#others tip poorly too and just

[bluevelvt]

.

[natreads]

how did you get into the publishing industry? i love to read so this seems like an interesting field but i studied art history, not literature or writing

I studied publishing studies first, but it genuinely (unfortunately) has a lot to do with networking. I got to know people through the course (and other courses I've studied such as creative writing and also my masters in literature), through interning via my uni, but also through the book community on instagram! I'm currently freelancing as a book editor and proof reader, and if you're interested in gaining some experience in that too I'm sure you could find people who'd love to let you edit/beta read their stuff so that you could gain more experience for when you reach out to publishers. The more experience the better, but it's also good to know people in the field if you have ways to do that. But also! I feel like your knowledge in art history could also be of use if you find more artsy publishers, possibly smaller ones. Good luck!

[astonmartinii]

i like a girl in uniform | lando norris social media au

pairing: lando norris x fem vet!reader

little leo leclerc needs a trip to the vet, lando was just being a good friend but the vet tech was definitely a plus

based on the request by: @volleygal06

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 1,304,893 others

charles_leclerc: this dramatic little boy decided he wanted to eat every piece of grass he could find and got poorly, thank you to austin vet clinic for helping us out and getting him back into shape :)

view all comments

user1: leo is so dramatic, he's so me

user2: leo leclerc is the dramatic girl representation we need in the f1 paddock

pierregasly: please word your texts better, i thought someone had actually died

charles_leclerc: he nearly did!

landonorris: he did not, you're just a helicopter parent

pierregasly: wait why was lando with you and not me?

charles_leclerc: he just happened to be there and i needed a lift

landonorris: because he was freaking out

charles_leclerc: but he conveniently he decided he really cared about leo's wellbeing when he saw the vet tech

pierregasly: ohhhhh i see

landonorris: what! no! i'm a good friend!

charles_leclerc: sure, jan.

user3: fuckboy lando has re-entered the chat

user4: his slutiness knows no bounds

yourusername: he's such a precious little guy, i'm glad i could get him back to feeling himself. good luck to both of you this weekend!

charles_leclerc: thank you so much for your time, you definitely were the calm we needed

yourusername: ahahaha you're just a good dad to your fur baby

landonorris: thank you! any chance you can be my lucky charm this weekend?

yourusername: do you flirt with all the vet techs like this?

landonorris: only the cute ones

yourusername: i see...

landonorris: but i can still interest you in a coffee?

yourusername: i'll see if i'm free

user5: that was .... tragic

oscarpiastri: well that was something

alexalbon: you'd think he'd be better at it by now

georgerussell63: i have to have faith he's better at this in person

maxverstappen1: i'm kind of enjoying this show tbf

landonorris: i can read this?

alexalbon: take the constructive feedback

yourusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 11,563 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: never a boring day here, leo was just the loveliest boy ever

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user6: okay turns out i am no better than lando

user7: if you heard barking that wasn't me

landonorris: are you sure he was THE loveliest boy, or are you just being nice because he's a puppy?

alexalbon: bro is jealous of a dog

yourusername: i'm sorry lando, but leo was a very brave boy

landonorris: i can be brave too!

oscarpiastri: you wouldn't let me sit at the same table as you at a restaurant because i ordered salmon

landonorris: well yes but that's also because it's you - when i go on a date with y/n, if she ordered salmon i would live with it

yourusername: when i go on a date with you?

landonorris: our date on sunday?

yourusername: oh really?

landonorris: i'll pick you up, wear something pretty x

user8: i have no idea whether that worked or not

user9: it was a loser move, but i would cave as well

user10: lando is unbelievably lame but he's also a millionaire f1 driver so i guess he can do what he wants

alexalbon: no it was lame and you guys should continue to tell him that

landonorris: trust the process alex

georgerussell63: the last time we trusted the process your dms where you tried to go on a maccies date were leaked

yourusername: i am NOT coming if you're taking me to mcdonalds 🤨

charles_leclerc: he takes after his mother :)

yourusername: awwwww, based on how many times he pissed on you, i think he's definitely a mummy's boy

charles_leclerc: tbf i'll do anything she says too

yourusername: @landonorris take notes if you want a date ^^

user11: american races i will never not complain about you but you have given me entertainment before the cars have even gotten on track

user12: idk this kinda proves my theory that the american races are just one big humiliation ritual for f1

f1tea

liked by user14, user15 and 18,304 others

tagged: yourusername

f1tea: the vet tech, y/n y/ln, who helped leo is in the paddock for qualifying.

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user16: oh wow she's actually so pretty

user17: also like she just looks like a normal fucking person

user18: that's probably because she is a normal person

user19: okay queen is turning a fucking look

user20: she looks so effortless i love her already

user21: i beg you people don't get parasocial already, she's a vet tech who will probably just be here for the weekend

user22: not if lando has any say in it 😭

user23: i honestly think good for her for having him so down bad but i also pray for her for when the twitter girls catch on

user24: they've already found all of her personal details poor gal

user25: so like which garage is she in this weekend?

user26: she came in with alex and leo so i think it's a safe bet to guess ferrari

user27: i think the 13 year olds would actually have an aneurysm if she was in the mclaren garage

user28: i kinda want to see the meltdown

user29: the way ted kravitz shoved his microphone in her face killed me

user30: girl was so fucking confused

user31: the way she said 'i guess i'm a charles fan? i don't know i met him yesterday and he offered me tickets after i helped leo?'

user32: alex trying not to laugh right next to her when ted was asking her so many questions

user33: lando just fell to his knees in the mclaren garage

yourusername

liked by alexsaintmleux, landonorris and 24,509 others

tagged: f1 & charles_leclerc

yourusername: thanks for the hospitality charles and ferrari! this has been a dream come true x

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user37: girl rocked up to her job, met THE leo leclerc and got a paddock pass

user38: why does leo never eat a load of grass when i'm on shift

user39: ugh why does this stuff not happen to me :(

charles_leclerc: i'm glad i could repay you beyond leo's vet fees!

yourusername: i did not know this sport was so god damn stressful and it wasn't even the race 😭

charles_leclerc: are you sure you can't make it tomorrow, there's still a ticket with your name on it?

yourusername: just say you and alex want a free dogsitter

charles_leclerc: guilty!

charles_leclerc: no but seriously if you wanna pull a sick day, we have a ticket for you

yourusername: all of my managers follow you on instagram, so i think that might be off the cards now

charles_leclerc: ..... oh

yourusername: it's like you people forget you're famous

user40: she's not here for the race :(((

user41: rip y/n y/ln in the paddock 2024-2024, forever in our hearts

user42: we'll never forget the ted's notebook episode of him being humbled by her

landonorris: you're not here for the race ? :(

yourusername: i have a job babe

landonorris: but but but i never got to take you out

yourusername: i technically never even agreed to that

landonorris: but hypothetically if i happened to be in your vicinity on sunday evening, would you change your mind?

yourusername: i'm sure you'll be out celebrating mr racer boy

landonorris: so you think i'm good 😊

yourusername: well you're starting third so i guess so?

landonorris: don't count out a more lowkey celebration ;)

alexalbon: is this loser son of a bitch actually going to secure a date

landonorris: i told you guys to trust the process

yourusername: i can literally read this right now ?

landonorris: I'M DOWN BAD LET A MAN LIVE

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri and 1,429,788 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris: i told the pretty girl i'd win something for her desk and i did ;)

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user43: holy moly he did it

user44: this is possibly bigger than his first win

user45: proved he can drive and is not completely sauceless

user46: is he at the vets in his sweaty-ass racesuit?

oscarpiastri: YES HE IS AND HE RAN BEFORE WE COULD DEBRIEF SO NOW I HAVE TO WAIT FOR HIS WHIPPED ASS TO COME BACK TO THE PADDOCK BEFORE I CAN GO TO BED

landonorris: your tone seems very pointed

oscarpiastri: it is indeed very pointed, i am so tired and you're so down bad that i'm going to have to sleep at the track

landonorris: well that sounds like a you problem

oscarpiastri: you are such a failure in this department that i'll let you off but i expect a tow next weekend

landonorris: anything i don't mind

oscarpiastri: this is levels of down bad i have never seen before

yourusername: i happen to like my men desperate and pathetic

landonorris: hehehhehehehhehe :P

user47: i now know way too much about these people

user48: at least all this public humiliation was worth it in the end for lando?

alexalbon: this pizza in the car date is very reminiscent of the proposed hotel maccies date ....

yourusername: why are you always up in our business

alexalbon: i've known this gremlin for far too long, if anything i'm looking out for you

yourusername: please refer to my previous comment about my preferences

alexalbon: you people are perfect for each other 🤨

yourusername: i can't deny a pretty boy when he's worked so hard to impress me

maxverstappen1: pretty sure that's just his day job to drive fast

yourusername: LET ME HAVE THIS FUCK OFF

landonorris: i knew i had one shot for you to take me seriously

yourusername: oh i was always going to say yes to a date, i just wanted to see just how much you wanted it

landonorris: well i wanted it and i want many more SO BADLY

yourusername: we'll see what we can do...

landonorris: HEHHEHHEHEHEHHEHEHE :)))))))))

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 34,109 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: someone tell this man he has a job and he has to leave

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user51: y/n's photography has shown me what the lando girls see for once

user52: i agree i am MOVED

yourusername: 🤨

user53: bro went on one date and thinks she's special

yourusername: more dates than you :P

user54: ugh finally a wag that fights back

landonorris: but i don't wanna leave you 😩

yourusername: i don't particularly want you to go either but somehow zak has gotten my personal number and wants you at the airport and i'm scared he'll get my address next

landonorris: tell him to fuck off next time

yourusername: he's your boss? WHAT IF HE GETS MY ADDRESS

oscarpiastri: not to sound like a sweat but he is actively looking for your address with cartoonish steam coming out of his ears

yourusername: LANDO IF YOU LIKE ME AS MUCH AS YOU SAY PLEASE MAKE SURE YOUR PSYCHO BOSS DOES NOT COME TO MY HOUSE

landonorris: ugh anything for you i guess

user55: i'm not sure how we got here but they're so hot

user56: he is PUNCHING SO BAD

landonorris: she's a literal goddess i know

yourusername: take notes ladies xx

landonorris: no but seriously, i don't want to leave you - can't you come to brazil?

yourusername: sorry babe i have a job i need to go to

landonorris: PLEASE

yourusername: but what about all the sick animals :(

landonorris: i guess :(

user57: what kind of spell is he under it's been THREE DAYS

landonorris: i love a girl in uniform

yourusername: even if it's scrubs covered in cat piss

landonorris: i find you sexy in anything, but preferably nothing ...

yourusername: right back at you xo

fin.

note: babes i am SWAMPED but i hope you enjoyed!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

35 / 2.1k / shark merman Price and remora mermaid reader for mermay :)

...

Price isn’t stupid. He knows you’ve been following him since the early morning as he makes the rounds through his favorite reef. You’re stealthing poorly—just poorly enough that he knows you’re there, but you’re still small enough to dart into the reef every time he tries to get a good look at you.

He's been ignoring you and hoping you’ll take the hint to buzz off before he makes you buzz off.

You think you’re getting the hang of sneaking up on him when you turn a corner and lose him. And then he’s sneaking up on you.

You peek around the bright lumps of coral, wondering where he’s gone, when something blots out the sunlight above. You look up to see him—the long expanse of muscle and bulk on top and the smooth shark’s tail below—as he peers down at you.

You stiffen, pressing yourself to the sandy sea floor.

He scans you with his dark eyes to determine just what kind of creature has been following him. Not a threat, decides. Even as a mer. You’re too small. Too soft. You have no teeth to speak of. How laughable. And a tiny little thing, at that.

You straighten up, watching him circle you. You’d been looking for an opportunity just like this. That’s why you were tailing him. But now that his shrewd gaze is finally on you, you feel exposed.

He takes his time inspecting you. Then he swims a wide arc around you once more and lowers his clawed as if to touch you. You force yourself to stay still, your tail curled under you on the sand.

“You’ve been following me,” he says. It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

Price hooks one of his claws under your chin and pulls your head lightly upwards. You slowly rise as he tilts your chin up until you're suspended in the water in front of him.

"You should be scared of me,” he says.

You settle your own hands on his wrist in contentment. You look less like a meal being evaluated and more like a kitten being scratched under the chin. "Would you like me to be scared?"

He chuckles at your enthusiasm. He knows exactly what this is. You're a remora mer, which means you instinctively seek out and bond with bigger creatures. Even if that creature is an unfriendly shark mer. Surely you must know how dangerous it is to be within his reach?

"You're very big. You must be king of this reef,” you say.

He pauses as the praise washes over him. He knows how intimidating he is, and you should realize you're nothing but small, soft and fragile. But obviously your instincts for fawning and flattery are finely honed.

He can see the way your little self seems to be drawn to him. A remora mer, indeed. He's seen others like you, but they've always avoided him. He could just as easily kill you as he could accept your company.

There is something pitifully adorable about you. The way you tilt your head and expose your throat unwittingly is endearing. He knows it’s because your instincts are leading you to bond with him for the safety he provides. You're too willing.

"Do you lack the common sense to fear an apex predator?" he asks, voice low and amused.

"Yes," you respond obediently.

He can see the way your little body is pressing up to his hand, desperate to get closer. He moves his arm, gently guiding you closer to him. "Good," he rumbles softly before using two claws to stroke down the curve of your neck. "Very good. You're too small to survive my teeth, you know."

"Of course. Much too small. Your teeth are so big and sharp."

"And you're soft and weak. Soft as a piece of kelp, I bet." He gives the tip of your tail a flick, and his eyes glitter as you bob and shake out your tail fin at the touch. Fussy little creature. "You're not very good at what you're supposed to do, little mer."

You open up your eyes. "I'm not?"

"Following me for hours without even trying to ingratiate yourself to me," he growls. "You're supposed to busy yourself with my needs. Not..." He trails off as you tilt up into his touch, almost nuzzling his hand. He gives your forehead a light flick with his claw to make you pay attention. "Acting like some kind of pet."

You quickly smooth yourself down. "Of course. I know that." You dart closer, putting your small hands on his inner arm, his shoulder, his chest, inspecting him. Your fingers glide over him, brushing and scratching and plucking away bits of sea debris and dry skin. Grooming him. "I just thought you might want me to be scared of you first."

Oh. He’s enjoying this far more than he thought he would. For something so soft, you’re quite bold.

He presses on your hip to turn you slightly as you work, idly inspecting you in return. "Maybe later. Let’s see if you’re worth the effort first." He rests his chin on his other hand to watch you fuss over him. It's been a long time since he had any kind of attention on him. You dart around behind him and busy yourself with his hair next.

He leans into your touch when you start to untangle his hair. "You seem to enjoy this.”

“I do.”

“Good for you,” he drawls. "Are you good for anything else?"

"I'm good for lots of things." You move from his hair down to his tail, trying not to stare.

"Oh?" He reaches up and idly drags the back of his knuckles down your spine and over the fin there. He smirks as your fin flattens with the touch. "Like what?"

"Anything you can think of."

"Anything?" He gives a low rumble in his throat at your words. "Don't go promising favors you can't fulfill, little remora."

"Okay," you chime.

He grabs ahold of your tail fins. "And don't agree with every single thing I say, either. That makes you far too easy to manipulate."

"Yes, sir!"

He rolls his eyes. You really are a pushover. It's like you want him to be cruel to you. He lets go of your tail but twirls his fingers in the tip of your tailfins. "Is it your instincts that are making you so deferential? Or are you just a coward?"

You pretend to think about this for a moment. Then you respond, pleasantly, "Which do you prefer?"

"Mm, so you do have a brain."

"Me? No, surely that can't be. Not a thought in my head, sir. Promise."

He eyes you like a disobedient puppy. You're putting on this fairly convincing act, being a mindless, servile little thing, and it's confusing his instincts to know you're doing a fair bit of manipulation yourself to win his protection.

"Might prefer you a bit more brainless, actually," he says. He nudges the underside of your chin with his knuckle this time instead of his claw, noting how you drop what you were doing to follow the gesture as he guides you out in front of him again. "You're willing to do anything I ask, then? No questions?"

"Yes, sir.” You rest your much smaller body against his forearm again. “Anything.”

He looks down at how you submit willingly to his hand, taking in the sight of your small body pressed up against it. He feels something primal coil in his gut at the display. You let yourself fall under his control so easily. "What if I told you to open your mouth like a goldfish?" He brings his thumb up to your lip. "Would you?"

You open your mouth.

Interesting. He taps your lower lip with the tip of his thumb. "Wide," he murmurs. "Open up wide for me."

You open wider.

"Now bite."

You bite down around the tip of his thumb.

His lips twitch up into a smile at the feeling of you nibbling at him, the little scrape of your teeth. "Good. Harder."

You reposition your grip and chomp down in earnest this time. He grunts. Your teeth are smaller than his, but they're still sharp.

"There you go. Not bad for such a small mouth." He pulls it away, half-expecting you to start hollowing your cheeks on his thumb if he dawdles too long. "Have you ever had to deal with bigger fish?"

"Of course," you chirp. Like it's no big deal.

Price snorts. It's hard to imagine something like you doing anything but darting behind the nearest rock at the first sign of danger. “How many have you killed?"

"None."

"Right, I'm sure you ask them nicely to leave you alone," he says. "And do they listen?”

"Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don't."

"And when they don't, what do you do? Do you fight back? Do you give up?"

"Well..." You wring your hands briefly. "You're going to handle it now, right? So what does it matter?"

"It matters to me." For some reason, the thought of you trying to fight back against a larger fish makes him restless. "You still need to know how to defend yourself."

You frown. "You're not going to do it for me?"

He scoffs, but you're starting to make him feel something close to concern for you. He doesn't know why the thought of you being defenseless irks him so. "Are you really that helpless? Are you really so soft that you just want me to fight all your battles for you?"

"I mean, you're a shark."

He huffs irritably at that, his annoyance with you outweighed by his annoyance with himself for feeling concerned over you. "Do you think I'm going to do everything for you just because I'm bigger and stronger?"

You smile at him, pleased.

Ah. He's the fool suddenly. He grabs you around the waist with just one of his big hands and brings you close, his voice lowering in warning. "Stop smiling, little fish."

"Okay," you chime.

"I told you to stop sounding so bloody agreeable. You make me want to bite you." He lifts you up in front of him to get a clearer look at your face. Your eyes are too wide, your smile is too sweet, your body is too flimsy. It's all infuriating to him. He’s been roaming the ocean a long time and he's grown comfortably hard and cold. You’re not changing that. "You have no self-preservation instincts at all, do you? You're just going to get yourself killed one day."

You settle into his hand comfortably. "Maybe so. Can I get you anything else, boss?"

You're hopeless, he decides. With how sweet and docile you are, he feels something clawing at the inside of his chest the longer he holds you.

Instead of answering you, he fits you against his chest, into the crook of his arm. There. Better. He can keep you closer this way without having to look at your silly doe eyes.

“Not now,” he says finally. “Maybe later.”

You lean into the position, tucking into the side of his chest like you're making yourself at home. "Okay, boss."

He can’t decide if he likes you calling him that or not. He can feel the way you nestle against him, settling in comfortably and making no effort to resist. You really are too easy to control. Just a little pull and you're molded against his side. He feels you start to smooth down some of his chest scales without even thinking. Grooming him. Nice and clean. Little busybody.

He's not used to being pampered, but feeling the tension start to bleed from his muscles under your touch… maybe it’s not so bad. He glances down at you, wondering how you're able to look so contented tucked up against him. His chest rumbles as you scratch near his throat. He lets his muscles relax under your hand.

You're an annoying little thing--too innocent, too naive, too sweet, and he conveniently forgets how capable you are of convincing him of that to win him over--but it's been too damn long since he's allowed himself to be comforted.

Maybe it would be alright to let you stay with him for a little while.

...

more Price / more mer au / masterlist tag

[bunnycvnts]

how rafe cameron jerks off ✧.*

warnings: do i even need to put warnings on this??? male masturbation, cum, talk of porn, ??? idk man it’s just him jerking off. 18+ obv

you’d think he does it the way he does everything else in life: carelessly, poorly planned, rough, and just looking to get it over with. that he’d fist his cock until it ached, and he was dripping with sweat, his abdomen clenching with desire. that it was a quick session with a five minute porn video and ended with cleaning up his cum from his stomach with a dirty tshirt.

but no— when rafe cameron pleasures himself, he goes all in. dimming the lights on his ceiling fan and locking his bedroom door. stripping naked and reaching for the oil in his bedside drawer, smoothing out the substance across his chest, down his stomach, and over the very tops of his thighs. smearing whatever was left on his hands over his length, his hips bucking at the touch. but that wasn’t all. for rafe cameron to cum— he needed to be teased. he’d run his hands over his newly slick skin, scraping his nails across his abs, the slight burn making his cock twitch. he’d massage the tops of his thighs and over his hip bones, grasping the skin in his big hands and kneading it between his fingers, getting so close to his pulsing cock but never actually reaching it. beads of precum would leak from the red bulbous tip, creating a shiny film of desire against his stomach. headphones on, taking in the moans of whatever girl was on his screen, never too picky about which video played. he doesn’t watch it anyway, needing the sound over the visual. his cock would twitch and throb, begging for release. his balls would ache, ready to spill his warm seed. once he decided he’d been teased enough, his fist would wrap gently around his length, not too tight but not too soft, stroking upwards and focusing on the tip. he’d squeeze the head of his cock, his thumb running against the slit and gathering all precum spilled. his legs would squirm, forcing them open and closed, his hips bucking in the air, his body continuously trembling in need. short gasps would leave his lips, trying to catch his breath while beads of sweat gathered at his hairline. with a tighter grip, he’d stroke the rest of his shaft, groaning at the feeling of his hand. he’d edge himself over and over until he found the twisted knot in his stomach to be too much. he’d cup his balls with one hand and milk the tip of his cock with the other, the oil squelching under his fingers at the movements. the sound would only drive him closer to release. when he found himself teetering on the edge, he’d squeeze a little harder and massage his balls a little rougher until he felt the knot break in his stomach. a raspy moan would fall from his bitten lips, his seed spilling across the oiled planes of his chest. his grip wouldn’t ease, cum oozing from his throbbing tip long after he’d ridden out his orgasm. he’d lay there panting, trying to secure as much oxygen as he could, even though his brain felt dizzy and he wasn’t even sure he was on the same planet anymore.

if there was one thing rafe cameron could do properly, it was jerk himself off.

taglist: @sunkissedrafe @ditzyzombiesblog @mousie101 @cxsmiclore @judessangel

[rainylana]

“Goodnight, Ed’s.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: you’re stoned and drunk, so you suck eddie’s dick.

warnings: oral male receiving, language, smoking of weed, drinking.

You loved late nights like this. Drunk, stoned and watching tv. Pizza boxes and Chinese food piled up on the counters. It was almost four in the morning, the living room was glowing with the illumination of the tv playing Poltergeist, a smoky steam and the smell of weed and booze strong and prominent.

You and Eddie were sat side by side, watching, giggling together, stoned out of your mind. You hadn’t said anything in hours, just enjoying the company of each other. You’d been through so much together. High school bullies, the trauma of both of your childhood’s. You had shared that with him, and he, you. Vecna. What you both had become after Vecna.

You shifted your neck and looked over to him, smiling softly. His eyes were dropping. He was getting tired. You lifted your arm and played with the back of his hair, twirling the curls and watching him relax under your touch. He closed his eyes and hummed, too tired to thank you.

You rubbed at his neck, scratched his skin lightly and circled the area behind his ears, giving him all the attention and affection you could give. You stifled your own yawn, leaning over and swooping his hair over to expose his neck.

You gave him a sweet, soft kiss behind his earlobe, scooting close so your legs touched his. You kissed and caressed his neck slowly and softly, moving up to his chin and back down. He groaned happily when you nibbled on his skin.

“Baby,” He barely opened his eyes, peeking over at you. “You know I’d love to, but I’m…so tired.” He fought off a yawn.

You pulled away, turning him toward you with a single finger under his chin. “Then let me do the work, darlin.” You pecked his lips with a wet sound, not so gracefully falling to the floor in a heap at his knees. You weren’t near as drunk as he was, but the effects of the marijuana had you dizzy and giddy, and more importantly, ready to suck his dick.

You struggled to take his belt and jeans off, and he was too out of it to be of any help. His hands fumbled with yours, and you slapped him away so you could do it yourself, eyes squinting in the poorly lit room. Once you got his belt undone, you pulled his pants down to his ankles, and his boxers were the next to go.

Once finished with removing his clothing, you sat up on your knees and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his thigh, then switching to the other. You could feel him watching you. You licked his skin with your tongue, the sound of someone screaming behind you on the tv. The light of the screen made him look angelic, eyes slouched and red rimmed, shoulders hunched over, cock hard and ready for you to suck dry.

You looked up at him. His arms were folded behind his head, leaning back with a small smirk on his face. “Well?” He asked.

You blushed at the deepness of his voice. It made your pussy throb. “Just waitin’ for you to ask me nicely, Ed’s.”

He pushed air out between his lips, rolling his head back till it hit the sofa. The couch had seen better days. It was covered in stains of all kinds. “Please, honey?”

You hummed happily, tossing your hair back and twirling your hands against him. “Sure, honey.”

You wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, sucking and puckering so hard he nearly jumped clean off the couch. “Ah,” He whined, gripping the cushions beneath him. “Oh, baby,”

You took his length in your mouth, moving down his shaft until he hit the back of your throat. You wrapped your hand around the base, moving up and down slowly, puckering him with your lips.

Your other hand kept you held upright with his thigh, your head going up and down in a steady rhythm. He held your hair, wrapping your locks with his fist to guide you where he wanted. He sniffled, tilting his head to look down at you.

“So good to me, baby, god,” He whimpered, his thighs tensing underneath you. “That feels so good.”

You swirled your tongue against the prominent vain along his shaft, hollowing your cheeks so you could get every inch of him inside of you.

“Fuck, baby, keep doing that.” He squinted his eyes closed, his hand dropping from your head to fist the sofa cushions. “Yeah, y-yeah, that,”

He panted, looking up to the ceiling as he felt his balls tighten. “I’m gonna cum, baby,”

You did what you knew best and paid special attention to his tip, the space beneath and massaged him with your tongue. He cried out, spilling himself down your throat with a salty taste.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” He cursed in cries, biting his hand with his pearly teeth. You sucked him dry, taking in everything he had to offer.

You smiled, wiping the corners of your mouth. His eyes were closed, chest heaving with pants and his arms cast lazily at his sides.

“Goodnight, Ed’s.”

[sacredsorceress]

Meet Cute with Logan Would Include... || Wolverine Headcanons

pairing: logan howlett (wolverine) x mutant!f!reader summary: you're a new teacher at the school and logan is interested in you from your first meeting a/n: i'm admittedly projecting with the fact that reader teaches history but just a little blurb because logan's been on my mind and i need to get work done <33 lmk if you want me to make this into an actual fic!! warnings: none, all fluff

masterlist | inbox | tip jar (ko-fi)

when you first arrive at the school as a teacher (and late blooming mutant) charles introduces you to logan

logan has a typical scowl on his face and glances at you up and down

so you begin to worry that you've worn the wrong outfit or presented yourself poorly and now an infamous wolverine dig is about to be thrown your way

but instead, he takes a puff of his cigar, and looks back at charles

"you have a rule about only recruiting good-looking teachers or something?"

and what an array of relief (and butterflies) do you get from that

"yes, very funny, logan. however, y/n here has a phd. I've brought her on to teach the students"

"yeah? and what's your "gift"?" (mutation)

he has a coy look on his face

"oh logan, that's a bit personal..." you said with faux seriousness. "buy me a drink first."

for the first time, you saw him smile. a chuckle reverberated in his chest.

"fair enough."

after that interaction charles escorted you out of the room but as you went, logan's eyes were trained on you.

intrigued, he took another puff of his cigar and smiled to himself.

on your first night there, once all the children have gone to sleep and all the adults have gone to their own rooms for the night you hear a knock on your door.

and guess who it is?

you hate to admit it but god, does he look so hot and suave standing in your doorway.

logan's hair is in a typical mess and his flannel has a few more buttons undone than it did this morning,

and although he's rough around the edges and not as necessarily openly friendly as the others, he exudes confidence- especially as he leans against your doorframe.

"you said i owed you a drink."

although he takes you to the diviest dive bar in town, you have such a good time.

after a little bit of awkwardness, the two of you found your footing and you end up talking (flirting) for hours

well, in actuality, you do most of the talking but boy does he like listening to you talk and watching your eyes light up while you laugh at some of your own stories

on the way back to the mansion, he opens the car door for you

"thank you."

"don't mention it" (he's blushing a little)

on the ride back he tries to be as smooth as possible, one arm draped over the passenger seat while the other rests on the steering wheel

he keeps taking quick glances at you as you hum along to the song on the radio and even though you just met he's already thinking about how he could get used to this

he walks you back to your room and as much as he wants to make another move (and you do too) he doesn't want to mess up your relationship before its even started

i mean, you're living in the same place?? what happens if you don't like it?? and you end up hating him?? now his suave demeanor has crumbled under the weight of realising this is actually real and not a game

"I'll.. uh... be down the hall if you need me."

"thanks, logan" you smile softly and he thinks its the first time anyone's done that in over a decade and meant it

when he starts walking down the hall, you call out in a whisper

"oh and logan!" you pause. "sweet dreams."

before he can say anything the door of your bedroom shuts

a stupid, silly grin coats his face so big that he rubs his hand across his cheeks in fear anyone would catch the big bad wolverine becoming a softie for the teacher he's got the hots for

although you've just met, you've got him wrapped around your finger and he can barely believe it

shoving his hands in his pocket, logan shakes his head and laughs on the way to his own bedroom

"fuck."

[lyxandria]

nsfw - mdni, professor!sunday x student!reader, reader is afab, reader is referred to as good girl, dubcon/noncon, rough sex, forced sex, oral sex (male receiving), mating press, dirty talk

professor!sunday calls your name after class. please see me in my office in ten minutes. his voice is soft and discreet, not wanting other students to hear.

professor!sunday is already in his office when you arrive. you open the door tentatively. you wanted to see me? you ask meekly, your stomach a big ball of twisting nerves. you're a straight A student on an academic scholarship; you've never had so much as a failing grade before. naturally, you're curious as to why you're there. it couldn’t possibly be because of your grades.

professor!sunday slides a paper across his desk; there is a giant red F circled on the top of the page. you look down in shock, your hands automatically reach out, wanting to review it. To see with your own eyes how you could have performed so poorly on the exam. but he pulls the paper away before you have a chance to grab it, before you can even confirm that it is, in fact, your paper.

professor!sunday comes around the other side of the desk so that you are face to face. this close, you notice how handsome he is with his wings flapping cutely as he gazes gently at you. professor!sunday is known as one of the more kind professors at the university; perhaps he will be understanding and offer some way to raise your grades.

professor!sunday smiles as he speaks softly. i understand you're on a scholarship. you nod your head slowly, embarrassed over your situation. you know that having just one failing test score in my class means it's impossible to pass my class. 

professor!sunday drags a long finger along your chin, tilting your face up to his as he watches you squirm. please, you beg, i'll do anything. extra credit. tutoring. anything. i can't lose my scholarship. 

professor!sunday is pleased to hear you beg – his plan is working. anything? he asks curiously. you nod again. anything. his smile soon turns wicked as he places  one firm hand on your shoulder, roughly pushing you to the floor onto your knees. you're too confused to fight him. that is, until you hear him unzip his pants.

professor!sunday frees his erection, and takes his thick cock in his hand. suck, he commands. you look at his cock with wide eyes, never having seen one this big before. when he presses the tip to your lips, you shake your head vigorously, protesting. no, you whimper, pleading.

professor!sunday wraps his hand in your hair. you will if you want to pass my class. you consider your options – there was no way you could tell your parents you failed and lost your scholarship. all I have to do is suck you off? you ask naively. 

Professor!sunday looks down at you and smiles. yes, that's all, he lies. foolishly believing him, you part your lips, allowing him to slide his cock into your mouth. as soon as he is a few inches in, you start to gag. too much, you wanted to scream. but he continues pushing in, despite your muffled cries.

professor!sunday watches as a single tear rolls down your cheek. good girl, you’re taking me so well, he praises. your mouth feels so good. he roughly pushes your head further on his thick cock, not caring that you were choking on his length.

professor!sunday is pleased when you finally swallow his entire length. you look so pretty with your lips wrapped around his length; he knows he won’t last long in your warm mouth.

professor!sunday surprises you when he suddenly pulls his cock from your mouth, your lips love bruised from taking his cock. get up, he orders, yanking you up from the floor. 

professor!sunday pushes you against his desk until you find yourself seated on the edge. with his cock already freed and still fully erect, he takes no time to lift your skirt and rip off your panties. no! you cry out when you realize what he is about to do. you said I'd just have to… tears now stream down your face, flowing freely, as he smiles maliciously at you, his eyes narrowed, forcibly spreading your legs exposing your pussy to him. yes, I did say that at the time. but your mouth felt so good, i changed my mind. 

professor!sunday lines the tip of his cock along your entrance, already slick with arousal. you continue to beg and plead with him, scared of how much it would hurt to be fucked by such a big cock. no, please, i’m a virgin, this isn’t – he cuts you off with a small laugh. looks like you want this, too, he says as slides his cock against your wet slit. he then plunges his shaft in your pussy in one hard thrust.

professor!sunday groans as he stretches your pussy, your screams muffled by his hand covering your mouth. so tight, such a good slut. he begins to fuck you, his hand digging hard into your hips, you body filling with pain, with each thrust ripping your body in half. you turn your head to the side, disgusted with yourself and him, not wanting to see the face of your assailant. 

professor!sunday rolls his hips against you, ravishing your body as he violates your pussy. you’re taking my cock so well, i’d never know it’s your first time. he slams his hips against yours, his balls smacking your ass each time. it's gonna feel so good, i promise, he says as he rails you mercilessly.

professor!sunday smiles softly as he impales you with his cock, over and over again. you aren't the first student he has fucked, but you are definitely one of the best. sensing your climax is close, he increases his pace, fucking you harder and faster, drilling his cock so deep inside, his tip kisses your cervix. your body betrays you as you orgasm and cream all over his cock, hoping that this assault is over, but knowing deep down inside it isn't even close to done.

professor!sunday guides your ankles over his shoulders. your body is broken and boneless; unable to fight anymore, you succumb to the pain and nearly pass out. 

professor!sunday slaps your face, roughly waking you up. no resting yet, i wanna see your pretty face when i fill you with my seed and breed you like the little slut that you are.

[thewalkingdilf]

baby pink

daryl dixon x reader

18+ mdni, poorly written smut, not proofread, hand fetish, handjobs, fem!reader

before the end of the world, daryl was a sucker for a girl with her nails done— almost like a sort of fetish for him. it was a secret you were definitely aware of after it had slipped out if his mouth in conversation once after one too many drinks; but in the apocalypse, it’s not like you could just go get your nails done whenever you felt like it.

needless to say, it caught him off guard when you crawled into bed with him that night after you had found some baby pink nail polish while out on a run that just so happened to compliment your skin perfectly and decided to give yourself a manicure earlier that day.

your long, baby pink nails that were newly shaped into a dull point, reached over him to gently rake themselves down his chest, eliciting a shiver down his spine and throughout his core.

the lower your pretty pink nails traveled down the trail of his torso, the more tense daryl became, his cock twitching in his boxers as a reaction to the light scratching of your nails against his skin and your big doe eyes watching his every twitch and shiver.

when you finally pulled his boxers down, as slowly as you physically could so that you could watch his cock spring free— his tip red, aching, and practically staring you down— your mouth began to water at the sight. you fought the urge to just take him into the welcoming warmth of your mouth then and there; but no, that’s not what you were here for tonight.

when your pretty little digits wrapped themselves around daryl’s thick cock, oh god it felt so good. he had to fight just to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head as he released a deep, guttural moan. he needed to see this.

“fuck baby, feels so good.”

his darkened, glossy eyes were laser focused on your hand, specifically your new manicure, mouth agape, watching you work so hard to please him, taking the warm little bead of precum that was threatening to spill and gathering it onto your thumb, smearing it around to reduce friction, making it feel all the better.

as you felt his abdomen tense up and his cock twitch in your hands, you could tell daryl wouldn’t be able to last much longer. you began to pump his cock faster, knowing he was going to explode at any moment. he reached one of his arms up, running his fingers through his hair, pushing back any strands that had fallen in his face so he could watch your skilled hands working at him better. god he was practically panting for you, completely falling apart and at the brink of orgasm, cum threatening to spill at any second.

“fuck,” he breathed out, “you’re doing such a good job for me pretty girl… gonna make me cum all over that pretty lil hand’a yers.”

no more than a moment later, he was gripping his hair with one hand, and the sheets with the other, muffling whimpers (though he would never admit that’s what they were) as he was finally sent over the edge. his jaw hung slack as he spilled himself all over you, his cum glistening off of those baby pink nails that started this mess in the first place.

and he can’t lie, once you giggled in that honey-sweet voice of yours and pushed your fingers past your plump lips to suck them clean, he felt his cock twitch once more and he was ready to do it all over again.

[jishyucks]

⋆.˚ Twinkle, Twinkle ˚.⋆ — lmk (Teaser)

‣ pairing: mark lee x reader

‣  genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers

‣ current wc: 5.6k (so far), about 65% done, predicted 10k

‣ summary: The world is sick and tired of your and Mark’s inability to understand feelings. With a friendship that has lasted longer than you can count on your fingers and friends who can tell you’re both utterly in love with each other, the universe decides to make use of its different light forms to tip you both over the edge of friendship.

‣ warnings (so far): some cliches?, like one kms joke, mentions of alcohol, mentions of vomiting (cause of alcohol)

‣ an: this idea has been rotting in my drafts since like February and i finally got the motivation to write it yippeeee,,, tag list maybe? just ask!

Without light, it’d be awfully difficult to see (duh)

Mark’s bed was the 2nd most comfiest bed in the world, a close runner-up to your parents’.

His mother truly chose the perfect pillow for you to use, paired with a blanket that complimented it well. They both smelled like fresh laundry, an aroma you were familiar with because your best friend smelled exactly like this.

The clock on Mark’s nightstand reads 12:23 AM, moonlight pushing past his closed shutters to emit a bit of its light into his room. Its light does poorly, giving the glow-in-the-dark stars on Mark’s ceiling a chance to emerge through the darkness.

Your mind’s filled with thoughts of the conclusion of the movie you both had just watched—Tangled—and your younger self could not help but think…

“Mark?” you called out into the darkness, “Mark, are you awake?”

There’s shuffling in the space next to you and then you hear Mark hum, “I’m awake. Why?”

You hesitate to ask the question that’s been keeping your brain occupied ever since the credits started rolling. But knowing Mark, he wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

“Do you…”

You can barely see Mark’s head lift up to look at you in the darkness, bedhead creating a jagged outline.

“Do you think I’ll ever fall in love and get married like Rapunzel did in the movie?”

Your mind replays the clips of Rapunzel and Eugene underneath the lanterns, lights creating a scene you’ll never forget for the rest of your life.

Mark hums again, something that he did when he was deep in thought. Your question wasn’t too far-fetched. He’s overheard a lot of the other girls in his class talking about crushes they’ve had on other classmates or squealing over that one idol he couldn’t remember the name of. The only difference now was that these thoughts were coming out of you.

“Do you think you won’t?” Was Mark’s reply.

At the time, you really didn’t know what you were saying, barely having the knowledge to understand the deeper meaning of it all.

Love and marriage? You weren’t aware that you had skipped practically everything before that.

“I think so.”

Mark doesn’t reply for a long while, long enough to convince you that he had fallen asleep the second you answered his question. But when you feel the bed dip, you can make out that he is now sitting up and reaching for his lamp.

Click!

You let out a quiet hiss, squeezing your eyes shut because you’re suddenly blinded.

Mark snorts, “Sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

There’s movement on his end again, the blankets softly rustling. You’re not sure what Mark was trying to do, but once you finally open your eyes, the first thing you see in the lowly-lit room are his eyes shining back at you, mouth opened slightly because he was going to say something. He’s propped up on his elbows, crushing the barrier pillow between you both.

“Why’d you have to turn the light on?” You scoot yourself up to face your best friend.

Mark shrugs as chews on his bottom lip in search of words, “I just feel like it’ll mean more if you could see me saying it.”

“Saying what?”

“You’ll find your happily ever after,” Mark says seriously. You can tell just by the way he looked at you that he was serious. Not even a hint of kidding looming behind his pupils. You forget that Mark was such an optimist.

Your brows furrow, unsure whether or not you should take this boy seriously. “And how are you so sure about that?”

Mark’s eyes reflect the light coming from his lamp and he grins. It’s almost creepy the way he does, like he has something hidden up his sleeve.

“I just am.”

[cy-cyborg]

How your disabled character's allies react to their disability can make or break the representation in your story: Writing Disability Quick Tips

[ID: An image with “Writing Disability quick tips: How your character's allies react to their disability matters” written in chalk the colour of the disability pride flag, from left to right, red, yellow, white, blue and green. Beside the text are 2 poorly drawn people icons in green, one is standing with their hand up to the face of the other, who is in a wheelchair. /End ID]

Something I brought up in my big post about Toph Beifong was how the other characters reacted to Toph pointing out that things were not accessible to her and setting boundaries regarding her disability, which were ignored. I had more to say about it than I thought I did, as it turns out (when isn't that the case lol) but I feel like this is an important aspect of disability representation that is all too often over looked.

You can write the best, most accurate portrayal of a specific disability ever put to screen or page, but it won't mean much if all the other characters, specifically those we're supposed to like and empathise with, treat your character terribly for being disabled and having needs relating to said disability, especially if the story justifies their behaviour.

You see this most often with autistic characters and especially autistic-coded characters. The character in question will be given a bunch of autistic traits, most often traits relating to not understanding certain social dynamics or sarcasm, and when they get it wrong, the other characters we are supposed to like jump down their throat, tease them or outright abandon them. Autism isn't the only disability that gets treated this way, but it is one of the more common ones that get this treatment. It doesn't matter if you do everything else right when creating an autistic character if the other "good guys" constantly call them annoying, get angry at them or laugh at them for the very traits that make them autistic, or for advocating for their needs.

Likewise, if you have a leg amputee character who is otherwise done well, but is constantly being criticised by their allies for needing to rest their legs or taking too long to get their prosthetics on, it undermines a lot of the other work you've done. Same goes for having a wheelchair user who is accused of being a bore or a stick in the mud because they point out the places their friends want to go to on a group holiday have no wheelchair access, or a deaf character who is accused of being entitled for wanting their family to learn to sign, or anything else.

This isn't to say you can never have moments like these in your stories, but its important to remember that a) people with the same disability as your character will be in your audience. If you spend a whole season of your TV show shaming your autistic character for real traits that real autistic people have, they're not exactly going to feel welcome and may not want to hang around. b) it's going to very, very heavily impact people's perceptions of your "heros" who do this, especially in they eyes of your audience members who share the character's disability or who have had similar experiences. This isn't like calling someone a mean name or being a bit of a dick when you're sleepy, it's going to take a lot to regain audience appeal for the offending character, and depending on exactly what they do and how frequently they do it, they may not even be able to come back from it at all. And finally, c) there should be a point to it outside of just shaming this character and saying the other guy is an asshole. Like I said before, you're character is criticising real people's real disabilities and the traits or problems that come with them, things that they often have no control over, it shouldn't be used as a cheap, quick way to establish a quirky enemies to lovers dynamic or show that one guy is kind of an ass before his redemption arc. If you really must have your characters do this, be mindful of when and how you use it.

[puppys-tiny-space]

🩷How to tell someone about your regression🩷

🧃This is just some tips on how to do it, aka how I usually do it. If another way works for you that's great! This is just some idea on how to do it and be comfortable with it!🧃

🩷videos and online resources, if you are shy about explaining it yourself there are some great Textposts and videos online that explain regression and what it is, I have some myself on my tik tok and Instagram (I'll link the TikTok below) and there is a short film on YouTube called "too little" that's awesome🩷

🧃explain, I like to start by explaining what agereggression is, or even ask if they know something about it already, sometimes they do and that can be a great point to work from🧃

🩷be open, be open about why you regress at least as much as you are comfortable, people are kess likely to react poorly if they know why and can understand it🩷

🧃text message, preparing a text message or letter in advance, maybe even with a friend or cg, can be super helpful, especially if you experience going nonverbal🧃

🩷be sure, do not open up to someone because you feel forced or scared, be sure you feel safe with the person and exposing such a vulnerable side to them, nobody is entitled to your safe space🩷

🧃test the water, I like to hint at regression and test the waters first, wearing jewelry with kiddo nicknames or similar on it or having merch from more well known brands, if someone recognizes them and asks about it you know there is base knowledge🧃

🩷open up, I like to let people know about my trauma and other trauma-responses first, once they are aware of certain things it helps with the talk later on as it won't be as much if a shock that you might have to cope in unconventional ways🩷

Fun fact of the day: it would take 19 minutes to fall to the center of the earth

[luveline]

hi jade!!

if you’re still taking hurt/comfort requests could i request poly marauders and how they all respond to one of remus’ chronic pain flare ups/his chronic pain in general? i think you did one with reader a while ago so feel free to ignore if it feels too repetitive. i love the way you write remus and his chronic pain it means a lot to me as someone who has chronic pain too!! sometime when i have a flare up i reread all your remus fic and it makes me feel so much better ♥️

thank you lovely!! modern au, fem, 1k

“I just don’t know what to say to him,” James whispers. 

You wipe the lip of the bowl, the steam that’s billowing from it fragrant with fresh chopped basil and warm on your cheeks. “You do, Jamie, you’ll just say what you always say to him.” 

“I feel like he must get very tired of me, I just verbal diarrhoea at him while he’s crying.” 

You give James a loving smile. “And he appreciates it, I promise. Are you gonna come in and keep us company?” 

“No. I don’t know. Maybe you can have a look if he’s up for both of us and come and get me?” 

James is too much a sweetheart. He’s been taking care of Remus for years and he’s still never sure if he’s doing the right thing, especially when Sirius isn’t there. You promise James you’ll come and get him as soon as Remus says it’s okay, which he most likely will, and start up the stairs with Remus’ dinner tray to the master bedroom. 

Remus thankfully isn’t crying now despite a rough morning. He’s sitting against the headboard with his jaw locked and a loose neck pillow on his shoulders for support, the TV on a low volume opposite and lighting his face. 

“Can I turn on the light?” 

“Please.” 

You flick it on. “Your soup. Did you want toast?” 

“No… Thank you.” You put the tray on his lap carefully. He tips his head up, smiling weakly. “Thanks, dove.” 

“You’re welcome.” You sit down at the top of the bed with him. “Can I stay?” 

He’s insistent that you stay. You’ve not got much to say while he eats, his small mouthfuls a mixture of relief and wincing, but you take up station by his worst leg and run a loving hand up and down the front of it. When you’re sure he’s alright, you let your hand slide under, your finger to the soft part behind his knee and pushing downward.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” you say, beginning the familiar motions of a massage. 

“I don’t think you could,” he says over the lip of his glass of water. 

You turn away from him with a smile. Even poorly, he’s a wild flirt. “You’ll have to tell James he’s allowed to come and see you. He doesn’t want to be annoying.” 

“I’ll shout for him.” He sighs and holds his tray on either handle. “Jamie!” he calls, sounding himself but admittedly heartbreakingly tired. “Can you come here? Please?” 

James is straight up the stairs. He was probably waiting on the bottom step. “Yeah?” he asks, his irises like mint two pence pieces, his hand sliding down the door frame. 

“Can you move this for me? And sit down?” 

It’s as lovely an invitation from him as any when said so tenderly. James walks around to Remus opposite side, putting his tray on the wide window sill before situating himself in the mountain of blankets. It must be weird to be someone’s boyfriend but to have been their best friend for a long time before it; they fit together effortlessly in some ways and maintain a certain shyness in others. James has no problem sitting as close to Remus as he can, but he doesn’t look at him right away, not until Remus leans up to kiss James’ brown cheek. 

“You’re never annoying,” Remus says. 

James wraps an arm behind Remus’ back, confident though cautious not to hurt him. “If you say so,” he says sincerely. 

Time slugs slowly for you all when Remus is in pain, but eventually he has to lay down, his leg twitching frantically in your hold, his nose pressed hard to James’ arm. You persuade some painkillers into him and stay at his side with his water bottle, your cheek resting on his shoulder.

You get out your phone to text Sirius. He’ll get upset if he isn’t in the know. 

Hi Siri, Remus is in lots of pain, has had 600mg of ibuprofen and three co-codamol because he hasn’t had any paracetamol yet, is that okay? 

Sirius texts back quickly. That’s fine, don’t give him anything else even if he asks for it, three co-codamol is one too many 

Sirius again, on the way home. do we need anything from the shop ? miss you lovely 

You’d smile if you weren’t worried about the boy shaking under your cheek. I miss you too, don’t worry about getting anything

Sirius does worry, you can hear the crinkle of a shopping bag when he gets home a few minutes later. “He was quick,” you say, sitting up to kiss Remus’ cheek. “He’s gonna hog you now.” 

“Love you, dove.” 

“I love you.” 

Remus tries to savour that through the hot pain rushing all over. His pain is strange, it always has been, disobeying reason and often people’s belief. Half of it is a mystery, the other misery, and you and the boys have always believed him nonetheless. He’s never treated as childish or dramatic, only cared for, James’ endless stories and Sirius’ stern concern, and now you, his sweetheart, with all your soft touches and tone. You speak to him like he’s your favourite person on earth, voice underlain with fondness, always. And you’re selfless more often than not as you are right this moment, moving back to his leg, giving Sirius room to crawl breathlessly into bed beside him. 

“Hello, gorgeous. What’s hurting tonight?” Sirius asks.

Not said to undermine him, Sirius just needs to know. He wants to fix everything. 

“My back and my legs, mostly,” Remus confesses through a shiver. He’ll cry soon. No one will make him feel bad for it. 

“Maybe you should try laying on your front for a bit, yeah? James can still harass you,” —Sirius brings his hand to Remus’ cheek and strokes it gently with the bends of his knuckles— “it’s less pressure on your back, is all.” 

Remus feels himself calming already. It’s hard to feel hopeless when he’s well looked after. 

[lovebugism]

smut?? i’ve been thinking about this for awhile… drunk steve and drunk you have sex and it’s all mushy and giggly and you’re slamming into things and knocking shit down but you don’t care because you’re drunk and in love

thanks for your request angel!! — the one where steve fucks you in eddie munson's bathroom (established relationship, smut, 18+ mdni, 1.9k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

A drunk giggle spills from your swollen mouth as Steve ushers you into Eddie Munson’s bathroom. 

It’s barely big enough for one person — let alone two — but you’re pressed too intently together for it to matter much. You stumble inside, making out like teenagers, and only stilling when your back meets the counter’s edge.

You’re smiling too big for Steve to kiss you as ardently as he wants to. His rosy mouth trails down your neck instead. He sprinkles sloppy, wet kisses along the warmed skin there — you taste like moonlight, summer air, and floral perfume.

You laugh louder when his large palms manhandle you to the countertop, ushering you further backward until you’re sitting pretty on the white laminate. The heavenly sound of your giggle is mixed with the harsh clattering of soap, aftershave, and hairspray. Some of it falls next to you, others hit the floor.

“Steve!” you protest, louder than you mean to. The beer numbing your mouth has also loosened your tongue, it seems.

Undeterred by the mess, the boy keeps on kissing you. He suckles just below your jaw, licking at your pulse point until you make a pretty noise for him. A smack fills the tiny bathroom when he parts from you. 

His smile is crooked, and his eyes twinkle with alcohol and adoration. “It’s okay, babe— don’t worry about it.”

Even though you’re still distantly worried about the havoc you’re wreaking in the Munson trailer, you have half a mind to believe him.

Everyone else was too busy getting drunk by the lake — because if Eddie Munson graduating wasn’t a cause to get shitfaced, you didn’t know what was. Steve had pulled you away with the excuse of raiding the kitchen for food. It wasn’t the strangest excuse in the world. The munchies often hit him hard after the first joint. Everybody was too drunk, too high, or too absorbed in conversation to care.

With Wayne having departed to work the wretched graveyard shift and the younger kids having long gone home, it left you and Steve with an empty trailer and unkissed mouths. 

Both were very easily filled.

You’re hoping you will be, too.

Steve’s mouth engulfs your own again. His tongue swipes against yours with a newfound vigor, tasting vaguely of Budweiser and peppermint. Your fingers twist in his honey-colored locks as he kisses the breath from your lungs. 

Your sigh fans against his cupid’s bow when his fingers sneak beneath the hem of your skirt. They’re long and warm creeping between your thighs — you part him instinctually. A whimper sounds from within your throat when the tips of them drag gently across your clothed cunt. His smile curls against your mouth when he feels the wet patch dampening the cotton.

Your lips click when he parts from you. You mourn the taste of him, though your grief quickly ebbs when his fingers pull your panties to the side. The pad of his thumb presses between your velvet lips in search of your clit. He finds it almost instantly, smirking when your thighs clench around his wrist.

“There?” he questions anyway, thumbing more intently at the sensitive button until you keen.

“Yes,” you moan in the affirmative — louder when he slips a finger into you. His pointer finger slides in with little effort from all the honey you leak for him. His middle finger slithers in next to it just the same.

Steve kisses you again, a bit rough in his drunken state. The sudden force of his adoration knocks you slightly backwards. Your shoulders collide with the poorly hung mirror behind you. It bangs against the drywall and jostles the bottles on the surrounding shelves. A few of them fall like rain around you. A small container of baby powder tumbles to the counter and then to the floor with a dense thud. 

You gasp against Steve’s mouth when white dust bursts from the cap.

“Steve!” you exclaim again, not laughing as you part from him this time.

His brows scrunch as he shakes his head, lazy and uncaring. “It’s okay—”

“Eddie’s gonna get mad!”

Steve groans. His scruffy features scruff in contempt as he pouts. “Can we please not talk about another guy while my fingers are inside you, babe? I’m beggin’.”

A smile tugs at your buzzing lips. A giggle spills from them before you can stop it. “Sorry, Stevie…”

His mouth finds your neck again. He sprinkles sloppy kisses there, occasionally nipping at the thrumming tendons. Spurred on by your pretty whimpered moans, he crooks his fingers within your pulsating walls until his forearm starts to burn.

“Missed you,” he mumbles into your burning skin.

“I’ve been with you all night,” you retort with a soft laugh. It turns into a moan when he rolls your clit with the pad of his thumb. The hand not entwined in his hair, clutches his flexed bicep.

“Yeah, but it’s been, like, forever since I’ve gotten to touch you.”

Your grin widens even though he can’t see it with his face pressed so intently in your neck. 

He’s good at making the small things feel more dramatic than they really are — like going a couple of days without fucking you, for example. You laugh about it, but you don’t realize how much you’ve missed him back until he’s touching you all over.

“It’s been four days—  if that.”

“Exactly,” he hums as he parts from you. The muscles of his toned arm tense as he braces himself along the counter. His other arm continues to pleasure you, wrist twisting to find the spot that makes you keen.

“I’ve been neglecting you, huh?” he lilts in a murmur. 

Your gaze goes lidded, heavy with pleasure, as his fingers push further into you. You try your best to keep his stare. His clenched jaw, strong nose, and chocolate eyes are too pretty to look away from. 

“I can tell. Your pussy’s fucking drooling for me, baby.”

A moan spills from your mouth at his wicked words — louder when his fingers hit a spot inside you that feels like a lightning strike down your spine. Your neck tenses as you toss your head back. 

“Please, fuck me,” you beg in an unabashed whine.

And who was Steve to deny his best girl of anything?

He slips his fingers from your cunt, though your walls threaten to suckle him back in. 

You pout at the emptiness — brows furrowed, nose softly scrunched, and lips jutted out. Steve chuckles at the sulking expression on your pretty face while his hands make quick work of his belt.

His cock is hard and aching when he frees it from the confines of his briefs. He jerks it in his fist, visibly heavy in his hand. Your mouth drools at the sight of it, flushed red at the tip and leaking pearly white pre-cum. 

You’d beg for a taste of him if you weren’t so painfully needy.

You lean against the mirror again, more gently this time. Steve’s arm sits just over your shoulder as he braces his hand against the glass. Before you have time to complain about the print he’s definitely smudging there, the bulbous tip of his cock drags up and down your satiny cunt. The slick you pool for him allows him to effortlessly sink into you. 

His cock pushes through your pulsating walls, inch by relentless inch. A moan spills from your open mouth, a delicate sound that entwines with the hearty groan that spills from Steve’s throat. He doesn’t still until his hips are wedged firmly against yours.

The small bathroom of a trailer that belonged to neither of you quickly fills with whimpers, moans, and whispered pleas.

The sting and drag of his cock in your quivering hole drives you wild. Tongue slackened with alcohol, you whine as you babble — “It’s so good. You’re so good to me, Stevie. Fucking me so good.” Your legs wrap around his hips to press him closer to you, even though you’re not entirely sure you could take much more in your sensitive state. 

“Gimme all of it, baby,” you slur anyway. “I want all of it.”

Needing you too badly to fuck you as slow as he usually likes to, he holds your thigh over his hip with one hand and braces his other over your shoulder — fucking you for all your worth on Eddie’s bathroom sink. 

His merciless cock punches into you. Between his measured thrusts, he grumbles. “Take it then, baby— fucking take it. ’S yours. All of it.”

He says it because he means it, but also because he knows how much you like it. Steve loves how much you love hearing his little reassurances. He needs them too sometimes — most times. 

The lewd nature of his innocent promises makes your cunt clench around him.

“Mine,” you whimper when your orgasm creeps up your spine. Your swollen clit meets the base of his cock with each of his thrusts, rubbing against the coarse thatch of pubic hair there. It burns, deliciously so, and makes you keen for him. You keep on babbling. 

“’S my cock, Stevie. Mine— oh, fuck—”

You grow impossibly wetter. The slap of his heavy balls against your silk pussy sounds within the tiny room in time with the subtle banging of the mirror behind you. You’re lucky the rest of the group was outside. Neither of you could be quiet if you tried.

Your words make him buckle down over you. Honey-colored tendrils fall over his forehead as he leans over you to devour your mouth. His broad body cages you against the counter while he punches deeper and deeper inside you. 

Your lips slide together in a sloppy, needy mess. You cling desperately to his t-shirt, right where his back flexes, as you climb your peak.

“Come inside me,” you plead against his mouth, over the sound of your bodies slapping together. “Please, come inside me. I need it, Stevie. Need it so fucking bad.”

Steve whines a broken moan when he parts from you. He fucks into you harder, a relentless pace that sends burning embers prickling at your sensitive clit. He rambles as he races towards his own orgasm.

“‘M gonna give it to you, baby,” he promises through labored pants. “I’m gonna— fuck— I’m gonna give you all my cum. Gonna give my girl all my fucking cum—”

Neither of you last more than ten seconds after that. 

Steve comes first. 

The feeling of his cock spitting several warm loads into your welcoming pussy was enough to make you burst seconds after. 

His body leans heavily against your own as he comes down, unintentionally pinning you as you twitch through the aftershocks of your head-spinning orgasm.

The bathroom — much messier than it had been when you first stumbled in — fills with the sounds of labored breaths and smacking kisses.

Steve’s lips dance across cheek, jaw, and neck while you whine through your slowly ebbing high. You’re jolted from the post-coital haze at the distant sound of the trailer door clicking open and shut again. 

The two of you tense instantaneously.

“Shit,” Steve huffs breathlessly. “We need to get back out there.”

He makes no attempt to move off of you, though. Your cunt warms his softening cock too sweetly for him to ever want to leave it. Not that he could just yet, anyway. His limbs feel too much like jello for that now.

With wide eyes, still bleary with honey, you blink up at him. “Do you think they heard?”

“Of course, I did!” Robin suddenly grouses from the other side of the door. It doesn’t sound like she’s standing at the entrance, though. Her muffled voice comes slightly lower, as though she were sitting right next to it. “You two are the loudest people on planet Earth! I’ve been waiting to use the bathroom for five whole minutes— so if I pee my pants, you two are to blame!”

[ghost-proofbaby]

NOW WE'RE STANDING IN THE RING, BREAKING EVERYTHING THAT WE'VE BEEN BUILDING UP SO LONG. I DON'T WANNA DO THIS - BREAK IT UP.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, everybody's a hypocrite, minors dni

☆ WC: 3.2K+

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

You can’t tell if the ride on the elevator is all too short, or if it drags out entirely. 

The entire ascension, you find the fire again. All the pain and anger that had fueled you to be acting out so cruelly in the lobby. And yet the bell that signals you’ve arrived to your intended floor still dings all too soon. 

It’s hard to get lost. The moment you step off the elevator, you can clearly see only three doors – two of which sit within an indented section of the wall and face one another, clearly the bathrooms. 

Behind the other one, Eddie Munson, no doubt. 

You still cling to that notebook as you take all your steady steps towards the door, turning over all your fury in your head. Turning all the lyrics over in your head. 

All those songs, all those lines – and he’d never picked up the phone and just called. 

You can only assume that it was all written more recently. Before he’d seen you again, even. And if he had still been writing about you, he could have tried calling you. He could have said all that he’d written to you directly, rather than hiding it all within songs that there was no guarantee you’d ever hear. Instead of singing them to crowds of adoring fans rather than to your face. 

You don’t knock on the door – you just open it. 

Music immediately surrounds you as you step in, loud enough that they clearly hadn’t heard you enter. Grainy guitars, deafening drums, billowing bass. And finally, amongst the madness, you can hear Eddie’s voice singing. 

“Do you wanna see how far it goes? Do you wanna test me now, my love?” 

Yes. Yes, you certainly fucking do. 

It’s not Eddie’s live voice coming through the speakers. It’s clearly a recording as he sits beside the producer, hunched over and nodding along, face twisted as he seems to dissect the music in real time.

One flourish of his ringed hand, and the producer is clearly hitting pause. 

“Do you think we can add in that synth I recorded earlier here-”

“Eddie.” 

His hand drops the moment he hears your voice. The chair he’s sitting in nearly tips from the speed in which he spins it around to face you, resembling a statue as he takes in your silhouette in the doorframe. 

You can only imagine the image he’s faced with. 

You, all your vexation and all your torment painted so clearly across your features. Your knuckles, looking physically strained from how tightly the metal spring of the notebook digs into your palm. Your chest, heaving with every breath, as if even being within his vicinity right now was torturous. 

And it was. God, it was. 

Salt in your wounds. Dagger in your stomach. Poorly bandaged contusions you’d never taken the time to balm and soothe. 

“Sugar,” he breathes out, earning him a strange look from the producer, “What are you-”

“Can we talk?” 

Your voice is quivering, strained from trying to keep a level head until the two of you are alone. 

“Right now?”

“Right now,” you almost add on the given alone, but Eddie is one step ahead of you. As he stands, he also waves his hands a bit, clearly dismissing the producer. 

“You want me to leave?” the man asks, standing slowly, looking curiously between the two of you, “Where do I even go? Matt said we’d be working for another few hours, at least-”

“Go to the fuckin’ lobby or something,” Eddie spits out, having a hard time pulling his eyes away from you, “I don’t-” He pauses, his eyes finally finding sight of that notebook in your hand. Clearly, he hadn’t noticed it before. “-care.”

All the blood drains from his face. He’s so pale, you’re worried that he might pass out any second now. 

He doesn’t look prepared for a fight – if anything, he looks terrified of whatever you may swing at him. 

The producer leaves, not without a few mutterings under his breath about not this again, but you don’t even bother to dig deeper into it. If Eddie frequently gets into fights in this studio, that’s his problem. 

Maybe he shouldn’t write songs about girls he’d hurt, and never pick up the phone.

He seems to be waiting on you, but you’re waiting on the click of the door. All that hurt, all that seething is burning in your chest, waiting for release. There’s no need to have any witnesses to the downfall of both of you. 

“How was your mor-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. One click from the door, and you’re storming across the room to slam that notebook into his chest, uncaring of how much it might hurt. 

You hope it hurts. You hope it aches like your palm that had held it, like your chest that feels as though it’s been pried wide open. 

“What the fuck is this?” you spit out, already choking up with tears. 

“What do you-”

“Where the fuck do you get off on writing all those- all those- all those fucking songs about us?” You don’t care that you’ve cut him off – it’ll be the least harmful thing you do during this argument. You’re desperate, rabid and crumbling as you push the notebook harder for emphasis, unable to let go just yet, “All those goddamn songs, lines about wanting me to come home, lines about us. Fucking pages of them! And not one single call. Not one single text.”

The first tear falls, and you’re quick to let go of the notebook so you can swipe it away. You’re not crying in front of him right now. You’ve done enough of that this morning, over old photographs and times you can never get back. 

“I’m sorry, excuse me?” he laughs nervously, looking between you and the notebook he now has ownership of. He flips open the cover, and his face falls when he sees the first page, “You were reading my notebooks?”

“Who even cares at this point?” you hiss out, taking a step back, needing physical distance now. “It was the only way I would ever find out how you really feel, right? It was between that, or having to hear it on the radio, right?” 

His face goes through several revelries before he settles on an emotion, mouth agape as he shakes his head slowly at you, brows furrowed and all his creases exposed, “Are you seriously pissed off right now that the rockstar wrote songs about you? That I wrote about you, which is what I do for a living?” 

“Your job isn’t to write about me!” Thank God for soundproof studios. Your voice is rising, tone cracking with emotion, “I’m not fucking mad that you did that, I’m mad that you never called-”

“I did call!” he yells back at you suddenly. Not out of intimidation, not even out of fury. He has to do it – he has to match your volume just to be heard. “I called hundreds of times. Before the tour ended, when I got back, when I saw you were gone. I did fucking call-”

“I’m mad that you fucking left!”

Silence fills the studio. Eddie has no retorts left as your words weigh down the moment, ricocheting off the walls and puncturing every delicate foundation of whatever closure bullshit you two had begun to falsely build. 

You finally throw your head back in bitter laughter, blinking away the unwelcome tears, “I’m so goddamn angry because you left me.”

“What?” his face falls, almost crumpling in the same manner as it felt your chest was, “You told me to go on those tours. You wanted me to get out there with the band. Not to mention, you left too. You left, seemingly without a goddamn reason. You said it yourself, just now-”

“It’s not about the physical leaving,” you interrupt, bones growing weary, tired from it all. Weighed down with memories and weighed down with emotions that should have been dealt with years ago. “I lost you long before you stepped foot on that tour bus that last time. You…” you pause, breathing erratic, coming out in harsh puffs, trying to build the courage for what needed to be said. 

“I what?” he’s all but begging now, the need to scream over each other evaporating into thin air.

“You stopped saying you loved me.” 

The words are out there now, and you can’t take them back. Two long years of him writing songs, of you washing away a stain that won’t ever fade, of something broken that can’t seem to be fixed. 

You reach out, but not to try and steal back the reason from him. No, that’s not possible. Instead, you take the notebook back from him and begin to gingerly flip through the pages as the tears fall and the words pour out.

“All those phone calls, all these songs, and you still never say the words I needed to hear,” you’re not just talking in past tense any more. It all seemingly blurs together, the past and the present nothing more than watercolors as they spill across the page and merge together. You can’t tell where the hurt from the beginning lays and where the hurt from now feathers at the edges. It’s all the same, and it all remains a stain, “I never needed elaborate metaphors or pretty words, Eddie. I just needed to know you still fucking loved m-”

You cut off as the door to the studio suddenly swings open. You’re frozen, rooted in spot, hand glued mid-flip as Eddie’s messy handwriting stares up at you from the page you paused on. 

Eddie looks ready to fight. To scream at whoever may have interrupted this crucial moment – a moment for you to finally say what you needed to, a moment for him to finally get his answers. 

He doesn’t, though. Not when a fairly livid, almost frazzled Matt is standing in the doorway, glaring at both of you.

“Ah, good,” he says, stepping fully into the small space that had just been a war-zone for you and Eddie. The door slams shut behind him due to its own gravity, “You’re both here. Makes my job easier.” 

“Matt?” Eddie crinkles his nose, “What the Hell are you doing-”

“What am I doing?” Matt walks until he’s standing in front of the coffee table, and motions to the couch with a flick of his wrist. Eddie is quick to follow the silent instruction, taking a seat, but you’re slower to move. You are not Matt’s dog, refusing to be at anybody else’s beck and call at this moment. And so you continue to hover, “What are you doing?” 

You become the pet he needs you to be when he suddenly tosses a magazine down on the coffee table, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, Matt has good reason to be commanding you. 

The vinyl front cover stares up at you, shining beneath the lowlights of the studio, but the image is clear. 

You and Eddie, walking into his apartment building. And in bold lettering, simple textually strokes in blinding white, is a headline that weighs you down enough to make you take the last few necessary steps around the table to fall into place beside Eddie on the couch. 

EXCLUSIVE GOSSIP ALERT: Rockstar Eddie Munson Spotted Canoodling with Mystery Flame! (pg. 89)

Matt’s eyes dart between you two before he finally sighs, “We need to talk.” 

—

The sweat of your hands is making the corners of the magazine pages curl. 

It’s the detail you choose to focus on rather than all the honking and commotion surrounding the car you’re currently sitting in, or the chilling AC that has blasted your right cheek to the point of numbness. The radio is off, the tinted windows are rolled up to dull the music of the city around you, and Matt hasn’t said a word since you’d buckled yourself into his passenger seat. 

Following Matt’s abrupt interruption of you and Eddie, contained chaos had ensued. A symphony of Eddie immediately coming to your defense, claiming the two of you weren’t even canoodling in the photos on the front cover. Of you, only being able to utter a shocked question of how? 

How did they get those photos? How did they print them so fast? How, how, how?

In the last twelve hours, as your life had been piecing together old rotting bricks only to once more fall apart entirely, some cheap gossip journalists had been formulating a front cover that truly felt like it was ruining your entire life. You didn’t know who all had seen the magazine, you didn’t know if the news had spread far and wide across the internet, and you certainly didn’t know what happened next. 

But then Matt insisted you all return to his office. A guarded ivory tower to discuss exactly what you were questioning – to figure out where you go from here. 

Eddie had been quick to suggest you ride back with him in the car that had brought him to the office; you had been quick to shoot down the offer and ask Matt for a ride instead. 

That’s how you ended up here. A magazine you wanted to burn at the stake in your lap, stuck in traffic on a busy street that more so resembled a parking lot at this point. 

“We need to talk about it.”

The first words Matt has spoken to you since the drive began. Not a question, not a request – you were going to talk about this shit show. No running from it, it seems. 

“I don’t know how they got the photo,” you blandly reply in monotone, staring down at the two photos clearly taken back to back, merged together with some pretty impeccable photoshopping. Doesn’t erase the fact that they’d definitely caught you’re bad angle, “I didn’t even see any paparazzi-”

“I don’t care about that,” Matt waves off as the light you’d been stopped at for several minutes now turns green, and there’s just enough of a gap in bustling pedestrians crossing the street for him to make the right turn he’d been signaling the entire time, “One thing you need to learn right here, right now, is there will always be paparazzi around when you’re in public with Eddie. You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.” 

The ceasing of that irritating clicking is heaven sent. One less commotion to cloud your reeling mind. 

“What do you care about then?” you mumble, finally side-eyeing the older man beside you. 

“I care about what you are to Eddie.” 

“I can promise you, I am noth-”

“Don’t feed me the same bullshit excuses he has, please,” Matt sighs as the rolling car slows, and he signals once more to turn into the parking lot of one of the many impressive skyscrapers towering over the street, “I’m not an idiot. Eds may seem to think I am half the time, but I’m not,” a confining parking space is where the SUV finally settles, but Matt makes no move to turn the vehicle off as he turns to look at you fully, “Look, just level with me. Because as of right now, the only thing I know is that you went to high school together. I need to know where exactly you stand with Eddie, not just because he’s my client, but because of the conversation we’re about to have.” 

Your heart fully drops, “What kind of conversation are we about to have?” 

“A hard one,” Matt instantly replies, not missing a beat, “A very, very hard one. With so many moving factors, it’s gonna give you a headache. And I want to warn you of it, give you a fair chance, because you seem like a nice girl. You’re not used to this circus like me and Eddie are – you deserve a fighting chance at what’s about to be asked of you.” 

What’s about to be asked of you. 

You had a few guesses, simply based on the grave look on Matt’s face. Simply based off of all the research you used to do back in your room in Hawkins’, when the joke of you managing Corroded Coffin felt more and more like a real possibility. 

“An NDA?” you guess, trying to seem indifferent. You should have seen that coming. 

“More than an NDA, dear.” 

Your head snaps in his direction, brows furrowing, “What could you possibly want from me that’s more than signing a piece of paper that promises I won’t tell anyone what’s happened last night?” you hold up that magazine from your lap, giving it a fluttering shake for emphasis, “Wasn’t that the point of showing us this?” 

He only smiles. Your heart only sinks further. 

“I’m going to ask you one last time; what are you to Eddie, really?”

A muse. A stain. A ghost. Something to haunt every avenue he’ll ever take for the rest of his life. A mistake better left unspoken between the two of you. A blip in his past, impossible to avoid. Something better left dead and buried, but the Universe just won’t seem to let the two of you rest. 

“I’m his ex-girlfriend.” 

How do you define an ex, though? Did you ever really end it? How can something be over if neither party has ever been willing to say the words? 

Matt nods slowly, smiling almost sadly, “I figured as much. Thank you, at least, for being honest.” 

“Can I ask you something, and you answer me honestly?”

The car carrying Eddie is probably nearly here. They had probably gotten swept into traffic while following behind Matt’s car. A few extra minutes added to their journey as they’d tried to navigate the nightmarish streets of New York. 

Come to think of it, you don’t even know if he’ll be using the same front entrance as you and Matt. 

“You won’t always see them, but you should always assume they’re there.”

He could use the back entrance, if there was one, to avoid the paparazzi. 

Technicalities you had never had to consider before. You’d only experienced a fraction of Eddie’s fame firsthand, in the beginning, when it was still reasonable to show him off. To brag about him in public, to pronounce your love from every rooftop. Hiding had never been an option – it hadn’t needed to be an option. 

“I know what your question is,” Matt says carefully, “And we both know I won’t say anything until we’re inside that building with Eddie.” 

“Is he even going to go through the fr-” you start to question, but cut off just as you see a familiar black SUV pull up to the front doors of the building. 

You have your answer, it seems. 

Matt unbuckles his seatbelt, and you take it as your sign to do the same. But just as you begin to reach for your door, Matt’s hand on your forearm stops you. 

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what I’m about to ask the two of you. Especially now that I know the truth.” 

Your heart finally arrives to the point of no return, unable to answer as the organ is buried six feet under within the grave that should be meant for yourself when it comes to the history books of Eddie Munson. 

Just what was Matt about to ask of the two of you?

You open the door without responding. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

[buckyalpine]

Bucky and his metal hand

I reaaallyy need to update my masterlist but till then, I'm just saying, imagine the first time Bucky jerks himself with his metal hand. It starts off as a curiosity thing when hes lying in bed, looking at the intricate gold bands that mix with the gun metal grey. Then his mind starts thinking about the pretty girl from the bookstore with her pleated skirts and warm sweaters, his hand finding itself dipping into his sweats, happily going commando in the comfort of his home.

He gives his cock a squeeze, as if he's warning himself to calm down but it just makes him leak and before he knows it, he's lifting his hips up to pull his sweats down just enough to free his cock.

He's hot all over; its summer and and AC is hanging on by a thread so it's not great. It doesn't help that his mind is now consumed with her, the glistening pink tip of his cock needy for attention. He uses his flesh hand at first, wrapping his fist around his shaft, giving himself a few long strokes but his body is burning up so badly.

Then he gets an idea.

He switches up, slowly bringing is other hand down, hissing when the cool metal touches his hand sensitive length, biting a moan back when he swipes his thumb over the slit. He carefully wraps his hand around his cock, giving it an experimental tug, a shiver crawling up his spine at the feeling.

It feels good, instantly cooling his body, a string of precum dripping onto his lower tummy. He started to move his hand a bit faster, enjoying the way the divots and hard material of his hand add to the sensation of him masturbating, massaging his cock in a way he's never felt before.

"Fuck" Bucky sucked in a breath, stroking himself faster, thinking about how pretty those skirt would look pulled up while he slid his cock between those sweet thighs, pushing her cute little cotton panties aside.

He feels a little guilty thinking about pure filth with someone so innocent but he can't help it. Why the fuck did she have to smell so good and be so sweet. What he wouldn't give to just have her sit on his cock while he rubbed against her folds, painting her pussy with his spend. The very thought makes his cock throb, a sheen of sweat covering his body as he starts to stroke himself faster. His balls feel so heavy and while he lets go of his cock to momentarily give his sack some attention.

"Oh god" He isn't a talker when he usually touches himself but he's also never felt like this before. The metal is still cool to the touch making his body jolt when he cups himself, rolling his balls in his hand before tugging and squeezing them gently, making a mess on himself in the process.

His tosses his sweats off, spreading his legs wide so he can touch himself better, burying his shame away, too consumed with pleasure to care. He rubs and caresses his balls, letting his fingers trail up to spread his precum around his cock head before going back down and pulling on them between needy whines.

He blushes in the privacy of his room, surprised at how gone he sounds, glad his walls are sound proof. He now thinks about how much cum he has, how hard and heavy his cock is, all for her, so much to fill her up with.

He'd give anything to bend her over the wooden desk, railing her till her glasses fell off, letting her suck on his fingers while she cried over his cock. He just knew she'd squeeze his cock so tight, making a slick mess on him, giving him the most perfect cream to lick up after. He'd suck and lick up her pussy from behind after filling her right up, his balls pulling up to his body at the thought.

"y/n" He whimpered, back arching off the bed on its own accord, poorly containing his whined and moans bouncing off the walls, stroking himself faster, his hand wrapped tightly around his cockhead. "Fuck y/n!"

He can nearly cries when his cock starts to throb, all the sensations too much between his hot body and the coldness of his arm, his body trembling as streams of cums shoot onto his abs.

He pants, letting his metal hand flop back to his side, too tired to move, lazily grabbing a tissue to clean himself up. He can't help but feel a sense of happiness at his new found discovery of pleasure, wriggling his fingers before drifting off to sleep.

Who would have thought.