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octuscle · 3 months

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Welcome to Overland!

Overland Park in Kansas. I really had to google it first. Where the hell did my father get the idea that I would really study here? I mean, I have offers from Stanford and Cambridge. I'm not going to Overland Park. Kansas! Sure, it might have been a good fit for my dad. My dad is the prototypical corn-fed athlete. He looks dazzling for his 42 years, still a cross so wide that my two younger brothers and I can hide behind it. His mullet is a bit of a show-off, if you ask me. But he seems to go down well with his customers. His car dealership is the biggest in the state. My two younger brothers both have petrol in their blood. They both want to get their MBAs at Overland Park. But I'm much more interested in law. And Harvard would be my dream for that.

Anyway, my father gave me a car for my 18th birthday. A super impractical Dodge RAM. Doesn't suit me at all. And the car came with a gas voucher and a voucher for a mall around the corner. Well, I hope they'll have a Brooks Brothers store. But I'm quietly guessing that they'll only have cowboy boots and plaid shirts… Okay, not to be ungrateful, I'm making the trip to Overland Park in the monster car. I'll also attend his alma mater's orientation event if I absolutely have to. But I'll sign up over my dead body!

The drive to Kansas wasn't so bad. I admit that the car is really huge and comfortable. But the closer I got to the Midwest, the less comfortable I felt. Guys with arms thicker than my legs asked me about the car at gas stations and rest stops. I have no idea how much horsepower it has… I'm not interested either. But here you're obviously only defined by your car. And most of the muscular rednecks here made no secret of the fact that they didn't begrudge me this car. It got even worse when I parked the car in front of the hotel in Overland Park… The valet service looked almost sympathetic when I got out of the car. Tomorrow I'd better take the bus to the information day at the university.

It's incredible how many people are interested in this pathetic campus. It's pretty full in the auditorium. The dean gives a speech that is as boring as the landscape here. And the faculty members either all look like they're coaches of the football team or gardeners on campus. Hillbillies. All of them! The professors introducing each faculty call on the potential juniors who have signed up on the list for that faculty. I didn't put a cross anywhere. All uninteresting for me. And so the auditorium empties out with each professor dragging a train of high school seniors behind him. And at some point, the auditorium is empty. Only three people are still sitting here. A redhead who spends the whole time reading a book. A skinny guy playing with his cell phone and me. I speak to the skinny guy. "No desire to go to Overland Park either?" "Not on your life. I'm not studying thousands of miles from the nearest decent opera." The redhead interjects, "And pretty much everything else you'd call civilization." We laugh and introduce ourselves. Erik, the redhead (how appropriate, I'm not joking), the skinny one is Brayden and I'm Callan. We start talking. Somehow we all have a similar fate. Either our fathers or our brothers studied here. We all have more artistic than sporting interests. We all want to study either in California or New England. Erik suggests that we go out and sit on campus. The weather is nice. It's a good idea. We're sitting in the sun talking when we suddenly hear a voice.

"Hey squad! Finally found you, fam! I've been straight up grinding and hunting all over this place to link up with my homies!" Towards us comes the epitome of everything I loathe about university. An unkempt muscleman, his greasy mullet tamed with a baseball cap on backwards, in a sweaty tank top. Four bottles of beer in his hand. He hands each of us a bottle and says "Yo, yo, yo, what up fam! The name's Ryder, my professor homie spilled the tea that there are three total bros up in here who ain't about that study life, and guess what? Yours truly got the task of keepin' it real with y'all. Haha, I'm the king of slacking off, ain't nobody got time for studying and whatnot. Let's kick back and chill, my dudes!" Ryder stinks of sweat. Disgusting. But somehow also hypnotizing. He opens his bottle and says "Cheers". As if in a trance, we open our bottles and say "cheers".

"Yo, fam, check it out, I'm gonna give you a lit tour of the campus, but not that lame-o typical stuff. Like, forget about the snooze-fest library or whatever. Bro, regular dudes walk in there and walk out looking like they just stepped out of a nerd convention with their thick glasses and wack sweaters. Let's bounce and hit up the real vibes, ya feel me?" Ryder almost chokes with laughter at his own joke, which Erik counters with a fist bump. What the…? "Yo, peep that cafeteria comin' up! It's legit crucial for gettin' in that dank protein intake, ya feel me? And bro, protein is like, the holy grail of gainz. That's the fuel for them epic protein farts, man! Rock on, get that fuel, unleash the beast!" As if on cue, he lets out a fart. Shit, that stinks. Erik laughs. And farts too. Shit, didn't he actually want to study piano? At the conservatory in Boston? Strange behavior for a pianist….

Ryder tells us to wait a minute. He runs into the cafeteria and comes back with four fresh cold bottles of beer. Shit, yes, the beer tastes good. I take a deep swig. And…. BUUUUURP! Ryder and Erik are laughing uproariously. Brayden looks irritated. And I reply ""Yo, it's gonna be, like, forever until those protein farts are unleashed. So, a real dude just gotta let out a mega burp, bro!" Erik and Ryder give me a high five. And Ryder says that he's about to lead us to the source of all protein farts.

You can smell the gym changing rooms before you see them. Erik and I take a deep breath. Brayden holds the sleeve of his jacket in front of his nose. "Yo, bro, it looks like we're getting closer to your second home, huh, Ryder? Watch out for the vibes!" says Erik. Ryder does a double bicep pose and says that Erik can fucking take it. Poor Brayden is standing right next to Ryder. His nose is basically right in the sweaty bush in Ryder's armpit. "Dang, I forgot my gear for the gym! I'm totally itching to pump some iron, man." comes out of his mouth. "Dude, no worries, at our next stop we'll totally score something way cooler for you to rock." says Ryder. "Yo, dude, spit it again - what's your name, pumpin' pal?" Braydon copies Ryder's double bicep pose. I didn't think he had muscles like that. "Yo, my dudes, I'm Beau, like, duh, isn't it obvious? I mean, come on, who else could it be, right? Beau in the hizzouse, representin' like a boss!" The two of them do a chest bump. Erik and I actually look at each other a little enviously. I mean, everyone wants to be best mates with Ryder, the hottest guy on campus.

"Yo, dudes, head to the most lit spot on the whole campus. And watch out! If you think it already smells like sweat and musk, you haven't seen anything yet!" We walk across the student parking lot towards the football field. Past my baby. Ryder raises his eyebrows appreciatively and says that you rarely see cars this cool here. I pose proudly: "Geez, check out this 410 horsepower beast with eight cylinders and 581 Newton meters of torque! My 6.7-liter monster needs that kind of power too. Rocking full leather interior, a massive 12-inch touchscreen infotainment system, and a killer 750-watt sound system with 17 Harman Kardon speakers. Damn, could never roll in a hybrid after this!" Ryder gives me a chest bump too. Shit, I'm in the club!

Erik thaws out when we're finally in the changing rooms of the football stadium. He takes a deep breath. "Yo, peeps! You feelin' me on this? This smell is like pure home vibes, amirite?" he says. Ryder points to the pile of dirty laundry in the corner. "Yo, dudes, wanna toss some balls around? Let's get our sporty vibes on and slay the game with our rad skills! Let's flex our muscles and show off our mad throwing game. Let's get that adrenaline pumping and have a blast on the field. It's gonna be lit, so don't miss out, fam! Let's do this!" He really doesn't have to say that twice. In no time at all, we're undressed and rummaging naked through our clothes for something to pass. Erik deliberately lets his cock swing for a very long time before putting it into an XXL urine and cum yellow jockstrap. Dude, that boy would make horses jealous! And he can impress Ryder. Out onto the pitch and with a well-directed throw he chases the ball the length of the pitch through the goal. Four-chest bump! Shit, we all can't wait to play for the college team!

"Yo homies, any more burning questions for your boy? The sickest crew on campus is definitely mine - Alpha Phi Alpha, baby! Don't stress, you guys are total Alpha bros, so of course you'll get in. If you're down, we're throwing a lit party at the frat house tonight. Crash on the couch if you want, solo, duo, trio… whatever floats your boat. Just remember, never make eye contact, that's like, no homo!" Beau asks where he can get a cold beer now. Rick has a mega boner. And I can't wait to suck him off right away. Unless Ryder beats me to it. Shit, I'm so proud to be a business major at the University of Kansas on the Overland campus. My dad will be even prouder.

"Yo, so you wanna join the sickest crew of all the raddest universities in the damn USA?" I love the information days on campus. Lots of hot fresh meat. And the premium meat belongs to Alpha Phi Alpha, just like us! "Yo, peep this dude with the sickest Mullet ever, that's my bro Beau. And check out the fiery buff dude over there, that's Rick, the top quarterback of the football squad for real. I'm Cletus, and we 'bout to show y'all the raddest spots on campus. But first, in honor of the hottest dude to ever grace this campus, let's crack open a cold one." We take a big sip. And burp "Ryder" loudly!

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #inked man #tank top #broification #bro tf #jock tf #nerd to jock #nerd to hunk #frat bro

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powderblueblood · 10 months

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HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you.

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor.

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent.

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t.

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t.

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora.

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips.

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be.

Especially now.

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal.

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?”

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little.

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.”

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand.

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height.

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.”

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene.

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.”

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight.

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup.

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom.

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains?

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds.

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen.

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school.

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card.

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?”

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.”

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.”

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else.

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror.

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family.

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets.

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you.

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends.

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina.

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not.

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore.

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause.

Eddie had to take a beat.

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on.

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure.

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head.

Ink stains mixing with precum.

Moaning into your mouth.

Giving you something to write to dear diary about.

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket.

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria.

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you.

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you.

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says.

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally).

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually.

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t.

Fuck.

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you.

—

“Anybody got bleach?”

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag.

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately.

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track.

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition.

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.”

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight.

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning.

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen.

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing.

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing.

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #published by powder #in progress #hellfire & ice #e. munson by powder

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valleydean · 3 months

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Chapter 8 [Read Here]

CHAMPION Part III of Heavyweight a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) read from the beginning | playlist | tip

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1933. Dean Winchester, the number one contender, trains to become the next Heavyweight Champion of the World, and this time he won't let anything get in his way. Title holder Castiel Novak has second thoughts about retiring, especially when someone from his past arrives in New York and asks for his help. Meanwhile, a new contender rises to fame and threatens to complicate both of Dean and Cas' ambitions - and their relationship.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

Built only two years prior, the hotel was a tall, brick building on one of the busiest street corners downtown had to offer. A place for the wealthy and beautiful, it was definitely in a prime location. All around it, cars honked and live music blared from clubs to entice people inside. The streets were alive with lights and crowds—but Dean only had his sights set on getting inside.

He tossed his keys to the parking valet with stern instructions to not get a scratch on his car, and then stepped into a lobby that looked more like a social club’s library than a hotel. Art deco chandeliers lorded over the dark mahogany-paneled walls and plush velvet sofas where women drank and men smoked. Grand carpeted stairways led up to balconies adorned with golden statues. A man in a white suit was playing a grand piano, filling the space with song.

Dean charmed the girl at the front desk into giving him Cas’ room number instead of calling up, because he wanted his arrival time to be a surprise. Finally, he was in the gold-plated elevator, suitcase in hand, telling the attendant to take him up to the top floor—because of course that was where Cas would be.

The higher the elevator climbed, the dizzier Dean became with anticipation. He was practically bouncing on his toes while his eyes were fixed to the needle counting the floors—going up and up too slowly. He’d been on the road for days, but these last few moments before he reached Cas felt way longer. It was unbearable. Why the hell did Cas need to be so high up?

Finally, the elevator doors dinged open, and Dean was in the hallway before the attendant could even open his mouth to announce their arrival.

Cas’ room, when he found it, was halfway down the carpeted hall. Dean grinned and raised his hand to knock—but abruptly stopped himself. He probably looked like a harried mess. His breaths were coming out in staggered pants and he could feel sweat lining his forehead. No way that would be the first sight Cas got of him in two months.

Licking his lips to steady himself, Dean placed his leather luggage on the floor. He shook out, trying to expel the antsy energy coursing through him. And he breathed—in through his nose, out through his mouth—getting ahold of his excitement. He pressed down on his hair to make sure it wasn’t out of place. The last thing he did was tug on his jacket and tidy the collar of his shirt to make sure he looked good.

Feeling better about himself now, he raised his fist again and knocked twice. Putting on a high-pitched voice to mimic housekeeping, he called, “Turndown service.”

Inside, he heard movement. Dean’s heart thumped.

He put his elbow on the door jam and leaned into it, trying to appear casual and collected. But it felt awkward. It probably was awkward. Acting fast, he put his palm on the doorframe instead, and hooked his other hand around his hip. Just in time, too. The lock on the door clicked.

Finally, the door swung open—and there was Cas. His twinkling blue eyes and tousled dark hair, his white shirt straining around his muscular shoulders and chest. He had a breathtaking smile on his face. He said, voice soft, “Dean.”

“Heya, Cas.”

Dean chuckled, unable to keep it in. He scooped up his luggage and stepped inside, into Cas’ personal space. Cas turned toward him and let his hand slip off the door. It slammed closed, but Dean didn’t even hear it; by that point, he’d already dropped his bag on the floor and wrapped his arms around Cas’ middle. He squeezed tightly while they kissed like a couple of madmen.

#destiel #deancas #destieledit #deancasedit #destiel fic #deancas fic #dean winchester #deanwinchesteredit #deanedit #castiel #cas #castieledit #casedit #my writing #my post #heavyweight

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yutahoes · 3 months

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Caramel

(Part Three)

characters: stripper! Yuta x female! Y/N genre: chaptered, SMUT, fluff, angst word count: 3k words summary: Y/N has everything in her bitter life, not until she meets a sweet-looking stripper. warnings: matured theme, stripper au!, third person POV, alcohol consumption, rusty smut writing, lots of kissing, horny Y/N, breast sucking, fingering, badly written female orgasm, Yuta is down bad, mention of oral - male receiving, some detailed descriptions of Y/N just to prove a point, you can skip or change it to your preference

Part Two

It was bizarre.

The valet was obviously amused when the familiar car parked and he took the keys from someone else. The staff in the building were evidently startled to see the tenant from the penthouse escorted by a guy in cowboy boots, leather pants, and just a denim vest with no shirt inside.

Y/N tried to keep her composure to herself as they boarded the elevator with questionable looks. She can easily reason out that she was drunk but when Yuta offered himself, she felt as if she was woken up with a splash of cold water.

The girl had to admit that she felt warm - bothered, in a certain sexual way - watching him dancing privately for her. When he kneeled in front of her, she badly wanted to trail her fingers on his skin. And when he did let her, she yearned for more. Truly, human beings cannot be easily contented. At least she knew a horny person cannot.

Once again, she can blame it all on alcohol. But if she was totally drunk, she should have gone home alone. She should have slept alone. Not with someone else.

Not with this gorgeous man standing in the middle of her receiving area. A man she suddenly wants. So bad.

“This is an amazing apartment,” Yuta claimed as she handed him a glass of orange juice. “But you said you live the other way.”

Y/N nodded, sitting on the couch. “That was my parent’s house,” she explained, then put down the half-empty glass on the nearby table. “This is more of my own apartment unit.”

Yuta gave a hearty laugh before sitting beside her, “Flex.” He put down his glass next to hers and stretched his arm on the headrest of the sofa before sliding to sit closer to her. “Are you still drunk?”

He was so close that she could smell him. Is it cologne? Why does he smell so good? Maybe she is still drunk - not with alcohol - but with the scent of him. “You said you don’t do extra services?”

“I don’t,” he was inching closer that his breath felt ticklish against her lips. “Can I kiss you?”

She could always blame it on alcohol because who in their right mind would suddenly kiss someone because of that question? But this is Yuta. Handsome. Sexy. Sweet-smelling. Intriguing. Yuta. His lips were so soft and minty, with a tinge of sweetness from the orange juice. Sweetly addicting. When his tongue slipped between her lips, she was sold.

This wasn’t his first rodeo, Yuta had the same experience before but why does this feel utterly different? Her lips were velvety smooth, the taste of alcohol and juice from her tongue making him dizzy with want. In a swift motion, he pulled her to his lap. His arms pulled her closer, not breaking the steamy make out even if he needed air. If this is the way he’ll die, he’ll perish a happy man. She’s intoxicating. It’s making him insane.

His fingers started undoing the zipper from the back of her dress, letting the front fall. His lips started trailing butterfly kisses from her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, to the exposed skin of her chest. The black lace brassiere only adds to his growing excitement. She is so hot. He’ll probably kill himself if he stops now.

Y/N’s lips were plump, breathing harshly, as she stared at him with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. “Fuck, you are insanely hot.” Yuta complimented, “I want you so fucking bad.”

“My room is that door over there.” He didn’t need any repeated instruction as he carried her up to what she claimed as her room. The bed looked soft specifically when he gently dropped her to the mattress. Slowly, he removed the denim vest while taking in her visuals. Her fucked up look, the haughty expression on her face, and her half-naked state, made him want to thank the Gods for a chance encounter with this woman.

He started kissing her once again, lightly grinding his body into contact with hers. A soft moan escaped her lips, arousing the blood in his system. Never had he experienced this level of want before. He’s like a mad predator craving for prey.

He didn’t even have a drop of alcohol tonight but he could taste the whiskey on his tongue with how he kissed her. His fingers started slipping her dress down, kissing each inch of the skin getting exposed. The whimpers came out of her lips, making all the muscles in his body alive. Maybe she anticipated this, Y/N did say that she went on a date. And somehow, Yuta was thankful that it didn’t end well and he had the golden opportunity to snap the front clip of her brassiere.

She looks exquisite. A Goddess lying in front of him. Yuta might have saved a planet in his past life to land a chance with someone as gorgeous as her. He kissed her neck, trailing to her shoulder. Her fingers tickled his nape, sending goosebumps all over his body. His teeth gently grazed her collarbone which earned a sudden jolt of movement from her. “Did that hurt?” The girl nodded as he placed a soft kiss on the part he gently bit earlier, “Sorry.”

Inch by inch, he moved down. Kisses getting impatient as he neared her breasts. “Can I?” Y/N nodded. His right hand cupped her firm breast, thumb gently caressing her erect nipple. He pressed fluttering kisses on the left breast, his eyes lingering on her. Y/N was panting hard, her thumb trailing on his cheeks while nodding. A signal he knew he needed. A simple gesture that took away all his inhibitions. Her back arches as he sucked on each nipple in turn, warm tongue softly teasing the erect nubs.

The whimpers coming out of her lips put his body in its feral state. He wanted more.

His lips traveled south, open-mouthed kisses on the skin of her abdomen. Yet he needed more. Much much more.

Yuta’s finger hooked the waistband of her underwear, pressing gentle kisses, but she gently tugged his hair, urging him to look at her. “Don’t,” Her eyes were hazy, lips parted. “Don’t kiss that part.” She whispered in between heavy breaths. The side of his lips curled up. How cute.

He pushed himself up to kiss her on her lips, nibbling her bottom lip as she arched her body up for what seemed like a contact to his. His hands trailed down: to the side of her breast, then the curve of her waist, down to her thigh. It then went up between her legs to press his middle finger on the wet spot of her underwear.

Y/N pulled him closer, closing her thighs as she released a moan. “Yuta, please.” He was weak. His mind was already set on the idea of fucking her hard, making her beg for him, calling his name in the most erotic way possible. But the seniors in the club, namely Johnny and Taeyong, would always remind him to never ever have sex with a woman without condoms. That is the golden rule in this profession.

Honestly, he could disregard that rule. Be his own rules.

But she’s a successful, well-established woman. She had her whole life laid out in a flowery way in front of her. He cannot ruin her life just because of his mistake. Just because he forgot a fucking condom.

The man pulled himself up, removing the skin-to-skin contact. “We can’t. I couldn’t.” Her eyes widened in surprise and Yuta had to mentally punch himself for disappointing her. “I shouldn’t have sex with you without condoms,” The girl pursed her lips. “But if you let me touch you, I’ll make sure you’ll be satisfied tonight.” There was a visible hesitance on the girl before she shyly nodded her head. “Words, Y/N.” He urged as his thumb swiped on her bottom lip.

“Yuta,” she called with a whimper. “Touch me, please.”

His thumb was quickly replaced with his lips, hand quickly slipping past the waistband of her underwear to cup her nether region. He loved how her body responded to his kisses and touch. She wrapped her hands on his head, lightly tugging his blonde hair. His mouth sucked a spot on her neck as he pushed his middle finger inside her. A strangled moan escaped her lips, her back arching.

Yuta took a moment to watch her: parted lips whisper silent whimpers as if they’re prayers, body arched, hips grinding against his hand, thighs crossed as if she doesn’t want his hand to leave. And he doesn’t want to.

The man slipped his pointer finger inside and her body jolted as if electrified, lips whispering pleads. Yuta smirked, thumb rubbing circles on her clit. Another finger was inserted and she held his forearm, pushing her fingernail on his skin that it started to hurt. But the guy never cared less and didn’t stop exploring her insides. The sound of her wetness and heavy panting made the smile on Yuta’s face grow. She's close, he could feel it.

Her body started shaking, erotic moans escaping her lips, but Yuta increased the pace of his fingers, even alternating fingers to give her immense pleasure. The girl closed her eyes shut, clinging to Yuta’s arm as liquid started spilling out of her vagina.

Y/N was breathing hard, pulling the blankets up to cover her nakedness. “That was amazing,” she whispered in between labored breaths. “Should I do something for you?” He shook his head, lying beside her in bed. “You definitely should start taking extra services if you’re this great.” Yuta lightly chuckled at that statement, everything coming out of her lips was such a confidence boost. No wonder he’s so attracted to her. “You’ll stay the night, right?” she asked in a sleepy state.

“I’ll leave early tomorrow.”

—--

Y/N had always been an early riser. Yet today, she felt like she didn't want to get up. Her head was throbbing badly as she cursed the alcohol she drank. But that wasn’t the only stupid thing she had done last night. Immediately, she sat up and then pulled the blanket to cover her naked breasts. He’s not here. He did leave early.

A knock on her door startled her. Maybe he’s still here. “Y/N,” But that was clearly Jungwoo’s voice. “If you’re up, there’s hangover soup here.”

Why is Jungwoo here? And why did he know that she was drunk? Wait, where is Yuta? Did Jungwoo perhaps see Yuta?

After making herself presentable, she went to her dining area where her stepbrother was. Jungwoo was just smiling at her knowingly and she lightly cursed, he knew. “Your guest said that you drank a lot last night so I ordered soup,” He emphasized the word ‘guest’ with a wide grin. “And I thought you had a bad date last night.”

Y/N did. And maybe that was the reason why Jungwoo is here. She remembered texting him and of course, just like a real brother, he came here to comfort her. Like every other time. Why the hell did she have to look for other comfort? Surely, last night was purely her fault.

“Did you have a great night?”

She took a sip of the soup to hide a smile. Y/N thought it would be blurry, she was pretty hammered last night. But she could clearly feel Yuta’s warm skin against hers, his soft lips, and his sweet smell. The girl bit her lip to prevent herself from smiling at how amazing the experience from last night was. “Clearly, you did,” Jungwoo noted. “He’s pretty handsome.” Y/N nodded, he is.

Then her eyes widened at that, “You saw him?”

The guy in front of her stifled a laugh, “He quietly went out of your room and I was sitting here.” He narrated, “I asked who he was and said he was your guest before leaving.” Jungwoo even shared that he was in a hurry and that he looked adorable as if a deer caught in headlights, making Y/N giggle. “He even said he was sorry and left that.” He pointed at something on the table.

She stood up to check what it was, surprised that there was cash on the table. “He didn’t take it?”

“Money?” Jungwoo stared at her accusingly, hand on his hip. “You paid him for sex?”

Y/N was just staring at the cash above the table. Obviously, this was what she gave him last night. Why did he leave it here? Did he dislike the experience? Or is it because nothing really happened?

Yuta is such a wonder.

---------

As soon as Yuta entered the dark strip club, his co-workers were howling at him. He sat on one high chair of the bar before asking Ten for a drink, “What happened with the rich girl?” Johnny teased, earning a glare from the younger guy. “Did you have fun?”

In one gulp, he finished the whiskey and handed the glass back to the bartender. “Yong, can I borrow money for a cab fee home?”

The three, his two stripper friends and the bartender, were looking at him in puzzlement. “She’s loaded. What happened?” Ten asked.

“I didn’t take her money.”

Taeyong looked startled. “Did her husband find you?” Johnny asked, earning another glare from Yuta. “Nothing happened?” Yuta nodded his head, “Well, you did get her drunk.”

“It was amazing but,” Yuta trailed off, staring at his fingers. He can still remember how smooth her skin was, how warm she felt under him, her small whimpers, and how addicting she tasted. “I wanted more.”

“Did she reject you?” Taeyong asked in a worried tone.

Yuta breathed heavily, “I forgot the condom.” The three gave a disappointed whine. “I badly wanted more.” He mumbled lying his head on the bar table.

The three shook their heads. He looked like a helpless man.

Ten just tapped his shoulder before Johnny handed him a condom, instructing him not to remove it from his pocket while laughing to himself.

Taeyong just shook his head, “The first time is always like that, Yuta.” But Yuta knew that there’s more to it. He knew what they were pointing at, a rookie mistake. But it’s not. He might have done something unforgivable if not for his self-control. “You can’t possibly be in love with her, right?” He shook his head. There’s no way. He only conversed with her twice, for crying out loud. He cannot fall in love that easily. He’s not that crazy.

“In our line of work, you cannot fall in love with her.”

Taeyong had always been the older brother Yuta didn’t have. He always knew what to correctly say, at all times. And he’s probably right. They were right. This is a rookie mistake, the result of not taking extra services. Now that he was presented with an opportunity, he just blew it. Maybe he felt guilty that she was willing to spend so much for him and he could not give her the equivalent pleasure.

Just like when he was young and playing soccer, he’ll probably get the hang of it with practice.

It has been months since he first started working in the club. Taeyong and Johnny were both superstars, the well-known ones who kept the club working on its feet. Although he’s slowly getting traction for his private dances, Yuta had never once imagined that he’d take the same path as his friends. It’s nothing personal. Maybe it’s just preference.

Or it’s probably from the fact that he would observe the two, with gorgeous faces and amazing bodies, then compare them to himself. He’s confident with his dancing skills but not with his body.

Yuta now believes that words can be very powerful. As he watched himself in front of the full-body mirror, he realized Y/N was right. He looks fine. His mother would often gush at how good-looking his son was. And Y/N claimed she would pay a million for his handsome face. So why is he feeling so inferior to the other guys? His body looks fine. Not as muscular as Johnny’s but he’s bulkier than Taeyong. Why is he so insecure about it?

Maybe it’s not bad to get paid for extra services. He can do it, right?

Yuta has his own rules. First, the golden rule: No condoms, no sex. Second, they could only touch him with his permission. Third, and the most important of all, no kissing. It’s nothing personal, he kept convincing himself. But Ten proves otherwise when he keeps offering other drinks from his usual whiskey and orange juice.

It’s been weeks and the money, as well as clients, kept flowing. He even had a regular who only wants to suck him and he would let her. She’s paying for that service. And to force himself to cum early, his mind would be elsewhere. To someone else, specifically.

All the clients are faceless, it was the technique Johnny had shared when he wanted to get the job done. But all he could think about is the cherry red lips wrapped around his cock, head bobbing that the shiny hair sparkled under the lights, big round eyes begging him for more. Whatever color the underwear was, he would always imagine the black sheer lace quality fabric underwear. The smooth skin against his fingertips and the lovely moans. The way his name rolled erotically against her tongue. The sickening sweet smell of high-end perfume.

And the taste of whiskey and orange juice. From her tongue.

How is she? He wondered. Does she also think about him?

Yuta chuckled to himself, shaking his head. That would be highly impossible.

Part Four

#yuta #yuta nakamoto #nakamoto yuta #yuta smut #yuta nakamoto smut #nakamoto yuta smut #yuta chaptered #nakamoto yuta chaptered #yuta nakamoto chaptered

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starparking · 3 days

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parkandgousa · 1 month

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rocketaggarbatty11 · 5 months

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bestocvalet · 7 months

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cinnamon-girl-writes · 5 months

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dinner dates ! jjk x reader series pt. 3/4

by @cinnamon-girl-writes

featuring: shoko, higuruma, mahito | see: part 1

ieiri shoko:

shoko is soooo lana del ray coded to me 🍒

so in my mind, she takes you to a fancy restaurant on the coastline

i know she has the salary of a school nurse but just hear me out~

she’s wearing a cream colored pantsuit with assorted gold jewelry

omg shoko is such a baaaabbbeeeee (respectfully) smash

anyways- you’re wearing a low-cut navy blue bodycon dress and your favorite jimmy choo’s that she got you for your birthday a few years ago ✨

she drives you there in her black cadillac ct5 with one hand on the wheel and the other holding a cigarette that she inhales from occasionally

when you get to the restaurant, she takes the car to the valet to have it parked and offers you an arm to lead you inside the restaurant

when you’re seated at you reserved table, after you’re served generous glasses of chilled dom perignon, you order only the finest foods: caviar, lobster, wagyu ribeye, and various other delicacies

your dessert assortment is even more lavish ✨

countless trays of pastries, cakes, fraises, and thing you can’t even name are set out in front of you; chocolate mousse cake, mini fruit tarts, serveral varieties of pudding, coconut cakes, lemon scones

all these shiny, expensive things, you think, but the only thing that matters is sitting right in front of you 💞

you pull a special surprise out of your pocket that you had been hiding excitedly all evening~ a 24 karat gold ring with the initials IS inscribed on it

you take your lover’s hand, slipping the dainty piece of jewelry onto her finger: “i love you, koko,” you explain, “thank you for sharing your life with me”

hiromi higuruma:

higuruma’s taking you to a lil steakhouse ✨

he just got off work, so he swings by your apartment to pick you up, still wearing his black suit-and-tie and white button up shirt

you’re wearing a fluttery red sundress that goes down to just about your knees with a little bow in the front 💋

his jaw absolutely drops when he sees you, his beautiful girlfriend, in that gorgeous dress !! he’s a lucky man 🥺

the drive to the restaurant is quiet, hiromi still trying to decompress from a stressful day at work

you make sure to tell him how proud of him you are, though because he works really hard 💞

the restaurant is super nice, the staff are friendly and the food is amazing!

you talk about all the things you’ve got going on in your lives right now

he tells you about the case he’s working right now, a divorce that’s fighting over custody arrangements

you tell him about your plans for the end of the year: visiting your mom in kyoto, your best friend’s birthday that was coming up, a new movie that you wanted to see in theaters

over all just very chill and domestic vibes 🥰

once you guys are done eating, he takes you back to his apartment where y’all get ready for bed (he lended you a pair of gray sweatpants and a black tshirt for you to sleep in)

you cuddle in his bed and watch grey’s anatomy until you both falling asleep, whispering sweet nothings and planting chaste kisses before you do ✨

mahito:

you can interpret this as canon mahito or human!mahito, whatever you prefer 🥰

so you and mahito are dating and are currently staying at a luxurious beach resort ✨

(i’m sorry i just couldn’t bring myself to write mahito at a restaurant because wtf 💀 there will be food in it though 🤷🏼♀️)

your villa is gorgeous, the warm summer breeze flowing through the open windows and linen curtains blowing about lazily

it’s huge, about six thousand square feet in total

but currently, you’re not inside the beach house; you’re laying by the shore, absorbing as much sun as you possibly can before you have to return to the city

your boyfriend is lying on the cot beside you, his arms folded above his head

the two of you had decided to order room service, so there were several trays of food on the little wooden table between you

there’s cebiche, orzo salad, intricately cut pieces of watermelon (you swear one looks to be in the shape of a familiar white-haired sorcerer), roasted chickpeas, and several other dishes you can’t name alongside two glasses of mai thai

you decide to try a couple options from the assortment, spooning a couple pieces into your boyfriend’s mouth that he eats reluctantly)

he does like the salad, though, claiming it has a ‘unique taste’ (you think he was just trying to make you happy by saying that)

as the sun starts to creep below the horizon, mahito rolls onto his side, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear

he leans over and plants a kiss on your cheek, then another one on your lips

as the two of you trudge tiredly back to your villa, mahito’s arm wrapped around your waist for support, he tells you how much he loves you and wishes every day could be like this 🥺💞✨

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #higuruma hiromi #higuruma x reader #shoko ieiri #shoko x reader #mahito #mahito jjk #mahito x reader

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clavissionary-position · 7 months

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Ikeprinces Ranked By How Well They Park

God Tier

CHEVALIER . He parks so well that it’s unfair even having him on the list. He can mentally visualize and predict where all the empty spots in any parking facility are long before ever going in. He knows local parking customs no matter where he goes. There is no style of parking he cannot flawlessly execute just from reading about it. Legend has it he never even took his driving exam; they just gave his license to him.

SARIEL . There’s never been a parking space that’s looked Sariel in the eye and lived to tell the tale. His side-parking alone makes you want to squeeze your thighs together while biting back lewd cries. As he shifts the gears to park, he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, gives you that devilish smirk and tells you he hopes you're ready to show him what you've learned.

JIN . Watching Jin park one-handed while casually sucking on a lollipop is like watching a 3-star Michelin chef prepare a world-class dinner right in front of you. You can’t help but want to thank him for the visual food. He keeps it classy and casual at the same time, and being in a car with him at all makes you feel like seat-belts and air-bags are totally unnecessary.

Valet Tier

RIO . His parking is already outstanding, but it’s the added customer service you get on top that truly makes him shine. You find yourself talking to him as if you’ve been friends for years, and it’s only once the conversation is over that you realize you’ve been sitting parked for over half-an-hour.

NOKTO . It’s almost surprising how good of a parker this Klein is. But it’s not like you can regularly show up to foreign embassies and expect to be treated with respect if you butcher their parking area. He's probably the prince you see drive/park the most because of his fondness for long, aimless late-night drives.

LICHT . He’s also a Klein that parks well. Must run in the family. His back muscles flex beautifully underneath his shirt when he reaches through the window to get parking tickets. He still does the awkward open-the-door-a-crack-to-double-check thing, but he's never, not once, had to readjust his parking.

Heart Attack Tier

ALTER-KEITH . It’s simply erotic how confidently he parks. He surprises you with unexpected maneuvers every now and then, mostly to tease you, but always so he can study your reactions. And the way he uses his free hand to entwine his fingers with yours; and then how he moves your connected hands to shift the gears instead of letting your hand go to do so... *clutches chest in pain*

LEON . Makes you feel like you’re riding along with a golden-age movie star, what with his flashy maneuvering. If High-Octane Parking were a thing, Leon would be the posterchild. Half the time your heart is all the way up your throat, but It. Is. Fun. As. Hell. You almost don’t want to get out of the car, and you can tell just how much fun he has showing off as his laughter coasts atop every rev of the engine.

SILVIO . It’s impossible to fully judge Silvio’s parking or even driving capabilities while also nursing a nosebleed (because you can’t stop staring at his sexy forearms when his hands are on the steering wheel). His wealth, connections and status give him access to the best parking spots, so it’s safe to assume he’s not burning bridges by parking like an animal. Also, he’s Silvio! Why would he be bad at parking? Unless he happens to catch you staring like that and then oh fuck oh fuck oh fu—

GILBERT . Prefers to let you drive, but he gets so unbelievably jealous when you interact with parking meters and ticket-dispensers, that he either shoots the offending device on sight or cleverly manipulates you into parking elsewhere. If that ‘elsewhere’ has an excruciating walking-distance to your destination, he’ll manipulate the situation and then somehow you’re both back home, on his bed, doing kissy-bitey things. So instead of letting him boss you around, be sure to put your foot down on the brakes and tell him he needs to suck it up (he will). If he’s driving, he’s a god-tier parker.

CLAVIS . He has made it a personal goal to invent a new type of parking every two weeks. He’s never been able to beat Chev at those silly parking mobile apps, or even Tetris, so he’s decided to one-up him in the most ridiculous, real-life way using cars. Clavis parks the way you can sometimes find two or three jigsaw puzzle pieces stuck together in unholy ways. Every sound that comes out of a car operated by Clavis Lelouch is symphonic chaos in the best and worst ways. No one has a higher monthly car-insurance premium than Clavis fucking Lelouch. Except for Yves.

IDGAF Tier

LUKE . He parks diagonally, taking up multiple parking spaces. His backseat is an amateur’s collection of unpaid parking ticket stubs. A wave of honey-scents floods out whenever he opens his car door. He unironically listens to Nickelback, so the combination of Nickelback and honey smells coming out of a parking lot can only mean one thing.

RIP Tier

KEITH . (After finally arriving at the parking location two days late) It’s not that he’s a poor-parker, he’s just one that overthinks the hell out of it. Is he going too fast? Is he going too slow? Is there enough of a gap on your side for you to get out? Is there enough of a gap that people can comfortably get into their cars on either side of his? Is his car so tall, I mean big, that it creates an eyesore when someone’s looking down the line? Should he just park directly inside that ditch?

YVES . He’s not the one bumping into cars, they’re the ones bumping into him!! Ranking him this low for something beyond his control is SLANDER!! Though this is largely only the case when he's driving by himself or with people who aren't you. If you're in the car, his Luck Stat goes through the roof, which makes it easier for him to show off just how much of a careful and dexterous parker he is. And his bangs do a cute little forward-backward swish just as he finishes (in sync with his ear ring).

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