#I guess I just read more + keep going to harder things until they start to make sense

[nerdyqueerandjewish]

I’m at an awkward point in my Jewish learning where it’s like. I take classes / go to things accessible to beginners and I end up bored. I take classes / go to things not accessible to beginners and end up lost.

[themultifanshipper]

Do you think you could do something like this

https://www.tumblr.com/themultifanshipper/759431110157631488/quiet-innocent-reader-x-lando-like-lando-finds

Maybe with Oscar ( love your writing)

If Oscar had to describe your sex life in one word : Vanilla.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that! God knows how much the two of you enjoyed the sex you had. You weren’t very experienced when you met Oscar, and you were quite a shy person.

Which is why Oscar was so shocked when he found what appeared to be a list of your kinks just sitting there when he got up to make his morning coffee.

Fun fact, this request was sent over a month ago, and i only have a couple more to do before i can get to my own stuff lmao

Warnings: innocent reader, Smut, PinV sex, rough sex, dirty talk, mention of lots of kinks n stuff

Part 2

He hadn’t meant to get a glimpse into the inner workings of your sexual psyche, but really, who leaves something like that on the kitchen counter???

As he read it over and over again, his cock twitched in interest and got progressively harder until he put it down, the words seared onto his brain forever.

He tried to have a cold shower but just ended up jerking off furiously to completion imagining doing all the things from your list.

But as soon as he got out of the shower and dried off, he realized he was still achingly hard. He decided to put on a pair of his loosest joggers and go about his day while he waited for you to come back from work.

It wasn’t easy, but he managed to answer a whole two emails, internally debating the moral implications of communicating with his bosses while sporting an erection.

Then he jerked off again.

It did take the edge off for a bit, but every time he thought about it during the day he couldn’t help but fist his cock at the thought of all your filthy fantasies.

When you got home, you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, and you did your usual routine: shower, skincare, dinner with a glass of wine, followed by watching something with Oscar, the two of you huddled up together on the couch.

That’s when you started noticing Oscar’s behaviour.

It was very subtle, but you could tell he wasn’t at all focused on the movie, periodically fidgeting around uncharacteristically. Oscar was usually very settled, and tonight it was like he couldn’t keep still for more than 30 seconds. You also noticed his breathing was irregular, often getting shallower as he fidgeted.

Oscar couldn’t care less about what was happening on the screen, his brain was focused on the same thing it had been all day, that damn list.

And he’d been hard all day, which certainly didn’t help his internal crisis.

“Oscar” you sighed, pausing the movie “Talk to me, tell me what’s going on with you tonight”

“Nothing’s wrong, why would there be something wrong?” his mouth said, but his flushed cheeks were proof that he was hiding something.

If looks could kill, the one you gave him would have certainly done the trick.

“I… full honesty?” he asked quietly.

You nodded “Full honesty”

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Okay, but you can’t get mad at me”

You narrowed your eyes at him “That’s not a promise I can make, but I’ll do my best”

He bit his lip before taking your hands in his.

“I uh… I found your list”

You just stared at him. “What list?”

“This one…” he took the piece of paper out of his pocket where it had been burning a metaphorical hole in his hip ever since he’d found it.

He handed it to you, but you didn’t need to unfold it to know what it was. I was a bright pink piece of paper that had been ripped out of your diary the night before.

You completely froze, panic overtaking you.

“Oh my god. Oscar…” You couldn’t look him in the eyes as you tried to explain “you weren’t meant to find that I’m so sorry! I was going to throw it away this morning and I guess I put it down and completely forgot about it. Fuck- please don’t think I’m weird or whatever and just forget about it, okay? Please?”

You put your head in your hands and whined in distress. This couldn’t be happening. Your loving boyfriend had just learned about your depraved fantasies, and he was never going to see you the same way again.

“I can’t forget about it baby, I spent the entire day jerking off about it”

You head snapped up to finally look into his eyes, your jaw hanging in disbelief. You could tell he was dead serious and your gaze slowly trailed downwards towards his pants, where you could tell he was hard, then back up to his face to find him biting his lip so hard it was turning white.

“you-  what?”

“Sweetheart, I got so hard when I read it, I almost got in my car to come and get you from work. I want to do every thing on that list with you” he leaned closer to you and whispered “Every. Single. Thing.”

His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer to him, lips coming to brush against your neck. “especially number 3…”

You glanced at the list, seeing what he was referring to and gasped.

“Oscar!”

He chuckled into the crook of your neck.

“Who knew you were so dirty, hmm? Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“I- I didn’t know how to ask” you stuttered as he nipped at the skin of your shoulder.

“That right? Well ask me now, then” he said and you frowned in confusion.

“What?”

“Ask me. Go down the list, and ask me to do those things to you…”

His lips trailed down your body and his hands pushed you to lay down on the sofa as you spluttered in confusion. “I don’t- what?”

“What’s the first thing on the list?” he asked, he knew of course, but he needed to hear you say it.

You blushed, checking the list.

“Choking…”

“Then ask me to choke you”

You shuddered as his mouth continued downwards and his hands spread your legs, one of them pushing your flimsy pyjama shorts to the side to expose you to him.

“Oscar what-“

“I want to see how wet you get just from saying it, go on then.” He ordered and you keened as a finger dipped through your barely moist folds.

“I want you… to uhm” your blush deepened and Oscar smiled at you condescendingly.

“Go on baby, you can do it”

You gulped.

“I want you to choke me” you squeezed your eyes shut at the admission, but Oscar was having none of it.

“Now fucking look at me and ask me again”

You gasped and your eyes flew open to look at him.

“I want you to choke me!”

“Good girl” he stroked your thigh “Next thing?”

You glanced at the list still clutched tightly in you hands.

“Spanking.”

Oscar cocked his head to the side. “What about spanking?”

Your jaw clenched, the fucker knew how to get what he wanted.

“I want you to spank me”

He smiled and nodded for you to continue.

“I want you to fuck me over the balcony for everyone to see” you said, and Oscar’s pupils dilated as he used his fingers to spread you open for him.

“Yeah? Want everyone to see how fucking filthy you actually are?” You whined as his thumb came to dip inside you briefly before rubbing it in slow circles over your clit.

“I want you to degrade and praise me…”

He felt like he was barely holding on to his sanity at this point.

“That’s so hot, fuck.” He palmed himself through his sweats “You want to be my good girl yeah? Want to be my good little slut? Only thing you’re good for anyway…”

You whimpered, his words making your whole body heat up, and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I want you to fuck my mouth”

He had to grip himself through his pants to ground himself, your words having an enormous effect on his composure.

Where had his sweet little innocent girlfriend gone?

“I’ll fuck your mouth baby, make you fucking drool for it, god you’d look so pretty taking me down your throat”

You were definitely wet now, and he took the liberty of sliding a finger inside you and hooking it upwards just to watch you squirm as he rubbed that special spot inside you.

“I want you to tie me up and force me to take it” you said breathlessly.

The noise he let out at that was animalistic as his wide eyes found yours and his jaw went slack as he pulled his pants down just enough to get a hand around himself.

“You have no idea how hot you’d look all tied up and helpless under me baby, it’s making me so hard just thinking about it..”

You moaned as he added a second finger inside you.

“I want, fuck- I want you to use me, and fill me up with your cum whenever you want”

“Shit.” He hissed “Fuck baby, I’m going to fill you up so good, you'll see…”

“Please”

You hadn’t realised how close you were getting, but Oscar’s expert fingers were making you delirious as you continued.

“I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t walk, want to cry from how good you feel inside me, wanna beg for your cock”

Oscar growled and pulled his fingers out.

“Then beg”

He settled over you, putting his weight on you, his dick resting against your folds as he panted into your mouth.

“Beg for my cock, slut”

You were so fucking turned on. Dominant Oscar was something new, but so, so incredibly hot you would have done absolutely anything to have him inside you at that moment.

“Please, please Osc, I need it. I need your cock so bad, please!”

He growled and slid in to the hilt without warning, making you moan into the heated kiss he was currently giving you to distract you. He was thick and the stretch was delicious as his cock dragged along your walls, making you see stars.

He started a deep, hard pace and his hips slapped against yours, obscene sounds filling the room.

“Fuck baby, so fucking wet for me. This what you wanted all along? For me to fucking ruin you on my cock?”

“Yes, Oscar, fuck!”

He chuckled darkly.

“That’s a good girl, so fucking tight, You’re getting close aren’t you? I can sweet your sweet pussy clenching around me, trying to keep me inside...”

He gripped your hips harder and angled his thrusts upwards, nailing your g-spot, and you were a goner. White spots danced in your vision as the pleasure overcame you, cunt spasming around Oscar.

“Perfect, perfect cunt. And it’s all fucking mine” he growled as he finally spilled inside you, filling you to the brim and forcing a pathetic whimper out of you at the new feeling.

Oscar had never come inside you before, and it was insanely hot. The feeling of your slick, hot walls pulsing around him was pure heaven and he couldn’t wait to test everything on that list.

After you’d regained your breath, you chuckled silently to yourself while stroking Oscar's back.

If this is what you got for leaving your list out, maybe you should tell Oscar about your box of toys in the in the back of your closet…

[foone]

Your best guess is that you've been in this time loop for something north of 15 years. You've lived that day, April 9th, 1997, something like 6000 times. You think... The second most ironic thing about being in this time loop* is that you have ADHD, and time blindness has always been something you've suffered with.

The time loop hasn't helped. You'll really get into a book, and don't look up from it until it's yesterday. Or, earlier today? Or tomorrow, it's all the same day. You wake up in your bed at 8:27, having slept through your alarm, no matter what happens. You've had plenty of time to do all the classic time loop things: told everyone (they forget the next day), kissed everyone (a surprising number of people turn out to be up for itl), tried to run (you made it all the way to Memphis one day, but it didn't make any difference), tried to make everything perfect and right (harder than you'd think, and there's nothing obvious that needs fixing), and gotten yourself exploded and shot and run over. You even made it into orbit once, NASA still swearing at you on the radio the whole way up. You've robbed all the local banks, kidnapped the mayor, and stolen half the stuff in the town, just to see what people have. Why not? It's hard to have a sense of morality when there are no repercussions to any actions, at least none that last more than 24 hours.

You convinced a scientist to shoot neutrinos at you once, thanks to something you'd read in a book on time. Didn't seem to make any difference, though you could swear the next day felt different, in some hard to define way.

You've gotten into a rhythm of starting each day and just walking out your front door, to visit a different place in the city, and knock on their door. If they're home, you ask questions, then use the answers next time to get further. If not, you let yourself in and see what their house looks like from the inside.

Even their shocking crimes no longer can shock you. Mr. Stevens is a burgler, Jenny J. is halfway through murdering her husband, Alex over on 5th street has a basement full of photos they shouldn't have, and more neighbors than you'd think are cooking meth or growing cannabis in their little backyard sheds or closets.

You can go to the police, you can confront them, you can explose them, or you can get a weapon and go all vigilante on them... It doesn't matter in the long run (and for you, the long run is very short indeed). They'll be fine the next morning, back at it again like nothing happened.

You wake up that same Wednesday morning, put on some clothes, and walk out the door. You got into a gimmick of crossing the road with your eyes closed: you know where the cars are, and if you keep the same pace, they definitely won't hit you. Besides, if you do, you wake up back in your bed. Big woop.

But you don't make it to the road this time. You trip, falling on the hard concrete of the sidewalk. What the hell? Your arms ache from catching yourself, and you have to suppress the time-looper instinct of "I hurt. Restart the loop!",at least until you figure out what happened.

You look back and there's a sneaker sitting on the sidewalk. A perfectly normal shoe, just a little skuffed up. A bit down the sidewalk, there's another, the other foot presumably.

You have a moment of equal parts panic and elation. You're out of the loop? You're out of the loop! This might be Thursday.

You gather yourself from the sidewalk and run back up the path to your door. You open the newspaper... April 9th. This is still the same day. You look back at the road, seeing the patterns of crossing cars you've seen thousands of times before. You listen, and your neighborhood sounds right. You can hear Timothy down the road yelling about baseball, so it's not 9:14 yet.

This isn't a new day. This is the day. This is your day. So why is something different? What, a partial time loop? And almost time loop? Most things are the same, but not all? It makes no sense.

You hear yelling down the road. You jog towards it, as an out of place sound just doesn't happen in your day. Around the corner there's a police officer shouting at a woman who is rapidly disrobing and flinging her discarded clothes at the officer, who is shouting at her and his radio. So far, she seems to be winning, but she's about out of linen ammunition.

You realize you don't recognize her. She's not one of the people you know, and you know everyone. She's someone new, the very anthesis of what a time loop is about. That, combined with recognizing that charicatistic disdain for consequences makes you gasp. My God... She's another time looper. She's done this day before, and it's just repeated, and now she's doing everything to see what happens. You're not alone in this crowded city anymore! You run towards her, eager to introduce yourself.

* Themost ironic thing about being in this time loop is that every copy of Groundhog Day at your local Blockbuster is checked out.

[kremlin]

@wikwalker hi sure yes anything to give me an excuse to procrastinate the post i should be writing right now. here are all teh drugs and how to manage them. you can trust me, a drug addict

first of all: https://www.erowid.org/ , erowid always

don't be afraid of drugs, if they're the right drugs, you should do them since they will be a blast regardless and overcoming fear is also good (but outside the scope here)

OK to do as much as you want: alcohol - social benefit greatly outweighs health effects, no reason to avoid if predisposed to abuse since that'll happen sooner or later. what can i say? don't be a fucking dork. when you start drinking, really overdo it as much as possible without dying and get a few real nasty hangovers under your belt so you know how much is the right amount to drink.

weed - innocuous enough to be fine but will make you stupid in the long term. make sure to only buy from a real drug dealer and never some legal institution. cut it out when you're a "real adult". don't smoke weed and watch TV routinely, go out and do things so you naturally grow to hate it. good to go through this as early as possible to minimize the time you spend as a cringe weed enthusiast

i guess those are the only two.

ok to do infrequently (annually): "lsd" - or whatever it is, probably not lsd, blah blah blah, if it works and is sold on blotter its fine and won't make you go nuts or whatever. opt for a better psychadelic imo. see psych rule at bottom of section

mushrooms - better than acid since you know what they are. rule of thumb is to always do more than you think you want. minimum 1/8oz. see psych rule at bottom of post

dmt - if you somehow have a dmt hookup you don't need to be reading any of this. lasts 10 minutes which leads to tendency to way overdo it, don't do this, my favorite webcomic artist is permanently crazy from exactly that. using a crack pipe is also not the uhhhh most dignifying-feeling thing to do either. it's harder than you think.

mdma - for use at electronic music event or rave. overuse causes brain lesions or something.

coke - wait until you're in your 20s, have maxed out your roth IRA for a couple of years in a row, and havent missed a car payment in a similar timeframe. better still if you've worked a very shitty low paying job and know the value of a dollar. if you still find yourself buying candy you're not ready. too expensive to be worth it to get hooked on. know that you are VERY ANNOYING to anyone who also isn't high. don't fuck around with the guy selling it to you. avoid discussing or thinking about business ideas. you can't afford to make it a habit + kinda turns you into a piece of shit after a while, but at least a very interesting one

ketamine - another sick drug that rules, but save it for a special occasion. don't try and go into the k-hole your first time

rule for psychedelics - you get one good strong trip a year and that's it, make it count, always opt for doing a bit more than a bit less. but don't make it a habit, otherwise you turn into a very stupid very annoying "hippy" style cliché and believe in ghosts, aliens, crap like that.

ok to try once prescription opiates/benzodiazepine (xanax), valium, this kind of shit - worth trying so you can go "holy shit, this stuff is way way way too good to ever use responsibly" and then never do again. especially if you're white. for some reason we just can't handle this shit. if a doctor prescribes it to you, idk, that's your call to make.

ayhuasca - this is just dmt in a different form. do some other psychadelics a number of times before you do this. once you realize the whole "substantial visual hallucinations" thing is made up, its time. do exactly this: -buy root online (legal). receive box of dirt -boil dirt into "tea" (read erowid for exact recipe) -take over-the-counter anti nausea medicine or anything that will give you a stronger stomach -drink tea (its nasty as fuck, get it down quick) -have someone bigger than you keep an eye on you for the next five hours. -have the experience, which is absurdly intense, has no bearing to the real world, etc etc. don't be a bitch and throw up, if you do it'll only last an hour or so. again there is no way to provide a consistent description of the experience except that you will meet god. you only ever need to do this once and never again. trust me

peyote/salvia/etc - try em if you want, you'll never ever want to again afterwords. these are drugs for idiot teenagers too lame to get real drugs. imagine being very very sick from poison and utterly terrified at the same time. No good

whippets/nitrous oxide - just find a dentist that uses it and don't bother creating hundreds of pounds of trash on your floor for this crap that lasts ten seconds. you have to understand the extremely short timeframe coupled with the cost makes zero sense. go to a phish concert parking lot and do some people watching -- you do not want to be these people. only use is as a motivator to get routine dental exam. also if you somehow manage to make it a heavy habit your fucking legs stop working, no shit, but they start working again once you quit.

don't ever do heroin/meth/pcp - is is truly a mystery why you should never do these 🙄

synthetic weed/k2/shit from the gas station - it is so funny that they sell this as "weed that won't pop you on a drug test". its not weed. it is some dubious chemical sprayed on yard waste. smoke it to have a terrible time and go nuts. only buy drugs from legitimate drug dealers!

kratom - anyone's guess as to why this is legal but it's heroin for pussies. its still heroin

dxm/cough syrup - do you ever wonder why it is exclusively teenagers robotripping? it's because it sucks ass. is like a cheesegrater on your brain in terms of health effects with repeated usage. you're better than this king

inhalants - these are at the bottom of the list for a reason. do not huff gas. don't huff paint. do not consume computer duster. not fun + fastest way to make yourself a complete, uh, (word i can't say anymore) and then dead

not listed quaaludes- unavailable due to no longer being manufactured. these ruled apparantly

sincis2c - unavailable due to not existing, i just made this up

amphetamines - cannot provide objective take here. they're my albatross, lifelong (posted 4:55am natch)

[narafeedee]

Do you think you could talk more about what happened during those five weeks where you gained 50 lbs? I can only imagine that it was a mixture of amazing and annoying to grow so rapidly, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on it!!

sure!

before i start i have to preface with some warnings; this gets pretty detailed and graphic regarding some of the health issues i had at the time. do not read if you are not okay with that please.

i was in a weird spot at the time; my husband had left me a couple months before all of this and i was exploring myself and who i was now that my marriage was over. a large contributing factor to that separation was feedism; my sexual needs just were not met with someone who wasn’t into it.

it started early in the week of Thanksgiving, Tuesday 11/20/18. i met a feeder online four years prior who had gotten me from just above 200lbs to 300lbs slowly but steadily. to this day the best feeder i’ve ever met, sincerely considerate and never once crossed any boundaries.

he came to me with a proposition the weekend prior; gain from 300lb to 350lb by the end of the year and i will fund it.

say less.

that Tuesday was the first time i ever video called with another feedist; it wasn’t the feeder that proposed and funded this challenge, instead it was a guy that pushed me to eat until i threw it all back up because he’s really into emetophilia, i didn’t really know the limits of my stomach so i let him.

however, that evening launched me into the most insane five weeks of my life.

when i woke up Wednesday morning i was somehow starving; despite not keeping anything down the night prior my stomach had still stretched out considerably. that on top of how insanely horny i was at the thought of packing on 50lbs by new years i spent the entire day shoveling in as much food as humanly possible. i didn’t count calories that day, just pushed myself to the absolute limit.

when i woke up Thursday i was impossibly hungry and ready to do it all again. i did the same thing as before, just as much food as humanly possible all day; i distinctly remember dinner being a large pizza, garlic knots, specialty chicken, lava cakes, and a 2 liter of soda from Domino’s.

when i woke up Friday i had a goal; 10,000 calories a day until the ball drops.

and that is exactly what i did.

every morning i would wake up and drink a pint of heavy cream for an easy 1600 calories to start the day right. i would swing by McDonald’s on my way to work and get two McGriddles and a large iced coffee. i’d get to work and have a blender bottle on my desk also full of heavy cream and sometimes condensed milk, i would either drink straight from it or add it to cups of coffee from the break room.

at lunch i would always order with my coworkers to have something delivered… but i would also leave on my lunch break and go back to McDonald’s for 4 McChickens and a large diet coke. then come back to the office and eat the lunch i had ordered with my coworkers.

after work i would swing through another drive thru, often McDonald’s once again. I’d get a couple sandwiches but nothing crazy, just a light snack to hold me over til dinner.

i would order massive feasts for delivery from Domino’s or I’d go back out after dark and order enough food for a family of 4. you guessed it, usually from McDonald’s.

to finish my night, i would drink another pint of heavy cream. totaling 3200 calories of straight fat every single day.

the weight piled on rapidly; new stretchmarks were appearing daily.

this is where i should put a disclaimer. this is all 100% true, every single detail is lived experience. i know it sounds insane. it was. i have literal scars to prove it. one feedist saw me do it live and in person, in the flesh, i believe he follows me on here so if you’re reading this G, please corroborate.

i gained 10lbs a week through the end of the year. i was cumming harder than i ever had before. my entire life was consumed by food and gaining.

i did not have a bed to sleep in at the time; there were some other issues i was dealing with that made it so i had to sleep in a recliner in my living room.

because i was gaining so rapidly and sleeping with my legs below my heart, i developed extremely bad edema. my legs were so swollen they started to weep a clear liquid; i would put on a pair of leggings and they would be soaked from the knee down before i even left the house. my shoes were soaked. i developed ulcers on my shins that just would not heal, the skin almost looked necrotic but they would just weep all day every day with no relief and stick to anything i tried to wear.

mid-December i was bursting out of my clothes. most of the weight i gained went straight to my belly. i went on a little shopping spree at Torrid and had to buy all 5’s and 6’s for the first time.

my mobility suffered at this point as well. i couldn’t do much of anything without getting red-faced and winded within a minute of moving. i had a step tracker at the time and was only walking about 200 steps a day, literally the bare minimum for me to go to work and come home.

i had no time for my body to adjust to the weight so i developed a heavy waddle. my back absolutely killed me.

i swear some days i woke up actually feeling fatter and looking fatter. it was the absolute hottest thing i have ever done and probably ever will do. i started at about 303lbs and landed at 357lb on New Year’s day. my gains didn’t actually slow down til i was in the mid 360s despite my efforts to pump the brakes.

would i do it again? absolutely not. i was in excruciating pain and the ulcers on my legs did not stop for an entire year (after i gained another 50lbs in an 8 week period but we ain’t talking about that [even tho i still have all the content i made from that gain lol])

but if i went back in time i would not change a thing except better leg elevation and compression. i do not regret it for a second; it’s what shaped me as a feedist and i’m grateful i was able to do it, i don’t have pics from when it was really bad but the scars i have today are still evident.

so yeah! that’s the story! sorry it’s super rambling, i sincerely hope it was coherent, now i gotta go clean my toys so i can take care of myself cause lord 🥵 thems some intense memories, my only regret is i deleted 99% of the pics and videos i took at that time.

here’s a couple more pics; one is my cart at the grocery in early December, the other is a screenshot of the weight gain calculator i used from the same week when i realized i didn’t have to eat 10k a day, i could make it happen with 7k a day but the former sounded much better (read: hotter) to me

[jolalibrary]

v. call me at night

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut. cunnilingus. p in v (mention). fingering (self-pleasure). praise kink. phone sex - frankie talking you through it. tasting yourself (post phone sex).

word count: 3.2k

an: thank you, as always, to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this after i told her "i think this is the hottest thing I've ever written" and her going, "yes."

He wakes with you curled against him—breathing softly, deeply. No line between your brow, no scrunched forehead, just peace and content etched into your features.

It pulls a smile from him. Teases at the edges, sewing string, until it’s pulled and he finds himself grinning

That’s when Frankie realises this is one of those moments he’ll replay—because it’s a morning that will forever cast others into the shadows.

It seems that mid-sleep, you’d thrown the pillow (that you’d insisted on) from between the two of you. Your leg has been thrown over him, cheek to his chest, fingers tucked into the place where his ribs meet the mattress.

It’s perfect, normal, far too romantic—especially for whatever this all is.

A part of him knowing this the more he lays there—being as still as he fucking could, letting minutes tick smoothly into an hour. Thinking, as his fingers slide against your skin, that he most definitely has slidden past falling and landed somewhere into fallen.

He’d always been close.

Frankie has been skirting the lines of his feelings for you for longer than he will ever care to admit.

Right now, it’s harder to fight when you’re pressed against him, all bare except for the barrier of your underwear. It all feeling too normal. Too right.

He supposes it’s why, when you do wake, he doesn’t let you second guess this. Just lets his lips find yours, his body moving yours until you’re on your back—fingers tangling back in his hair—and he’s descending, feeling the grip lesson until his fingers are sliding the fabric back down your gorgeous thighs.

Pressing a kiss to each leg, both on the top and on the inner leg, he catches a wispy whine of his name from your lips. Just as he catches the light scent of his body wash—the one you’d lathered on yourself after their fun last night before sliding into bed—on your skin.

I’m staying in your bed as a friend.

Sure, querida.

He takes one last look up at you, capturing it, and gripping it in his greedy hands—because fuck, you look beautiful, empyreal, exquisite. In truth, he’s constantly in awe of the way you stare at him, and right now, it makes his tongue heavy, his throat dry.

To the point, Frankie isn’t sure how long he stares, but when he blinks, he has to move. Fingers spreading you, parting you, the soles of your feet meeting his mattress before his mouth is on you, flattening his tongue, making your spine lift from the sheets.

You moan, and his cock twitches against the bed.

Mixed chants of his name, fuck, and a pleading—a collection of sounds, a record of them—all flowing from your mouth to his ears. One he would, and could, happily play on loop, over and over, never tiring of it, never tiring of you.

He’s sure he’s communicating that. His own moans travelling up, escaping, vibrating against you as your nails scrape in his hair, leaving little marks he’ll keep hidden, brush his touch over when missing you reaches a new peak.

Dipping his tongue into you, he spreads one of your thighs from squeezing his skull. Knowing you, your tells now, the little ways you tell him you’re close without muttering them—rendering you useless, breathless, almost fucking boneless.

Mixing up his play, he keeps you hovering, dangling, nerves lit up and sparkling, but not quite exploding, until he needs it as much as you. Rutting his cock against the mattress, groaning your name against your own core, fingers curling inside you, tongue lapping and lapping—

And then you fall, crash, shatter.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

Your skin shimmering with perspiration, glistening in the arriving morning. A sight, a beauty that is breathing and gasping because of him.

“Fuck,” he repeats.

“Fuck,” you murmur, breathless, a lazy, content smile passing over, fluttering across your mouth until your eyes flash open.

And he can taste you on his lips, knowing they’re glistening too. Not willing to wipe them just yet, licking what he can as you stare at him, more hungry than when he’d begun it this morning.

“Querida, you… that was so hot,” he whispers.

And, your eyes flick from his face to his cock, swallowing, all dark and lustful.

“You coming undone on my tongue, fuck, baby.”

His palms pressing into the mattress, crawling back up to you—hovering over you, watching your eyes slide from his face to his cock.

“I need you inside me. Wanna come round your cock,” you interrupt, tilting your head, and tracing your tongue over your bottom lip. “Please, Frankie.”

Your palm rises, cupping his cheek, and he curls into your touch, just for a moment. Temporarily allowing himself to imagine that there’s no deadline to the day, that he doesn’t have to take you home.

And then he crashes his lips to yours.

You tell him you should go home, once the two of you have caught your breaths.

There’s a soft smile, one put there by him, by the several rounds the two of you endured before 9 a.m greeting him, even if your words wound.

Frankie blames the smile for why he kissed you over breakfast, thumb wiping the sauce from your lip. It’s why he walked you (hand in hand) to the car, doing what you asked, and taking you home.

He also guesses it’s why he drove you back in silence, heart heavy. His shoulders sinking when all he was left with was the memories of last night, the scent of your perfume on his shirt and the knowledge he has to wait to see you like this again.

The moment he’s alone with himself, he replays the last few times he’s found himself able to enjoy you, sink himself inside of you, earn the little gasp you make when he sheaths himself fully in you.

Each time he does, his mind moves to the look you gave him once you’d shut the car door, lingering, hovering. It being so far removed from the one you usually give him when your nails are dug into his chest, slowly rocking yourself on him—eyes mixed with lust and adoration, love there, shining down on him. This one was different, unreadable.

“Always make me feel good, Frankie.”

His palms grip the steering wheel at the echo of your voice, wishing the wheel were your waist—holding, aiding. Guiding you as you rock against him, your words coating him, making it harder to hold on and not paint your walls in white.

“So good to me. For me. Think your cock was made for me.”

Fuck, he wants to go back. Turn the car around and hammer his fist on your door. Tell you all the things he thinks all the time—the ones he talks himself out of.

“You’re so deep, Frankie. Feels good.”

The sounds you make roam around his mind, haunting him—having done so all the way home, worsening when he slumps himself down in front of the television. Puts a show on to distract him, but his gaze remains unfocused, the sound not reaching him.

Because he’s just thinking about you.

The way your lips part when you moan his name. The look you give him, the smile which reaches your eyes before your lips when you've caught your breath.

He wants you back here.

Half-tempted to get his ass off the sofa and spend the rest of the day buried to the hilt inside of you. Dedicate himself to you, down on his knees, whispering prayers into your pussy until you’re chanting his name like a hymn.

He’d even be happy with just stuffing you, filling you, keeping you there, twitching and kissing him. Thighs on either side of his.

Frankie had half hoped that’s what you were asking him for when your message came through.

His heart sinks when it isn’t.

We didn’t really talk about it, but I’m away next weekend. I‘ve seen, it’s been a while since you had a girls weekend. I know. And the following one is bar night. I can pick you up for that. You don’t have to, I can get you this time. I already have to be away from you for two weeks, don't fight with me too, querida. Such a flirt, Morales.

Letting his head fall back, his hand runs across his face, massaging the aching spots on his skull. The ones that have appeared since he’d left you, each time coming in the moment he’s left with his thoughts.

The ones hammering.

Trying to focus on the ache he can rid himself of—the one hardening in his shorts. The one he finds he can’t alleviate now unless he thinks of you—unless he pictures your face or the angle of your body.

He’s fucked. More than fucked.

More so when your face outside the car comes back to him, and he wonders, if maybe you’d wanted him to ask you to stay.

You’d never been a good sleeper in a bed that wasn’t your own.

Franke’s had been always been an exception.

Even back when the two of you were friends. When you’d drank too much and he’d build a wall of pillows between the two of you, because you’re not getting a cab home, hermosa.

You’d re-learned that fact now, when you were in fresh hotel linen, eyes open, all wide at 2 in the morning. Body thrumming with unspent energy and the lingering taste of that tequila shot on your tongue. The laughter is still there on your face from hours with your other best friend. The one you’re not in an entanglement with.

She did well not to ask until you were full of food and joy, the question posed quietly, almost sneakily with a draw on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes.

So, you and Morales?

It doesn’t matter that you said nothing was happening, your body lied. It lit up, practically squirmed as it gave into thoughts of him—ones you’d tried not to think about. Especially when you hadn’t seen him in the week, the only free opening he had was tonight.

So, you and Benny?

You’d fired right back. She had just been able to be a little more honest than you. Explaining how the two of them were having fun, getting to know one another—something easy, simple.

Two things you couldn’t really put as descriptions for whatever the fuck you were doing with Frankie.

If she suspected something, more than she usually does, she says nothing. Instead, she orders water, some fries for the table, her hand covering yours before adding: you look happy, whatever it is.

Whatever it is being him.

The one thing you can’t stop thinking about.

You’d even noticed you’d become giddy when he texts, even if you know those are no different than before. You’d spotted an excitement bubbling when the days decrease until that green spot in your calendar, counting the hours, minutes.

Now, as you lay awake in soft, crinkling bedsheets, you don’t even try to not think about him. Losing yourself in the memories of the way he feels, the way he’s solid, toned, but soft—broad, firm and warm. How it feels to have your fingers in his hair when he‘s kissing a path to your pleasure.

The way he’s whispering promises he’ll keep, gonna make you feel good. Adding your name to the end, tailoring it, personalising the experience further to topple you over the edge before his mouth has even latched itself onto your pussy.

Sliding your hand down your body, you half-wonder if your arrangement can spread to the phone or if it only applies in person.

The thought running and running; fluttering and fluttering. Toying your bottom lip with your teeth, you allow your fingers to skirt over your underwear—somehow knowing, as awake and as needy as you were, you knew all you wanted and needed was him.

Frankie, as expected, answers in two rings.

No chance to end the call, to take it back—

“Hey…”

“Can’t sleep?”

You smile, fingers toying over the lace of your underwear. “Think your bed ruined me.”

“Just my bed?”

Smiling, you run the back of your palm across your face. Feeling the heat flushing over your cheeks.

“No. Not just your bed.”

He chuckles, deep, and you swear you can almost feel it ghost over your features.

“Kinda hate that next weekend is the bar night,” you say, somewhat out of the blue. An array of thoughts mix in your mind.

Ones you can’t ignore, all desperate to say.

I miss you. And not just as a friend, being the main one. The one that clags in the back of your throat, that sits there simmering, thumping. It adds to the long list of things you’re sure you should have said to him by now.

This situation, this beautiful, fucking perfect situation (that you’re sure could only become more perfect if you were honest) doing a number on you.

Frankie just laughs—a chuckle—a little noise he covers with a cough. “I can work around a deadline.”

“I bet you can.”

It’s more flirty than you mean. It escapes, hitting the air.

The two of you don’t do this. Don’t flirt outside of the pre-arranged calendar slots you both make. It’s friends then—just banter, jibes and inside jokes.

But, that wasn’t either of those two things.

“You call me because you need me, querida?”

Yes, you want to respond. Your teeth bite down on your lip, fearful of the way it’ll leave your lips. Whether it’ll escape all breathless, more of a moan, a whimper, than an actual word.

Because fucking yes, Francisco. Yes.

“You want me to help you sleep, baby?”

You let out a breath, it all shaky, nodding against the plump pillows before you’re able to whisper a yes. But, as soon as you let it out, he’s there—commanding, that same tone you imagine he used when he was knees deep in mud and clutching a weapon; the tone you envision he uses when he’s up in the air, switching things, pressing buttons—

“You listenin’, querida?”

Swallowing, you blink.

“Put me on loudspeaker, next to your head. Can you do that for me?”

You do. A thrum of nervousness and adrenaline both crashing into you, creating a storm, a current.

But, he washes it away, smothers it. His voice flows from the speaker, asking you to remove everything but what lay between your thighs. A thing you do, quickly, purposefully discarding it onto the floor before telling him you’ve done it.

“That’s my girl.”

Fuck. You close your eyes, half imagining the dip in the mattress, the way his stare feels on your skin, especially as he begins to guide you. You begin to paint the scene out, capturing him perfectly, creating a false version of him that can accompany the very real voice flowing from the speaker.

The one which is currently telling you where to place your hand. The one which is talking you through the path he wishes you to travel on—it whispering, darkly, almost gruffly, to slide your fingers across your collarbone (two, because he’s being particular), before he asks you to draw your thumb down your breastbone.

It’s precise, the movements he tells you to make.

Cup yourself, circle this, before Frankie asks you to lick a stripe on your thumb, before drawing a lazy shape over one of your peaked nipples—your choice, querida.

Then you’re descending, fingers raised, wrist being part of you making contact with your skin, as you go further down, feeling yourself flutter in despair for your touch—his touch.

“Now, pull them to the side and touch yourself for me.”

A gasp flutters from your lips, back arching as you do so. You’re wet, soaked. Lifting your hips into your own touch, before his voice cuts through. Direct, solid—his directions all clear. Obeying to his highest order as you dip your middle finger in, sliding it back up, brushing over your clit.

Each movement decided by him, and you’re willingly being putty in his hands all these miles away. Following each step, even if your body is thrumming, a knot coils in your stomach before he tells you to touch somewhere else. Keeping you hanging, beautifully edging you as though making you face a punishment for making plans that coincide with when the two of you could have been together.

“Slide two inside of you,” he says, voice deeper, more husky.

Both his tone and his instruction undoing you, another thread snapping off inside of you, adding to the fire that had begun in your spine.

You moan his name, quietly, worrying about your wall neighbours, but loud enough for him. Loud enough to spark a noise from him, one that must have risen from his chest to your ear, because it’s more a growl, an elongated moan of your name that makes you pump your fingers quicker inside of you.

“Wish they were yours.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “Missing my thick fingers?”

It was louder this time, the pathetic whine of his name that rushes past your lips. Your hips move, shifting with your ministrations as your head tilts towards the phone more, closer to his voice, pleading in whimpers for him to speak.

“Bet you feel so good—you’re always so tight, baby. Don’t think I can ever fuck anyone ever again, that’s how perfect you are, you ruined me.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He snorts, it travelling down your ear—furthering the flames that lick violently up your spine. More so, when he tells you to add another finger, curling them inside of you, annoyed that they’re not as thick as his, not as precise, not as good, nice or perfect.

“Wish you were here,” you say, letting it fall out in a moan.

It is too late to retract. To take back. Not even caring that it’s out there.

He stammers, you hear it—light, barely smothered, until he says, “I wish I was there too.”

His words continue. How he’d fuck you with his tongue, have you on all fours, fingers splayed over your back. Interconnecting his words with directions, your other hand drawing swirling, flicking as your walls tighten around the fingers buried inside of you.

“Need you.”

“I know, baby. I know. You’re so good for me.”

Your eyes clenched shut, feeling it building, rising, practically smothering up from your toes to your stomach—it all warm, hot—

“Please, baby,” he adds.

Let go. Let me have it. Come for me.

All words he doesn’t say, but barrel into you and shove you over the edge. Your breath hitching, body tensing—walls tightening around the fingers stuffed inside of you as you begin free falling, descending, swallowed by fire that smothers every part of you as your brain empties, body becoming more noodle than muscle and tendons.

Because of him.

For him.

“Bet you taste sweet,” he whispers, a noticeable shift in his voice, a little break between the words.

You let yourself smirk. It sliding over the soft smile that had appeared from how relaxed you now felt.

Because you know. Can tell from the little breaths he tries to keep from you—the tiny tells he thinks he’s a master at disguising.

“Want me to try?” you ask, voice dropping, low, husky. “Want me to taste myself?”

He pleads, more a whisper, a breath, than any word. But it’s there, please.

And you do. Tongue around the digits, swirling, tasting what he did to you, from all those miles away. Unsure what he has awoken in you, your body flushing under the praise which rolls from him in tandem, hoping to fuck he never calls you a good girl around the others.

CHAPTER SIX ->

[staycait]

A Never-Ending Punishment.

CW: NSFW

Alhaitham x Fem!Reader.

A/N: Hey guys this is short cuz I didn't wanna make a proper plot and stuff... Plus I wanted to say sorry cuz I made Alhaitham angst yesterday!!!! Here's the smut.. If you haven't checked the story out, you can read the angst here.

Enjoy!! <33

You don't know how long it's been, how many orgasms you've let out, and how many times you've screamed his name. All you know is that you're getting fucked into oblivion. You can't think straight anymore, your body's shaking, getting absolutely ruined by none other than Alhaitham.

You don't know what you did to receive 'punishment'. You think that Alhaitham's had a bad day, and needs to let some emotions out. But you don't think this is letting his emotions out anymore. He's just trying to ruin you more than you already are. He's really trying to push your limits…

Your thought's and body has already been shattered, Alhaitham fucking you stupid, your hands tied to the top of your head, now all you can do is moan, cry, and cum for the 'nth time, trying to handle Alhaitham's energy and speed.

You have yet, another orgasm while moaning his name. Lots of tears streaming down your face, as you still try to beg Alhaitham to stop, or slow down. It was all too much for you to handle. You've been pushed far from your limits, he keeps up his speed again.. Thrusting inside your helpless cunt that can only let sticky liquids out, and Alhaitham's cock in.. There is no sign of him stopping any time soon.

"What?~ You don't like my punishment for you?" He looks down upon you and smirks, his lips curling up to form a cruel smile.

"I guess we should have more punishments for you.." Alhaitham starts fucking you even harder. You're completely helpless in this situation. All you can do is let him do things to you.

He chuckles as you cum again. He continues to thrust in you like this, not having any plans to stop in the near future. You realize that he's not planning on stopping until he thinks you're punished appropriately, even though you have orgasmed multiple times in a row.

"You think you're going to make me slow down, little runt? Hah! We're going to continue this. And you are going to feel every single punishment. Every. Single. One..before you're free..~"

[lavendertheys]

Since you’re CEO of autistic Imogen just HOW do you feel about the What Doesn’t Break implication that Imogen spent enough time seeking out Laudna’s mind before the townsfolk came to run her out of town that she threw herself into the middle of that conflict like they were already old friends? Because it makes me absolutely feral.

IT'S A WHOLE LOT, FRIEND.

On my first read I honestly thought that Imogen made all those choices and subsequent in the moment. But upon a few rereads it does sound a lot more like Imogen noticed Laudna without even knowing who or what she was noticing, and kept it on her radar out of hopeful curiosity.

Imagine being aware of some blip of mysterious calm, not understanding it but inherently trusting it anyway. And then the townsfolk start whispering about a hag in the woods, and you just roll your eyes because their paranoia is unending and tiresome and rarely based on any legitimate threat. And then one day that paranoia escalates into an angry mob that heads off in some very intentional direction, and you only follow so you can see their faces when the hunt turns up nothing at all.

But at some point, in between all the frenzied thoughts about their prey and all of your own thoughts about their idiocy, you realize something that makes your stomach drop:

The further they go, the closer that blip gets.

You move faster and throw yourself into the procession and keep your mental walls up as best you can, but you already know you'll deal with any amount of pain just to make sure that blip doesn't go away. So far it hasn't, and it's still getting stronger and clearer with every step forward, and you wonder what could possibly be waiting for you on the other side of this swarm--

It's a person.

A woman, you guess but make a note to confirm later, who's pale as moonlight and visibly gaunt beneath her tattered but beautiful dress. She's frankly stunning, but what hits you much harder is her expression: not a trace shock or surprise that these people are gathered in front of her, but the purest and most profound sadness you've ever seen someone wear on their face. And the thing is, that kind of sadness should be loud, should be screaming and wailing its way through your tentatively open mind; but no matter how directly you focus, your find nothing.

(Well, that's not completely true, because underneath all the layers of breathless hollering is the faintest, simplest, most peaceful melody you've ever heard.)

There's nothing in all of Exandria that could sound like that and have even a lick of evil in it, you decide within your next heartbeat, and start to shrug between bodies and duck around torches until there's nothing left between you and this individual you know nothing about except that their mind doesn't hurt.

(You imagine what it would feel like if all these people went away, if it was just you and the woman, if it could actually be possible to share a life with someone that didn't revolve around pain and self-control and being tolerated.)

That impossible dream is what carries you forward, turns you around, and spreads your arms wide like your daddy trying to wrangle an over-excited chicken.

"No. Don't you dare."

You've never belonged in Gelvaan, you understand now, but rather between Gelvaan and her.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Four times Simon wanted to kiss you, you're just so irresistible that Simon couldn't wrap it together why he's obsessed with you. The one sided feeling (from his point of view) that he tried to suppress always fail successfully cause what, you're existing and that's enough to make his knees weak. Something about the way your lips moving while talking, or the way they open when eating, and the way your lips are just there. The softness, plump and shape of your lips. Sometimes, your lips are glistening with lip balm, spit and water. Simon never feel this strong urge before and now he's going to take what he needs to claim — your inviting lips

Your Inviting Lips - Simon “Ghost” Riley*Reader

Hello! I hope you don’t mind having the last few words of your req as the title because they’re beautiful! and tyvm for the idea :D 💖

Simon wonders if you know how intoxicating you are.

He will fall to his knees if you chant praises, watching your plump lips move, tongue darts out and give it a swipe, like coating sugar to already juicy cherries.

He’s falling, deep and deeper, to this unknown abyss. Is it a honey trap? Is it worth him to become human? He has no idea.

Will he stop this expedition? No chance.

There’s no map leading him to your heart, so he just watches you from afar, observing how your lips open, take a bite at the strawberry.

If he takes you in his arms right now, and presses his chapped lips to your soft ones, will it taste as sweet as the strawberry? can he derive a hint of the sweetness when his tongue dances with yours?

The smile you wear on your lips, why is it so irresistible? The slight curl at the corner, he wants to caress it with his calloused thumb, hoping that won’t ruin the perfection. The shape of your lips is prettier than any model he sees on those lipstick posters.

He never dreams of reciprocating from you. The one side feeling will last forever, till he sees another man claim those lips that should be his.

Your existence is already enough for him, encouraging him to breathe, subsiding his anger.

Don’t be greedy, Simon tells himself, yet it’s difficult when you keep tugging at his heartstrings and staying oblivious.

Albeit he repeats the sentence as if it’s a motto, the screaming reminding him to make you his in his mind overshadows it when he walks into the room, and spots you having a lip balm in your hand.

“You should quit staring, LT.” Simon hears you chuckles, eyes meeting his through the mirror.

“Curious about how to put on lip balm?”

“Just a bit.”

“Well” With the lip balm in your hand, you stand up and raise an eyebrow at him. “How about you try it yourself?”

His eyes stick on your figure as you sway towards him. Every click of your heels only makes his heart pound harder against his chest.

Taking over the lip balm, and looking back at you, eyes closed and pouting a bit for him to spread the ointment on you.

Not now. Simon restrains the urge as he cradles your face in his palm, and carefully starts his mission.

“Not bad.” You take a glimpse at your pocket mirror.

“Thanks I guess.”

“Don’t you want to learn more?”

“About what?” He’s reading the tag on the lip balm as you ask.

“I’m sure you will be curious about the flavor of it, Sir.”

Snapping his head up in a blink of an eye, he is able to recognize it. The smirk spreading across your glistening lips, just few inches from his masked one.

Without a second thought, he shoves his mask above his nose, and pulls you into a passionate kiss.

He smashes his lips with yours, opening his mouth when you lick at his bottom lip to demand an entrance. Two famished people, finally get the things that are theirs since the start, avariciously drink in each other's essence, absorbing the nutrients deprived for too long.

If there are no barriers between the bodies, it won’t end until the fusion of both hearts.

Pulling back and panting, his spit provides a new layer of protection for your lips.

“How’s the taste, Ghost?”

“Need one more time to make sure.”

Lips touching again, moving at a tender pace this time, Simon realizes why there’s no map indicating the path to your love.

Because he’s already at the location hoarding the treasure.

[unhingedangstaddict]

Currently working on my own fix-it fic but man this shit is harder than I thought it'd be- I keep crying and then getting distracted reading other fix-it fics. Thought I'd share this snippet to hopefully motivate myself to keep going???

Hen was starting to wonder if maybe Tommy was out for a run when she heard a faint ‘oh shit’ from inside the house. She banged on the door again. “Come on Kinard! I know you’re in there!” She called out. If Tommy’s neighbors thought she was crazy, oh well, too bad. Hen really didn’t care.

Finally the door was opened by Tommy. His hair was a mess- sticking up as though he’d been running his hands through it far too much-, he had deep dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his eyes were puffy from crying, and frankly, he looked like shit. “What do you want, Hen?” Tommy rasped. Whether his voice was hoarse due to dehydration or yelling and/or crying was unclear.

“To talk about what happened last night.” Hen crossed her arms.

“You mean you’re here to yell at me for what I did?" Tommy guessed. He hadn't forgotten the thinly veiled shovel talk from Hen and Karen months back at the medal ceremony- he wasn't surprised Hen was here now. “Trust me I hate myself for it enough. There’s nothing you can say that I haven’t already thought about myself.”

“No. I’m here to try and understand what even happened. According to Eddie, Buck wasn’t making very much sense last night. Eddie would’ve come himself to check on you but he’s got Buck right now. Eddie’s worried about you and frankly, I am too.”

Tommy sighed deeply and stepped aside to let Hen into the house.

Soon they were sitting at Tommy’s kitchen table with mugs of coffee in hand.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened or are you just gonna keep having that staring contest with your coffee?” Hen questioned.

“He asked me to move in with him.” Tommy admitted quietly.

“Okay,” Hen said slowly, waiting for Tommy to explain further why he was upset by it. Beyond the obvious matter of Buck leasing his loft apartment and Tommy owning his house, Hen wasn’t sure what the issue was.

“For a split second, I thought about saying yes.” Tommy confessed. “Then I returned to reality and realized I had to end it.”

“But why?” Hen questioned.

“Even if it was only for a second, Hen, I was ready to, what? Sell my house and more than half my stuff to move in with him? I’m not even mad about that part- I’m upset with myself for considering it. I’ve been in Evan’s position before, first gay relationship, lovesick, you think it’s gonna last forever. And I’ve been the first for guys before too. Like I told Evan last night, I know how it ends. And I guess I’d rather break my own heart than wait around for Evan to do it.”

“If you’ve been so sure all this time that it could never work, why did it take until now for you to call things off?” Hen questioned.

“I think from the start I knew I was playing with fire. After the last guy I was a first for, I told myself I wasn’t going to do it anymore. Then I met Evan, and he was just so magnetic, I couldn’t stay away even if I wanted to. I couldn't say no to him. I think I always knew my heart would get broken, and I guess I was okay with that all this time, until last night when I realized I love him, and I knew I had to cut myself off before I reached a point of no return.” Tommy explained. “I mean, I’m a fucking a mess right now and I was the one who called it off. I don’t know if I would’ve been able to survive him ending it.”

“Did you really just figure out last night that you love him?” Hen asked.

“I guess I sorta loved him from the start but last night was different, Hen. I’m in love with him, like well and truly love him, in a way I’ve never felt before, about anyone.” Tears filled Tommy’s eyes. “And I’m just his first. And as badly as I want it, I know I don’t get to be his last.”

“What makes you so sure you can’t be his last?” Hen wondered.

“Because I’m not the forever guy." Tommy shrugged slightly as a tear finally escaped and slid down his cheek. "At best I’m the close-to-but-never-quite-enough guy."

[l3viat8an]

Mornin Ro~ *Hands you coffee in a cat mug*

Okay so like ya know how Beel and Belphie have like connected feelings and stuff. Like how Beel knows when Belphie has a tummy ache, etc.

So I would imagine they also know when the other is fucking MC. And this fact usually results in MC being an Attic Club Sandwich™

Like imagine Belphie is napping on the couch and Satan is sitting on a chair nearby reading and Levi is on the other couch (I think they have 2!?!?akskdndks) on his switch when Belphie starts mumbling in his sleep. That's nothing new of course so they just ignore it for now. Then Belphie starts shifting around and groaning until he fucking tumbles off the couch and he wakes up all irritated. But then he gets up and just fucking *bolts* to the attic and Satan and Levi just exchange confused glances. (Belphie is lightning bolt for MC)

Imagine Beel in the kitchen rifling through the fridge for a snack and Asmo and Mamms are chillin' nearby having a little discussion about what club they're going to tonight. Beel is in the middle of eating a head of lettuce like it's an apple when he finds a pudding in the back of the fridge. So he finishes the lettuce quickly, opening the pudding and he takes one bite before his eyes widen and hes like 'huh?' and he abandons the pudding on the counter heading to the attic quickly. And Asmo and Mamms are just so fucking confused because why tf did Beel just abandon his food.

So whichever twin was left out just busts in the room like "I'm here bitch" and the other just chuckles like "Took ya long enough" (RIP MC 😔)

~🍒

Nsfw content MDNI

Hiii 🍒!! *hands you a donut with sprinkles* ‘n I’m keeping the mug XD

They’ve got the twin telepathy thing but X 10 at least!!!-

I laughed at Belphie rolling off the couch and just fuckin’ running off ngl jsksjsk he’s a demon on a mission!!!-

and Beel leaving food??? Asmo’s gonna worry he’s sick, when really Beel’s just absolutely whipped for MC!!-

Now my random idea / add on to this is how much fun teasing them both would be!!!

Just imagine spending the day with Beel, doing errands or whatever around the Devildom.

Soft kisses and touches whenever you can and Beel even pulls you into an alleyway to make-out or more~

All while Belphie is at home! All those damn touches and teasing is killing him!! In the best way. He can’t even just run to where you and Beel are because you’re moving around too much….so Belphie ends up sitting in his bed waiting impatiently for you two to get home!

and when you do both boys are all worked up from your sweet teasing~

Beel pushing you down onto Belphie’s lap as the younger demons hands start pulling your shirt off and immediately nipping his way down your neck, leaving some lovely little marks~

While Beel move closer tugging on the waistband of your pants until you lift your hips and pulling them off.

Belphie’s hand moves down to dip one of his fingers into your wet pussy and he lets out a dark chuckle, “Really, already this wet MC. You really are a slut.” before you can answer or Belphie can tease you anymore Beel’s pouting and grabbing Belphie’s wrist to pull it away “I want a taste. Move.”

Belphie rolls his eyes and sighs, “You’ve had them all day and you’re still going to hog them? I guess you really are the avatar of gluttony.”

Beel just nods as if it’s obvious and moves down to lick at your sex. Groaning when he tease you on his tongue~ Belphie shakes his head, but before he can say anything else Beel’s pushing his tongue into you a little harder and you hips buck up the back down and into Belphie’s, meaning your practically rutting against his cock….maybe this wouldn’t be too bad after all~

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Yandere!Johnny Cage w/Singer! Darling

A/N: I was listening to one way or another by blondie tonight and this came into my head😩 This song was literally just the letters and threats that blondie’s stalker sent to her. She decided to make it into a song to not only put him on blast but to mock him. Ughhh This is so perfectttt!! I hope y’all enjoy this lol. Johnny is such a perfect yandere

Warnings: John Carlton 😵‍💫, toxic and abusive themes

Requests: open 24/7

Masterlist

Song reference—one way or another|blondie

Being in the public eye as a well known singer is wonderful. The fans, the interviews, the money and press are all great and all…that is until you’re trying to discreetly leave your obsessive ex boyfriend.

It was impossible trying to escape him. Every interaction, every address you stayed at and every new phone number you got was eventually leaked to the public and right back into Johnny’s grimy little hands.

For weeks after you initially left, he followed you everywhere. You swore you’ve seen a strangely familiar blonde drive past your friend’s place and wait out in parking lots. Even if it wasn’t him physically and the paranoia was getting the best of you, hundreds of vile letters and messages from Johnny were constantly being sent your way.

A lot of them read about how he was going to “get his hands on you” or how he’d “never stop stalking you and if he can’t find you, he’ll start going after everyone you loved…one by one.”

His threats shook you down to your core. Even the ones that weren’t threatening and were just love letters that declared his devotion were still creepy. He was so far gone and delusional about you. It was so surreal

Ignoring all of his messages was no use because all over social media, magazines and tv was him crying over you. Completely fabricating stories and lies about you. How he claims you’re manic right now and are a danger to yourself, how he just wants you back in his loving arms. Oh how safe you’d be when you get back to him. Bullsh*t

It was so out of control that you kept on the road. Hoping it’d keep him guessing on your next location. You even changed your hair and style to appear unrecognizable to the public. You became more homely looking but that hardly worked and only made things worse. The public started believing him more and more with your changed appearance and new nomadic lifestyle.

Soon your passion for music and lively personality became merely a hollow shell of what it used to be. So consumed by fear and anxiety that you hardly could function….you was terrified for the day he’d inevitably get you.

It wasn’t until months later where his “concern” for you died down and he was in his “moving on” phase, that something switched inside of you. He was on a talk show and the conversation of you came up,

“Yeah…what a shame about Y/N. Once a bright star now a mentally disturbed soul. Oh well, that sucks for her. You can’t help anyone who doesn’t want it. I tried giving her a taste of the high life but obviously some people aren’t destined for greatness like me. Hopefully she’ll make a living off of all the crack though.”

Oh…that dirty bastard. So cocky and self righteous. The only reason why you’re in this predicament is because of him and his trifling actions towards you. From the hours he’d yell and lock you in his room, to the obsessive stalking and threats are all now reduced down to what???…you being some kind of druggie?!

Your fire was back!!

You’ve been silent, trying to let this all blow over so you could finally have some peace again but hell no. You’ve given up everything while he gets to sit all high and mighty like he’s some angel.

He wants to mock you, and make you into some sort of laughing stock?? Give it back to him…harder

Compiling all the letters, texts, emails and voicemails…you’ve decided to come back into the spotlight. And what better way to have a new single that literally is written by the abuser’s incriminating evidence.

The media is excited and eating everything all up …

And for Johnny? Oh that man is lividddd. Oh he’s so freaking pissed. Just listening to a minute of the song he knows exactly what stupid little stunt you pulled.

How dare you put him expose like that and turn the media on him.

You wanna be a cunt…fine…this isn’t over, Y/N.

[pricegouge]

very quick companion/prequel piece to this

cw: brief descriptions of sex, power imbalance i guess

Simon's not well enough adjusted for a job like this. 

It had been an easy enough position to lie his way into when he'd been on the lam and desperate for a place to lay low for a while, while still keeping his belly full. Tie a few knots and pen a few docile little creatures who've never even seen the south pasture, and everyone believes you're a trained stable hand. Free meals, free cot. Even a few house maids would warm his bed if he behaved himself long enough to pass as a good christian who'd make honest women out of them. Easy enough when the birds were barely even literate, harder when the employers themselves were the devout sort who took notice of each of the help's comings and goings because they were too proper to suffer a whore under their roof. They watched their flock like hawks, strictly enforcing curfews and dress codes and wing assignments. Simon couldn't even eat in the big house, let alone spend the night. And forget about luring the birds out, the owner of the place sat up in the parlor all night reading verses aloud and denouncing anyone who tried to sneak out for so much as a smoke.

But the young one - the son. He was worse yet.

Blue eyed and well built, covered in the kind of dense stubble that could lend him a sort of roguish charm if he could risk his place in heaven long enough to roll his sleeves up past his wrists, John MacTavish was a maid's fantasy in the flesh - and completely wasting it. Too devout, maybe. Too inexperienced to know when a bird fancies him, more like. Either way, Simon feels himself creeping closer to an edge he knows all too well every time he watches good ol' Johnny denies himself a night of proper relief.

He's two months into the job and one flustered employer incident away from stealing an heirloom rifle from the big house and putting Johnny out of his fucking misery when Simon decides he's had enough of listening to this ungrateful little git put down pretty serving girl after pretty serving girl in favor of a Lord that would never love him. Finding Johnny in one of the field houses berating a hand for sloth of all things, Simon sends the young boy scarpering with a particularly well aimed scowl and corners the little lordling with a subtle shuffle of feet designed to lure him into a sense of dominance until it was too late; until Simon had him on the stall wall, flustered and red and spitting mad.

He's not hard to subdue, all things told. All that Catholic rearing makes him eager to please. Simon calls him Johnny, like the head of the house does. Johnny's big eyes turn pleading when he asks what Simon wants, as if requesting guidance. 

Who is Simon to deny his employer?

"Just like that, Johnny," Simon encourages, cock rammed so far down the lad's throat he's not surprised when his pretty blue eyes start leaking tears. "Just like communion."

It's not, but that doesn't stop Johnny needing it anyway.

He seeks Simon out nearly every day, keeps him from his chores. Simon doesn't give a shit, keeps a bag packed under his cot just waiting on the day the head butler sends him off. He never does, kept in line by Johnny's sway, probably. Simon tests his limits, decides he's above reproach when he spends an entire day lounging on a large rock in a brook past the east gate and catches no flack.

"Cock that good, pup?" He asks Johnny later that night, the younger man bent over a bay of hay in the small barn like a loose little housemaid whore. He whines like one too, his hoarse voice carrying enough to keep even the most intrusive stablehands at bay. No one besides Johnny's ever enjoyed being part of Simon's sins, after all.

"You make me untouchable, did you?" He's referring to his position, how he's starting to believe he could posture himself as head butler come the morning and they'd just let him. But the way Johnny looks back over his shoulder at him is far too intense.

"Anyone else touches you, they'll never work again."

It's good until it's not. Novel, at least. Simon's never been the favorite pet. He entertains it for as long as he can bear, but he's had enough pets of his own to know it's not a position he can manage. Like the job itself, he's not well enough adjusted; and a misbehaving dog is a kept dog all the same.

Getting Johnny properly under his thumb is harder than he expects, the man too well suited for his position in life. Properly groomed for it by his father. The solution is so obvious it nearly draws a proper laugh from him when he sees you fawning over the boy one day through the kitchen window, servile and sweet - eyes lowered in submission. 

If Johnny needs to keep someone, who's Simon to discourage it? The good Lord knew he'd never been swatted on the nose for the same. Better just to give the boy something to chew on other than his own arm.

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

The More You Give ❧ (Part VII)

Pairing | Eddie Munson x shy!reader

Warnings | 18+ only, do not interact if you are underage. Heavy petting, P in V sex, soft dom!Eddie. Discussion of uncomfortable sexual experiences. Inordinate amount of praise kink, good girl's, and vulnerability on both sides.

Word count | ~10,000

Taglist

Previous Chapter

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Most days, walking into the cafeteria comes with a cool sense of dread. A heaviness in your chest, mind working overtime to prepare yourself for an hour not quite talking with your not quite friends. You’re never sure what you prefer; the white hot shame that comes with laughter at your expense, or the simmering ache from being ignored entirely.

But there’s a levity to your mood today. You’re proud, or maybe more accurately relieved, at the circled red letter on the top right of your Chemistry test. 

You spot May at the usual table as you file in, catching her excited wave over the head of some of the cheer girls. The others offer a cursory glance before returning to their conversation, but May’s expression is expectant. “So? How’d you do?”

You grin. “A minus.”

“I knew it!” She squeals, removing her bag from the chair next to her to make space for you. “You always make a big deal out of tests, and then breeze through!”

She’s half right. 

Something about the weight of potential failure, some unknown consequence to doing poorly, always has you worrying about tests days prior, heart pounding in the moments before you flip the paper. Then you second guess yourself all the way through, scribbling over wrong answers before writing the same thing down again.  

But you certainly don’t breeze through. The weight of this test on your mind had you bursting into tears in Eddie’s van last week. What was supposed to be a movie theatre date turned into an impromptu study session at the library. Eddie sat opposite you while you read over your notes, writing up his campaign ideas and flicking through a book he’d found in the fantasy section before working begrudgingly on an essay about JFK he was supposed to have handed in the week before. He switched to the seat next to you when you failed to hide a sniffle, let you tuck yourself under his arm and press your face to his shoulder.

“C’mon,” he said eventually, coaxing you out from the damp spot on the collar of his shirt. “Talk me through what you don’t get, okay? I bet the answer’s up here.” He pressed a finger to your forehead, narrowing his eyes like he could pinpoint the spot in your brain the information was hiding. “We just gotta knock it loose somehow.”

He must, truly, have been bored to death as you went through the problem, starting over again and again each time you explained yourself into a corner. But he listened anyway, prompted you to keep going until you came to an answer that satisfied you, a conclusion that made sense, and then he listened to the next problem.

You apologised at the end of the night. For all the hysterics, for dragging him along to a joyless evening. He’d swiped the thought away with a casual wave of his hand. “You couldn’t be my smart girl if you didn’t have to study sometimes.”

Just thinking about it now, your eyes flicker from May’s hand on the back of the empty chair beside her to the place Eddie sits, far on the other side of the room. 

It’s an invisible line you haven’t crossed, spending any time with him at lunch. Eddie would never let you question whether he wanted you to sit with him, never let you worry about seeming clingy. He’d made it clear you were always welcome. What stopped you was that tug at your heart, that feeling that you’d be taking another step away, putting more distance between you and your friends. Or May, at least. You can’t remember the last time Heather sat with you more than once a week. 

And you promised, sincerely, that you would try a bit harder with the cheer girls. Apart from that one tipsy conversation with Tracy at a party, you’re not sure you’ve quite fulfilled that.

But you want so badly to tell him. Shamefully, it was your first thought when you turned your paper over today. Along with the usual relief came excitement, knowing Eddie would be pleased for you and make it clear, call you his smart girl till your face burns hot. 

“I’m just-” You start, tucking your bag up on your shoulder, glancing back to May. “I’m just gonna show Eddie quickly.”

There’s a pause. Her pleased expression, the gentle curve of her wax pink lips, doesn’t falter. Instead, it seems to calcify on her face. “Oh. You’re gonna sit over there?”

“Just for a while,” you reason. “Just to show him my grade. Okay?”

She makes a high mm hmm noise, half agreeing, half unsure, but you decide to take it at face value, making a beeline for Eddie’s table. 

As usual, he sits at the head, the frizz of his hair lit up in the natural light from the window behind him. His expression is a touch bored, eyes blinking slowly, chin resting on his palm as a boy at the other end of the table - young, with tight brown curls tucked under a yellow cap - talks a mile a minute. You catch the words radio and roof as you approach, but your own mind goes blank when you reach them.

You’d feel only excitement, if it was just Eddie who noticed your presence. For his part, his whole posture changes; from slumped over the table to sitting straight up, his pouty lips turning to an excited smile in your direction as his hand drops away from his chin. But on top of that, six additional faces turn to watch you walk up the side of the table. Maybe you could handle three, used to some attention from Jeff, Gareth and Matthew at this point, comfortable in their acceptance of your silly little fidgets and occasional long silences. 

But the other three, all freshmen, staring at you like you grew another head on the way over, have you shuffling in place, playing with the strap of your bag. You vaguely know Mike from watching him run out the door on the occasions you���ve babysat Holly, though his hair is a good couple inches longer than the last time you spent an evening at the Wheeler’s. The others, Lucas and Dustin, you know both from Eddie’s descriptions and his complaints. 

“Hi,” you say, voice quieter than you’d like as you wave at the group. 

“To what do we owe this pleasure, Princess?” 

Your mouth opens, and your throat closes. Your face feels suddenly warm under the eyes of his whole table. In an instant, you regret coming over here. What must you look like? What will they think of you, when they realise you came over here to brag about a simple test result? 

Eddie hums a questioning sound, bringing your focus back to him. He’s looking at you the way he does when you both know you’re going to have to be the one to speak first. There’s anticipation there, but the little curve of his lips is all kind patience. 

You swallow, glance down the table again. You make eye contact with Lucas, give him an awkward smile at his friendly wave. Even at that, you know the words won’t come. Sighing quietly, you unzip your bag and search through your books for the test, drawing out the paper and fiddling with the corner for a second. How do you tell him, all of them, that you really aren’t bragging? That more than anything you just want to thank him? 

Eddie’s eyebrows raise as he looks between you and the paper. When he holds his hand out, and you find yourself passing it to him instinctively, toes curling in your shoes.

“An A!?” He screeches immediately, thoroughly dispelling any hope you might have had that he’d keep it to himself. Though your face burns, you fight the urge to glance around and offer an apologetic smile to his group, to the people that turned at the sound of his yell, because this is Eddie. Any embarrassment you might feel pales in comparison to hearing the pride in his voice, to see it on his face. What do judgmental looks and cruel whispers from strangers mean to you when they’re caused by Eddie, so excited and pleased for you that he’ll yell it publicly?

You tuck the top of your foot to the back of your ankle, playing with your skirt, correcting him shyly. “An A minus.”

Eddie scoffs. “An A’s and A, sweetheart. I’d know, I’ve missed enough of them.” 

Knowing now that at least Eddie himself has taken it the right way, you let yourself indulge. “I was two marks off a real A.”

Eddie’s hand slams down on the table with a bang, making you and everyone in the surrounding area jump as he rises, kicking his chair back with a screech. You watch, left in some strange place between proud and mortified as he practically floats over to the neighbouring table, flicking the paper at a group of juniors dressed exclusively in neon. 

“You see that? My girlfriend got a fucking A in Mr Brown’s AP Chemistry class!” He moves the paper around, displaying it for each of them. “That shit’s like fucking gold dust- hey!” He turns to shake it at a passing boy with a calculator in his breast pocket. “You’re in that class, right? How’d you do in this test, huh?” 

“If you must know, Munson, I got an A plus.” 

There’s a moment of silence.

“Okay, man. Shit. Kinda showing off a little-” He turns to you, eyes wide and head tilted as if to say get a load of this guy, but you’re shaking your head, desperately biting back a smile. 

“Eddie!” 

“Ah, she calls to me.” He drifts over to you then, frizzed hair flying out behind him. You giggle a little wildly behind your hands, still shaking your head at him though any disapproval is for show at this point. Everyone who turned to watch Eddie crow seems to have returned to their conversations, this side of the room apparently well used to his outbursts. He stops close enough that he’s all you can see; his dimpled smile, eyes shining at you while he hands you your test back. 

“Take my seat, Princess.” He gestures with a wide arm, directing you to the chair he rose from. You make a quick glance over at the cheer table, find Caroline just sitting down now with her tray, and feel an unusual sense of relief. It feels like freedom, to be on this side of the room, and not directly under her gaze. 

By the time you’re settled in his seat, Eddie has retrieved a spare chair, carrying it above his head and dropping it down next to you with another outrageous bash. He collapses into it, his arm finding the back of your chair as he leans in to Jeff, sitting on your left. “You’re in that class, too, right man?” 

“You know, we’ve been friends three years now, Eddie, and you’ve never once taken an interest in my grades,” Jeff answers, shutting down Eddie’s inquiry before he can really ask. He turns to you. “Bet it was question 18 that got you, huh?”

“Mm, no, that was okay.” You answer. “Eddie and I went over retention factors so much at the library last week. I understand it way better now.”

Six pairs of eyes blink at you, and the relief you were experiencing is fading fast. Instead, you get the recognizable sense that you said something wrong. Your foot starts tapping at pace, fingers finding the edge of the table and running over the edge.

“You were at the library?” Gareth asks Eddie, aghast tone mocking but serious in its surprise.

“I’ve been to the library before,” Eddie bites. “M’there all the time.”

“We’re not talking about monopolising the fantasy section, here,” Matthew says. “You were studying, Eds.”

“I told you,” Eddie replies, widening his legs until you feel the denim of his jeans rough against your bobbing calf. “I’m working hard this year. Trying to get out of this shithole.” He presses his leg more firmly to yours, and you realise it’s a deliberate touch, a silent reminder that he’s there, that he’s not going to leave you alone with whatever’s got you fidgeting.  

“You said that last year,” Jeff says.

“And the year before that,” chimes Gareth through a bite of his sandwich.

“Yeah, well, I meant it this time,” he says, leaning back in his seat with a deep sigh. “Jesus, Henderson, you look like you’re gonna explode. Go on. So you’ve built your stereo on the roof.”

“Not a stereo, Eddie- a radio!” Dustin cries through a mouthful of cafeteria lasagne. 

Eddie’s face darkens. “Do I look like I give a- Christ.” He closes his eyes tight, shaking his head with genuine frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Whatever, man. Please, please, just finish your story so we can all move on with our lives.”

Undeterred by Eddie’s rough tone, Dustin launches right back into what he’d been speaking about as you approached. Mainly focused on how he convinced his Mom to let him up on the roof in the first place.

You sigh in quiet relief as the attention of the table moves swiftly away from you, leg slowing until it stops shaking altogether. Eddie’s knee bumps yours, and you feel the warmth of him as he leans in to speak softly, just to you.

“My smart girl,” he says, drawing pleased shivers up your spine. “You deserve it, yeah? You worked real hard.”

“I wanted,” you start, grabbing at his sleeve, thumbing the chain that holds the leather together. “I wanted to say thank you for helping me. I know it was kinda boring.”

“Nah, glad I could help.” Eddie’s expression turns a touch sheepish. “I, uh, actually got a C on that History essay? Mrs Kelly said I would have got a B, if I’d handed it in on time, so…” 

Your eyes widen, barely able to process the sight of him now. Eddie Munson, who just yelled across the room about your academic achievements, now looking anywhere but at you, scratching his face and shrugging like his own barely matter. You find his hand, squeeze it tight until he shows you his eyes.

“Eddie, that’s brilliant!” You say. He puffs out air like it means nothing to him, shakes his head. “When-” 

“You aren’t even listening, Eddie!” Dustin calls from the end of the table. Eddie rolls his eyes, but then he gestures ;azily for Dustin to continue, now with the gift of his attention. It’s enough for anyone to believe he finds the boy annoying at best, but you know from how Eddie talks about them that Dustin’s kind of his favourite. There’s a clear fondness in Eddie’s tone when he rants about Dustin trying to contribute ideas to his campaigns, the begrudging respect he has for how unapologetically himself the boy is. The touch of jealousy that creeps in when he talks about Dustin’s friendship with Steve Harrington, of all people. Badass, my ass, he mumbles each time.

You listen in comfortable silence to the conversation as it continues, occasionally contributing a little yes or no when Jeff asks you leading questions, your fondness for him ever increasing. Only when you watch Eddie retrieve a bag of pretzels from his backpack do you remember your own lunch, too taken in by the awe in Matthew’s voice recounting the first time he heard a Judas Priest song, apparently life changing.

You frown at the realisation that the half empty bag is all Eddie brought for himself, immediately offering your open tupperware and holding it steady under his shaking head until he acquiesces to tearing one half of your sandwich in two, chewing on the quarter in between his contributions to the conversation.

Your ears prick when you move on to tearing the segments from your satsuma, handing a half to Eddie without a word. Amongst the chatter, Mike laughs about Dustin’s current failing grade in Latin, an unusual outcome for him. Dustin sighs like an old man. 

“I ask you, how many tenses does one language need?” He groans. “I thought there’d be something we could use for a campaign, The Exorcist style, you know? Instead I’m trying to remember the difference between types of declensions. Or I will, when I fully grasp what declensions are.”

The conversation about Judas Priest you’d found yourself somewhat involved in fades with how much you’re focused on Dustin’s defeated tone. One part of you is screaming that you could help him, that he seems really worried about it and he’s a smart boy so it probably wouldn’t be much work to get him on the right track. Then another part, the one that screeches and wails its distress until your head hurts, asks, what if he says no? What if he laughs? What if they all do? 

You open your mouth, wondering if you should just say it across the table. Just offer; just do it. Of course he won’t say no. And if he does, he’s Eddie’s friend so it will be gentle. Still embarrassing though. Your mouth closes again, teeth digging grooves into the gum behind your lips. Just help him. You pull your sleeves down over your hands, playing with the soft ends. You clear your throat, take a breath-

“I’m good at Latin,” you say, immediately cringing at how that sounds. But you’re pleased when Jeff goes on chatting about the album he just bought, letting you contribute to the other conversation across the table freely. Dustin blinks at you owlishly. “I mean, I can help. Tutor you, or something? If you want.”

“Seriously!?” Dustin asks, flashing you a braced grin when you nod. “That would be amazing! Thanks!”

You smile, just sighing out your relief when you feel another nudge at your knee. Eddie’s watching you, eyebrows raised. You shrug shyly, grasping the sleeve of his jacket again to fiddle with the chains. He pulls free, but only to take hold of your hand instead. 

You’re basking in the feeling of knowing Eddie’s proud of you, your own pride in yourself, and you know you couldn’t force yourself back across the room today if you tried. 

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You realised, walking alone to class, that you hadn’t spoken that much during lunch the entire time you’d been at highschool. Giggling at Lucas’ jokes, asking about their DnD characters, getting increasingly comfortable talking about metal with a group of people who are genuinely excited to hear about your introduction to the genre. By the end it felt almost natural; simple and fun to talk to an entire table of people.

But you’re feeling some of the effects of it now, even quieter than usual in Eddie’s van as Gareth considers whether to paint or sharpie the Corroded Coffin logo Eddie designed onto the front of his bass drum. 

From the soft hum you’d given in greeting as you climbed into the van after school, Eddie had offered you his palm, open and relaxed. Now, your forefinger traces the long groove from his wrist to the base of his thumb that forms his life line. You love Eddie’s hands, love how they feel in yours, and on every other part of you they’ve touched. 

You swallow, face suddenly hot. It’s been easier, nicer, every time Eddie’s touched you. So much so that you now understand why it’s all some people think about, all that drives them. The way Eddie feels inside you, all the words that spill from his mouth as he moves; how much he wants you, how good you make him feel. You find your mind circling back to it at the strangest times. In class, making dinner, driving home with Eddie’s friends-

You jump a little at the chorus of bye’s from the back, the sound of the doors being thrown open. Eddie’s already watching you curiously when you look back to him, unable to hold eye contact, half convinced he’ll be able to read your thoughts with one good look at you. “You okay, sweet thing?”

“M’just tired.”

“Right,” Eddie says, nodding thoughtfully. “The guys- they can be a little intense.”

Mirth spreads through you at the thought of Eddie ‘jumps on cafeteria tables’ Munson describing anyone as intense. “I like them.”

“You say that now. A week tutoring Dustin and you’ll be changing your name and moving to Idaho. I’ll never see you again, and it’ll be all that little punk’s fault.”

“He’s your favourite.”

Eddie’s tone goes from playful to offended in a second, as to close a screech as his deep voice can get. “He is not- I don’t even have- Even if I did have a favourite, which I don’t, Dustin Henderson would not even come close-” He pauses at the sound of your laugh, narrowing his eyes. “Mmh. I get it. Tired, but not too tired to rile me up.”

You chew the inside of your lip, fighting a smile. Running a finger along his palm again, you reply, “it’s not particularly difficult.” You expect another dramatic yell of offence, or maybe a laugh. Instead, you get something pleased from his expression, dimples on his cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing. I just like it when you tease me.” His fingers close around yours, weaving together. “S’like you’re more comfortable around me, I guess.” 

You’re sure he’s right. Every day it’s a little easier. Every time you see him, your mind gets in the way less and less, slowly coming to accept that he’s not waiting for you to say the wrong thing, that he won’t abandon you when you inevitably do. 

“You make me feel comfortable, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrows raise, waiting for your quick nod. “Does that mean you’re coming back to mine?” 

“Actually,” you start, truly needing that comfort now. You know the implications of what you’re going to ask, sure that if somebody other than Eddie heard you, they’d come to conclusions about the kind of girl you are. 

The more time you spend with Eddie the less you’re sure that it matters if they would be right or wrong. 

You press your knees together, tap your fingers in a wave along Eddie’s knuckles. “Well, my parents aren’t home...”

There’s a second of silence, long enough to have you squirming, finding his dark eyes and then looking away again in a loop. 

Eddie leans into you, chin tilted to capture your gaze and keep you there. “You mean to say that the Princess’ tower is unguarded this night?” 

Your stomach squeezes at the sound of his voice, serious and soft, like a real adventurer on the verge of committing himself to a great quest. You love this about Eddie, how easily he can slip into characters like this. It’s something he learned from DnD, or maybe Eddie’s so good at the game because he has this ability to play at being somebody different without hesitation, without a hint of the worry you’d feel if you tried it, convinced you’d do it all wrong, sure you’d sound stupid. 

“No dragons for me to slay?” He asks, closing one eye like he’s trying to work out if you’re tricking him. Your head shakes, and Eddie turns your hand in his to bring it to his mouth. He kisses your knuckles, a soft warm press. “S'that what you want?”

“Yes, Eddie.” 

“Okay,” he says, lips meeting your hand once again. “To the castle, it is.”

Eddie is as quick as usual to drive you home, each turn forcing you to lean to the door or to the centre console. But any urgency seems to vanish the second he’s pulled up by your house. In the van, you wait as he makes sure he has his wallet and his keys, sets the sun visor back into position. When you've jumped out, you watch him check that he's locked each door of the van with more care than you've ever seen from him, like he's particularly worried about a carjacker on your suburban street in broad daylight. 

Inside, Eddie is careful about unlacing his shoes and placing them at the door next to yours, toed off your heels carelessly. Then, at the top of the stairs, when you think you finally have him at a regular pace towards your room, you are jolted back by his sudden stop on the landing, leaving your hands connected at the end of stretched arms. 

“‘M looking for anything I can use as a weapon, you know?” He says, peering into a vase of fake orchids, examining a glass seahorse statue, scrunching his nose when he gets hit with the scent from a bowl of potpourri. “This all feels a little too easy, and you’ve gotta expect the unexpected in situations like these.”

“Eddie?"

You’re so endeared to him, watching him examine the objects your Mom set out playing up to this story he’s created. But the way he’s stalling, almost hesitant, has you sure you missed a clear sign along the way. “Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Did you, like, not want to come here?” 

His head shoots up then, round eyes blinking. “Of course, I did. I do.” Eddie laughs airily, tucking some of his hair behind his ear as he approaches. “I’m a freak, okay? I’m not crazy.” 

You still feel like you’re missing something, wondering if you should offer him another way out. Eddie makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, inviting you to guide him forward. Walking slow to give him time to change his mind, you make your way to your door, decidedly not looking back at him when you enter.

Eddie is unusually quiet, then, following you in but stopping once again when he takes the first step onto your cream carpet. You only glance back at him when you’ve dropped his hand and started playing with your sleeves, comforted by the fact he just seems to be taking everything in. He stands out, all ragged denim and black leather in the pastel softness of your bedroom, and yet he fits so well in a room full of things you love. 

He shifts his weight back and forth on the soft carpet, subtly sniffs the air that must smell of you and the apple blossom diffuser on your side table. His eyes drift as he takes in each focal point; the desk laden with textbooks and paper, your windowsill, lined with a couple snow globes, a ceramic cat you’d painted as a child, a framed photo of you and your friends Heather gave you for your 16th. He scans quickly over the cork boards to the corner of the room, smile lines appearing at the sight of your long favourite stuffed animal, a soft grey elephant you’d carefully positioned on a pink cord beanbag, looking ready to start reading judging by the pile of books to her right.

His gaze eventually circles back to you, waiting nervously for his reaction. Eddie shifts back and forth on his feet. “You know, I, uh, gotta admit, I imagined some stained glass.” He gestures lazily to the window, then to your bed, the wooden frame and the blue floral bedspread. “And I was sure you’d have one of those beds with all the fabric, you know what I’m talking about?” He raises both hands to motion the shape of a canopy bed, fingers wiggling. 

“Disappointed?” You say, only half joking. 

Eddie finally takes a step further in, turning to the shelves of books by your bed. “Me? Nah I was worried about getting tangled up in it, to be honest.” He flashes you a quick grin before scanning over the spines. Eventually, he points to one. “Iron Maiden, yeah?”

You check the book he’s pointing to, The Complete Poems of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and nod, always pleased by the reminder that Eddie listens, really listens, when you speak. That he remembers so many innocuous things you share with him, things you’d never expect him to remember. 

You badly want to reach out for him then, fingers itching to hold his hand, play with his sleeves. You almost do, raising your arm a touch, but a wave of concern hits you, still trying to work out if you’ve done something, said something wrong to make him act like he’d rather not be here. 

Eddie catches your stunted movement, eyes blinking at your fidgeting hands before shifting to your face. You’re sure then that your anxiety is clear in your expression, that he sees how eagerly you’re waiting for him to give you an explanation for his hesitancy in the hallway.

Eddie frowns, looking at the books again. He clears his throat. "I've never been in a girls' room before," he tells you. From his voice, it sounds like a confession.

“Oh.” Your brows furrow, trying to work out how that matters. “I mean, they’re not all like this.”

"No, I mean, it’s just that it’s like, a first. For me.” When that doesn’t quite cover your confusion, he continues. “Nobody ever wanted, y'know, me in their room. Or whatever."

Your heart pangs with sudden understanding, the memory of Eddie lying across from you on a blanket, the warm sun on your skin. Am I being too intense? That's what Eddie had asked you, that day at the lake. People say I can be too much too soon. 

“And it’s already different, with you. Better. I mean, shit, a million times better,” he says, eyes wide. “But I still just didn’t expect you to, just, ask me, like- Like, you just want me here. Cause it’s never been that simple. Shit. I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?”

“No. No, Eddie,”

“I didn’t wanna make you worried or anything. It’s the complete last thing I’d ever want. I guess I was kinda just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He laughs again, but it’s hollow, and cuts off too suddenly to be real. 

You give in entirely, practically launching at him to wrap your arms around his torso and pull him into a tight, desperate hug. You wish, not for the first time, that you were more like him, better at getting your thoughts into words and saying them.Then you could soothe him like he deserves. Then you could tell him the truth. 

Eddie’s face presses to your hair, arms tight around your shoulders. 

“Eddie,” you murmur into his shoulder, squeezing him again before you build the courage to look him in the eyes. “You’re so-” Your throat tightens, forcing you to whisper. “You’re so good.” It seems lacklustre, probably a million better words to describe all that Eddie is, but it feels right; it’s what you think, that Eddie is, deep at his core, so good that it hurts. “You’re too good, too good for anyone that made you think-” Your voice cracks, and Eddie blinks shining eyes at you when you reach up to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he assures, pressing his face to your palm. “I’m okay. Really.”

You press your lips to his, hoping he understands this at least. You feel his smile, and believe that he does. He hums as you shift your kisses to the corner of his mouth, his cheeks. You peck the end of his nose, watch it scrunch sweetly. You’re warmed by the sight of his reddening face, the sound of his laugh. “You know how to make a guy feel appreciated, sweetheart.”

Your hands seem incapable of moving from him, only moving from his cheek to his shoulders, wrists tickled by the fluffy ends of his curls. “I want you here,” you say, a little strained. “I promise.”

“I know. I know you do.”

“I would have invited you earlier,” you continue. “It’s just…”

Eddie’s eyes flash. His hands, big and warm, rub up and down your back, pulling you closer to him until you’re flush against his chest. “It’s just, we couldn’t have done what you want to do,” he finishes. “Not with your parents downstairs. That’s right, isn’t it?”

Your stomach twists with that exciting shame, face hot. You don’t have anywhere to hide, caught by Eddie’s gaze. You still can’t look into his eyes for too long, lest your heart beat out your chest, so you find yourself staring at his lips, pillowy and pink. “Not just that.”

“Okay,” he answers, hand drifting down to skim the end of your skirt. You press closer to him when his fingers tease the soft skin of your thighs, and he breathes a laugh. “But, mainly that, huh?” 

Your fingers curl into his shoulders, embarrassed and excited in equal measure that he’s naming your intentions so clearly. You bounce a little on your toes, still gazing at Eddie’s lips, the dents of his laugh lines and his dimples.

Callused fingers reaching under your skirt, his thumb grazing the cotton of your panties, pulling at the elastic. You think you’re being subtle, the way you open your legs a little to make space for him, but know immediately that you failed when Eddie laughs, eyes crinkled at the sides. He breathes a sigh, watching you lose the last pretence that you aren’t a little desperate for him to touch you how he wants. “My good girl.”

Oh, but that makes you ache for him. Your head drops to his neck, hiding your face in his skin. You breathe him in, smoke and Eddie, swallowing a whimper.

“You like that, don't you? Like being a good girl.”

You nod on impulse, willing to agree to just about anything when his fingers drag over your mound, press to the split of your pussy through your panties, the material just grazing your clit. But something about what he's said isn't quite right, and you start shaking your head instead.

Eddie's mouth finds your ear, warm breath teasing the sensitive skin at the top of your neck. "No? Not a good girl?" 

You shake your head again, because that's not right either. You tilt your face to catch his gaze, ink dark eyes already waiting for you. "I like-" You sigh when his fingers catch at the fabric that sits at the top of your sex again, giving a single teasing circle that helps you relax enough to tell him the truth of it. “It’s for you, Eddie.”

"Ah," Eddie breathes, finally, finally dipping his fingers past the elastic of your panties. He hums his approval when he finds your clit, swollen and waiting for him. He gives you one tap just to see you pout, then he’s rubbing tight circles that have you trying to press even closer to him, nails digging into his shoulders. “My good girl, mm?" 

"Yeah," you nod desperately, proud to see how pleased he looks with you. "Yes, Eddie." 

"That's right." He continues, watching your face as your lips open to moan softly, eyelids flickering. His fingers dip quickly to your entrance, dragging slick up to ease the way for his fingers on your button. “Just for me. Cause I'm the one who gets to touch you," he says. "Only I get to hear you like this, yeah? Hear you begging me with that pretty voice?" 

"Only you. Please, Eddie." 

“S’cause you know I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you, sweet thing? You and this pretty pussy?”

Eddie's fingers keep rubbing at your clit, pulling sensations from your body that only he ever has. Staring at him, hearing his rough voice even as he looks at you like you’re precious, you feel it again, as you have with increasing frequency. How badly you want him like this and every other way. It almost overwhelms you, makes you want to hide away again in his shoulder. But Eddie is owed the sight of the pleasure he brings you, deserves to see it play out on your face, hear every whimper clearly. Eddie coos softly at the sight of you, his free hand coming to support the back of your neck, nodding you through each shaking breath. “That’s it. That’s it. You gonna cum?”

A tremble moves through your body, hips rolling against his hand as you groan into the air. The high builds to a long, half painful peak, your hands grasping at Eddie’s t-shirt, his hair, first for something to hold on to, then because the resulting groan has your cunt clenching around nothing. It crosses over into too much suddenly, twitching away from his hand between your legs even as you give in and throw your face to his neck, kissing your gratitude all over the pale column of his throat. You find his pulse, feel its steady beat under your lips, and bite. It’s little more than a scrape of your teeth, but Eddie shudders in your arms, tilting his head back to let you soothe the bruised skin with your tongue, then kisses. 

You sigh deep, relaxing your death grip on his body while Eddie kisses at your sweaty temple. You peek at him then, find the warm brown of his irises swallowed up by darkness, his tongue licking quick over his bitten dark lips. He pulls his hand from your panties, showing you the remnants of your slick on his fingers before licking at his ring finger. “Always taste so good, baby. Wanna try?”

“Uh huh,” you say, head fuzzy with pleasure. Your mouth drops open for him, letting him press his middle finger to your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking gently. You don’t think it tastes of much at all, but Eddie seems suddenly desperate to get at what he’s given you. He drags his finger from your mouth and captures your lips before you’ve even registered the loss, his tongue licking at yours like he can steal the taste of you back. “That what you were thinking of when you invited me up here, mm?” He says when he breaks away, lips still grazing yours as he speaks. “Or do you want more?”

You do want more. You want Eddie. Want him filling you with the length you can feel, hardening against your thigh. You want to make him feel good, want to hear him groan when he cums. “More, Eddie,” you whisper without shame. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, leaning in for another desperate kiss, taking advantage of your pliant state to open your mouth to him. “Fuck. I wanna bend you over so bad,” he admits, watching your face for your reaction. “You want that? Want me to fuck you like that in your pretty princess bed?” 

Your toes curl, clit throbbing at the playful tone of Eddie’s voice, teasing and rough. “Mm. Okay.”

Eddie tilts his head, meeting your eyes, checking in. “Okay?”

You try to picture it, imagine how Eddie will feel fucking you that way. In truth, you’re stuck  on how vulnerable you’ll be; exposed, not able to see him or cling to him the way you like. But it’s Eddie, you assure yourself. You take a breath. “I want that, Eddie.” 

The kiss that follows is sweet. It’s a comforting reminder that no matter how much Eddie teases you, how rough he gets, he's still the boy who calls you princess, holds your hand in the car, promises to take care of you. 

He helps you remove your shirt from your heated skin, pulls his own over his head the second you start tugging at the hem. Once you have access to his skin, you can't stop touching him, palms flat to his chest, kissing his neck while he pulls your panties down over your hips. 

“C’mon, sweet thing,” he murmurs, turning you to face your bed. He kisses your shoulder, his body warm at your back. "Climb up for me, mm?"

You want to do what he says. You want him to touch you like this. But you still feel a prickle of nerves as you crawl up to your pillow, body exposed and missing Eddie’s skin already. 

“So pretty,” Eddie says above you, behind you, as you rest your chin on your curled arms on top of the mattress. You hear the clink of his belt, toes curling at the sound. Then you feel him through his boxers, hard and hot as he rolls his hips against your ass. You hear him whisper, shit, say something about protection. It's followed by a far off, satisfied a-ha at locating a condom in his discarded jacket, but it’s fuzzy beneath the sudden rushing in your ears. 

You feel him again, grinding against you, and you're not sure where all the excitement went. You’re staring at the blue cornflowers on your pillowcase while he continues behind you, remembering the last time you were positioned like this, tense and vulnerable. You try to breathe slow. When that doesn’t work, you try to let the heavy throb between your legs remind you how badly you want this.

It doesn't work, and you focus instead on feeling of just having to lie like this, get through it for him, just stare at the flowers and don't cry and he’ll be finished soon-

The pressure behind you disappears, the mattress shifts under you. Eddie bounces when he flops down beside you, face level with yours and hidden behind his flying hair. He makes soft puh noises like he’s trying to spit it out, blowing it away from his face. You blink, the white noise in your ears fading when you touch him, tucking his hair back behind his ear to find his grateful smile. 

“Thanks, baby,” he says. He reaches for your hip, rubbing soft as he presses your arched body down until you're lying, flat to the bed. Then, all heartbreaking gentleness; “where’d you go?”

You stumble, embarrassed. “I, I didn’t-”

“Stopped making those pretty noises for me," he reasons. “Isn't any fun without 'em." Your bottom lip shakes, and you feel like an idiot. 

Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Not Andy, not some boy here for himself, only to take and never give. 

"Hey," he says, shuffling in until he can bump your nose with his. "We don’t have to do it like this if you don’t want. You know that, right? Don't have to do anything you don't want.”

“It’s not that, I-” You sigh, watch Eddie’s shining eyes, round and soft, waiting for you. “I needed to know it was you. I’m sorry.”

Recognition registers in his face. He frowns, cupping your face in his palm. “No apologies. Not about what you need, okay?”

“Okay, Eddie.”

“Wanna cuddle?” 

You do. Desperately. You reach out for him easily, shuffling until you're surrounded by him, clinging to his torso, cheek to his chest.

"Ah," Eddie breathes, wiggling like he can get his skin any closer to yours. "That's the good stuff." 

You hadn’t realised how fast, how hard your heart was beating until you’re settled in Eddie’s arms and it starts to slow. There's a minute’s comfortable silence, letting his presence ease you back to comfort. Then he hums, strokes at the hair on your temple. "You gotta tell me when something's not right, ‘kay?" he says seriously. "I like to think I can read you pretty well, but I could've missed it." 

"I'm sorry," you say, then, remembering you just agreed not to do that, "sorry."

Eddie breathes a laugh through his nose, leaves a wet kiss on your forehead. "My shy girl, mm?"

"Sometimes it's just…hard to say what I'm feeling. I didn't want you to stop.” You hum. “I don't think I did."

Eddie considers that, still stroking at your hair. "Do you, uh, know what a safe word is?” You shake your head, and he continues. “S’kinda like a code. Something you can just say if you wanna press pause, you know? Means that instead of getting in that head of yours, trying to work out what you want, you can just say a word and we’ll talk about it, yeah?”

You consider it, imagining the scene if you'd been able to just say one thing and slow down. Easier not to have to think through what you need before you tell him, just say one word and let Eddie help you get there, coax from your head what you haven't worked out yourself. "That sounds good, Eddie." 

"Yeah?" He asks, eyebrows raising. “Okay. We can keep it simple for now. If we wanna stop completely, for any reason, we say red, yeah? If we need to slow down, talk a little about what we need, we say yellow. And green for keep going. How’s that sound?"

"Good," you say, feeling grateful that you’re learning all these things with Eddie. "It sounds good, but I- I am sorry that I'm, y'know. Difficult, sometimes."

Eddie blinks, eyebrows pulling together. "Difficult? My sweet girl? Nah. Besides," he leans in, closing one eye. "I like looking after you." 

You sigh happily when he kisses you, gentle and seeking nothing more than sweet presses. But you're still wet and wanting, hand rubbing across the softness of Eddie's tummy until your fingers draw across the sparse hair at the top of his pants. Eddie makes a noise in the back of his throat that has you pressing your thighs together. 

"You wanna turn over, mm? Open those pretty legs for me?”

Yes. You love having Eddie on top of you and inside you. Better every time, as your body gets used to him, as Eddie learns how to draw pleasure from you, as you learn what makes Eddie gasp, makes his hips move desperately like you're the only thing he needs. 

But you pause. Now, comfortable in the knowledge that you know how to slow down, stop when you need to, you let yourself imagine Eddie behind you. His hips hitting the back of your thighs, his big hands holding your waist, arching your body just right to slide inside. Letting yourself be vulnerable with Eddie, the feeling of offering yourself up to him, the reward of his touch.

“I want to try, I just, I need-” You don’t know, exactly. You feel another wave of irritation at yourself, wishing you could be a little more simple. That you didn't need to cling to him that first time, that now you need him to work out this hurdle. 

Eddie hums, and the mattress shifts again as he sits up behind you. “Lift these hips for me again, sweet thing?” He asks, helping you shift your knees forward, tilting your body up for him. You hear the crinkle of him tearing open a condom, his soft sigh as he rolls it down over his cock. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs, hands smoothing your skirt up, exposing your hot flesh to the air. You shiver up your spine, but when Eddie grinds against you, what follows is his torso stretched along your back until you can feel him pressing wet kisses to your shoulder. The tension falls away, replaced by the tickle of Eddie’s hair at your neck, his sweet sting of his teeth nipping your shoulder, the sound of his pleased hums.

A final touch, his left hand grabs yours on the mattress, linking your fingers up and resting them in your eyeline. You know Eddie’s hands better than you know your own. Thick fingers adorned with a pig, a cross, a skull; all pale skin but for the subtle pink at his knuckles and around his nails. The veins that run from the end of his fingers to his wrist, the dip at the end of his thumb. 

“Better?” Eddie asks. You hum happily. You’re so blissfully wrapped up in him like this, surrounded and safe. Eddie’s right hand teases your clit again, presses gently at your entrance and finds you still went and wanting, bearing down at the first dip of his digits inside you. “Fuck, don’t worry, sweet thing. Gonna give you what you need, mm?”

“Eddie,” you say, his name a gentle plea.

“I know,” he whispers, squeezing your hand in his. He reaches between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance, the head of his cock tapping torturously at your clit. You have half a mind to kick your legs out in impatience now, settle on whining at the back of your throat. Eddie breathes a laugh into your shoulder, but it shifts immediately to a groan as he presses inside. 

You’re still not entirely used to the feeling of him slowly filling you, the edge of pain still leading you to bear down on him, body stuck between desperations; to force him out or or pull him deeper. But then there’s the perfect ache of feeling full, the warmth and heaviness of him inside. 

Eddie’s hips roll, the wet sound of him pulling from you making your toes curl. He starts up a steady pace, easing your body into letting him slide deeper into your cunt with each thrust. His fingers return to the top of your sex, rubbing at your sensitive button. With every slow thrust, each stroke of your twitching clit, it feels like your body is opening up to him, easing the way for him to press deeper, push inside a little rougher. Your body flinches, tightens and loosens up all over when the end of his cock finds the back of your pussy, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. 

“Feel good?” He says, amusement in his tone. You moan freely, happy to be teased by him as long as he keeps touching you. “Tell me.”

“Feels good,” you parrot, staring at Eddie’s hand in yours, the slow movement of rose tone up his wrist, along to his knuckles as he heats up. You shiver to let in his warmth, his breath on your shoulder, his chest at your back. His cock, hot and thick, fucking you open.

“My good girl,” he murmurs, groaning at the way your cunt clamps down, gushing wet around his thick cock in thanks for his praise. “Christ. I shoulda known that was your favourite,” he breathes, his right hand pressing at your mound to angle your hips just so, helping his cock find the spot at the end of you that makes your thighs shake with every heavy push. “S’mine too.” 

His lips travel up the side of your neck to the top of your cheek, eyes finding yours when you turn to him. Eddie gives you a gentle pout at the sight of your mouth open to take gasping, whimpering breaths, your eyes fluttering when he starts to bully your clit in line with the increasingly harsh movements inside you. “You were fucking made for me,” he tells you. “You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You cry out, arms giving way underneath you when your body twitches all over, squeezing tight around Eddie’s invading cock. Your head drops into the mattress next to your joined hands, but you nod desperately, wanting him to see that you know perfectly well. That nobody could make you feel as good as Eddie does.

Eddie keeps your body angled how he wants, adjusting your hips to pull your back into an arch. “All mine, aren’t you? Mine to look after, mine to touch. Mine to fuck-” He gives you a harsh thrust that makes your thighs twitch, legs close to giving out if he wasn’t holding you up with his arm under your stomach. “I wanna feel you cum, yeah? Think you can?” 

You’re still nodding, hand gripping his tight, fingers curled through his. 

“For me? Just for me?”

Always. Only for Eddie. You can’t say it, mind too far away to form the thought properly, but the feeling of him saying it like that, claiming your pleasure for himself as he drags it out of you with his cock, heavy and hot, and his hand playing with your clit, drives you over the edge. You mewl into the mattress, cunt clenching tight around his throbbing cock as your pleasure peaks.

Eddie makes a soft whimpering sound as you cum, following you down to bury his face in your shoulder. His hips move faster as he starts chasing his pleasure instead of focusing on yours, hand that was teasing your clit now stroking at your hip to soothe your sensitive, twitchy body. 

Hearing him now, gasping breaths, whimpers in your ear, you sink happily into this feeling. Almost as good as reaching your own peak, the knowledge that you’re making Eddie feel good. That this boy who treats you so well, dedicates himself to helping you find your pleasure, loses himself a little at the clench of your cunt around him.

You drag your clasped hands to your mouth, kissing at the pink skin of his knuckles. How could anybody not want this with him? How could anybody have given him up? You feel a sudden, desperate possession of him, the need to claim him like he claimed you.

“Mine,” you murmur, pressing your lips to the back of his hand in an array of gentle kisses. Your other hand reaches back to tangle in his hair, scratch at the back of his head as he whimpers. You crane your neck, searching for his eyes. They’re dark, shining as they take you in. His cock twitches inside you, and you squeeze his hand again. “Mine?”

His bottom lip shakes. “Yeah. M'yours. Yours, fuck-” He captures your lips but the kiss ends quick when he groans, hips stuttering in your warmth then sinking deep. You keep scratching at his neck as his body shakes through his orgasm, and still after when his weight drops on you and you fall flat to the bed together. You lie there for minutes, catching your breath, luxuriating in the feeling of being held by Eddie, pussy still clenching weakly around him.

Eddie hums, pulling from you slowly with another wet sound that makes you bury your face in your pillow. He rubs at your hip gently, squeezes your hand a final time before untangling from you to deal with the condom. You make a mental note to do something with that before tomorrow morning, but Eddie has your mind going wonderfully blank again when he bounces back beside you and pulls you in. You’re both a little sweaty, cheek a touch too hot against his chest, but you have no interest in cooling down if it means you have to stop touching him.

“Good?” He asks, fingers rubbing at your temple. You hum a long content sound in answer, not ready to form any coherent thought yet, and feel Eddie’s chest shake with laughter under your cheek. “Good.”

You lay like that, clammy and pleasured, convinced nothing could drag you from this bed.  Until you feel a quick pang in your stomach, and the quiet reverie is interrupted by a deep rumble. There’s a moment of silence, then Eddie snorts underneath you. You’d be embarrassed if his laugh didn’t make you want to follow his happiness, smiling shyly when he rubs gently at your tummy. “Hungry work, huh?” He asks, giggling. “Never fear, sweet thing. I can fix that.” He pauses then, licks his lips quickly. “Hey, you got a box of mac and cheese sitting around here, somewhere?”

❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄❦

You flinch, watching with increasing horror as Eddie’s attempts to chop the onion you’d handed him. Fingers splayed and terrifyingly close the blade, you’re stuck between gently taking the knife from him and asking point blank how he’s managed to keep all ten fingers intact this long. 

“Do you want me to finish that?” You ask, frowning when he shakes his head, still fully concentrated on each dangerous movement, his tongue just poking out of his lips in a physical demonstration of his focus. 

If you weren’t so terrified, you’d be appreciating how soft and comfy Eddie looks right now. Black Sabbath t-shirt tucked into his jeans, socked feet ready to slide along your kitchen floor. His dark curls pulled back from his face and braided by your own hands, tied at the end with your favourite lilac scrunchie that you kind of hope he’ll keep.

But you can’t think about it, because you’re terrified Eddie’s going to ruin his musical career here in your kitchen, making pasta.

“No, need, sweet thing,” he assures. “This is a patented Munson technique for chopping onions.”

You could curse yourself for not having any boxed mac and cheese, for suggesting you cook something from scratch together in the first place. You’re used to cooking, with your Mom and Dad, with your friends, and eventually for yourself. But you get the sense that Eddie does a lot of microwaving, looking after himself the same way he has since he was a kid, at dinner time when Wayne is working nights.

“Eddie, can I?” You gently take the knife from him, turning the half of the onion left and chopping it with your thumb tucked in. 

He tilts his chin. “Lacks the adrenaline rush that comes with the Munson method,” he says when you’re done, watching you tip the contents of the chopping board into the heated pan on the stove. Then, a little sheepishly, “I, uh, I don’t cook much. If that wasn’t obvious.”

“You don’t like it, or?”

“I like this,” he answers. “And I make breakfast sometimes with Wayne. But not dinner, so much. He’s usually at the plant that time of day, so nobody ever taught me, I guess.” He pauses. “That’s not true. My mom and I used to cook, I think. Sometimes.”

You wait for a couple of seconds, watching the onions and garlic soften. “When you were a kid?”

“Yeah, we’d make stuff like this. Or, she would. I think I’d just watch mostly. Stir stuff, lick the spoon.”

“Best part,” you say, smiling. Then, watching him carefully. “Your Mom, she…?”

“She died,” he finishes with a shrug. He taps at the counter with his knuckles. “Then I lived with my old man, and he was not one for cooking lessons,” he laughs derisively. “Then one day the bastard dropped me off at Wayne’s. Best thing he ever did for me. Not that he cared either way, he was just sick of having me around.” Eddie finally looks at you then, and catches something in your expression that makes him wince, the laughter that follows clearly forced. “Christ, sorry. I’m really dumping on you today.”

“Don’t apologise, Eddie.”

“Nah, I shouldn’t have-” He shakes his head, tapping the counter again before resting his palms at the edge. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Eddie, of course it matters,” you say, turning off the stove to approach him, standing separated from his body by his arm reaching to the counter, keeping you from wrapping around him the way you want to. “Of course it matters.” 

Eddie shrugs again, and it’s another one of those moments where you wish you were more like him. Eddie always knows what to say, senses where you’re hurt and how to soothe it, knows when to talk and when to just hold you. 

But now that it’s your turn, you’re left feeling useless, stuck just wanting to cry at the thought that anyone has ever hurt him, made him feel like he has something to apologise for just for being around.

“I think you’re so wonderful, Eddie,” you say. “I want you around all the time.”

There’s a second of something. He turns to meet your gaze, searching your face with a frown. Then he gives you a small, barely there smile. The arm between you raises to let you close, wrap him up in a tight hug. You feel his body lose tension as he sighs, your hand stroking his back the way you know he likes. “I want you around all the time, too, sweet thing,” he says softly. “I really do.”

Next Chapter

[syndrossi]

Meanwhile, over in main story land, I'm trying to figure out how I want to approach the broader/longer story.

My original plan was to keep everything in a single fic that just grows absurdly long, where there are arcs, then lulls/timeskips between.

But increasingly I've been thinking about having a hard cut-off for Resonant and having the next story live in its own fic.

Pros of splitting it up:

It's easier to understand what the self-contained arcs are. For Resonant, this would be from the day the twins woke up, until either the end of the Stepstones conclusion, or just before (in which case the Stepstones arc would be its own story). My guess is that this takes us to something between 300-400K words, not sure exactly.

It provides natural breathing room. I can spend some time exploring other AU concepts, or take a break to write the next thing for 2-3 months so that I have a massive buffer like when I first started posting Resonant. (I believe I was midway through ch13 when I started posting it.)

It lets me mark Resonant as complete, which means people who have been putting off reading it because it's a WIP can read it, knowing they're getting a self-contained story.

I can sprinkle in some short stories between the larger stories, which unlocks some interesting POVs or events.

I can write Rhaegar POV for the "next" long story without it being weird to suddenly introduce it after around 200K words.

Cons of splitting it up:

Inevitably gonna lose people when posting something new. Sequels are never as popular as the original.

The timeskips are more delineated, meaning it may be harder to incorporate smaller, meaningful moments in between. For example, Daemon and the twins going on a winter retreat in the Riverlands. Granted, this could be a short/medium story instead, but I always feel weird doing that for things that don't have much of an action plot.

It can be harder to follow/find everything if there are many smaller stories in between the longer ones.

It's really cool to get a work to 500K-1Mil words, and this doesn't allow that.

I have to come up with new titles 😱

Curious if anyone has a strong preference one way or another, and if so, why?

[etoileee]

If this is too intrusive I was wondering what method you use to shift

I’m so sorry this might not be helpful at all but I don’t really use methods and im a firm believer in you don’t need them to be able to shift.

the reason I don’t use a specific method is because a lot of the time there is a template outline for shifting methods, its very “do this and this and this and once this happens do this” and as someone that has adhd staying on task is already a challenge, and if it feels like I’m doing a chore, its even harder for me.

using those template shifting methods just doesn’t work for me, but I guess in a way I do have a bit of a method.. but it more of a life style than a shifting method in my eyes.

I like to immerse myself in my dr. for example with my percy jackson dr.

some things I like to do are watching the show, reading the books, creating playlists, vision boards, and IMAGINING!!

watching the show and putting yourself in their shoes, imagining what it would be like, what you would do, how would you react etc I think would be good for people that have a hard time visualizing since its right in front of you, reading the books is also a good way to immerse yourself in it because I think of it has being in their universe but in a different way, you don’t have to come up with your own scenarios because again I know that’s difficult for some people so already having something to work off of and just putting yourself in it.

CREATING PLAYLISTS AND VISION BOARDS OMFG

again this lines up with the whole “If you have trouble visualizing” thing because you can use images, even if you are good at imagining things I’d recommend doing this because really its so much fun, and making a playlist(s) is also something I’d recommend because music helps you feel. having songs you think match the vibe of your dr or your drself and listening to it while you visualize or create your vision board is just so much fun and in my opinion helps you really feel and imagine your dr and your drself

here is the vision board I created for my drself if you need any inspiration!

as for what I do for when I’m going to shift is as follows;

—STEP ONE

set the intention!

I know a lot of people say this but truly I mean it.

don’t overthink it. don’t give yourself enough time to doubt yourself because thats when you start to spiral and think you can’t do it, I know it’s easier said then done but a tip from me to you is when you start to get a thought like “I can’t do this” do NOT pay attention to it. think of your thought as a cloud and you are laying on the grass looking up at the sky, your “I can’t do this” cloud showing up in your sky, (your brain) you can acknowledge it if you want but pay no mind to it and watch it drift away in the wind.

—STEP TWO

be comfortable!

my room is always dark, and in a way I feel like it helps me shift, because it makes me feel comfortable and relaxed. I have this like teal night light and that as well feels as if it helps because the darkness mixed with the teal hue light is not only super relaxing but it’s something my brain associates with percy jackson. also please don’t fear not moving or feeling like you have to lay on your back! you’ll shift no matter what if you believe you can. not moving is recommended because it gets your body in that numb like “body asleep, mind awake” state faster, but you moving to itch yourself will not make you not shift. I promise.

—STEP THREE

visualization!

you can visualize anything to do with your dr and your drself. you can visualize where you’ll wake up for example, but make sure you use all your senses! where are you? inside or outside? what room is this? what are you laying on? what does it feel like? what colors can you see? what are some objects you see? what can you smell? whats the temperature? lose yourself in the visualization!

—STEP FOUR

shift!

keep your eyes closed until you fall asleep or feel your surroundings change, at that point when you wake up or open your eyes you’ll have shifted!

again, I know this could sound easier said than done and having someone tell you that something you’re struggling with isn’t difficult can be frustrating. trust me, I’ve been there, but something I need you to realize is its only as difficult as you let it be.

if you’re one of those people that struggles to tell when to open your eyes, I’d recommend scripting something like “I’ll smell a strong sent of *blank* once I’ve shifted” I also remember seeing someone script that once they’ve successfully shifted that they’ll feel a tap on their forehead. I feel like that would freak me out lmao but if you’re bold enough for it go ahead and do that!

A FINAL TIP

TAKE SHIFTING OFF THE PEDESTAL!!

dont think of it as something untouchable and only few select people can do because it isn’t. again, its only has hard as you let it be. instead of having shifting on the pedestal, put YOURSELF on the pedestal instead!

now get the hell up outta here (lovingly)