” he smiles, thumb rubbing your cheek while his other hand stays firmly on your hip, “such a brat sometimes, but you do whatever you're told in the end, don’t ya? Such a good girl when ya want to be, huh?”

You should be ashamed of the way his words fill your stomach with butterflies, but you truly can’t help it. He knows what he’s doing too; knows how to drive you absolutely crazy, knows how to be mean in just the right way, so that when a praise hits your ears it affects you all the more.

However, despite your best effort, you can’t get your legs to cooperate with you any further. Your legs feel so heavy, and having your hands firmly placed on Changbin’s chest for support does nothing to ease the unsteady trembling. It’s a subtle sort of humiliation- making you do something he knows is near impossible in your current state.

The tears are welling in your eyes again and threatening to spill, frustration in your gut and exhaustion completely taking over your body. Your legs throb from the exertion and fatigue, your energy beyond spent, you can’t keep going. Your pace slows to a near stop, and you look at him pleadingly, teary eyed and pouty, a silent beg for his help.

He knew you wouldn’t be able to do it for long, but he made you do it anyway, because this is what he really wanted. He wanted to watch you turn into a pathetic, whining mess, he wanted to relish the look of anguish on your face. He has to be cruel to you, because the end result is always so addicting.

“Tell me what you need, baby. Need my help? Need me to fuck you?” he smiles sweetly as he asks, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. You nod quickly, leaning into his touch that shouldn’t at all be comforting but somehow is in your near-delirious state. “Use your voice, sweetheart. I gotta hear you say it.”

God, he loves when you get to this point- where all anger and shame has been replaced by the overwhelming desire and need you feel for him. You’re babbling out pleas over and over, and he takes a moment to savor the sound of it before shushing you. “Hush now, darlin’, I’ll give ya what you want.”

He flips your positions easily, you landing on your back against the mattress and Changbin now hovering over you. You stare up at him as he sinks back into you, the sight of him making your heart race. It’s infuriating how handsome he is, especially in moments like this, where sweat lingers on his brow and his jaw clenches.

Changbin is good at acting unaffected by you, always able to make it seem like he’s not at all enthralled or addicted, always making your need for him appear one-sided. But the truth is he needs you just as bad as you need him, because in you he has finally found his perfect match. You wanted him to crave you solely, to look for you and only you, not knowing that he already was.

He didn’t seek you out all those times after your lucky re-encounter because it was easy or convenient; it’s because it was you, specifically. He’s no stranger to brothels and bordellos, nor to the coy advances of working women. There are countless women in the world, countless establishments he could spend his coin at to satiate himself, but they weren’t you. All he wants and all he needs, the very picture of perfection, you.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a sensual kiss as he starts to thrust in earnest, and the act makes your stomach twist. He’s kissed you before of course, but only ever with the intent to tease or humiliate you, and never while his cock was inside you. And you don’t know why, but it feels good. He can tell you like it too, by the way you clench around him, and from the way a pleasured noise he’s never heard before leaves your throat.

He keeps his lips attached to yours, tongues sloppily rubbing together. His fingers dig into your hips as he fucks into you, his tight hold leaving indentations behind in your skin. Changbin curses under his breath when he pulls away, both of your highs quickly approaching. You’re squeezing him so tight, and the feeling of your nails digging into his skin is intoxicating.

“Fuck, ‘m so close-” he groans, pace quickly becoming more sporadic. And this is normally the point he’d pull out, letting his cum spill between your thighs or onto your chest and stomach, but.. He looks at you, and all he can think about is how you’re his. He wants no one else to have you, no one else to touch you, no one to even look at you the way he does.

So instead, he pulls you in even closer, your chest firmly pressed into his as he presses his lips to your ear. “Gonna cum in you darlin’. You’d like that, right? Want me to fill you up?” You gasp at his words, one that transitions into a moan as your arms and legs wrap snuggly around him. It’s a bad fucking idea, but you want it so bad.

Whatever the consequences are, you’re too far gone to care about them. You want him to claim you in all ways; his teeth, his nails, his cum- it didn’t matter, so long as you were his in the end. “Y-Yes, please, I want it,” your answer comes out between shuddering inhales, desperate and eager for Changbin to release inside you.

It only takes a few more thrusts for him to spill inside you, the sensation of his cum shooting in you both foreign but good beyond what you ever could’ve imagined. His hips don’t stop moving even as he cums, and the continued thrusts paired with the feeling of being filled up for the first time sends you over the edge too, body convulsing in his hold as pure pleasure fills your senses.

You’re both breathless when you finally come down from your high, body going limp as you release Changbin from your hold. He pulls out slowly, and fuck, the sight of his cum dripping out of your hole is utterly intoxicating; he’s definitely going to become addicted to it. He lies next to you when he’s done admiring the view, looking at your face next with a subtle smile.

“What do ya think about being my lady? Hmm, baby?” he asks as he pulls you in, pressing your body into his as his arm wraps around your waist. You blink as you process it, a sort of warmth overtaking your body as the question settles in you. “...are you serious?” you can’t help but ask, unsure if this is going to transition into some sort of tease if you say yes or if the question is genuine.

“Dead serious, darlin’,” Changbin answers easily, his smile the most earnest you’ve ever seen it to be. Not at all condescending, no trace of a humiliating remark waiting to be said; he’s simply asking you a question, with nothing more beyond it. And he wouldn’t say it’s love that drives him to make you his, because genuine love is a foreign thing to a man like him, but this is likely the closest he’ll ever get. He just wants to know you’ll always be there, that you’d follow him anywhere he goes, that no matter where life takes the two of you, you’ll belong to him and he’ll belong to you.

And fuck, it’s a really bad idea. You really, really shouldn’t- you should know better. So why are you entertaining the idea? Why does the thought of spending your days with someone so objectively terrible make you so happy? He’s really fucking ruined you, it seems. He’s a terrible man who does terrible things, he’s a criminal, he’s a manipulator- your immediate answer should be a resounding “no.”

But the truth of the matter is that Changbin makes you feel like no one else; infuriated but desired, broken but simultaneously put together. You’ve come to enjoy the dynamic you have with him; you now understand the fun in the back and forth, the pleasure to be had in the banter and fight, how impossible it is to let someone who matches your energy go.

A life with him would surely be a life of turmoil, of danger and of risk. But it would also be one of pleasure and unforeseen excitement. Your life was good before meeting him, but it was also dull and predictable. You were likely to spend your whole life in the same place, forever at the beck and call of your parents, or a man that while sweet, wouldn’t excite or please you the way Changbin does. If you say yes, your life will change forever.

No, that’s not quite true; your life already has been forever altered by meeting him. You’re already his, and this is nothing more than a formality. Because why else would you be here right now, if you weren’t already his? For better or worse, you belong to him, body and soul, and you’ve come to realize that nothing will change it.

“Teach me how to use a gun and I’m all yours,” you finally say, and Changbin laughs, clearly pleased with the answer you came to. “You got it, darlin’. Just promise ya won’t shoot me by the time we’re done.” “No promises. I’d be careful if I were you,” you smile, tone light and playful.

“Is that a threat, sugar?” he meets your smile with one of his own, tilting his head to the side as he always does when he’s amused. “Sure is. Don’t pretend you don’t deserve it,” you answer, and he laughs again, pulling you into a kiss afterwards. Body to body, limbs tangled together as you smile at each other, he thinks about what a perfect partner in crime you’ll be from here on out.

#skz x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #changbin smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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honuofhawaii · 1 year

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Sarah Kazansky and her place in the Fanworks vs Source Material

Some background:

I only just got into the Top Gun fandom, only having watched the original movie a month ago so that I could be prepared to watch Top Gun: Maverick. Top Gun (1986) is entertaining but not something I’m particularly attached to. The two most compelling parts are Gooses death and the handshake/hug at the end. Overall I walked away, having been entertained but not overtly attached.

TGM is another story. It’s extremely well done, emotionally deep, and really cool. (Is it also blatant military propaganda? yes, but that doesn’t stop it from having a compelling story) Probably the best scene is between Maverick and Iceman. Unlike so many sequels where rivals/enemies become friends at the end of the original and then clearly aren’t, this scene demonstrates a deep love and respect between the two characters without destroying the banter filled rivalry that makes the relationship interesting. Now part of this might be the fact that this sequel takes place over 30 years later, and I’m sure Ice and Mav butted heads over the years, but it shows that ultimately they both stuck by their words to be each others wingman.

Okay Now to the point:

Sarah pretty much has a singular purpose in the movie, and that’s to make Iceman straight…(or at least in a m/f relationship). However it’s done in such a way that she doesn’t actually accomplish that purpose. We see her twice and she never interacts with Ice on screen: first when she greats Maverick and he reads Ice’s terminal diagnosis in her expression. It’s obvious she and Mav have a rapport and friendship. The second is at the funeral where she is presented with Ice’s flag. These two scenes along with the wedding band on Ice’s hand all are meant to imply that Sarah and Tom Kazansky are married. And I’m certain you’ll be able to find sources that explicitly state that but the movie isn’t one of them.

Because of this lack of confirmation fandom has done an interesting thing. Many with a queer reading of Ice have decided not to ignore Sarah but instead embraced the non explicit nature of her and Ice’s relationship and say that she’s his sister. And the fact of the matter is that she very well could be. A sister can just as easily be staying with her terminally ill brother. A sister can just as easily be his next of kin and take his flag. So many young soldiers flags are taken by their mothers or sisters.

Now having an explicitly cannon m/f relationship has never stopped fandom from deciding that a character is queer and writing them thusly. But I just find it interesting how Sarah treated.

Her being Tom’s sister isn’t the universal decision of the queer side of the fandom. I’ve seen fics set earlier in the timeline (specifically set prior to the DADT repeal) have her be a lesbian also in the armed forces marrying a gay Tom to protect both of them. There are also some where she’s unknowingly Tom’s beard.(but those leave a bad taste in my mouth realistic as it may be). I’ve even seen AroAce Sarah marrying Tom for taxes, children, and to protect him.

It’s nice that in general this fandom has refused to dismiss the new women who joined the story in TGM even while still maintaining the iron clad belief that Top Gun is about gay pilots. Many Fanfiction authors have given more consideration to Sarah than the actual movie. (Now it does suck when women are only in a movie to tell you something about a man. that’s a problem)

#top gun maverick #top gun #sarah kazansky #women in fiction #you can write men as gay without disparaging the women who are their cannon love interest #tom iceman kazansky #queer fandom

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duckprintspress · 8 months

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September General Imprint Releases: Three New Titles from Duck Prints Press

We’ve got three new short stories out September 28th 2023!

Title: A Ghost for Halloween Author: K. B. Vimes

General/No Relationship, Family and Siblings, Ghosts, Mourning and Grief, Child Point of View

In the spirit of Color by Owl Outerbridge, The Offered Ones by A. L. Heard, and The Fairy Garden by Rhosyn Goodfellow, K. B. Vimes continues our authors’ tradition of writing compelling stories that explore the fears and hopes attendant with raising children in the modern world.

Halloween is Maggie’s favorite day of the year; she just wishes she knew why her parents hate it so much, why they always refuse to go trick-or-treating with her, why her mother spends the night drunk. At least this year, she’s found another kid to go with her. He’s strange, but Maggie will overlook a lot if it means she gets to have a friend.

Title: Be Not Afraid Author: Nicola Kapron

M/M, Angels and Demons and the Apocalypse Oh My!, the Hardest Part of the Post-Apocalypse is Finding a Job, There’s Only One Bed (but the Roommate Doesn’t Sleep)

Nicola Kapron returns with her seventh story published with Duck Prints Press, this time exploring how “the end of the world” can mean very different things depending on one’s circumstances.

Tora survives the end of the world, and so does his sister, even though he can’t escape the niggling feeling that one or both of them shouldn’t have. Still, that’s not his immediately problem. No, he’s more concerned about his demon roommate and his odd-job daily gig.

Title: Commute Author: Eliot Lovell

F/F, the Inherent Awkwardness of Sitting Together on the Train, WLW Disaster Flirting

Fluffy f/f is one of our most popular short story genres. Eliot Lovell’s debut story with Duck Prints Press joins our extensive catalog of works by such authors as A. L. Heard, Violet J. Hayes, Annabeth Lynch, and D. V. Morse. You can check out all of our f/f general imprint titles here.

Eloise intensely dislikes when she has to work in the city, not least because of the commute by train. But the longer the beautiful woman sits across from her in the facing row of seats, the more she starts to think maybe commuting isn’t so bad…

Also Now Available: The Summer 2023 General Imprint Bundle!

The Summer 2023 General Imprint Bundle Includes:

Little Witch’s Apothecary by J. D. Harlock

Chinaski’s Dirty Work by J. D. Harlock

Count the Number of Seeds by Lyn Weaver

Entanglement ‎ by Lyn Weaver

Awkward and Oblivious by R. L. Houck

if it’s meant to be by Tris Lawrence

Chrysopoeia by Zel Howland

Usually $9.93, you can now get all seven of these stories for only $7.99! Come on over and check out a selection of what Duck Prints Press has to offer!

#duck prints press #new release #our titles #queer stories #eliot lovell #nicola kapron #k. b. vimes #j. d. harlock #lyn weaver #r. l. houck #tris lawrence #zel howland

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vergess · 2 years

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Huh, interesting how Mina starts taking care of Lucy and then Jonathan (who literally seals his journal and stops writing because he's too busy trying to Not Die from the consumption/Dracula poison in his brain), something that Mina admits has been wearing her down a lot... And then it's her who becomes overtaken by the consumption and sleeps daily for half a day and stops writing by sealing her mind from the world due to Dracula in her brain... And now it's Jonathan who is tending her every need by feeding/dressing/shielding her for weeks. And we see how it affects him too, as he too stops writing and the others see him avoiding them by being either with his wife in their room or alone in the shadows with his knife sanctified by dark love. Both he and and Mina are affected by each others' illness, and both personally tend each other never complain (though Mina shares it once in a letter to [dead] Lucy)

I really think one of the things that makes Jonathan and Mina'r relationship so compelling is that exact reciprocity, though I wouldn't have thought about it like that without your commentary of course.

But, honestly, for all the weight that is culturally assigned to the phrase "in sickness, and in health," the simple fact that anyone who has ever Gotten Sick Like That can tell you is...

Most people don't mean it.

When you get sick, when you get really sick, maybe with something strange that the people around you can't understand... Most of them will simply write you out of their lives. Not just coworkers or friends, but often spouses too.

Being sick sucks for a lot of reasons, but the whole issue of abandonment and isolation, that's not inherent to the illness.

That's a sucking that comes entirely from the people around you.

The intensity with which Jonathan and Mina take care of each other, rather than Mina caretaking while Jonathan praises but never helps her, is so uncommon. Not just in literature, but in life too.

And I think it puts a lot of weight into their relationship that, frankly, the vast majority of M/F relationships in English literature Do Not Even Try To Have.

I joke sometimes about JonMina being a "gay" relationship that just happens to be M/F, of calling their relationship bi4bi rather than M/F, etc.

But, the reason that those jokes work is because a lot of the time, these acts of nonsexual care and love just don't get written in M/F ships; they're gay tropes for a reason.

But they aren't exclusively gay tropes.

And in this case, I think Jonathan and Mina's collective resolve to have the lives they wanted, even in spite of both being stuck ill and both being repeatedly traumatized speaks to me, at least, the most intimately as a severely disabled person who has been repeatedly abused and abandoned, and ultimately only found safety among other disabled people who could relate to that isolation.

#asks #ask answers #garnetsfists #Dracula #Dracula Daily #JonMina #Chronic illness #Sickfic is the ultimate expression of Found Family i guess lol

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fallenangels1987 · 9 months

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one thing in comics thats not necessarily homophobic or misogynistic but still feels homophobic and misogynistic is when writers create the most random ass m/f pairing, usually wildly mischaracterizing the woman, and then expects everyone to just accept it because they are Straight and this is what Straight people do. get into relationships with people they hate and become hollow fascimiles of themselves. unless you have really good buildup and payoff i cannot believe that random hero man and random villain woman are seriously in love because he saw her once and was like "shes soooo hot i need to get with her now" and then IN THE SAME ISSUE they get together WHILE theyre doing a bunch of other shit. and the woman gets no development either. thats not how it works. you cant just say theyre in love and expect me to believe it without actually writing a compelling relationship. the more i explain this the more i understand why it feels misogynistic. its because it is. or im just aroace and dont understand the pace at which romance is supposed to happen. idk idk im not an m/f hater im a weird badly written m/f hater you know

#i wish i could name examples of this but its just something ive picked up slowly #it happened a lot in 90s/2000s comics i know that

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eclipsecrowned · 2 months

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⋆ NAME?: Kadi! Kadian if you wanna do the internet equivalent of using 'first name middle name' like you're my mother.

⋆ PRONOUNS?: she/they

⋆ MOST ACTIVE MUSE(S)?: hel has been here since 2017 and she has no intention of going anywhere, near as i can tell. gale and cyra have also been quite loud of late, and crane pops up his head like a whackamole perennially.

⋆ RP PET PEEVES?: lotta misogyny and biphobia in the community masquerading as diversity. no that doesn't mean saying your muse is gay. i'm talking canonically bi/pan characters getting their important or romantic dynamics with women totally devalued or stripped, or even having across the board m/f relationship bans on the belief it's 'het.' i'm not even bi and i'm sick of that shit. don't even get me started on 'girlboss' and 'team mom' and 'too good for the boys' being the new pedestal installed over 'ew why would a sexy seme/uke-kun ever touch a nasty vageena, women suck.'

⋆ EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS?: it's been 11 or 12 years on tumblr alone. before that, lot of gaiaonline. before that, deviantart. before that, lots of chatrooms and forums. before that, larping lotr on the playground with the few kids that could stand my maladjusted ass.

⋆ FLUFF, ANGST, OR S.MUT?: fluff and angst all day every day. i'm so bad at smut. every time i have done a smut meme on this blog it's largely foreplay or afterglow. it's not even like i'm embarrassed or repressed, i just know when to fold em as an author, and smut is it. i can do angst or fluff all day though so long as it's compelling/serves characters or narrative.

⋆ LONG OR SHORT REPLIES?: start short and work my way up. genuinely cannot start with multipara but boy howdy i can be there as early as reply 3.

⋆ TIME TO WRITE?: whenever the cold unfeeling grip of capitalism releases its hold on me that i might sit down and churn something out. it used to be daily but that was several jobs ago.

Tagged by: @melpomeneprose

Tagging: the mutual reading this <3

#about the mun #out of stories #dash game

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edalynn · 11 months

Note

oh my god, the amount of people i saw today that said “umm, actually, huntric is a proship because they’re stepbrothers!! aladarius is literally canon! stop shipping huntric plz, we have h/l for a reason” is. insane. i’m losing my mind at this point, why can’t some h/ls just accept that people can ship different things without it interfering with their own ship??? ALSO the way a looot of them say that aladarius is “basically canon” is so annoying to me, don’t get me wrong, i love the ship but it ISN’T CANON DAWG. Darius just blushed at Alador for like 2 seconds, how is that confirming their relationship 💀 don’t get me started on how they ignore that h/l was left ambiguous but insist it’s fully canon...... a sign i see in toh is how they make it abundantly clear that a ship is canon by making those characters date/get together or do something explicitly romantic, h/l?? the stuff they do is what affectionate friends do with each other 😭 or at least that’s how i personally interpret it. that group of h/l fans are the main reason why i feel so uncomfortable when someone mentions to me that they ship it, ik it sounds dumb but HHHHH I WISH I WAS KIDDING DUDE. so sorry for the caps and the rant </3 your blog makes me feel real safe and reminds me that i’m not alone when it comes to disliking h/l !! thank you for being the h/l hateline HSJXCH

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. Hunt/lows will literally make up any fucking reason they can to call people that dislike their ship wrong/bad. Like, at least we aren't telling them something's wrong with them for shipping hunt/low, or that they can't ship it?? Like, unfortunately, yes they can ship whatever they like. That doesn't necessarily make it a good or compelling, or even non-toxic ship, but there isn't anything wrong with shipping it like with Lun/ter. Also, I mean, they clearly can't even accept the fact that their own ship isn't actually canon, are we expecting them to understand ala/darius isn't either? They're clearly incapable of reading situations where a relationship is being teased and not understanding that it does not mean they're canonically in a relationship- they've proved that over and over lmao. Like, yeah, I like ala/darius as much as the next guy! But unfortunately, all it was was teased in the show because it's a popular ship and that's what shows do. Same as Hunt/low. Both were left ambiguous on purpose because it's good writing. It keeps both sides of the fandom happy- or at least, it's supposed to. The Owl House really did have a habit of making canon relationships very explicitly canon because the representation those actual canon ships served was important. The canon relationships also had actual weight on the storyline and plot, whereas neither of those ships did, so of course they would be left ambiguous. TOH made a point to make sure you knew when characters were romantically together, with kissing an words, where everything Hunter and Willow have done in canon has been very platonic implied, which I can only take to be intentional like the rest of the show. Anyone obsessed with a m/f ship is incapable of realizing this, apparently.

#taako talks #asks #anons #toh #the owl house #huntl0w negative

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egipci · 11 months

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would like to hear more thoughts about fem!sam and deanjohn!

hmmm I don't really have super complex or coherent thoughts about fem!sam + j/d other than I think it could really interesting! I tend to see so much more fem!dean on my dash (both w/m!sam or f!sam) but never really f!S/m!D (this is just how my dash skews, I don't know if that's necessarily representative of spn fandom at large)--- and also I think a genderswap would be as interesting in context of Sam's character as it is for Dean's (I don't really care for the tired "female-coded" discussion all that much --- I mean this in the sense of "imagine if everything stayed the same but also Sam is a girl").

The J/D part of things adds a layer that I find really compelling, obviously informed by certain ideas I have about how pre-series world operates and my strong John-is-Dean's-first-love convictions, etc. I think Sam being a girl would simultaneously add a greater degree of protectiveness on John's and Dean's end that would also potentially translate to more softness from John, in some ways, and more anxiety re: her leaving, and obviously an even stronger sense of obligation on Dean’s side — but I think there would also be a more profound distance along gender lines. (I also have some very strong, and seemingly fringe beliefs, about how m/m j/d on the whole would be MUCH more palatable and easier for John than John/Deanna ever could be -- but that's for a different conversation -- and this extends even to s/d where Dean does reciprocate, because fucking his baby sister is orders of magnitude more terrible than fucking his baby brother) and Sam being a girl would amplify 1. the angst/bitterness of why is my otherwise straight brother more into Dad than he is into me (this recalls some gender-related anxieties from Elizabeth Smart’s By Grand Central Station I Sat Down and Wept that I find really moving); 2. the forcefulness of Sam’s advances towards Dean, if that’s something that happens; and 3. the victim-blaming/lack of sympathy/understanding Sam would feel towards Dean and his dogged loyalty to Dad, because obviously he’s a cool manly dude and it should be much easier for him to assert himself or resist or think for himself vis-a-vis her own gendered experience etc.

And this is also really fascinating in relation to J/D from John’s pov. It seems to me that even with girl Sam who (maybe) looks like her mom and acts like her mom did back in the day with the assertiveness and the desire to escape her family and all the affection John holds for her independently as his daughter, it would still be Dean he fucks (or however close they get to that), in part because of the gender stuff mentioned above, but also because it’s Dean, and that sort of thing is only really possible with Dean and in the context of their relationship (tho I suppose this depends entirely on what you think the j/d relationship is about and John’s motivations and rationale are.)

So, anyway, it’s cool interesting stuff! Someone should write this!

#Ahhh #john/dean #I guess #asks

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beecastle · 2 years

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July Fic Recs

Welcome to the list of all the fics I read in July! Hope you can find something to read, and as always mind the warnings for each fic ❤️

Includes: Din, Ezra, Frankie, Jack, Javi, Javier, Marcus P., Pats, Pero, Multiple Pedro Boys (Dieter, Nico, Marcus M. and Joel)

Din

An Adorably Sweet Man - @/wheresarizona → Arizona writes one of the softest Din ever, this one is him and Reader having feeling for each other (Din x F!Reader)

Fast Cars and Lighting Bolts pt. 2 - @littlemisspascal → Racing AU (Din x F!Reader)

Howl - @/littlemisspascal (and me) → Werewolf au (Din x F!Reader)

Merry Go Round of Life ch. 1 and 2 - @/writeforfandoms → Howl’s Moving Castle AU (Din x F!Reader)

Thanks, Kid - @wheresarizona → A sweet moment between Din and Grogu

Ezra

Remain Nameless - @insomniamamma → Really angsty and dark but so beautiful (Ezra and Cee x gn!Reader)

Rising Tides prelude and ch.1 - @pix-writes → Ezra + The Hunger Games, is there a better combination? (Ezra x F!Reader)

The Lure of Vengeance - @novemberrain221 → Ez dealing with the loss of his arm and being an underground fighter (no pairing)

Wild Mountain Thyme - @writeforfandoms → Ezra is in the dragon ‘verse and he’s a nest raider! (Ezra x F!Reader)

Frankie

Moonlit Hollow - @/deadhumourist → Frankie kissing you when you’re experiencing angsty thoughts (Frankie x gn!Reader)

Nothing and Everything - @hopeamarsu → Frankie would do anything to protect Benny (Frankie x Benny)

Paper Planes pt. 1 and 2 - @/hopeamarsu → Soulmate au, Frankie is trying to find his perfect match (Frankie x F!Reader) *

Return - @/criticallyacclaimedstranger → Waking up next to Frankie (Frankie x F!Reader)

Some other Night and Something More - @prolix-yuy → Frankie and Reader have the cutest relationship! The TP boys show up too! (Frankie x F!Reader) *

Jack

365 - @quica-quica-quica → Jack writes the sweetest letter for your one year anniversary (Jack x F!Reader)

It goes like this forever (Tangled Up Series) - @/writeforfandoms → Reader gets herself depper in the whole missing dragons problem (Jack x F!Reader)

Under Marula Trees (ch. 1 - 4) - @deadhumourist → Jack and the rest of the agents visit a safari lodge (Jack x F!Reader)

Javi G

Chasing the sunset - @/hopeamarsu → Javi is nervous about flying. One of the most beautiful descriptions of sunsets (Javi x F!Reader)

Cradled in love - @/novemberrain221 → The aftermath of Javi getting shot (Javi x Gabriela)

Hidden Depths - @/littlemisspascal (and me) → A friends to lovers story with a sprinkle of magical creatures (Javi x Nico)

When you were mine (ch. 1-5) - @ezrasbirdie → Javi meets Reader when she is working at Blockbuster Video. So cute! (Javi x F!Reader)

Javier

Angels of Mercy pt.1 and pt.2 - @maharani-radha-writes → Javier is a Narco boss and you’re trying to catch him. (Javier x F!Reader)

Doubting myself - @lovesbiggerthanpride → Javi and S3 angst (Javier x F!Reader)

Mine For The Summer - @/littlemisspascal (and me) → Javier only stays for the summer (Javier x F!Reader)

“I want you to ruin me“ - @criticallyacclaimedstranger → Dom!Javi turns into sub!Javi (Javier x F!Reader)

Quick, Goodbye Kiss - @/criticallyacclaimedstranger → Javi says goodbye as he heads for work (Javier x F!Reader)

Marcus Pike

4 minutes - @/hopeamarsu → Can you fall in love with someone in 4 minutes?(Marcus P. x gn!Reader)

How To Kill An Immortal ch.1 and 2 - @whataperfectwasteoftime → Marcus is an immortal. Go read this series! (Marcus x OMCs and OFCs)

New Moon - Chance Encounter - @/hopeamarsu → Marcus helps you when a man confronts you on the street. Omegaverse (Marcus P. x f!Reader)

Pedro Across the Street

Kiss and Tell: The First Time (Good. Things. Take. Time.) - @oonajaeadira → Pats is so sfot and cute and vulnerable here, I love him (Pats x F!Reader)

Pero

Beach Pero - @/hopeamarsu → Pero finding peace on the beach (Pero x F!Reader)

Where he is compelled to stay - @/oonajaeadira → Adira makes Pero soft. (Pero x F!Reader)

Multiple Pedros

The Infinity Cube ch. 18 and 19 - @littlemisspascal → The story is coming to an end soon and this chapters are filled with angst and little bit of comfort, and I love them (Dieter, Marcus M., Nico, Joel x F!Reader and Javi G x F!Reader)

#monthly reads

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adanseydivorce · 8 months

Note

“what’s a ship you hate that most people like?” for tvd

There are a few that could count at different points in the shows but in general I really don’t like Delena, they’re just so… unappealing to me as a romance overall. It’s not that my principles don’t allow me to ship it because it’s toxic lol I’ve shipped things as bad in that regard, Spike x Buffy is one of my favorite pairings across all media I absolutely love them and it’s a similar mold of ship (and the tvd writers tried very hard to mold DE by their example but just… completely misunderstood the assignment imo. Or at least failed in regards to what can make a relationship like that deeply compelling to me personally I know there are a lot of people who love both or hate both so. I can find objectively awful m/f relationships like this emotionally resonant and interesting when there’s genuine care about exploring the main female char’s headspace and her development in regards to it bonus points if it ends tragically which is all true with how Spuffy is executed and handled combined with superior writing, acting and chemistry v Delena where it’s clear the writers do not care about Elena’s side of things at all) They’re so boring to me most of the time they have a few good moments/mini-arcs in the early seasons but others I think are overrated and by the time they actually get together they’re terrible.. I also find parts of the fandom very irritating. (ask me ship questions)

#asks #s speaks #tvd #anti delena #retiredficwriter #mutuals

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tea-earl-grey · 5 months

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for the ship game: Star Trek Voyager

Janeway/Seven, B'Elenna/Seven

Doctor Who:

Twelve/Missy, Thirteen/Master, Thirteen/Yaz, Doctor (of your choice!)/River

ooooh very good options here. this did however get insanely long so I'm going to put it under a cut:

Janeway/Seven – ship it:

What made you ship it?

Before I watched s4 of Voyager I knew that J7 was a popular ship and I was fully expecting to not like it because a lot of times relationships involving heavy power dynamics give me the ick but alas I find their relationship more and more compelling partially because of how unhealthy it could be if they became involved. I think I specifically started to fall more for the ship in the scene between Seven and Admiral Janeway in Endgame where the Admiral is trying to convince Seven to go with the plan and save her own life if not for herself then for "the people who love you." And it definitely wasn't the writers' intention but it so clearly read as Janeway trying to tell Seven that she loved her.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

The strange mutual devotion they have. Janeway literally gave Seven a new life and personhood so there was zero chance that Seven would ever have a normal relationship to Janeway but despite what could be a very deferential relationship, Seven is constantly challenging Janeway and pointing out her own flaws in a way that no one else on Voyager really does. And after Seven became an independent person, there was no reason why Janeway had to be so involved in Seven's life but anytime Seven was in danger of dying (Imperfection, Endgame) Janeway became so laser focused on doing anything to save her life even if it violates her own morals and destroys others in the process.

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I don't think this is that unpopular of an opinion but they should absolutely never become canon and I'm not even that interested in fanfic where they have any sort of traditional romance. Any actual relationship with them is going to be short and full of all sorts of Big Emotions that they'll both try to run away from and it will end badly.

B'Elanna/Seven – ship it:

What made you ship it?

B'Elanna/Seven is one of those ships that I didn't really consider on my first watch through probably because they don't share a ton of scenes but after reading some meta on it and going back to some of the really good moments they have... yeah it does kind of slap.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

At first all that really stood out to me in their interactions was being kind of adversarial and getting into arguments but as I went back to look at the show, the few soft moments they get together hit so hard. Especially as I think B'Elanna starts to understand Seven's struggles more as she unpacks her own trauma and realizes they share a lot of the same insecurities and fears.

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I think both of them would rather die than admit if they have feelings for each other but idk if that's an unpopular opinion or not.

Twelve/Missy – ship it (but queerplatonically):

What made you ship it?

I've been a huge huge fan of both Twelve and Missy and their dynamic since 2014 so I think it was inevitable that I would start to see them in a shippy light but thinking back it really wasn't until the last scene of The Eaters of Light in s10. I swear I could write an essay on just that scene and the depths it says about their relationship but my brain is currently doing nothing but screeching about it.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

THE TRAGEDY. It's the fact that to fulfill their character arcs and to be good without hope, without witness, without reward, they can't be happy, they can't be friends, they can't be. And also the use of the word friendship in their relationship drives me absolutely insane because for them friendship is treated as the ultimate expression of love. As the first m/f Doctor/Master ship, I think there was always a possibility to interpret their relationship as more transparently romantic than previous dynamics but the writing just completely avoids this. There's never a focus on if they are or were ever romantically/sexually involved, that's not the point, the point is friendship which runs so much deeper than attraction for them and it's something I really relate to as someone on the aroace spectrum where to me friendship is always more important and sacred then any romantic feelings. And it's so rare that I've ever seen that expressed clearly in fiction but is done over and over again in Twelve's era and really connects with me.

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I don't think so? I don't look for fic or anything specifically for their relationship so idk if my opinions are unpopular or not.

Thirteen/Master – don't ship it:

Why don’t you ship it?

I'll be honest that aside from Twelve/Missy (and maybe Three/Delgado!Master) I'm not a huge Doctor/Master shipper. I fully endorse whatever Weird Shit they have going on, it's just not that compelling to me aside from a few good moments. I also have a bit of a bone to pick that I just don't feel like the Dhawan!Master was used to his full potential and I have difficulty understanding his character which is a shame because Sacha Dhawan does an excellent job!

2. What would have made you like it?

The most compelling Doctor/Master relationships to me are when they're built with both antagonism and friendship and Thirteen/Dhawan!Master is just leaning too heavily on the antagonism side for me. I would have been more sold on it if the Master's O disguise went on for longer to get at some more fun aspects of their relationship or if Dhawan!Master had more appearances where he wasn't the main villain so that there could be a more bantery/relaxed aspect of their relationship.

3. Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

I do love how throughout Thirteen's era, the Master keeps tempting her to become a worse version of herself (which would have been another fun thing to explore in more depth). They're insane and they deserve each other <3

Thirteen/Yaz – i ship it... but in a unrequited way

What made you ship it?

Listen – young idealistic woman gets a crush on mysterious alien with layers of unrevealed trauma and then is irrevocably changed by this relationship is a tried and tested trope for Doctor Who and Doctor/Yaz is no different.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

Yaz's whole Doctorification arc is really tasty to me and the interesting ways it differs from Clara's Doctorification arc. Clara was never afraid to stand up to the Doctor and tell them off and be the moral backbone even as she got more and more reckless. But Yaz both reveres the Doctor in a sort of blind devotion way and is trying to be like her which is such a yummy contradiction that I wish was explored more. And I also love the idea of the Doctor knowing and realizing this all along but never saying anything or actually trying to help Yaz be better because there's always a part of the Doctor that loves to be worshipped.

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I guess my unpopular opinion is that I don't think the Doctor loves Yaz back? At least not in the way Yaz needs or wants. Yaz loves the Doctor and craves intimacy and closeness but grew dependent on the Doctor to provide that close relationship. Tbh I'm glad they never had a kiss or anything because the real mark of development was the Doctor being able to recognize Yaz's feelings and tell her that she needs to leave because Yaz deserves someone better who can truly care for her in the ways that the Doctor just isn't in a place to do. (I don't actually know if that's what Power of the Doctor was trying to say but eh I like my interpretation.) Also like a lot of ships, I think fans sometimes have a tendency of reducing it to "cute sapphic ship!" when that is so deeply not the vibe for me. They're messy and we should let them be messy.

Doctor/River – ship it

What made you ship it?

I was pretty meh on Doctor/River (partially because I usually hc the Doctor on the aroace spectrum) but then the Husbands of River Song hit me over the head with a wrench and I discovered that I really really like Twelve/River especially as that episode presents it.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

I think like a lot of semi/unrequited Doctor/companion romances, River is inherently very devoted to the Doctor and occasionally shows those bits of blind faith that the Doctor is a noble hero and almost a godlike figure. But she also has the self-awareness that the Doctor won't ever feel the same devotion as her and that's okay! She knows that they still love her in their own way and it's not lesser. Oh and on a more surface level, I do genuinely adore their banter and they way they just get each other. They've got that synergy. Basically everything I love about them can be summarized by this scene:

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Hmmm. I'm not a huge fan of Eleven/River just because a lot of the more toxic aspects of that dynamic are unexplored and as with a lot of season 6, the writing feels a bit immature. I genuinely really like Steven Moffat's writing but god please stop writing sex jokes. However. I don't think that's an unpopular opinion these days.

#sorry this got so long but i have Thoughts!#i deeply need to go to sleep but thank you for reawakening all my feelings about Twelve and Missy #ask game #my posts #asks

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bootlickerhawks · 1 year

Note

bakudeku? kacchako? izuocha?

Don’t Ship It : Bakudeku

Why don’t you ship it?

Their relationship never compelled me tbh. And the behavior of the more radical and vocal Bakugou/bkdk stans has turned me off the ship entirely.

What would have made you like it?

Their relationship reminds me too much of the toxic relationship I had with my so called friends in middle school so I don't think there's anything I could change abt them without taking away what makes this ship unique.

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

Despite my personal issues with the ship I could always understand why people would ship them. They have an interesting interpersonal conflict and they play an important role in each other's character development. Plus on an aesthetic level their designs and personalities are complimentary and make for good fanart/fanfic.

Ship It : Kacchako

What made you ship it?

This is the ship that got me into bnha lmao (more specifically saisai-chan's metas abt them got me into bnha)

and like 90% of the kacchako fandom I got into it because of the Sport's Festival Arc 😂

What are your favorite things about the ship?

Their personalities clash in a really fun way and I like that Ochako doesn't take any of his shit and even called him out on it. Plus I think they'd make a great team and I love meself some battle/power couple vibes 😤

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I haven't read a kacchako fic in years but the trend of having Katsuki be Endeavor 2.0 and wanting to make babies with Ochako for eugenics reasons was fucking nasty.

Portraying them in a very cishet way is also another ick of mine (tho that one is common to most m/f ships)

Ship It : Izuocha

What made you ship it?

I'm not a super big shipper but I think they're really cute together ^^

I like that they have the vibe of friends first romance partners second. A lot of shounen m/f ships focus so much on the romantic aspect (*cough* the girl pining for the guy *cough*) that they neglect the friendship/platonic bond. I have a hard time getting invested in ships if I feel like they couldn't just hang out, have fun and crack jokes together.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

I like how supportive they are of each other. I especially loved their convo abt Toga and Shigaraki and Ochako standing up for him when he came back to UA (even if her speech was pretty cheesy lmao but I forgive it)

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I don't think it's an unpopular opinion to say that I wish we'd seen more content of them hanging out and bonding.

Ig my unpopular opinion is that I think it's kinda unfair to compare it to naruhina/sasusaku/ichihime or whatever other underdeveloped romance you want to compare it to. Like, yeah Hori could have done a better job at writing their romance but for the most part I'm okay with the way it's handled right now.

I think at most we'll get the implication that they're together in the future and possibly we'll see Ochako confess at the end of this arc.

#asks #ask game #thanks for the ask!!#long post

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wardenparker · 2 years

Text

I posted 2,819 times in 2022

499 posts created (18%)

2,320 posts reblogged (82%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@roughentumble

@lyriumrain

@kafkasdiariies

@subtextsays

@artsymaddie

I tagged 850 of my posts in 2022

#pedro pascal - 146 posts

#pedro pascal fanfic - 97 posts

#pedro pascal character fanfiction - 94 posts

#soulmate au - 62 posts

#wip game - 49 posts

#lovely people being lovely - 46 posts

#inbox games - 43 posts

#soulmate sunday - 40 posts

#inbox - 38 posts

#dieter bravo - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#world’s most amazing pizza my my horrible now estranged in laws wrote a bad check to so i can’t reasonably show my face there ever again

Putting my top posts under the cut because it's all story chapters and some of it's spicy!

My Top Posts in 2022:

Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 1

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems. ✨ Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 9.2k Warnings: Graphic depictions of illness. Summary: Near death, Pero ends up in the care of a strange woman who insists on wearing a mask over her face. Notes: This fic deals with comparisons between modern medicine and folk healing methods. References to vaccinations and modern medical procedures will be littered throughout the text as well as some herbal/folk remedies when appropriate. There will be criticism of medieval medical procedures (leeches, bloodletting, humours, etc), but *not* of cultural or spiritual belief. We came here to have fun and be respectful, and that’s what we’re gonna do. Great Big Beautiful Shout Out to @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa and her Outlander-inspired series The Sunshine Undertow. It is brilliant reading and a compelling characterization of Oberyn 💖

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239 notes - Posted September 18, 2022

You’re So Vain - Chapter 1

Dieter Bravo x female Reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him.

Rating: Teen. But this blog is *always* 18+ Word Count: 5.7k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Enemies to lovers, family hardships. Summary: Dieter meets with his team about their new strategy to fix his image problem, and you battle your best friend about how to respond to it when the campaign goes live. Notes: Welcome to the Soulmate Sunday Family to our favourite Trash Can Man, Dieter Bravo! This is my first time writing anything enemies to lovers and Keri and I are having a blast with the secondary characters for this series. Hopefully you guys will enjoy it as much as we are!

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247 notes - Posted May 29, 2022

Better Together

Frankie Morales x female Reader x Benny Miller Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Explicit. 18+ only friends! Word Count: 10.5k Warnings: Allusions to past addiction, food talk, unbearable amounts of fluff. FishBen comes with its own warning. Established relationship, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, double penetration, pool sex, outdoor sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, lovers being greedy, jealousy mention, teasing, mentions of future escapades, picture taking/homemade porn, biting, rough sex, cum eating, creampie Summary: Frankie has had a rough day and needs some attention from his girl right away, but Benny refuses to be left out. Notes: Once upon a time, I told Keri about a dream I had where Benny gets pout because you and Frankie started without him. It went right onto our prompt list and lived there, happily awaiting its turn to be brought to life. Well...that time has come. And it cums a LOT.

Together in Chronological Order:Waking Up TogetherTaking Care TogetherBetter TogetherCelebrating Together

These moments are rare. The ones where he hits the door and just needs to feel anything other than what's making his skin crawl. Often coming home is a sense of relief. An opening of the door and calling out into the house to see who is busy, even though he knows who is home from the cars in the driveway. The depositing his keys in that bowl by the door and the shucking of his jacket and hanging it up on that little bench seat hook thing you had insisted be make one weekend after pouring over Pinterest. It's groaning when he sits down and takes off the cowboy boots Santiago makes fun of and the relief of his aching feet being free while he wiggles his toes. Sighing as the weight of the day rolls off his back like water off a duck's feathers. Leaving it all right there so he can spend time with his loves without burdening you with it.

Instead of that normal routine, he's practically jumping out of his skin. His lips seeking yours as soon as you round the corner and your eyes light up when you see him. He needs that. Needs you. Barely kicking the door shut before he's on you, pouring his need into the meeting of your mouths and his flick of his tongue against yours.

“Frankie!” His name is a muffled squeal from your lips as he absolutely devours you the second he walks in the front door. The surprise melts away in seconds, leaving you pressed between his body and the hallway wall before you can think. “Mm, I missed you, too.”

"Need you." He pants against your lips, his cock already starting to harden against your hips and the fact that you are in your bathing suit makes the half-formed idea he had of having you develop into something more. "Let me fuck you in the pool, baby."

There are only a few reasons that Frankie ever plows into the house like this, desperate and needy and ready to go without anything more than a tangled kiss. Usually it means he’s had a particularly stressful or hard day and he’s ready to relieve that in the very best way possible. You knock his cap off in your haste to get your arms around his neck, nodding into another deep kiss. “Anywhere you want.”

He groans into your mouth, letting go of your curves so he can start to shuck his jacket but unable to take his mouth off of you for the second it would take as you start to draw him back through the house. The still bright light of the evening shining through the windows and large slider that leads out to private backyard. The sparkling blue pool calling his name and the idea of having you in it makes him eager to follow while still trying to kick off his boots.

“Don’t trip, baby.” You’re tugging his t-shirt up over his head and pulling his belt buckle open with no problem, but it would not be the first time he’s tripped trying to take off those damn boots he loves.

He grunts, the rush of need still hammering in his veins. He doesn't give a shit. If he trips, he’ll pull you down and he'll fuck you on the floor in the kitchen. He doesn't care. Instead of answering, his fingers start stripping down your bikini bottoms.

“Frankie—” It’s a whimper this time, moaned into the empty house while he nips across your skin, teeth scraping and tongue soothing every inch of you as he goes. There is a tentative, needy whine in your tone that makes him grin against your lips. He likes when you are like that. Wanting him, needing him. Providing him with the distraction of his mind. Filling it with nothing but you.

"Fuck, baby..." He doesn't stop, crowding you against the glass door in the kitchen that leads to the backdoor and tugging at the ties of your top to pull it away while you start to pull at the fly of his pants. Humming, he loves when your tits are free. Cupping them and massaging them before he lets go to open the door. To get you outside into the pool.

You don’t hesitate for a second, reaching over to turn on some music on the little outdoor speaker system you have set up so the neighbors don’t bitch, then jumping right into the water without a scrap of fabric left on your body. Florida weather was made for fucking in the cool relief of your backyard pool. “Come on, gorgeous,” you beckon him to follow with one crooked finger. “Can’t fuck me if you’re still on the deck.”

It only takes a moment for him to shuck his pants and boxer briefs down, hard cock bobbing heavily, before he’s ready to jump in himself. Doing just that and splashing you before he comes up and immediately starts wading towards you.

“Bad day, baby?” Reaching for him, you pull him to you with your legs around his waist.

Frankie huffs. “Not bad.” His fingers slide between your thighs, and he doesn’t waste any time pushing two of them deep inside your clenching core.

"Holy shit!" The suddenness is what takes you off guard. It's not as though you weren't soaking wet for him the second his tongue swiped into your mouth in the hallway, but Frankie's thick fingers are always worth moaning about. He's in the mood to act right now, not talk, which means later on in front of the TV he'll be cuddling into the middle of the couch looking for soft snuggles.

"Fuck." He twitches against your thigh and starts to pump his fingers into your tight walls while his mouth starts to kiss and suck his way down your neck and across your chest. Tasting your skin mixed with the chlorinated pool water. Making him groan when he licks away beads of water and sucks on your skin, relishing the way your blunt nails dig into his shoulders while you hold onto him and lean back to give him more access, your breast bobbing enticingly just under the waterline.

“Gonna leave your marks on me, baby?” There’s something gorgeously feral about the way your men get when it comes to leaving marks on any part of you that just makes your count clench down even tighter on Frankie’s talented fingers. It’s primal and needy and sexy in a very possessive way that you can’t deny absolutely loving. They like to bite and scratch, both of them, and you love the roughness that comes with their affection.

There is a split second where he stops, dark eyes finding yours and his lips curve in a deliciously wicked smirk. Right before he attacks the top of your breast and bites on the flesh before moving down to take your pebbled nipple into the heat of his mouth. Frankie curls his fingers just right inside you, making your walls flutter and pulse and hold him tight while you sob his name, drenching his hand in your release. It doesn’t matter how many times he makes you cum with those magic pilot’s hands, it always makes you shake in his arms and beg for more.

The consistency of your release is so differing from the pool water. Slick and slippery. Frankie groans and his cock is already aching to be inside you. Deep enough in the pool that he can still put his feet down, he traps you against the cool tiles on the sidewall and releases your nipple from between his teeth. “Wanna fuck you baby.” He moans. “Make you cum on my cock.”

“Oh fuck.” Leaning back against the edge of the pool, your tits are completely in display for him while his hands carefully trace every inch of you below the surface of the water. Your eyes are just as dark as his now, loving the roughness when one of you gets needy. “Do it, baby. Split me open and make me scream.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. Fingers pull out of your pussy and position the thick, blunt head of his cock at your entrance. Hands moving to the edge of the pool for more leverage before his hips surge forward, burying the long length of his cock inside you to the very root.

The moan he pushes out of you is loud and long and gorgeous, not some strangled thing you try to hide or cut off. Fuck the neighbors - they keep you up in the middle of the night fighting, so you’ll fuck as loud as you want to. “God, Frankie — you fill me up so f-fucking good.”

You, the feel of you around him and the sounds you make are all he can think about. Pussy drunk on the way that your body grips his, he doesn’t even register the sounds of movement in the house while the water starts to churn from the way that his hips are moving, pushing you up against the side of the pool and then letting you slide down when he pulls back. Focused on you and the moment, blind to everything else in the way that he needs. “Fuck – shit, baby. So good.” The words are thick on his tongue, like he’s in a fog.

“Hey!” Benny’s voice is a pure pout from where he stands on the deck and your eyes blink open at the sound, taking in all six-foot-three of your favourite human puppy dog with his arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at you and Fish in the pool with his bottom lip stuck out. “You couldn’t wait ten extra fuckin minutes? You had to start without me?”

Frankie’s eyes cut over to where Benny is standing, the ire on his face not even phasing him. “No.” He grunts, still rocking into you at the same pace, even as he repositions his feet on the pool bottom and regrips the edge of the wall. “Make it- fuck- up to you.” He hisses when you clench around him, always happy to see your Benny and your body reacting accordingly.

Whimpering when Frankie doesn’t let up even for a second, you beckon Benny towards you with the hand that isn’t holding on tight to Frankie. “Strip down and c’mere, baby.” You beg, feeling even needier now that both of your boys are home. “Let me suck your cock while Frankie fucks me.”

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360 notes - Posted January 12, 2022

Broken Road - part 1

Javier Peña x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Javier’s high school sweetheart turns up at the Embassy, it shakes him right to his foundation. How will he cope when he learns that everything he thought he knew about his first heartbreak was a lie?

Rating: E is for explicit! It’s Javi, after all Word Count: 11.3k Warnings: YEARNING. So much yearning. Miscommunication, angst, shouting, straight up lies, manipulation, broken hearts and broken trust, family behaving badly, mentions and appearance of sex workers. This chapter contains portrayals of teens in a consensual sexual relationship. Oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it). Summary: Your first day at your new posting in Colombia turns out to be a hell of a lot more dramatic than you ever expected when the nice DEA agent you meet in the halls namedrops his partner - Peña. Which is the name of the boy who broke your heart sixteen years ago. But it couldn’t possibly BE the same man, could it? Notes: Happy Valentine’s Day and welcome to some Javi angst! We tried to use some functional Spanish throughout the dialogue since they’re in Colombia and both Javi and reader are meant to be fluent. English translations are right alongside (in parenthesis) but if we got anything wrong, please let me know so I can fix it!

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5

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379 notes - Posted February 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Killer Writing - chapter 1

Dave York x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After divorcing Carol so she could marry her soulmate, Dave York threw himself into his work. There is no way he could have predicted that the unexpected collateral damage on an op would turn out to be his soulmate. Now all he can do is keep you safe, and try his best to get you to not hate him as the two of you try to navigate a blooming relationship that started out with threats and a mean right hook.

Rating: Mature for violence Word Count: 9.4k Warnings: *Blanket content warning for self-esteem, self-image, and weight issues.* Canon typical violence, assassination, guns, a good solid punch to the jaw, kidnapping, binding and not in the fun way, fight or flight response is definitely fight, anxiety baby, food and diet things, violence against tea bags. Summary: Your rather humdrum life of Lab Assistant by Day - Fanfic Writer by Night is turned on its ear when your boss is suddenly killed in your lab and her killers take you hostage. And as if that isn’t dramatic enough for one morning, it seems that the ringleader is your long-anticipated soulmate. Notes: You guys, we are SO EXCITED for this debut. This idea was birthed many moons ago when the soulmate universe was just starting out it’s one that Keri and I hold near and dear to our hearts. 💕✨ As always, please remember that even if a chapter is not marked explicit for sexual content, this is still an 18+ blog and inappropriate for minors.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7

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402 notes - Posted February 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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