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awfcspencer · 4 months

Note

reader feels ugly and just upset and leah comforts? pure fluff I beg xx

Don’t Listen To Them || leah williamson x reader

prompt: requested! Social media can be a cruel, cruel place.

warnings: self confidence issues

a/n: hope you enjoy it! happy v-day to those who celebrate <33

Inside your shared home, you and Leah decided to stay in and build a charcuterie board as a snack before you both cuddle up together and watch a film. For dinner, Leah had lit some candles and put on some slow music while she watched you cook her favorite chicken alfredo pasta recipe. The both of you decided to pop a bottle of red wine as a nice way to end the jampacked week. Dinner was relaxing, enjoying one another’s company and talking about miscellaneous topics. Leah cleaned up the reminiscent of dinner as you began on the board. Organizing the charcuterie board was pretty simple, you had found a Pinterest photo to recreate, and Leah had accompanied you to the grocery store to collect the items you would need.

Placing the finishing touches on the board, you grabbed your phone located on the other side of the kitchen island. The board had taken you a lot longer than you assumed it would, but you wanted it to be perfect, so you found yourself examining the picture intricately and making sure everything was placed exactly.

Leah had become bored roughly about 10 minutes into creating the board, she paced back and forth around the kitchen and occasionally sighed loudly to really get the point across that she was bored.

“Wait let me take a photo first Lee,” As you swat her hand away for what felt like the hundredth time tonight from the perfectly aligned board that she had been secretly picking at each time you would set a row of crackers or stack of pepperonis in place. Each time she would eat off the board, you would have to replace the food and scold her. It was like baking a cake with a toddler who would lick frosting off the spoon when you weren’t looking.

“Oh silly me how could I forget Instagram eats first.” Rolling her eyes and grabbing the remote in the living room to put on a movie. “Mamma Mia tonight?” It was always a go-to in the home. You loved the cute little plot and Leah liked singing the ABBA songs loudly in your ear.

“Perfect idea baby,” nodding your head towards the blonde. Carefully balancing the food in your left hand as you make your way towards the couch after you took the perfect photo. Then remembering that you have to get back up and grab the two red wine glasses the two of you had been nursing before. Placing yourself between the defender’s long legs on the L-shaped couch, leaning backwards into her as she placed her head on your shoulder, placing a few kisses in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t start what you can’t finish Williamson.” Whispering as you kissed her now reddened cheeks.

You grabbed a few of the pepperoni’s and tossed them into your mouth, reaching your hand back and allowing Leah to have a few after she made a toddler-like gesture and a huff indicating that she wanted one.

“I sometimes think you are a 26-year-old stuck in a toddler’s body.” All night Leah had managed to find some way to annoy or antagonize you, all in fun though.

Pretending to be offended, “Well toddlers don’t cuddle so maybe I should get up.” Making a move to get up and sit on the opposite side of the couch.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t get up, I am comfy, and you are warm.” You plead out in a joking manner, turning towards her placing a kiss on the tip of her nose as you forced her back down to her original position.

“So nice to me now but less than 30 seconds ago you were mean.” Folding her arms across her body and a stern look on her face. You wanted to make a comment about the state of which is looked right now, how it was so toddler-like, but you refrained, settling with a loud laugh.

“Momentary lapse of character” Reaching out to grab a peace treaty as an apology, “Olive?”

“You know the way to my heart, apology accepted.” As she takes it from your grasp and plops it into her mouth, pulling you back closer to her from her previous fake exit as you leaned into her chest.

Opening Instagram to post the pictures you had taken throughout the night. “Do you want me to tag you?” Organizing the selected photos on the screen and applying final touches on the photos. Ending it by adding a song in the background that had been playing when Leah grabbed you away from the masterpiece you had been creating and pulled you in for a quick salsa twirl and leaned you backwards and placed a kiss on your lips.

“Yeah so I can repost it” as she watched you create the post. You and Leah had been seeing each other for a few months, baking in the privacy for a bit before you let the whole world know. Each week that had passed, you and Leah got less and less subtle, performing a ‘soft launch’ through similar locations but different angles or the way she would repost your stories. This specific collection of photos was new though as it featured a slide of a side profile of Leah looking down at the board. It also had only 2 dinner plates, 2 sets of silverware, and 2 wine glasses in one of the photos, indicating it was in fact a date.

The fans had started to catch on and for the most part, the reactions had been mostly positive. Opposite of your life, Leah’s life was in the spotlight. Everything she did, everything she said, and everywhere she went was documented on some sort of social media outlet. Your account had maybe a few thousand followers, most of them you had gained from when Leah first started reposting your posts. So this post would set in stone that you and Leah were officially an item.

Clicking upload and then facing your phone downward on the table, cuddling backwards more into Leah with your back into her chest. Baking in her warm body, strong arms, and vanilla scent. “Omg who is this beautiful blonde in the third slide?” Gushing over herself as she quickly reposts your photos and places her phone next to yours, pulling you in tighter. “Always so humble Lee” gently swatting her on the thigh as she clicked play.

Every few minutes throughout the movie, your phone would go off, a little buzz that at first you just assumed was a few Instagram likes but after what felt like your phone was vibrating every second, you untangle slightly from Leah and grab your phone.

Your post had over 100,000 likes and several comments from people who you definitely did not know. You scroll casually through the notifications on your device. A few negative comments stuck out to you and when you opened the app, you were greeted with hundreds more.

‘Can’t believe she is dating THE Leah Williamson.’

‘Leah definitely downgraded.’

Several comments simply just said, ‘ugly’. The hurtful comments went on and on.

Private accounts and faceless profiles, people would say anything they desired behind a screen when there were no direct consequences. Harsh words that initially you were able to push to the side, but each one that you read dug a little deeper. The response was overwhelming, there were new comments each minute, and almost none of them were nice. It hurt and each one you read felt more real. You could feel the tears coming, the emotions coming out, so you briefly excused herself saying you needed to use the restroom, desperately hoping that the way your voice cracked was unnoticeable.

The words felt true as you locked eyes in the mirror with yourself. Where you enough to be with someone like Leah? I mean she was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, and what were you? Staring at yourself in the mirror you noticed each and every blemish, freckle, or pore on your face, and the tears began to fall. The grey sweatsuit that you had initially put on for the chill date now felt ugly on your frame, you wanted to rip the clothes off. Someone who was dating Leah Williamson wouldn’t wear such an ugly outfit.

Back on the couch, Leah was beginning to get worried at the amount of time you had been gone. The part Leah knew was your favorite was coming up so she reached for the remote on the coffee table to pause it so you could enjoy it when you returned. In attempting to pause the movie, she noticed your phone open on your Instagram comment section. The vulgar comments made her sick. They were piling in with each minute that passed, and she felt angry, but then she felt sad. She quickly left the couch and rushed to the bathroom, desperately hoping that maybe the pasta didn’t sit right, or you were busy washing your hands.

A soft knock on the door took your eyes off the mirror. “Hey babe, you all good in there?” the blonde questioned. Leah’s heart was beating out of her chest because she had heard the soft sniffles from outside the door as she walked up to it. She knew you had read the comments. She wanted to run in and immediately convince you that not a single one of those comments were true, but she didn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Don’t come in.” You didn’t mean to scream at her, you weren’t angry with her, but you did not want her to see you like this, your makeup now smeared and tears freely falling from your eyes. You quickly locked the door and rushed to the opposite side of the bathroom. She would break up with you, she would realize the comments were true, you were ugly. You were fidgeting with your hair, a trait you’ve had since primary school when you got overwhelmed or nervous, it was a way to calm down.

“Baby please let me in, nothing any of those comments said is true. Nothing.” She pleaded, hoping she could convince you to let her in. She wanted to pull you into a big hug and say anything and everything she could to help you see that nothing they said was true or how she felt.

“You don’t mean that.” Your head was clouded, only being able to replay each and every comment in your brain. Your eyes continued to shift uncontrollably across different sections of your face or body that you felt ashamed of in the mirror.

“I love the way your baby hairs stand out even though you try and try to brush them down in the morning. I love the little crinkle in your nose when you get annoyed or confused about something. I love the way your tongue pokes out of the corner of your mouth when you are trying to focus really hard on something. I love your freckles, every single one, especially when you get some sun and they especially become vibrant. I love the way you lick your lips before you speak. I love the way each time you laugh or smile I can see the indent on your cheeks of your dimples even though you try and claim you don’t have them. I love the way you twirl your hair into curls when you get stressed. I love your eyes, it is like I can see a sparkle in them when you look at something you love. I love the way you close your eyes sometimes because you say it helps you think more clearly. I love you baby, every single inch of you. Those comments do not know you like I know you. They do not see how truly beautiful you are to me,” the compliments gushing out of Leah like it was second nature, truly meaning each and every word.

There was silence on your side of the door, taking in what Leah said. A click of the door as you unlocked it and Leah rushed in and to your side immediately. You sobbed into the defender’s chest as she rubbed large circles on your back.

“Thank you, Lee, really.” Your breathing had returned to normal and your heart no longer felt like it was racing. You felt safe and loved in the blonde's embrace.

“It is only you baby, you are my love. Don’t listen to them,” pulling you in tighter and placing a soft kiss on your temple as she forced you to look her in the eyes. She took her thumb and brushed over the final tears that escaped your eye.

“I can’t believe I let social media get to me, this is so stupid. I’m sorry for crying and for ruining our date,” your voice no louder than a whisper as you look down at the bathroom tile.

She forces your head back up with a finger under your chin, “It’s not stupid baby. I get it, it can be a lot. But anytime you feel like it all gets too much, I want you to talk to me. I want to know. And you never need to apologize to me, and certainly not for crying baby.”

Another wave of silence fell over the bathroom. The two of you are still huddled in each other's arms, swaying slightly left and right as you come down from the major wave of emotions previously.

"I'm pretty sure we still have mint chocolate ice cream from last week," she quietly whispered, a small upward quirk of her lip that turned into a soft smile. She knew it was your favorite and that you rarely let yourself keep it inside the household because you would easily eat a whole pint. You matched her grin, locking her fingers with yours, and pulled her towards the kitchen.

Two spoons and one large bowl of ice cream was shared between the two of you. Leah had made the final touches by adding chocolate syrup and way too much whipped cream. You took your pointer finger to swipe the white cream and tapped Leah on the nose.

"Who is acting like a toddler now?" wiping her nose with a nearby napkin as you shrugged and placed another large bite into your mouth.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso #woso soccer #woso blurbs #womens soccer #leah williamson x you #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #awfc #arsenal women

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alittlefanatic · 1 year

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Hello! If it's okay, can you please write an angst thing (it can be a oneshot or headcanons, I don't mind) where Wally and reader get locked in Home for an extended amount of time, and Wally is not doing great and is like clinging to reader to keep it together with some fluff at the end? Sorry if this is like, super specific I've been spinning this scenario in my brain like a microwave ;w;. Love your writing, thank you!

Oooooo now this goes along with my headcanon of how Home is! Also, I LOVE SCENARIOS LIKE THIS! It's just enough wiggle room to give it more detail but straight to the point, which is PERFECT! First time writing angst, so sorry if it's not the best neighbor!

☔ Homebody ☔

Tags: Angst, Vulnerable, Crying, Isolation, Comfort, Trapped, Darkness, Some Fluff but mainly angst

Summary: You don't know how long it's been since you've been in Home. It feels like forever, and it's starting to get to you. But Wally...He's in absolute shambles.

(Lovely art done by @kjoooooji !)

You don't know how it all could have gone horribly wrong.

Everything started off so normally! You noticed that Wally hasn't seemed himself lately. He appeared less chipper, or attentive, which isn't like his usual self. You asked Wally if you could come over sometime to paint, you figured that would cheer him up! Which, it did, he almost seemed relieved even when you asked. In fact, he invited you over on the same day to do so.

"Thank you for the offer Neighbor, I guess I've been a little into my own head lately," Wally spoke quietly, appearing in thought as he set up the stools and canvases in the living room, while you squeezed some paint into the pallets and got the paintbrushes ready.

"I noticed...I was wanting to make sure you were doing ok. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" You spoke kindly, to which Wally's smile faltered some, looking towards you with a sad look, before shaking his head, sitting down on the stool and simply picking up the paintbrush, begging to paint.

You sighed quietly, sitting next to him as you began to paint on your canvas. You couldn't help but notice Home seemed more quiet than usual either. Home would usually creak and squeak! But...today was quieter than usual, did they have an argument?

You looked over at Wally, examining him closely he looked tired. Some of his usually perfect pompadour was sticking out in certain places, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He almost seemed to be on edge.

"Wally, did you and Home have an argument?" You asked casually. Wally though, seemed to freeze, stopping his painting right in its tracks. He almost seemed to go pale. He gulped.

"Neighbor, I am being con-"

All at once, everything became extremely loud. Home was slamming all the doors, the floor creaking, furniture shifting, you name it. It was blaring in your ears as you covered them, Wally doing the same.

"Wally? What's going on-" You tried to speak, looking towards him, did he have tears in his eyes?

"Neighbor I-"

Everything went dark. You couldn't see.

"Wally?!" You yelled, panicked as you tried to adjust to the darkness, covering your ears still. Things were beginning to crash, break and shatter. You could hear your own heart beating as you were trying to contain yourself. Dropping to your knees, you kept your ears and head covered.

Until it was silence. Eerie silence.

That's how it happened. You've been walking around home for what felt like forever. You don't know how long it's been, you know you've had to sleep, you know that much, but you haven't even seen the outside.

You haven't even heard from Wally.

You paced around in the darkness of home, your eyes adjusted to the dark by this point, it was like it was all you've known. You called out with a strained voice.

"Wally! Please Wally if you're there, say something!" You cough, holding your chest, when was the last time you had water?

"Home...home why are you doing this.." You asked quietly, your throat sore from the yelling. No matter how much you walked and walked, you couldn't seem to find Wally, or even a way out.

"Home, please...I just want to know if Wally is ok...If I did something, if I intruded, please, I'll fix my mistakes..."

You started hearing whispers, though, you couldn't make out what they were saying, as you started to hold your head and cover your ears. They were growing louder and louder.

"HOME PLEASE! I just...I just want to see someone...I just...I want out...I want Wally...Please..." You began to cry, hugging yourself. You just wanted to make sure he was ok. You just wanted out of this HellHole.

Taking a couple of breaths to try to calm yourself, you could have sworn you heard sobbing. Looking around, you stayed quiet, walking toward the source of the noise.

"Hello...? Wally...?" You softly asked, feeling around the walls with your hands. You were walking down a hallway that felt like it was going on forever. The crying grew louder and louder until you reached the source. It was a deep black door, with what seemed to be a swirl on it. You knocked on the door.

"Wally...Wally is that you...?"

"Nei-Neighbor?" Wally stuttered. "Please, please tell me that's you. Please. I'm not hearing things, right? Please...Please..." He started to sob as he spoke. He sounded destroyed.

"Yes! Wally, it's me...It's me, are you ok?" You couldn't help but feel absolutely relieved. You tried to jiggle the door handle to open, but it was stuck.

"Neighbor...Neighbor I'm so happy..." Wally sobbed as you put your hands on the door.

"I'm gonna get you out...Home..please.." You begged quietly. "Home please...whatever we've done I'm sorry...please.." You could feel the tears falling down your face. "Please...just let him out..."

Everything was quiet, until you heard a 'click.' You quickly jiggled the door handle and it opened, thick inky blackness peering back at you, until your eyes adjusted.

Wally practically jumped into your arms, as the door slammed behind him, sobbing loudly as he clutched onto you for dear life.

"Neighbor I am sorry...I'm so sorry...I'm sorry I'm sorry..." Wally cried, burying his face into your chest, as you wrapped your arms around him. He was trying to calm his breathing to seem ok, but we knew. We both knew we weren't.

"It's ok Wally...I'm here...I'm not going to leave you.." You whispered quietly, patting Wally's back as you both just held onto each other, Wally's sobs slowly becoming less intense. You both were in no hurry, you were just happy to know the other was with you and ok.

...

You don't know how long has passed, as you and Wally held each other, giving into each other's warm embrace that seemed to shield you two from the coldness of Home. You decided to break the silence, leaning back slightly, feeling a wetness on your chest which you assumed to be tears.

"Wally..we need to try to make it to the living room...that way if the front door opens we can leave...ok?" You spoke softly, trying to be strong for the poor guy. He could only nod as a reply, as you both stood up slowly. He was clutching onto your arm as if you were about to disappear at any moment.

With a deep breath, you put your hand against the wall, feeling it as you began to walk back. This time, it felt shorter, just a couple of steps and you were in the openness of the living room. Was...Home manipulating the inside of the house? So you and Wally couldn't get to each other?

You shook your head, seeing Home's eyes signifying where you were. Making no comment, you head over to the front of Home. You could see the front door and the sunshine that barely seeped in through it.

With a sigh of relief, you and Wally sat next to the door. Wally's sniffles combating the silence that was Home.

"I'm so sorry..." was all he could seem to say, causing another crying fit as you held him close.

"This isn't your doing sweetie...this isn't your fault...I promise your ok...I'm not going anywhere..." You spoke softly.

"Please don't ever leave me...please always stay by my side..please...please don't run away after this..." He cried, which made you only hold him tighter.

"I won't...I'm never going to leave your side again...you're never going to be alone...I'm sorry..." You sighed, your eyebrows furrowing in anger. You didn't know what Home was capable of, and for all of this to happen? You were tempted to just burn the house down.

As if Wally was reading your thoughts, he spoke: "We can't..do anything...It would..it would make me do horrible things...I don't want to do horrible things...I love my friends...I love you, I, I don't..."

"Shh..It's ok...we don't have to talk about it now...you can explain to me in time...let's just...focus on each other.." You couldn't have Wally spiraling again, not now. Wally simply nodded, holding onto you as you laid your head against him.

You don't know how long you two were like that, holding each other and comforting each other. Exhaustion was hitting the both of you hard, as you could feel your eyes shutting. Everything felt heavy, as any adrenaline you had seemed to vanish, any noise becoming gentle breathing. You couldn't help but speak.

"Home...are you satisfied...we're exhausted...we learned our lesson...please..." You pleaded once more.

...'click'...

You felt your heart rate increase at the sound, immediately reaching for the doorknob and yanking it open. Holding Wally as you practically lurched yourself forward. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the sun, but it seemed it was rising. It was morning. How long were you two gone...?

...

You and Wally stayed close after that incident, never leaving each other's side, even for a moment, nor did you speak about it to any other neighbors. You would have no idea what Home would do if you did...

For the first week, neither of you slept. You both stayed at your house and as far away from Home as possible, just telling neighbors you were having a 'week-long sleepover.'

You would comfort each other, telling each other you were ok, and if one began to panic, the other would reassure. You were there for each other now more than ever.

Eventually, Wally returned to Home, fearing that if he was away for any longer, Home might do something sinister, but you always went with him. Some nights you would stay at home, others would be at your house.

No matter what, Home would never separate you two again. You both were going to make sure of it.

AUTHORS NOTE:

I tried to make it real good and angsty! I think I made it a bit too spooky though...what do you think?

You can also read all of my oneshots and other stories on my Wattpad! Please go check them out! Click me!

#wally darling x reader #wally darling x y/n #wally darling #welcome home #welcome home x reader #welcome home requests #oneshot

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the-goya-jerker · 27 days

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do you have any thoughts on nine inch nails/their song “closer” and the music video for it?

to preface: i am autistic and nine inch nails is a special interest for me. “closer” has a deeper meaning than “the sex song” and is part of a big concept album, and i genuinely think trent reznor is a great artist & director, but people brush off his music/videos because it’s “just” sexual or controversially erotic. well, like klimt or whoever said, all art is erotic!! everything has value no matter what part of your brain it is appealing to. the-goya-jerker dot tumblr dot com i think you are the only guy who actually understands this. you dont have to agree with me i just respect how you view art from the perspective of a nine inch nails fan

Thank you for bringing your special interest to me, dear stranger. I am a king, presented a beautiful gift on a velvet cushion. A princess being given the dearest of unicorn foals to nurture here.

I never knew that The Downward Spiral was a concept album. (My music knowledge tends to be broad and shallow over narrow and deep, y'know?). I knew a few songs (The Only Time is a personal fave) but I didn't know much about the band.

So, just as an overview of the album it's about the narrator's titular downward spiral. Wikipedia lists the themes as: "religion, dehumanization, violence, disease, society, drugs, sex, and finally, suicide."

Just looking at Closer, it's not hard to see why people think of it as a "sex song", honestly. But much like a lot of popular art, I encourage the audience to really listen to the lyrics here, to examine it in a different way.

The backing track (hiiii Iggy Pop! Iggy Pop cameo here!!) has a strong rhythm. The breathy vocals add to the sexual feeling of the song. The lyrics are, on a surface level, talking about sex. But there's some pretty loaded language included. The narrator doesn't just use your typical words like making love or fucking. He "desecrates" he "violates" he "uses". The use of the phrase "I wanna fuck you like an animal" isn't about the intensity, it's about self-degradation.

I think a pretty fair general interpretation (and do come correct me if you think otherwise anon!) is that the narrator wants to escape himself, his flaws, his self loathing, by having sex with people. He wants to be someone else.

This isn't a song about just having sex, this is a song about hating yourself so much that sex feels like it must be degrading for the other person just because it's with you.

There's also some things going on with religion and sexuality here. Sex is a desecration of the partner, it is making them worse, it is using them. But also there's this desperate devotion to this person. The way he says "You make me perfect / Help me become somebody else", the constant pleas for help dispersed throughout, even the section where he offers up himself entirely... it feels like borderline religious devotion. But this contrasts against the desecration in a way that's very fascinating to me.

As a review? I give this a 9/10. It's erotic, but not in the way most people assume. The devotion and degradation as constant themes really sell it. The religious themes add to it wonderfully. And I love to hear a man beg.

The only reason it's not 10/10 is because I know Closer to God (the reworking of this track) gets that honor. I think it just elevates the track even more when the two are presented side by side, and for me Closer to God wins out. The more staticky track is really right up my alley (I enjoy the more industrial and distorted sound of it).

In the end though, both feel transcendentally erotic in their own way.

The songs in question for anyone who wants them:

youtube

#Closer #Nine Inch Nails #Closer to God #9/10 #10/10 #art review

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imma-devil · 2 years

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I am begging you to write a part two for whole lotta love, the chimestry between leads was INMACULATE and the smut was fire. Sub eddie is love, sub eddie is life

Whole Lotta Love Pt 2 | e.m

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Warning: 18+ Smut (MINORS DNI), swearing, implications of alcohol/weed (not really tho)

Summary: After Eddie and you made the choice to pass the threshold of just being friends, you must figure out where you want to end up. Eddie grapples with insecurities and struggles to voice them. Will the two of you back pedal on your actions or take it a step further?

Tags: No use of (y/n), Sub!Eddie Munson, Soft!Dom!Reader, some pet names (lover boy, beautiful, etc?), P in V sex, unprotected sex (use protection), contraceptives, creampie, pining, a tad of angst, some emotional hurt/comfort, Soft!Eddie, FLUFFFFFFFFF, Friends to Lovers trope, smut, driving under the influence (don’t do that), a few analogies of drugs/alcohol, some gentle loving that gets heated, slight choking, bites, edging, consent is hot, thighs, leg/thigh riding, hair pulling, finger sucking, riding, cock warming if you squint, barely any proofreading.

Word count: 5,900+

Please do not steal or copy my work. Don’t repost without credit. This is my written work, everything besides the characters and plot points by the original writers, belongs to me.

After the actions that progressed in the confines of Eddie’s trailer, the two of you spent a little over an hour, listening to music and lying with one another. The both of you were back in your clothes, backs braced against the wall with your arms wrapped around each other. You had helped Eddie clean up, whispering little nothings of admiration and sending him affectionate smiles.

But, Eddie was uncharacteristically quiet. You could tell it wasn’t necessarily a negative thing. He didn’t seem distraught—or as if he were battling with regret. He snuck you small smiles in response to yours, and his eyes couldn’t seem to meet yours for longer than a few seconds before flitting away to examine the details of his room. Yet, when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d gaze deeply upon your face, as if you were the most-delicately sculpted piece of artwork in the world. You attempted to coax him further into a state of comfort by asking him simple questions; details on Corroded Coffin, and future plans for his DnD campaign...but, Eddie gave uneventful answers; often through stuttered words and a seemingly dry mouth.

He was aware of the stagnant, odd tension that was fogged in the air. Almost as aware as he was of your eyes on him, which raked over his body with similar enthusiasm to himself.

The more that time drawled on, the further you were convinced that you should grant him some space.—Which is why you smoothly managed to slip in that you should leave for the night. Eddie didn’t oppose, seeing as it was well into 4 in the morning, and the both of you had a day full of lectures on the horizon. You meandered about for a bit longer before you eventually left, but you couldn’t help but wish to stay.

He walked you to the door, lingering in the open doorway as he took in the sight of you under the ambient light of the moon. You held back a smile when his leg began to swing in a self-comforting gesture.

“Drive safely, okay?” Eddie said with a shy grin, his doe eyes centered on you.

“Unlike you...” You smirked, attempting to reel back in the teasing energy that existed between you. “—I don’t drive like a madman.”

He huffed out a laugh, leaning forward on his hands, which were pressed on the wall above the door. He subconsciously redirected his gaze to his shoes before emitting a soft, “rude”

You made use of the situation, taking Eddie slightly off-guard by leaning your face in below his bowed head. The movement caused his eyes to shoot to yours with a certain magnetism, causing his skin to erupt from the intangible electricity.

You gradually raised your posture while keeping your closed distance; Eddie found himself following the flow of movements with his body as if he was lulled into a trance. >>God—how were you doing this to him?<;<

He was so used to being the one in control of the few relationships he’s had. Even while holding the label of ‘Freak’ at Hawkins High, he still had women who were interested in him before (and men— which he didn’t seem to notice). He remembers having his arm draped over their shoulder, causing them to smile by simply meeting their eyes in a flirtatious stare. Oh, but with you, he felt like the dames- who he basked with his arm over their shoulder. It made him feel like a fool—twiddling his fingers and kicking his feet on his bed. Pink in the face and a love-stricken smile, which made his cheeks sore. With your friendship, there was rarely a moment when you weren’t indulged in a game of tag, ping-ponging flirtations back and forth with little seriousness. He thought he was the only one that craved oh-so-deeply to bring your game to reality... but now that he could see he was wrong, he wasn’t sure he could handle the weight of those implications. The weight, that you practically held his heart in your hands, with the full intention to take it for yourself.

“Eddie?” you called, pulling him back from the complexities of his swirling thoughts.

“Hmmm?” He responded in a drowsy voice that sounded like his judgment was clouded in a shroud of intoxication. It made laughter bubble on your lips.

“Where’d you go?” you referenced to him being lost in thought.

“—Nowhere,” he gave a lopsided smile. “I’m right here.”

You hummed a sound in response before your hand came up to hold one of his loose hanging curls. A huskier sound followed from you right after when Eddie sucked in a breath.

“...Kiss?” you asked with a growing smile and your tongue teasing at your cheek, finding amusement in the romantic tension.

“You—” His voice strained before clearing his throat to try again, “... you wanna kiss?”

You nodded, pulling lightly at the curl, watching as it stretched and sprung back into its shape.

Eddie looked back on his shoulder like he was checking for someone within his home who were to spy on your interaction, but you knew quite well that he was hiding his face away from you so he could retrieve himself again. With his hands still clinging above the doorframe, it only enabled him to shield himself further.

He could hear your chirp of laughter, undoubtedly smirking ear to ear at him from behind his view... and it only tugged on his heart more. He figured that if you pulled the tension any further, it would snap.

Eddie suddenly turned back to you, his hair whipping at the movement. He leaned forward to bridge the gap between you, and when you simply smiled and looked into his eyes, he inhaled you in a choked gasp. You teased at his lips with your own in a light caress, allowing him to deepen the kiss. The two of you closed your eyes at the exact moment—and the more that the kiss grew, the further he leaned into you, seeking you out.

But, in a harmless tease, you backed away at a grueling pace and watched as he continued to progress forward. When he eventually couldn’t move any further without falling from the door, your lips parted with a quiet smack. He looked at you quizzically, his soft eyes, looking impossibly softer.

“Get some rest lover-boy,” you cooed. “We have class in a few hours.”

His lips parted to speak, but he opted to let the words die on his tongue and he watched you head towards your car with a giddy grin. Even when your car was out of the lot and no longer visible to him, he could still feel the heat in his ears and an uncomfortable-yet-addictive pressure in his chest.

✝︎

When he saw you at school just a couple hours later, he watched as he caught glimpses of your face amongst the crowd. But, the bell rang, and he lost sight of you—inevitably causing him to fight his desire to speak with you and head to his first-period class.

The rest of the day was filled with some more of the same—fleeting glances, passing conversations, and lingering want. It wasn’t intentional. He wanted to believe that. But, when granted the chance to speak with you between third and fourth period, he opted out and sought cover in the bathroom with his heart running a mile-per-minute. He wanted to slap himself for running away—but the feeling of his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of you walking his way was too much. He thanks that you hadn’t spotted him, because he isn’t sure if he could handle the agonizing embarrassment of you watching him scramble to the nearest restroom instead of having a simple conversation.

He hoped that reaction would be contained to the one instance, but when you joined up to eat lunch at the cafeteria table, he couldn’t seem to meet your eyes during the whole 35 minutes of being there.

The next two days consisted of the same. The two of you not being able to speak about what happened that night in his trailer. You tried to meet his reluctance to talk with more diligence of your own, but you quickly registered that Eddie was just a pinch shy of avoiding you.... and not just in the sense of his apparent adamance in not wanting to speak alone, but also in his incessant need to talk over you when you were hanging out in a group.

Eddie is on average, a talkative person. He likes the attention—often filling the quiet with his noise; whether it be his unyielding onslaught of social commentary, rambunctious jokes, or the metal music that he shreds from his guitar strings. But, you could deduce that he was being noisier than usual. He was overcompensating by dialing his personality tenfold—and even the boys were beginning to catch on.

Especially on the second day during lunch; when Eddie cut you off mid-sentence and carried on until his breath practically ran out. Most of the group was too caught up in the humor of his words to really care or notice, but Mike and Dustin were quick to comment on it.

Mike uttered out, “dude” in a subtle scolding tone, which halted Eddie in his second burst of rambling. Then Dustin piggybacked off of it by hissing “—you just talked over them” with his hands sprawled out in his typical animated manner.

You hadn’t really pushed it, too confused to find it insulting. But, Eddie looked like he was struck, causing him to quickly apologize. The word ‘sorry’ was rushed from his mouth and his eyes skipped over your frame with a certain weariness to them.

...and just like that, you’d had enough. Not that you were angry or upset, you were just worried. Worried that you’d all but broken ‘The’ Eddie Munson, causing your friendship to take a not-so-subtle dive for the worse. So, you casually slipped a tattered note into his ring-clad hand; asking for him to come to your house after school.

When Eddie read the note under the table, he immediately knew that he couldn’t run anymore... not without making it obvious to you. Though, it was already obvious, to begin with.

✝︎

You were sure he’d bailed when the day turned to night, but Eddie proved you wrong when his knuckles wrapped against your bedside window. Music was thrumming lowly from your stereo and a candle was burning on your desk. The overhead light was off, instead, relying on the candle to warm the room in an orange glow.

You were eternally confused on why Eddie always insisted on entering your room through the bedroom window when you had a single floor home and the front door was only ten feet away. But, you opened the window anyway, allowing the lanky boy to crawl inside your house.

Immediately, it was like he brought all the energy with him. He was pacing ever-so-slightly and toying at knickknacks on your shelves. He was explaining why he was late, starting with how his uncle tasked him with chores, then somehow ended up chasing a little dog that got loose from a neighbor’s yard. One story hopped to another when he told you how his neighbor from across the lot, Max, was doing tricks on her skateboard. With each retelling of the events of his day, he turned his head, as if he was searching his mind for the details. Then, suddenly switched to a new tangent, enthusiastically saying “It smells good in here.”

Somewhere in the middle of his endless, adorable babbling, you found a seat on the corner of your bed with your legs tucked beneath you. A pillow had found its way into your lap, and you were twirling at the frayed stitches with your fingers. You nodded along occasionally to his speech, finding genuine interest in his words.

Eddie had just started gushing about his new Metallica ‘Master Of Puppets’ album when his topic change gave you whiplash, “—wait!... so what did you wanna talk about?”

His confused and questioning expression made it seem like you were the one that hadn’t gotten to the point, and the irony of it made you smile in bewildered amusement. Eddie plopped down onto your desk chair, his eyes drifting between you and the candle on your desk. In actuality, he was looking beyond you—his eyes just close enough to give the illusion that he was meeting your stare. He started hovering his fingers over the flame, wiggling them slightly, causing the flame to dance on the wick—like a sorcerer and his conjured spells.

“You’ve been avoiding me, Eddie.” You stated, but the question was there.

His face screwed up in guilt, “... I know.”

A moment passed before he spoke again in a somber voice, “I’m sorry.” His body visibly slouched at the shoulders, mirroring a remorseful child that was scolded for bad behavior. He anxiously toyed with his bottom lip between his teeth and picked at his fingernails.

“Is it because of the other night?...” you asked, pulling your feet from beneath you to place them on the floor.

Eddie swiveled his head slightly to act out a ‘so-so’ movement, “Kinda...”

He watched as you moved the pillow, reaching out with empty hands to grab his. Just as he expected, a subtle ache plucked at his chest. The sensation only amplified when you soothed him with your thumbs, rubbing gentle patterns over his skin.

“Talk to me,” you gently asked. “...please?”

Eddie sat there for a minute, his lips opening and closing, trying to find the words to voice his thoughts. His frustration increased as the words evaded him, his leg picking up to an anxious pace as his nerves bobbed beneath his skin. Admittedly, your adrenaline lurched when he suddenly stood, nearly dragging you with him. He huffed, carding both of his hands through his hair before throwing them to his sides.

“Why is this so god damn difficult?!” He hissed loudly, his hands annunciating his words. His voice was squeaky when distressed.

“Eddie— take your time,” you tried your best to sound reassuring. “No one is rushing you, I’m listening.”

Eddie glanced at you from the side of his eyes before returning to his episode of self-scolding.

“You don’t have to be a poet either—” you promptly added. “There’s no need for a Shakespearean depiction of how you feel, you could sprout a jumbled mess, and I’d still listen to you.”

Eddie returned to wiping frantically at his face as if he could knead the words out of him. But, you gave an exasperated sigh, rushing to stand in front of him to rip his hands from his face. His skin was blooming in an aggravated rash of pink from his hands. You pulled him, guiding him to sit down on your mattress to where you stood over him.

“What if I were to talk?—” you suggested. “Would that help... for you to hear me out, then be able to gather your thoughts together?”

Eddie simultaneously shrugged his shoulders and shook his head―making his anxious confusion all that more apparent. Seeing him this panicked made you feel worried; motivating you to dote on him. You braced your hands on his shoulders, kneading the pads of your fingers into the tension of his muscles. His eyes came to an involuntary close, and his shoulders sagged under your touch.

“Or―we don’t have to talk at all?” you whispered, “We could just stay like this...”

He hummed, his head lulling to the side to rest on your arm.

His comfort didn’t last long― you could imagine the cogs working inside his mind while he wrestled with his thoughts. And, almost like feeling the electricity in the air right before lightning strikes, you could sense that he was about to speak.

He looked so vulnerable beneath you when he tentatively placed his hands upon yours. His eyes finally opened, and you swear they were dewy with unshed tears. “I li— I like you,” he forced the words out with a strained and hesitant voice.

“...like more than— more than a friend.” He grumbled, his eyes flitting over the woven patterns in the rug beneath your feet. Eddie sighed, “for a while now... I don’t know— I was worried that if— if I said anything, it would ruin what we had.” He readjusted in his seat, “...but, I was greedy— and I went ‘n fucked it up anyway.” He finished it off with a cruel laugh.

“Eddie, I—” you began.

“—and even then!— I screwed up.” His voice rose an octave. “I should’ve made it better for you! I should’ve— should’ve made you feel good!” His eyes screwed shut.

You knew that he was self-conscious about the events that transpired when the two of you indulged your desires those days ago. You had tried to reassure him that you hadn’t minded him giving in to the pleasure that you shared— even going as far as to admit that you rather enjoyed making him feel good. Which was true!— you loved the hold that you held over the boy before you.

You removed your hands from his shoulders, moving them to rest on either side of his face. The change wasn’t rushed, allowing for Eddie’s hands to remain on yours.

“Eddie, I like you too.” You said with a solid and confident voice. “I’ve likely felt that way since before I could register what it was that I was feeling...”

Eddie could hear the vulnerability in what you had just admitted. It tempted him to believe you, even though a part of him was convinced it was impossible—despite all reason and logic pointing to the truth.

“—I don’t want you to feel like you screwed up when you were just enjoying yourself in the moment... Especially because I meant what I said—and I wish I took it more seriously if it meant that I could ease how you’re feeling now.” You explained with the utmost honesty.

Eddie contemplated having something to say, but he appreciated not having to when you spoke again in a sultry voice: “... I like making you feel good.”

You could feel the movement of his jaw beneath your hands when he swallowed at your words; a soft sigh falling from his lips.

“I like finding all the little things that make you swoon...” you murmured through a teasing voice. “I enjoy having you be mine— where I can treat you— and dote on you...” with each pause, you raked your fingers through his hair, finding a new place to rest your hands over his frame.

Eddie’s breaths grew long and drawn out— whispers of light moans at the back of his throat, rumbling with each caress.

“I want you, Eddie” you said, each word carrying with it a great magnitude. “Nothing that you could do, would change that.”

Eddie hummed.

“—especially when everything you do is so addicting, making me crave for another hit.” You pulled him in closer, your hands, woven in the hair behind his ears, his face in a comforting embrace by your chest. “...another moan, another whine, and another kiss.”

Eddie’s hands shot to your frame, latching around your waist while the other clenched around the fabric of your shirt. He inhaled your sent, breathing you in to make sure this was real. Once he drew in his breath, a groan was ripped from his throat... not one filled with pleasure, but simply unbridled bliss.

With his arms wrapped around you, he used his access to pull you to sit on his lap. Your bodies were entangled together when his face found itself buried in your neck. It was as if he was trying to press you into him— bringing your bodies impossibly closer to where you could swear you felt his heart beating against your chest. You could feel his teeth graze against your neck before he ripped his face away to look at you.

He grazed the spot on your neck with his finger, swiping over it with a feather-like touch. “...can I— can I kiss you here?” He asked, his eyes forming a dark cesspool from his pupils.

“Mhmm,” you affirmed.

You thought he would begin the assault against your neck, but his hand traveled to your face. Teasing at your bottom lip with his thumb before asking in a low voice, “What about here?...”

You nodded, and that was all he needed before attacking your lips with his own. He started with such fervor and passion that you would think he’d be the one to guide this kiss, but, with one swipe of your tongue, the control changed just like the turning of the tides. You grew intoxicated by the sound of his muffled whines—yet, amused by the fact that he tried so hard to will them away.

He pulled away from the kiss with a subtle gasp, panting slightly before launching to your jaw, burning your skin with the touch of his lips. He carried the rest of his kisses, trailing down your neck, halting just before your clavicle in the place that was still wet from the brush of his teeth. He lapped at the skin before treating it with a wet kiss, topping it off with a nip of his teeth. At the sound of your faint, confounded moan, he bucked up into your hips with a groan. The interaction reminded you of the night in his trailer when he sheepishly apologized for his body’s natural reaction to his pleasure.

He was about to apologize again when his words snapped into a whine at your hand on his throat, roughly guiding him into another kiss. His breath was shuddering in between your mouths, drawing pleased moans from your lips.

“Do you wanna make it up to me?...” you mewled with your forehead pressed against his.

Eddie was going to ask what you meant, but he got his answer when you teased at his belt with your fingers. He lifted his hips into your touch, nonverbally pushing you to continue. Normally, you would tease him by drawing this out— by making him beg you to give him what he wanted. But, that sounded like it would be just as unfair to you as it would be to him—especially when the both of you wanted so badly to take this further.

You made easy work of his belt and then popped the button of his jeans. Eddie wouldn’t admit it, but the slightest pressure of your touch as you unzipped his pants was enough to make his brain short circuit because his senses were hardwired on your every touch. He was the first to break the kiss—he’d make the excuse that it was so he could undress—but, it was really so he could avoid the intense pleasure that just touching you gave him.

You followed his actions, stripping yourself of your jeans and moving after him as he scooted himself further up the mattress. He loved the sight of you as you climbed on all fours to bring yourself to him—he could only imagine how beautiful the sight would be if he was behind you instead. He was about to grab a handful of your ass when you denied him the touch of your supple flesh; instead, bringing his hand to rest flat against your abdomen.

“Take my shirt off, Eddie.” You instructed him. “—I know you want to.”

His eyes, which were glued to his hand atop your stomach, were wretched from the sight to look into your eyes. He moved on instinct, gliding his calloused fingers up your frame over your clothes. He surveyed your body for a moment before bringing his hand back down, performing the same motion, except beneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. When the tips of his fingers met the mound of your breasts, his movements stuttered.

“You-you're not wearing a bra?” He asked, his erection twitched at the realization.

You gently shook your head, smiling at his growing excitement.

Eddie brought his other hand up to aid in the removal of your shirt, and when your bare form was postured before him, he gaped at the sight. You were backlit in an orange glow, the candle encompassing half of you under its hue and the other in shadow.

Eddie brought up both of his hands to rest on your ribs, the cool metal of his rings causing a bristle to rise on your skin. “Touch me, Eddie...” you said, lulled into a rhythmic breath.

His touch was swept up to cup your breasts, his fingers pressing into your skin as he stared at you with adoration. He caught one of them with his mouth, prodding at your nipple with his tongue between his teeth. Your hands found the bottom of his Hellfire shirt, lightly tugging at the fabric. Eddie immediately raised his arms, allowing you to lift it over his shoulders. The two of you managed to find yourselves in the same embrace as before, this time with Eddie making light work at your breast as you shared smoldering kisses. The further the kiss intensified, the more that his body riveted at the passing touches of your skin against his. The slightest graze, working wonders to stimulate his nerves. Those same nerves, nearly imploding when you tugged softly on his hair.

You watched as his eyelashes fluttered at the motion and he hissed inwardly with his breath. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” He moaned while wearing a sloppy, disheveled smile.

With his hair pulled back in your grasp, revealing his neck, you laced his adam's apple with a swipe of your tongue. Keening slightly when his muscle twitched at the stimulation, you peppered his skin in puckered bruises. His skin— now an array of blotted pinks and sultry purples. With each new art piece on his canvased skin, Eddie craned into your lips, mouth forced agape in choked whimpers.

He hoped you hadn’t noticed when his hips picked up a pace, somehow falling in rhythm with the quiet song emitted from your stereo speakers. He hooked his waist in deliberate thrusts; an aching heat brewing at the feel of your plush thigh against his throbbing cock. His labored breaths had quickened, staggering with each prick of sensitivity and slacking with each pull from your tongue.

When you dug your hand into his side, the sudden contrast caused him to lurch forward to sit his forehead on your shoulder, his hips bucking up against your skin.

“...you ready?” You asked with a voice, nearly mocking a twisted innocence before turning sultry and venomous... “—you ready to be inside me?”

Eddie gave a pitiful cry at the thought, the sound instantly cut out by his teeth snapping on his tongue while he nodded enthusiastically into your shoulder. He audibly swallowed, “...yes!—god, yes”

“Let me make you feel good...” Eddie all but begged, “—I wanna make you feel good.”

He could feel your smile against his skin even before he moved to take the sight of you in. He brought his thumb to toy at your clit, hoping to prepare you for taking him in. A moan quivered on his lips when he found how wet you already were for him.

You knew that he slowed down at the realization of how he made you feel, using his lust at the feel of you to your advantage... “You made me like this,” you husked into his ear. He groaned at the words, promptly losing composure when the groan twisted into a sigh. Eddie had to fight off his release when he saw you drag his hand from your clit to take his finger into your mouth. Your tongue, lapping your own fluids from his skin. You hollowed your cheeks around his soiled digit—his mind reeling back to the memory of your lips wrapped around his dick. His jaw hung slack as you slowly drew him from your mouth, his eyes transfixed with arousal. His expression was soon corrupted by a cheeky smile; enamored by your titillating beauty and sensuality.

Stars still danced within eyes when your hand reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs. A darkened splotch on the fabric where his aggravated tip would be, you settled your hand above the fabric when you asked the necessary question, “...is this what you want?”

“I’m yours,” he stated with certainty, his eyes never leaving yours. “—do whatever you want with me.”

You chuckled at his unyielding submission before searching his briefs for his perked cock. You took him in your grasp, pulling him from the confines of the tight fabric. His breath sizzled once he felt your hand around him, his gaze growing ever more wild and playful at the developing realization of what reality had in store for him.

With your other hand, you slid your panties to the side and aligned yourself above him. “Wait!” He ushered out with a new sense of urgency. “—shouldn’t we use a condom?”

“I’m clean,” you replied. “...and I’m on the pill. But, we could use one if you want to?”

“I’m clean too—” he nodded, as to support his words. “...and I’m good if you are.”

You lowered down on him, the arousal on his face increasing as he sunk between your warm folds—a silent moan ripped from his chest when you bottomed out on him. A breathy exhale flows from your mouth at the feel of him. His hands dawned in metallic rings, clutching around the sides of your thighs. A vein pulled tight beneath the skin on his forearm as he held his breath, trying to adapt to the clench of your walls encasing him.

Once you got your bearings, you deliberately ground your hips onto him and he hissed at the sensitivity. “ah” he whimpered in a subtle plea. “—not yet.”

You had intended to hum in response to exclaim your understanding, but instead, it drawled on, simmering on a blissed-out moan. If Eddie were to be honest, he’d voice that hearing you moan on his cock wasn’t helping his predicament... but, at the sound of you feeling good, he felt motivated to pull more pleasured sounds from your lips.

With his hands still relishing in the luscious feel of your thighs, he gently eases you into a hesitant thrust. His core instantly spasmed at the pleasure it gave him. He was so focused on the place where the two of you met in a slick heat that when he glanced up, he was dazzled by your hooded, glazed-over eyes.

You were encoding the sight into memory— the darkened shade of his curls by his face, which were dampened with sweat. The slight tension between his brows, as he tried to thwart the pleasure that you gave him. The way that his lips parted when he tried to quiet his moans by passing them off as lazy breaths. You could grow addicted to this—you would bottle it up and drink it if you could.

Eddie moaned when you regained the control that he had foolishly assumed to be his. You lifted yourself up and down on his cock, rolling your hips to hit his most sensitive places. He wonders if you know what you’re doing to him?—If you were aware that you held him in the palm of your hand. You dragged him closer to his release when you graced his skin with sloppy kisses; your fingers latched onto his roots and weaponizing the slightest pain to twist it into pleasure. You knew that he was getting close when he swallowed a bitter cry, clenching his eyes shut in a private battle with himself.

Just as the coiling tension brews in his abdomen and he feels like he’s seconds from coming undone, you slow to a mind-numbing grind, like a boat on calm waves. His mind sways, just as his balance would with the water beneath him on the bellowing current. He sighs into the motion, the tension easing from his face, an instinctual disappointment taking its place.

Then you propel the pace forward again, settling back into the rhythm you established before. Eddie’s impending orgasm came back with a vengeance, causing little intricacies to fall from his tongue and quiet curses to be whispered into the air.

Even with his blood thrumming behind his ears, he could hear your breath quickening. He could feel the small puffs of wind fan against his neck. With each moan that you released, picking up at the ends with an addicting sound— he was practically thrown into his pleasure. This time, he was content with getting there... so long as he brought you there with him. He rubbed circles at your clit with his thumb, floating on the sound that it pulled from your throat.

“...you’re so beautiful—” he sighed with a voice mirroring his pleasure, following it with little complements, slurred together on rushed lips.

“—I’m gonna cum,” He murmured. He tried to open his eyes to take you in, but he couldn’t see clearly through the haze, which clouded his vision.

You slowed to a stop again, and Eddie couldn’t stop the plea that fell from his lips. He sought solace in your shoulder, planting the crook of your neck with a warm kiss. He huffed heavy pants into your skin, his chest rising with the air in his lungs.

You adjusted yourself slightly, fighting a neediness of your own— wanting nothing more but to engage in your pleasure until your climax... Wanting nothing more, except to draw further sounds of bliss from Eddie’s lips.

You bucked your hips onto him again, his fingers quickly following to return to his pursuit of your orgasm. The two of you were a harmony of moans— his were breathy and filled with need— and yours were sultry and sweet. Eddie’s thrusts were becoming sloppy, meeting resistance in his aching limbs and glazed over mind. He had been reduced to desperate pants into your shoulder as his hand fumbled at your side, pulling you into a lazy embrace.

“―cum inside me, Eddie” you sang in a dreamy voice, filled with pleasure-fueled exhaustion.

You clenched around him with a honey-soaked sob and he clasped his teeth onto your shoulder to stifle his choked, startled moan—his hips snapping into you with one final thrust. You hummed as you felt him fill you with his release, continuing to roll yourself onto him; each motion drawing an airy moan from his lips.

After the two of you had ridden out your orgasms, left in a mixture of spent pants, he leaned further into you. His face went slack on your shoulder and you caressed his hair with your hand. He strained his blissed senses to process it when you set a tender kiss behind his ear— the display, filled with affection and unbridled compassion. Your unattended hand found its way to his arm, tracing your fingers over the faded tattoo that resided within the texture of his skin.

You could feel the faint semblance of a smile on his lips from where they resided against your shoulder. In a voice similar to the one adorned in the waking morning, you purred: “...was it how you imagined it?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, “Honestly?— no...” His voice sunk into a whisper, “I wanted to whisk you off your feet...” Eddie spoke with both hinted shyness and unmatched amusement, “—but, I guess it was the other way around.”

You pressed the side of your cheek into his and deepened the embrace between you— sighing at the feel of your mixed pleasure seeping slightly from you.

“Trust me, lover boy...” you cooed into his ear. “—I’m yours.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #sub!eddie munson #dom/sub #dom!reader #gentle dom #soft!dom!reader #stanger things #stranger things season 4 #fanfiction #x reader #smut #fluff #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort

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archie-sunshine · 5 months

Text

Survey Says-! (18+ Rodimus/EVERYONE)

Chapter 4: *Hacker Voice*I'm In. (Rodimus/Perceptor)

Rodimus is NOT bitter about the results of the crew satisfaction survey, in fact, he’s fully prepared to change! He’s determined to change his crew’s minds, and what better way to do so than to get to know them- in the carnal sense that is.

There are no problems with this plan in Rodimus’s mind. There are many in Ultra Magnus’s. Magnus engages in some unfortunate(for Rodimus) damage control as head of Cybertronian Resources. Rodimus is not easily deterred.

Other Chapters Here! Read on AO3 Here!

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FIC TAGS: Rodimus/Everyone(But y’know, not like. EVERYONE. Just a lot of various background characters and also more specifically with some others), Takes place post dark cybertron, but pre the whole ship disappearing thing and the mutiny, smut, Chastity, denial, Rodimus is a slut, Ongoing humiliation, HR Violations as comedy, Ultra Magnus is clueless, sticky sexual interfacing, comedy, sexual comedy, dubious consent (if you squint and tilt your head), contains illustrations(but only on AO3)

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Authors notes: PSYCHE! I lied to you, this one is REAL PERCEPTOR HOURS!! Also theres no illustration in this chapter because I! am! sick! Next one i'll try for but for this one i didn't really feel like it. Also perceptor might be out of character but idk i dont know enough about him sadly. NEXT chapter will be very intensely self indulgent and incredibly batshit kinky, so be warned

CHAPTER TAGS: Rodimus/Perceptor, plug and play interfacing, orgasm denial, rodimus continues to have terrible luck, sexual science experiments, not following proper lab safety procedures, etc etc

“Brainstorm! I’ve got a project for you to work on!!” Rodimus singsonged as he stepped into the laboratory. He paused, glancing around at the seemingly uninhabited room. “Brainstorm?”

He jolted at the sound of someone clearing their vocalizer. He quickly spun towards the sound. “My apologies captain, Brainstorm is currently off shift.” Perceptor explained evenly, standing from his station.

Dammit. Rodimus cursed internally, clamping down his field to prevent the other mech from catching the disappointment in it. “Ah, I see- Sorry for bothering you then, keep up the good work!” He said, beginning to back out of the lab.

Perceptor cocked his head. “Perhaps I could be of assistance? What was it that you needed, Rodimus?”

Rodimus cleared his vocalizer, doing the math in his head. On the Rodimus Narc Scale, Perceptor ranked pretty high. He was about as straight-laced as anyone on the lost light could be expected to be. On one hand, it would be absolutely mortifying to beg Perceptor to remove the magnetizer.

On the other hand, Rodimus was going to die if the magnetizer stayed on.

“... Yeah, maybe you can help- just-! Uhm… can you keep a secret?”

Perceptor frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I see.”

Rodimus’s optics flitted around nervously. “S-so… is there any way you can get it off?” This had to be a new low for him, laid out on a hastily cleared off work table while Perceptor closely examined his panels. He had to admit he was a bit aroused at the thought of being a slutty little science project, which he wasn’t exactly happy about. He tried to stomp down whatever feelings he was having about the whole situation, averting his gaze from the contemplative bot hunched over him.

“I’m afraid that I must once again defer to Ultra Magnus’s rulings on the matter: Crew members are not allowed to remove the magnetizer until your period of punishment is over.” Perceptor said, giving Rodimus a piteous look.

Rodimus looked at him helplessly. “But-”

“However, if you are feeling… *ahem* any discomfort from…” He waved his servo generally over Rodimus’s closed panels. “Lack of stimulation, shall we say… I may be able to help in some other way?”

Rodimus immediately perked up. “Yes, absolutely, totally, what is it?”

“I’m no mnemosurgeon, but…” Perceptor cleared his vocalizer again awkwardly, reaching his right servo over to the back of his neck and carefully procuring his diagnostic cable. Rodimus blushed a bit, feeling incredibly stupid for not considering the possibility of plugging. It wasn’t his style anyway, he liked it more tactile, but at this point, he’d take anything he could get. “I believe I could find some way to relieve your… tension.”

Rodimus sat up, nodding enthusiastically. “Sure, uhm- how do you want me?”

Perceptor reached forwards with his cable, brushing his digits lightly over the captain’s neck cabling. “This position will work, just hold still- ah, there it is.” An arc of charge connected the two of them briefly as the scientist plugged into Rodimus’s neck port. Rodimus felt a zing through his circuits as Perceptor made his presence there known. “Now, to warn you, you may feel some… unfamiliar tactile stimulus, this is perfectly normal, but I’m mostly going to be looking through your processor to put together a code to give you some relief alright?”

Rodimus blinked. “Sorry?”

Perceptor cleared his vocalizer again uncomfortably. “I’m going to put together a dataslug to plug into your ports to make you overload. And I need to look through your processor to put that together.”

“Ah.” Rodimus felt his faceplate heat up.

“Indeed. Could you drop your firewalls for me?” Perceptor turned his vision away, picking up a datapad and beginning to take notes.

“Can do, thanks again Percey.” Rodimus swallowed, focusing on lowering the firewall. He felt a shiver run down his back strut as the other mech began to rifle through his databanks. It was an odd sensation, similar to someone tickling the back of his neck or whispering in his ear. It wasn’t necessarily sexual- yet- but it left tingles racing up and down his plating as he felt Perceptor work.

[Can you see this message?-P]

Rodimus shivered again, the message appearing at the front of his processor. He allowed his optics to go offline, focusing on the attention Perceptor was giving his mind.

[Yep, loud and clear-R]

[Splendid. I’m going to be stimulating some areas, you ping once for positive, twice for negative, understand?-P]

[Got it-R]

He could feel the other bot probing around, his processor feeling warmed. It almost felt like he was a book that Perceptor was leafing through, each priority tree and code flicking past like files in a cabinet. He felt Perceptor stop, then felt a wash of sudden heat wrack his frame as the code [Action input- pleasure centers online] appeared at the front of his mind. Rodimus pinged once, letting out a shaky sigh.

“S-sorry-” He muttered absently, briefly reminded of the professionalism he was at least half attempting to keep around the other mech.

“It’s quite alright captain, again,” Perceptor began, not looking up from his datapad. Without warning, Rodimus’ leg jerked, his reflex codes accidentally engaging as Perceptor prodded at them. “Any accidental physical stimulus is quite natural. You may react however is normal for you.”

[Action input- Prefluid Production- Off]

Rodimus huffed out a nervous laugh before gritting his dentas.

[Action input- Test- valve calipers]

He swore it felt like Perceptor’s digits were stroking over his processor, his whole frame shuddering as the calipers in his valve cycled down against Rodimus’ will. He pinged once again, earning an appreciative hum from the other mech. Rodimus’ digits clenched, scratching at the workbench as Perceptor engaged the code again, his valve squeezing around nothing.

[Action input- Test- anterior node]

Rodimus squawked out a groan. His hips canted up off the workbench as he felt his anterior node twitch with sudden pleasure. He quickly pinged yet another positive. He let out a punched out breath as the stimulation ceased and let himself go limp on the table again.

[You are doing quite well, Rodimus-P]

Rodimus let out an embarrassing whine, trying to quiet himself. He felt like he was going to die of embarrassment. Perceptor seemed to pause for a moment.

[Your pleasure centers react very enthusiastically to praise.-P]

Rodimus’ face flushed. He kept his intake clamped shut, refusing to let him embarrass himself even further.

[Is that a bad thing?-R]

[Does it feel bad?-P]

[Action input- Test- Praise reaction]

Rodimus writhed, optics flickering on and off as a wash of giddy pride and pleasure came over his frame at Perceptor’s behest.

“N-no-” Rodimus choked out.

[Then it’s not a bad thing-P]

Rodimus quivered, biting down on his lower derma. He felt his spike housing open below his panels, then let out a pained hiss as his panels attempted to open. Perceptor quickly deactivated the directive, mumbling a quiet apology before continuing his work.

[Action Priority- Tactile stimulus]

[Action input- Raise tactile sensory absorption]

Rodimus’s plating suddenly felt alight with sensation, every inch of contact with anything setting his frame on fire with pleasure. He let out a long, pained moan as heat overtook his body. He didn’t need to look to know he was most likely steaming from the seams at this point, though his assumption was confirmed as Perceptor winced and inputed another code.

[Action Priority- Vent heat]

He let out a relieved sigh as his vents kicked on higher, squeezing his legs together. Even just the feeling of his own plating shifting together was enough to send sparks of charge down his frame.

[Action input- array pressurize]

Rodimus groaned, wincing in pain as his array pushed needily against the back of his panels. Perceptor had paused in his ministrations, as if waiting for Rodimus’s negative ping. Rodimus squirmed, the discomfort of his spike aching for freedom leaving a warm feeling in his tanks. The captain’s faceplate flared with embarrassment at Perceptor’s amused hum.

[Did you know that your receptors for pain and pleasure are much more linked than average?-P]

Rodimus attempted an annoyed growl. He only embarrassed himself further at the pained whimper it turned into. He onlined his optics to glare at the scientist pointedly.

[What are you implying, Percey?- R]

Perceptor didn’t respond, but Rodimus caught the pleased smirk he’d allowed himself as he tapped away on his datapad.

[Action input- Test- Pain reaction- 10%]

[Action input- Test- Pleasure reaction- 50%]

Rodimus let out another pained moan, his plating tingling and stinging with charge. His array ached. His processor felt fuzzy, optics flickering again as his frame twitched. He rutted his hips up at nothing, only succeeding in shaking the table when he went despondently limp. He keened as the sensation left him. He thought he might dent the table with how tightly he squeezed it. Rodimus only whined louder when the command was retracted, his frame buzzing with remnants of false pain and pleasure with no real source.

[You make such a fascinating subject, Rodimus-P]

Rodimus wheezed out another mouthful of steam.

[Your pleasure centers are connected to some unorthodox stimulus, did you know that?-P]

Rodimus fought to get his words together, willing his mind to put together a response as he cleared and reset his vocalizer. “W-what?” He croaked out dumbly.

[Don’t worry about it.-P]

[Action input- Sensory stimulus reaction- Anterior node- 75%]

Rodimus’s back arched up off the table. An animalistic, glitching howl escaped his throat. His optics fritzed and went offline again, legs kicking and twitching. “O-OH- FRAG!” He shouted out, reaching to desperately paw at his panels. “G-GOD- Percey-!!” Rodimus’s hips bucked and jumped, chasing the phantom stimulation the only way he knew how as it drew him closer and closer to an edge.

[Action input- Sensory stimulus reaction- Valve calipers(All)- 80%]

“PERCEY-!”

[Action input- Sensory stimulus reaction- Spike- 50%]

His helm clanged against the worktable, half drowned out by the desperate wail he let out. “I’m- S-SLAG- Oh- Primus- Perceptor- I’m gonna-” Rodimus babbled, his voice glitching desperately.

He screamed in despair as the stimulus was ripped back from him. Perceptor canceled the codes, leaving Rodimus twitching and steaming with frustration.

“C-Come on- Perceptor-!! Please- frag- I was SO close!!” Rodimus cried, turning his helm to give the scientist his very best puppydog eyes. Perceptor simply reached out and disconnected his diagnostic cord from Rodimus’s neck port, biting back a cruel smile.

“I know, I can’t have you leaking all over my table.” He said curtly, opening a drawer and plucking out a fresh dataslug to plug into his pad. Rodimus watched his digits deftly working at the datapad, considering how a set of dextrous digits like that would be better served attending to his aching array. Rodimus swallowed dryly, rubbing his legs together.

After a brief moment of silence, Perceptor unplugged the dataslug and handed it to Rodimus. “There we are. This should suffice in bringing you as many overloads as your spark desires.” He said. “You’ll want to plug this into your interfacing ports rather than your diagnostics for the best effect.”

Rodimus sat up, hopping off the edge of the work table. “Thanks again… sorry for um… y’know.” He waved his servo implicatively.

Perceptor smiled. “Not to worry captain. I’d be happy to work in your processor again sometime.”

Rodimus didn’t like how that offer made him feel. “Cool.” He said, before turning and beginning to wander off out of the lab with his prize in hand.

Rodimus quivered, clamping a servo over his intake as the feelings wracked through his frame. It had taken him only as long as it took to return to his habsuite, close the door, and lay himself out on his berth to plug that dataslug into the port on the back of his helm. He’d half expected it to be a quick thrill, a program to get him off and be done with it.

He was endlessly thankful that it wasn’t.

Waves of intense sensation rolled down his frame, leaving Rodimus slick with coolant and rapt in intense pleasure. He could feel each sensation like someone was spiking him better than he’d ever felt before, calipers cycling and shifting in perfect rhythm, mimicking the intense feeling of being stretched. The tactile sensors on his spike lit up one after the other as if it were being stroked.

“Oohh- f-frag-” Rodimus moaned through his digits. Drool was slick on his dermas, steam creeping through his knuckles as the intensity slowly began to mount. Rodimus’s optics glitched and flickered. He’d have to consider plugging like this more often.

He keened as he finally felt the code engage his anterior node, his frame glitching with charge. Finally, finally, after days with no release- The code engaged all sensors at once, and Rodimus threw his helm back against the berth-

*CRUNCH!*

All the sensations stopped. Rodimus wheezed and panted, frantically glancing around. No- What- He reached a servo around to the back of his helm, pawing for the-

His digits came away clutching the smashed dataslug.

Rodimus wailed in anguish at his misfortune. He felt like he was going to weep, all hope of overload dashed at his pedes in seconds by his traitorous frame. Rodimus buried his face in his servos, screaming into his palms and kicking at the air in frustration.

Two cycles passed. Doubletap, Railspike, and Pincher got checked off Rodimus’s meetings list. Rodimus seethed each moment he spent in Ultra Magnus’ presence. He swore how pent up he was would trigger any latent outlier powers any day now, allowing him to really and truly burn holes in his plating with his hateful glare.

And what was worse, the longer he spent like this, the more desirable the other mech was to him. He had convinced himself that it was a matter of ‘taking Ultra Magnus down a few pegs’ when he fantasized about the other mech, however, it was hard to keep his mind from wandering, and his plating from heating, when he remembered who had been the cause of his torture.

It was when Rodimus caught himself pretending the spike in his mouth was Magnus’s and not Fervors during their one on one that he finally decided to swallow his pride and make the agonizing walk of shame back to the lab to beg for the scientists’ help again.

#my art #valveplug #transformers #my fic #rodimus/perceptor #rodimus #perceptor #mtmte #maccadam #/nsfw

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queen-breha-organa · 11 months

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I understand that it takes a lot of self awareness and effort, but I’m literally begging white fandom members to please, please examine themselves and their posts for internal bias and “casual” racism.

People of color are hyper aware of racism because it impacts every aspect of our lives, including our enjoyment of fandoms, and the very least you can do is be hyper vigilant in return, and watch out for this behavior in yourself and in your friends.

POC need to be vigilant as well about bias against other communities of color, but that’s not specifically what I’m talking about right now. I’m talking about how white fandom members often don’t notice racism in fandoms or posts or whatever, because it does not impact them. I want you to please notice. I want you to please be aware and examine yourself.

I am so tired of the constant and “casual” racial bias in fandoms. I’m so tired.

#Bad day #Okay to rb

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theharrowing · 5 months

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Fuck, you're killing me.

Yoongi finds a way to clone himself, so naturally his first instinct is to fuck himself.

🤍 Dollhouse Yoongi x Collateral Yoongi

🤍 word count: ≈ 1,660

🤍 crossover episode between fics, selfcest, sci-fi, slash, nsfw, 18+

🤍 warnings: top yoongi, bottom yoongi - but they switch. sci-fi stuff; smut (selfcest aka self incest; anal sex; teasing; begging; spitting; overstimulation; using spit as lube; rough fingering; absolutely no kissing lol); mention of past infidelity. (grey area of whether this counts as infidelity, but i think Dollhouse Jungkook will just wish he was here to see this all go down & otherwise not care.)

🤍 notes: ngl, this is straight up porn. i really speed into the situation so don't ask any questions ok??? just vibe. the sci-fi stuff is vague and alludes to Dollhouse and i use the word "clone" loosely bc i refuse to make this make logical sense!!! let it go in one eye and out the other and just enjoy the show. i guess there are some slight Dollhouse spoilers but just don't hang on too many "plot" details okay!!! in one eye, out the other!!!

🤍 written for the Harrow’s Holiday Cheer Event, requested by @park-jimin-isnt-real. 🎈 Jay, Jay, Jay. you really chose chaos on the day that you requested this fic, and for that i am grateful. i hope it makes all of your dreams come true!!! i adore you so much!!!

🤍 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🤍 posted jan. 2024

Of all the marvels of science that the Min family has participated in inventing and experimenting with, this one has to take the cake. It is not enough that his team has found a way to jump their consciousness into other people's bodies temporarily, or even permanently, but now he has somehow managed to actually clone himself.

Only, this clone is…different.

He is clearly not quite the same man staring back at him, and it almost seems as if this man has thoughts and understandings behind those cold, dark eyes. Yoongi half expected him to show up as a clean slate with no individual consciousness or memories.

Whereas Yoongi has recently cut his hair short and maintains an appearance of being much softer than his sharp inner demons, this clone has wild, long hair and eyes that pierce as they take him in—eyes that have clearly seen some shit.

Through the skin surrounding one of his pretty, angry eyes is even a deep gash that begins above his eyebrow and runs through his lid, down to the apple of his cheek. Yoongi leans close to check and see whether that eye is damaged at all from whatever has sliced it, and judging by its clarity and lack of disfiguration—and the way it glares back—he surmises it must not be.

"Who the fuck are you?" the clone grumbles, looking down as his nude body shackled upright to an exam table.

Yoongi grins. "Silly. I'm you!"

The clone sighs and glances around the examination room. "Whatever this is, please get it over with quickly. I have important matters to attend to. I need to get back home."

Now this is curious. Has Yoongi somehow managed to pull an alternate-reality version of himself into this current reality? Surely a simple clone would have no knowledge of any other life it leads…right? Fascinating.

"Tell me," Yoongi drawls, stepping up close to the alternate version of himself. "What is your name?"

The man stares for a moment, then grumbles, "Min Yoongi."

And although Yoongi knows the answer, it still delights him to no end to hear his own name come from the man's mouth.

"Min Yoongi," he parrots, voice nearly identical to the nearly identical stranger's voice. "Tell me…have you ever wanted to fuck yourself?

***

The way alternate Yoongi lays sprawled out on the mattress is heavenly to the point that Yoongi finds he has to pinch himself just to make sure this is not a dream. He is very much awake and very much experiencing reality.

The man shivers while Yoongi runs lube-sticky fingers over his nipples and down the curves of his torso. He huffs quick breaths from his pretty, kiss-swollen lips, eyes screwed closed while he adjusts to the girth of his own cock.

Everything down to tiny moles and knobby joints and the gravelly quality of his guest's voice is identical. Yoongi knows he should not enjoy this so much, but god, how could he help himself?

"You can move now," alternate Yoongi mutters somewhat desperately. "Please."

Yoongi gives him light pinches on his nipples and rolls them between his thumb and index finger. "Say please again," he softly commands.

Alternate Yoongi sighs and trembles as he attempts to create friction by digging his heels into the bed and moving his hips. Ordinarily, Yoongi would scold his bottoms for being so greedy, but he rather likes watching himself squirm.

"Please," his clone finally whimpers. He opens his pretty, angry eyes and does his best to plead with them. Breathtaking. "Please, Yo-Yoongi."

Yoongi grins and leans nice and close, pressing himself deeper into the man's tight, heavenly ass and making him sigh. "Say our name again."

He wonders what it must be like for the poor guy to look up and see himself towering over himself. He wonders whether that Yoongi would be into the idea of fucking him next.

"Yoongi," the pretty man mutters pathetically. "Please."

"You sound so pretty when you beg," Yoongi teases, leaning close enough to flick his tongue over the man's lips.

Alternate Yoongi sighs and jerks his head to the side. "For fucks sake," he grumbles. "Just fuck me already. Please."

"Awe," Yoongi mockingly coos. "Is pretty Yoongi embarrassed by how good his own cock feels?"

The man sighs once more and glares at him. This makes Yoongi laugh.

"No need to be ashamed, pretty Yoongi. I happen to love how tight and warm we feel."

"This is so depraved," the man complains despite grinding his hips down, desperate for movement.

With a hum, Yoongi sits up and says, "But you love it." He rubs his fingertips once more down alternate Yoongi's torso, then grips onto his hips as he adds, "I can tell."

"Please, Yoongi," the man begs as he digs his head into the pillow. "Please fuck me." He whimpers and writhes, and Yoongi cannot bite his tongue, eager to continue teasing the poor guy.

"Look at you, squirming under me, all flushed and pretty looking. Can’t even take a little teasing, can you?"

A deep, frustrated groan works its way from deep in the man's throat, but before he can voice anything more, Yoongi pulls his hips back and snaps them forward.

The sound that leaves alternate Yoongi's throat is pornographic and raspy—water crashing against a rocky shoreline. Despite having fucked his own body using someone else's as a host before, this feels different in a way that he struggles to comprehend.

Yoongi wastes no time setting a pace that punches the breath from the pretty man's lungs and has him begging to let him cum. If alternate Yoongi is as sensitive as he is, then it is no wonder he is an absolute fucking mess.

He holds onto the man's hips and pounds into him, doing his best to stave off the urge to bust for as long as possible and admiring the beauty before him. He now fully understands why his last conquest was so desperate to have him—to the point of destroying his own marriage. Poor bastard never stood a chance.

"Please," alternate Yoongi begs, gripping tightly to the pillow with his hands raised over his head while his long hair fans out and clings to his face from sweat.

Yoongi leans forward and collects enough saliva in his mouth to drop a sizable amount down onto the shaft of the man's cock. This makes him gasp and jolt, and Yoongi begins to gather even more spit, too amused not to do it again.

"Please, please," alternate Yoongi begs, voice broken and perfectly accentuating the firm, rhythmic slap of skin against skin. He even clenches his walls in what Yoongi imagines to be a desperate plea to urge him to do what he wants.

Yoongi is close, and he decides he may as well give in. He wants to watch himself come completely undone beneath him.

"Alright, alright," he says, lifting a hand from the man's hip to reach for his neglected cock. "I'll give my pretty Yoongi what he needs. I can't hold on much longer, anyway."

He grips onto alternate Yoongi's spit-slick cock and tugs, causing every muscle in the poor man's body to seemingly clench and shake.

"Fuck," alternate Yoongi rasps, body bowing from the bed. "Feels good. Please don't stop."

Yoongi feels hypnotized as he watches his hand stroke the man's length—as he watches his nearly identical match quake and sob the closer he gets. As the man's cock begins to pulsate, Yoongi feels himself climb closer and closer to the precipice of bliss.

With a desperate, broken sob, alternate Yoongi cums, shooting his release onto his chest while Yoongi continues to stroke him and fuck him nice and deep. The man's ass clenches tightly, squeezing and releasing in a rhythm not too unlike that of Yoongi's thrusts, and he absolutely fucking loses it.

"Shit," Yoongi spits, releasing the man's dick so he can anchor both hands against the mattress for stability. Alternate Yoongi continues to moan and squeeze, clearly drifting from pleasure to overstimulation, and the sight, sound, and feeling makes Yoongi's head spin.

"Fuck, you're killing me," he whispers hoarsely through clenched teeth as his own orgasm rushes over him. "I'm gonna cum, pretty Yoongi."

Yoongi's hips stutter and still, and he practically falls forward, emptying himself into a nearly identical version of himself who continues to babble incoherently and tremble.

This is what worship should feel like, Yoongi is certain of it. He racks his brain for anything that has come close to being this depraved and incredible—this absolutely fucking euphoric—and he finds he cannot top this experience. This is nirvana.

Yoongi collapses onto himself, burying his face into his guest's neck. His skin, his sweat, his hair, everything smells familiar, and Yoongi does his best not to slip into a state of sleep and comfort.

"Gimme a breather," Yoongi mutters through gasping breaths. "Then you can fuck me and I'll send you home."

Alternate Yoongi scoffs but does not seem too eager to get away.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he grumbles.

"Once in a lifetime opportunity," Yoongi says to sweeten the deal, grinning despite likely not being seen.

Silence hangs, then alternate Yoongi shifts, sliding out from underneath Yoongi and forcing Yoongi to roll onto his back with large, firm hands pressing against his shoulders.

"Alright," the man says, "but I'm going to be fucking rough. You seem like a sick little bastard who likes pain, so I am going to make it hurt."

Yoongi's heart soars, and he smiles widely at the pretty, nearly identical man with long hair and a curious scar. "Make me cry, Yoongi."

Alternate Yoongi towers over him and spreads his legs roughly, then spits onto his fingers and begins prodding at his rim. Yoongi moans unabashedly, instantly slipping into overwhelming pleasure-pain as the man roughly begins to finger him.

How the fuck will he explain this one to Jeongguk when he returns home?

WOW WHOO. that was a wild one. DID YOU HAVE FUN?!?!?! i miss Dollhouse Yoongi a lot! it's fun getting into his head just a little. and, of course, our hot mafia boss Yoongi really does love to beg, doesn't he??? .😈😈😈

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD IF THIS HELLSITE AND LIKES ARE SUPER APPRECIATED TOO!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag list: @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69 @giriiboyy @idkjustlovingbts @itsmina29 @mgthecat @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @spookyminyunki 🤍 want to be tagged in everything i write? or just my member x member content? send me a message!

🎈 check out more drabbles from the Harrow’s Holiday Cheer Event!

#yoongi smut #yoongi selfcest #yoongi x yoongi #fic: fuck you're killing me #fic: dollhouse #fic: collateral

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pastadoughie · 6 months

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i love when i tell people 2 think critically abt shit and then they make a response where they dont and are misinterpreting me and ignoring half the shit i said, and then i explain the issue again and my issues with theyr response and then they continue to misenterpret me and literally ignore entire paragraphs of my response, and act like im attacking them for giving like, the most polite critisism ever

"i love being able to mute posts" sorry that i reblogged you once and calmly explained my points im sure your notifs must be just such a mess, me saying my opinions is clearly attacking you, you being completely unwilling to engadge with my critisism of your ideas totally doesnt prove my point at all, me saying that people should engadge with experiences other then their own and that sexism is bad is me "projecting my damage onto others" and not just a normal opinion, you are always right by default and if somebody points out a flaw in your ideas thats because they are attacking you and you dont need to listen to that ever

listen, if someone is pointing out a way that sexism presents and you see yourself inhibiting those behaviors maybe your gut response shouldnt be to try and argue that that brand of sexism is reasonable actually

me saying that having a bias against men is misandry is not me "assuming everybody thinks the same way as me" that is the definition of misandry, that is WHAT THAT WORD MEANS!!! you having a different justification for misandry doesnt make it not misandry i am begging people on tumblr to learn what words mean

you acting like im attacking you and harrassing you for expressing an opinion in a polite way is just a way for you to justify throwing away my opinion and not self reflecting, that is not productive discourse, you do not care about bettering yourself as a person or examining your beliefs at all, you want to be "the correct one" in an arguement

its immature and stupid, you want to look like youre smart and better at reading comprehension then everybody else, and that you never believe anything wrong or bad but you lack any of those qualities, its trying to imitate the look of a debate without any of the critical thinking skills or reading comprehension

#the beast speaks #god forbid i say that sexism is bad and that you should work to be better as a person #retchid opinions

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questiontocertaintyofreality · 7 months

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Yes bsd is a great manga and anime with thought-provoking story and great characters with philosophical senses but they aren't equal with their real life selfess. The above-mentioned writers put their thoughts into writing for years despite mental illnesses, thought floods and depressions. Some of them wanted their ideas to be remembered, some of them had something they wanted to say, some of them wrote without caring about being read, some of them addressed the world, but there was always one person that they all touched. They deserve to remembered with their ideas and ideologies or at least stories. In Japanese literature, which bsd start with, almost everyone had an anonymous pen name, and the world of japanese literature developed with sources covered up and without archives. The spread of misinformation among fans of this anime, which has very few sources compared to derivative literature and mainly features real-life Japanese authors, has to stop or literarature will be ruined. No longer human is NOT an autobiography. These authors, novelists and poets AREN'T equal with their real-life selfess. Osamu Dazai liked to give his character pieces of his personality and branch out, but that doesn't make No Longer Human an autobiography. The motivations, goals and personalities of the writers are not exactly the same. Of course, when you look deeply, the obvious connections are woven in detail, but they are not exactly the same. When I typed Nikolai Gogol into Google, bsd Nikolai came up and I realized how dire the situation was. Nikolai Gogol deserve to remember as author and with books, stories, poems he write. I mean, if you say i like Nikolai Gogol and i am a fan of Nikolai Gogol, if you don't mention the anime cheracter i want to talk with you BOTH real life author and bsd or only real life. If you mention anime so it's okay lets talk but if you don't then no, you mention real life by mention only Nikolai Gogol you can't denial this. I want to kneel at Asagiri's feet and beg to him to write on manga and anime episodes "The characters in this manga have the same names as living authors and are inspired by them, but they are fictional characters and have no direct connection to the authors." So that fanlad can start to recognize the authors as authors. Now, for Osamu Dazai and Fyodor, it is said that the character in the book creates the anime character rather than the author's selfes. I read The Flowers of Buffoonery (the first story included No Longer Human's protoganist) and I can't reject this theory with certainty. So if we know characters in anime aren't their real life selfess we also understand theories. This is important. False information about writers should not be spread, of course, this does not mean that humor should not be made or shipped, we just need to be able to distinguish the difference. Even though we say Soukoku is literally canon, we must warn those who cite Osamu Dazai's book Memories as a source.

Books and authors life CAN use for characters motivation and connection because Asagiri literally did this. Memories book ia still important for age!15 manga and story just not for soukoku

Credit: @bungoustraydogs-tr

Yes, the real Osamu Dazai was bisexual, but this has no connection to the anime. Fyodor Dostoyevsky also expressed his respect for Nikolai Gogol and quoted and praised him at every opportunity. Moreover, if the author dynamics in Russian literature are examined, it is possible that the two had a sincere conversation. (No historian has given this assurance and there is no evidence just a possibilty) Does this make Fyolai canon? Osamu Dazai imperessed by Fyodor Dostyevski. Or is Dostoyevsky a terrorist? Gogol?

....We cannot make these people, who wrote to keep their thoughts alive, appear to be someone they are not.

Imagine Osamu Dazai's situation. You are finally in peace that you never reach then you turn in to world to see peoples who look at you with no knowledge of you..

I am grateful to @bsd-bibliophile to all literature sources they archive

And if you like these NEVER stop ranting about characters, ship them and make memes. They are us, our loves and beloveds. They are bsd characters. Just stop using books as a source of ships.

What can i say bsd have a universe which ink of each letter written changes the fate of the next page. There are so much more thing to wonder

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slashersidewhore · 2 years

Note

I am begging for Vincent Sinclair fluff. I just want to be held by him ahhh

Vincent Sinclair! HC Comforting his S/O

Vincent Sinclair x gn!reader

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort, soft Vincent, no y/n usage

It had been a long day, and quite frankly you were ready to just get into bed and let your mind be at peace. The day had started as it normally did, waking up beside Vincent, his soft snoring filling your ears. He didn’t sleep with his mask on, although he made it a habit of laying on his side so the scarred part of his face was obscured by one of the pillows. You’d softly curled your arms around his torso, pressing soft kisses to the back of his neck, ushering him gently awake.

Vincent normally wasn’t one for breakfast, he normally just went down to the basement after waking and waited until you would bring him lunch later. That’s of course when the first incident of the day happened. You had left the man to work in peace with a kiss on the cheek, allowing his space as you went off to the kitchen. Bo was there, sitting alone nursing a furrowed brow and cup of coffee. The two of you exchanged greetings, as you beelined for the fridge. Reaching for the eggs to start your breakfast off, your grip faltered, jumping back slightly when the whole carton hit the floor. Unfortunately Bo wasn’t exactly in the best mood, although he usually wasn’t. His mug hit the table, head eyes narrowing as you crouched to examine the eggs that in fact, had all been cracked and spilled all over the tile.

“Are you kidding right now? Produce ain’t cheap around these parts, and there you go wasting it.”

Now you and Bo weren’t unfriendly, in fact if it wasn’t for the man you’d never of met Vincent. But he did have a rough side, and a temper to match that often broke when even the slightest didn’t go his way. That was just the beginning of your day of mishaps though, it was as if the universe was against you. You had gone on to step on a rusty nail barefoot, the small, metal object embedded in your skin that was a pain to remove. Deciding to get some fresh air you’d gone to see Lester, who was more than happy to oblige your help with the road kill pit. That was until you’d accidentally fallen into the pile of fetted, rotten bodies of torn, bloated animal parts, your skin and clothing smelling of shit. Maybe you didn’t need any sun today.

After your run in with the pit, you thought a shower could do. Peeling off your dirty clothing, you were met with the unpleasant realization all the hot water had been used, leading you to shower beneath the pelting cold that gave you the chills. Washing up as fast as you could get clean, you went to remove yourself when your foot caught on something, falling back and slapping your nose against the wet, shower wall. The sting was dull, red streaks entering the drain as your face scrunched in pain.

That’s how you ended up here, hands shaking with self disappointment as you stare at the ground. All you’d wanted was to get Vincent, and curl up in bed, relax and get your mind off of the god awful day you had. But now you were forming a cold sweat, legs trembling and your cheeks grew red, eyes filling with unshed tears. The small, wax shards were scattered on the ground before you, the once in perfect little sculpture broken beyond repair. All you wanted to do was go to bed, and now you’d ruined a piece of Vincent’s art. As if anything couldn’t get any worse.

Warm drops met your cheek bones, tears rolling down one after another, constant and quiet against your silent sniffles. A gentle palm planted planted on your shoulder, swiftly turning your body around. Vincent stood before you now, hand still firmly on your shoulder as the one eye he had left was widened behind the hole in his mask. Your bleary gaze left his, ashamed and hating yourself as you looked to his wax covered, heavy black boots.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break it, honest.” Your voice was wavering and quiet, trying to contain sobs as you continued to avoid his gaze. You could see from the corner of your eye as he shifted to look over your shoulder, eyeing the sculpture in question you had apparently ruined. Rough in texture yet gentle in nature fingers lifted your chin, angling your face so you could see his sure to be angered reaction. Although he didn’t appear angered, in fact he seemed worried, his own arms trembling as you continued to sob.

Vincent was quick to pull you into his embrace, one hand on the small of your back, while the other cradled your head to his chest. You could feel the cool plate of his mask’s lips pressing into the crown of your head. You were confused as to why he wasn’t upset, although it wasn’t catching you that off guard considering Vincent had never been anything but kind to you. Circling your arms around his middle, you tugged the man as close as possible, ignoring the way your snot was surely getting on his sweater collar.

“Aren’t you mad at me?” Vincent could care less about the now shattered art, if it was anyone else he would’ve lost his temper, but it wasn’t just anyone. Your sweet voice filled his ears, the soft sniffles you released every few seconds was slowly breaking his heart, now consumed by the need to make things right. Hell, you could knock over the most precious, time consuming sculpture he’s ever made, and he’d forgive you. At your words, the man shook his head, trying to convey without words how he truly felt.

He was a few inches from your face, eye shining with something as he gazed upon your face. With a free hand, he pointed to himself, then you, and shook his head. Your brows furrowed momentarily, head tilting ever so slightly.

“You and I?” He shook his head a firm no, pointing once again but this time at the shattered object on the floor as well, “You’re not mad at me.” You sighed as he nodded in agreement to what you said. You fell forehead first into his chest, nudging his jaw with the bridge of your nose. The silence was broken by a raspy, unpracticed, southern drawl of a voice, quiet yet at the same time all consuming in a way that tightened your chest.

“Could never be mad at you.”

Hope who requested this liked it!

As always requests are open to smut, angst and fluff

#vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #house of wax #Vincent sinclair fanfic #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair fluff #slasher x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher #slashers fanfic #slasher x s/o #slashers #slashers x reader insert #slasher requests #slashers fanfiction #house of wax vincent

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kittykatkatelol2 · 11 months

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"Scars" Jegulus Oneshot

Prompt by @jegulus-microfic (prompt: scars)

Warnings: self harming, sh scars, blood

"Regulus, I need you to open the door,"

Silence.

"Reg, please open the door,"

Still no response.

James had been pleading with Regulus - more like Regulus's door - for nearly thirty minutes for him to open the door; growing more and more desperate.

"Reggie.. please.. open the door. I am worried about you. Please love, open the door."

Nothing still.

James had had enough, he whispered "Alohomora" and carefully opened the door.

He held his breath, scared of what he might find.

James then saw what he had been looking for: his dear Reggie.

Sitting on his bed, eyes red from tears presumably for his face was wet, staring off into space, seemingly unaware of James's entrance.

Then he noticed, it.

Blood running down the length of Regulus's forearm, cuts lacing on top of old scars.

A small blade held in Regulus's other hand.

James said nothing, just carefully walked over to the bathroom to fetch some bandages and returned a few minutes later, very softly walking over to Regulus who still sat and stared into nothing, his mind a thousand miles away from here.

"Hey.. Reggie.." James whispered as he kneeled in front of Regulus.

Regulus says nothing.

James, very hesitantly, took Regulus's bleeding arm in his hand and examined the bleeding cuts.

Regulus says and does nothing.

Almost as if he was a statue.

This was worse than having Regulus be screaming at James, in James's option.

James carefully wrapped Regulus's arm up, and took the blade away from Regulus.

"Regulus, hey, hello? Are you there..? Please say something for me baby.. please.." James begged in a whisper, looking into Regulus's unfocused eyes.

Very slowly Regulus's eyes focused, locking onto James's.

"... I am so sorry.." Was all Regulus says, his voice quiet as a mouse's a breaking, before he broke the eye contact and stared at the ground, tears welling in his eyes once more.

"No, no, no.. nothing to be sorry for, Reggie.. I love you so much, we'll talk about this later.. Right now, all that matters is that you are still here, and still alive. I got you. Come here, sweetheart.."

Regulus didn't have the energy nor the will to tell James to never call him 'sweetheart' right now.

He just crawled into James's arms and wrapped himself tightly around James, never wanting to let go.

James felt his shirt become wet as Regulus buried his face in the crook of James's neck; but he didn't care.

James just held his star as he wept.

. . .

James made sure Regulus went to Madam Pomfrey after dinner to make sure Regulus's arm didn't get infected.

And James, sure as fuck, would always kiss those scars the minute he could; wanting nothing more than to make sure that, even with his scars and battles, he was still loved by James if no one else, and was still beautiful.

[Word count: 455]

#jegulus #jegulus microfic #james x regulus #regulus x james #regulus black #james potter #jegulus fic

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moxiebustion · 2 months

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I'm not even remotely religious in any way, but I am begging people who are going to write about a character going into a monastery/nunnery whatever to please, please, please read some of the Cadfael Chronicles before you cast an entire population of people as fire-and-brimstone, self-mutilating, repressed, fanatical zealots.

For the uninitiated, the Cadfael Chronicles was a long series of medieval-set (specifically set in the 12th century) murder mysteries where the gumshoe role is taken by a monk who is well into middle age, a skilled herbalist and a former soldier and sailor who joined the Order late in his life (which for one, did happen!).

Now, there are some dated things about the writing that bears some examining; Ellis Peters (psued for Edith Pargeter) first started writing then in the late seventies (the last book was published 1994, a year before her death), and while she was a fantastic amateur self-taught scholar (she was so good she got an honorary degree from Birmingham University, having never even been to any higher education than high school) she is writing about the time of the Crusades and the Crusaders who invaded Jerusalem and she doesn't really delve that deep into the implications of her characters being involved in that, even though the characters are portrayed as the good guys, especially the titular one. But it's very possible most of the scholarship she had available for research at the time was all Western perspectives, which, you know, history is written by the winners, etc. She has a writers bias towards her protagonist, so of course he is framed fairly glowingly, though not without flaw.

But whether she had a view on the moral implications of the Crusades or not, the way she wrote medieval Britain and medieval Wales is absolutely textually fascinating because she doesn't flinch away from the fact that yes, Britain at this time was a feudal serfdom with slaves included, and was hard on marginalized people, chock full of patriarchy that did affect the lives of her female characters or that the Church was a big landowner themselves, and there was plenty of political tension and violence due to an ongoing civil war, but nonetheless the town the Chronicles are set in and the monastery where Cadfael lives is portrayed as a community.

Seriously. They don't just pray and whip themselves for 'bad thoughts'. The monks can be funny, snarky, and shy, and ambitious. They can be irreverent - yes, even about God, that thing that they are meant to be the most reverent about. They can have petty rivalries, they can annoy one another, even the Abbot, and not be sent for a backbreaking penance. They aren't thumping on bibles and telling people that if they don't make the cut that they're going to burn in hell.

They care. They take care of the children left in their charge, whether they're rich scions there to get an education or some poor thing left on their doorstep. One monk, in charge of the children, expresses real and genuine concern over a new novice that is having horrific dreams, worried that he has suffered a tremendous hidden trauma (he's right) and they're all concerned about what they can do to help him. A pair of teenagers literally fuck on one of the altars and the reaction from Cadfael is rueful amusement at young people's folly, not disgust or anger. They collect alms for the poor, redistribute everything given to them to help people survive. They crack jokes and show each other kindness and...

... look, I'm not saying that there weren't and still aren't zealots in religion. No religion is really innocent of that. And yeah, those zealots have done some pretty heinous things when they're put in charge - see Witch Burnings, Various Inquisitions, Crusades, Terrorism, etc. But I do wish writers wouldn't write about religious life like everyone who ever entered it was either a complete bag of bible-thumping assholes or just miserable all the time.

For one thing, that's really boring. Religion is a way we can tell stories about the complex reality we live in and the rules we think are important when dealing with other people. To reduce all that potential down to Miserable, Repressed, Self-Harming, Witch Hunting Jerks is intellectually lazy at best.

For another thing, you are losing the opportunity to portray a fundamentally queer experience. I don't mean they were all fucking (although some of the proscriptions that they felt the need to write down would rise your eyebrows - hand holding was apparently banned at one point); I meant that this was a group of people that took themselves out of the amatonormative status quo entirely and dedicated themselves to something that wasn't marriage, children, mercantile endeavors or anything 'normal' like that. That was, at the very least, a queer experience with clear queerplatonic overtones (not to mention, there were FTM trans monks that literally went on to sainthood, chosen gender kept intact).

And also? It just isn't historically accurate. Plenty of men and women actively chose a life outside the norm because they wanted to serve god and the community. They're just a group of people, all living together, making space for one another, all trying to serve people in whatever way they can. These people were less raging witch-burners and more Jedi without the lightsaber.

In the Cadfael books, they have brushes with zealots and they're reviled as bad guys every time. One (in the very first book) more or less fakes a whole-ass vision to manipulate the order to go to Wales and try and acquire a Welsh saint's bones and ends up doing even worse things because he believes he is destined for greatness and will get it by whatever means necessary. The head of the mission (who edges close to zealot territory himself and fully buys into the con for his own benefit) tries to buy the saints relics and causes a massive diplomatic incident as a result of this insult that makes him look like an idiot.

The other zealot that gives them trouble is a priest appointed to run the church. This man is as big a bible thumping, hellfire and brimstone dickhead as you might always picture a medieval priest to be and he is uniformly despised by both the monks and the township at large because his zealotry and strict adherence to only the letter of religious law and nothing else actively harms the community.

He's so hated, in fact, that when he (spoilers) dies, the reactions of all and sundry is mostly just relief that he's gone.

The Catholic Church has a lot of sins that it forgets more than it reckons with, but that doesn't mean that life in a monastery was all hair shirts and self-mortification, every abbot a little dictator. People have lived just fine in small communes for a lot of human history and they didn't all have small-minded tyrants continually cracking the whip. Most of them didn't.

I know it's an easy shaft to mine angst from, shoving people into an oppressive environment that they must either endure or overcome. And yes, the way we write about religion is sometimes a product of working through a complicated and traumatic relationship with it. I'm not trying to say any writer can't or shouldn't write that because your art is always supposed to be about putting parts of yourself out there, about telling the world a story about how you see it; and if you're working through something, if you need to tell a story about the scars that zealotry absolutely have and do leave, go for it, more power to you. That's a story that should and must be told.

But if your character is going into a monastery, try to remember that humans are social creatures. We make friends more than we make enemies. Even under intense tyranny, we make allegiances and form bonds and find ways to make the world were in a little bit more bearable wherever we can. And we tend to show each other compassion and mercy, even when we don't always like each other. It's true today, and it was true then too.

Monastic life was a queer experience that happened right under the noses of the dominant power structures for centuries. I think there's a story or two to be mined from that as well.

#writing #worldbuilding #character building #medieval history #religion #nicolo di genova #the old guard #brother cadfael #ellis peters #queerness #m #monasticism #monastic life

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