#cw discussion of addiction

[tarlosstory]

TARLOS | S1E4 | Part 5 [TK only] FULL TARLOS STORYLINE | ONLY TARLOS SCENES

[steddieas-shegoes]

crawling out

for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘hole’

rated m | 404 words

cw: mention of addiction (nothing specific or detailed), mention of rehab, break-up | tags: rock star Eddie Munson, making amends, angst with a hopeful/happy ending, hurt/comfort, getting back together

- - - - - - - - - -

“Keep digging the hole for yourself. Eventually, no one will find you.”

Those were the last words Steve had said to him over a year ago.

They were in the middle of tour, their first headlining one, and Steve had been antsy. Eddie was picking fights with him for no god damn reason.

Steve got sick of it.

Steve left.

The band finished that tour, Eddie went on a bender and nearly died, and the band took a break.

- - -

Rehab sucked. Not because of the withdrawals; Those weren’t all that bad compared to some of the horror stories he’d heard. He was alone.

And being alone was what got him there in the first place.

Steve warned him he’d be alone the further into this hole he put himself and he was right.

- - -

But it’s been months since rehab, months since he felt the urge to bury himself in the hole he dug for himself, months since he started clawing his way out.

He’d spent the first month with Wayne, who welcomed him with open arms the way he always did.

The second month was spent traveling to see all the kids, apologize to them for everything.

All of them had quickly sided with Steve, rightfully so, and he’d barely heard from them after…well, after. They all accepted his apologies, wanted to start working towards friendship again.

Next was a trip back to California to visit the band, who all stuck around to help out in the studio and write songs for others while they figured out what they wanted to do. They all loved him, told him so in the way they looked proud to see him standing outside of the hole he dug.

Now, standing outside the apartment Steve shared with Robin, he had the strong urge to jump back into the hole.

“Just knock,” he said to himself.

He lifted his hand.

The door swung open.

Steve stood there, just as beautiful and perfect as the day he left Eddie, frowning.

He looked him up and down, took in how he’d changed, put on a little bit of weight, trimmed his hair to his shoulders, got a new tattoo.

The date Steve left.

Steve’s eyes locked on his.

“You still digging that hole?”

“No. Filling it in actually. My arms got tired.”

Steve bit his lip, the telltale sign he was hiding a laugh.

“Need help?”

Eddie smiled. “Couldn’t hurt, sweetheart.”

[ask-time-loop-curly]

hey. you don’t have to apologize for not knowing where to start. if you decide you want to talk about it, start wherever works for you, yeah? don’t worry about the “right” place. this is for you to feel better, not anyone else.

....thank you.

i guess... at the beginning might be good, yeah?

(putting the text-to-speech thing on again, hand's starting to hurt something fierce)

Right. Here goes. I don't... I don't know why I agreed to... No, that's not right, I know why. I woke up and he was standing over me and I was fucking terrified. So I went with him. So I opened the bottle. Poured it myself, like a goddamn idiot. ....Addiction runs in my family, do you know? I get why. I really do. It's easy. Feels better not to think. I had a bit of a pill problem before, to tell the truth. In university. Vicodin and Adderall. About the only thing my shit father's ever been good for was convincing me to go the damn programme when he did. I think... I think, with the pills, during the first... five months, was it? I think I would've preferred the pain, awful as it was, to getting sucked back into that. Jim knew, about my "little habit" as he called it. Of course he did. He always gave me too many, you know? I didn't like feeling like that. Spent most of the time high as a fucking kite and hating every minute of it. Until they ran out, of course. Withdrawal's worse when you're burned that badly and can't do anything about it. Anyway. Got utterly soused, so I did. Stupid of me, yeah? And then he kept... touching me, and I didn't... I didn't like it. I don't... That is, we've... fooled around before, yeah? But it was never really... There wasn't any emotion in it. I wanted it, most of the time. I think. Wasn't like he listened when I told him no. And I think sometimes it was... me convincing myself that I must have wanted it, because I didn't remember because I went somewhere else in my head so I... lied to myself, a bit, so I wouldn't feel so... dirty. Used. Sick. I don't know. And then I was trying to get him to fucking leave, and he... he kissed me, and I couldn't... I could feel myself checking out, yeah? I couldn't move, couldn't push him away, couldn't do fucking anything, and he was gone, out the door before I could figure out how to move my fucking arms anyhow. I threw up after, hyperventilating on the fucking floor, crawling into the cupboard like a goddamn child. Like that would do anything. Fucking idiot.

When I saw him later, I just... I got so fucking angry I couldn't see. I've never felt like that before. I could've fucking killed him. I almost wanted to. Because... because how dare he, pretend like everything's bleedin' roses when... And the really fucked part is, I wasn't even angry for me. I was sad for me. I was angry for her. Because I don't... it's different, I guess? I don't know why I'm more angry that she was hurt than I am about myself. Degrees of hurt? Like it's... worth more, somehow? That's not... I know that's not... right, or. It's not a bloody trauma olympics. I shouldn't be thinking like that. Can't stop myself from it though. I'm sorry. So I punched him. And it felt good. It felt... really fucking good, for about all of twelve seconds, and then I felt like the worst goddamn person alive. I felt... I felt like my da. And I hated myself, so fucking much, in that moment, it felt like I couldn't breathe for how much I hated myself. And he hit me back and it was fine. Made it even, yeah? And I laughed it off, pretended I was fine, like always, and he just... walked away. Like it didn't matter. Like it meant nothing. Like I was nothing. And... I don't know. I don't think... I don't think I like myself, very much. I'm not sure I'm a good person. Don't know what any of this mess rightly says about me. Hope it makes sense, at least. Should stop rambling on now, I think.

[gaytoastposts]

I would also like to note that the decision to prescribe pain medicine, stimulants, any other controlled substance is between the person needing the meds and their medical provider! It’s not the government’s business and certainly not that of random ass people. If the government thinks too many people are using X medication, try addressing the systemic factors that a) contribute to needing such medication and/or b) create the conditions in which such a substance is being abused. Creating more hoops and hurdles for both providers and patients to navigate to access medication does not prevent addiction (or drug abuse!) but rather, literally just makes it harder for people who need it to get it!

Also! Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to make it so you have to jump though so many hoops to get adhd medication! Like, where fresh fuck am I supposed to get the executive function to do such things when that is the very thing I need! The medicine! For!

It is actually way better for 100 addicts to get their fix on pain pills than a single person in pain go without. I call this the "Torture is bad" principle. You should be able to get the good stuff forever after a single doctor's visit. If you're worried about addicts fund rehab centers and needle exchanges instead of torturing people.

[kalach-cha]

people who are supposed to be my friends stop triggering me challenge

[glitchdollmemoria]

addiction talk

ohhhhhkay i think i get why the caffeine (+ sugar?) jitters are Doing Something to my brain. ive been doing really well with cutting out weed for my mental health, i actually just hit a month sober from that, but i still get cravings for it sometimes. and it absolutely gave me the jitters, and so i think my brain is going "damn this is familiar and reminds me of recreational drugs can i have more of this" and im just looking at myself like. hey. what the fuck is your problem. i absolutely should not regularly be this intensely caffeinated because i already have heart issues but like.hm. huh. hm. im gonna have to force myself to use a smaller amount of this cold brew mix bc it must be way more caffeinated than most of the stuff i drink. but ALSOOOOO shit man the idea of being this awake at work... idk man!!!! idk. i should really research the negative effects of caffeine to discourage myself from going overboard because i KNOW my brain will latch onto any substance possible and understanding health risks is probably my best coping mechanism against that shit

[l1tw1ck]

Anaxa's Strange Research Project

Bottom!Omega!FTM Anaxagoras x Top!Alpha!Masc Reader

🧪 Word Count: 1,604 🧪

AFAB Language Used | [Series]

CW: Dubious Consent, Squirting, Womb Fucking, Creampie, Riding, Sexual Overstimulation

When Anaxagoras first met you, he instantly became obsessed. Your scent was far more interesting and pleasant than the scent of any other person he’s ever met. Just holding something that belongs to you makes him tremble and before he knew it, he ended up stealing everything with your scent.

He was extremely interested in figuring out what makes it so addicting. He even went against his better judgment and allowed you access into his laboratory. The moment you asked him about it, he crumbled. How could he say no?

It's somewhat normal for an omega to get like this over an alpha’s scent, but Anaxa’s a beta. Betas can identify the unique scents of others but they don't feel much from it and they definitely don't react like this. To the point where he's acting entirely out of character. So of course he has to investigate.

A rumor started to make its rounds in the grove.

Anaxa has an obsession with making betas smell his strange experiments.

It’s made his reputation worse…to say the least. None of the betas have had the same reaction to your scent, so the lack of progress and the strange premise makes for fun lunch discussions. Then he brought in omegas and alphas. But strangely enough, no one could identify the scent as yours. In fact, they could barely smell it at all. No one knows he’s experimenting with a person’s scent, which makes the rumors all the more bizarre and exaggerated. Sometime after the rumors reached their peak, he gave up on including others in his experiment, solely due to the lack of results.

The isolation gave him the chance to finally achieve real results in his study. Since he’s no longer forced to accommodate others in a public lab, his private laboratory became akin to an omega’s nest. Your scent has dominated his entire being, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it's made him inebriated.

“Anaxa–” You huff, your hands gripping his waist.

Anaxa twitches, your cock pressing against his cervix. He presses his hands against the table. You pull back before gently hitting it again. “‘S not possible-” He moans as your hand strokes his t-dick.

“I can't try?” You manage to grind your tip against it.

Anaxa laughs. “Not even omegas can take it that deep, pervert.”

You growl in frustration. Arousal runs down Anaxa’s spine. He loves the sounds you make. You're like his perverted little puppy. “Humph.” You reach over to his face and stick your fingers in his mouth. Anaxa’s eye widens as you hit his cervix repeatedly. His toes and fingers curl, his lashes flickering erotically. It hurts, but in a good way.

Anaxa moans as his cervix opens up for you. Your cock quickly—

“Huh-” Anaxa jolts awake, drool dribbling down from his chin. He sits up and sighs. The ink on his notebook is bleeding on the paper. His ears turn red as he recalls his dream.

He can't keep dancing around it anymore. He likes you. He craves you.

He stands up and pulls off the shirt he stole from you. He pauses. Then he looks down.

“What is…” He presses his index finger against the mysterious emerald colored tattoo on his pelvis. He moans, his legs giving out. He keeps touching it out of curiosity. He stares at the design. It looks similar to that old myth. “Oh shit.” He swears. The word sounds unnatural coming out of his mouth. It’s not that he's against cursing, he just doesn't see any reason to embellish his words with profanity. He can get his point across just fine without them. But if he's understanding this correctly, this situation is definitely deserving of such language.

There was an old myth about two soulmates, forcibly drawn together by a mystical spirit of love and lust. It was an impatient entity and the couple weren't making any progress at all. They hadn't even realized their feelings for each other yet. So it pushed them together, gave them a reason to finally be together.

It was a strange myth, he didn't care much for it. There are a lot of real but rare occurrences misunderstood as mere myths in Amphoreus, but he never would've guessed this would be one of them.

Anaxa whimpers, his nose stuffed in your boxers and his hands stuffed in his boxers. He's only wearing his collared shirt and underwear. He moans your name and coincidentally, you arrive. His briefs are soaking wet with his slick.

He jumps at the sound of knocking. He can tell it's you by your scent, even though the room is full of it, he can still tell it's you. Besides, no one else is brave enough to step even 5 feet close to his lab. He quickly gets up and rushes to the door. His head feels a little more clear now that he's standing up, although his legs are very wobbly.

“A—” You start to say his name but pause, instantly recognizing your own scent. “Wh-”

Anaxa grabs your shirt and leans into your neck, taking in your fresh scent. You try to push him off you but he doesn't budge. You know it wouldn't be good if anyone walked past and saw this, even if it would be from 10 feet away, so you pick him up and close the door behind you.

“What's going on?” You ask, setting him down on the pile of your clothes, the only place he can sit comfortably. You’ve been wondering where all your things went and while you did feel suspicious hearing the chatter of his old test subjects, you still felt doubt. The only reason you're here now, is to make sure he's okay since nobody's seen him in over a week. He has many moments like this, but your gut was telling you to check up on him.

“You smell so good..” Anaxa stands up and reaches for you, tripping over the messy floor and knocking you to the ground. At least your clothes are here to soften your fall. Your heart races as you watch Anaxa adjust his body, his clothed cunt pressing against your jeans. He leans into your neck. His hand slithers down to undress you. You shudder at the sensation caused by his tongue dragging along your skin.

“Aren't you—” Your breath hitches as he finally reaches the treasure he’s been digging for from underneath the layers of your clothing. Your cock twitches with joy from being touched by another person. His pheromones finally infect your brain, your hesitation washing away with each lick to your skin. “Anaxa–” You groan as he starts to jerk you off.

As your pheromones become stronger, his mental stability weakens. He's still himself, but with far less rationality. He shakily moves himself upright, then removes his shirt. Your eyes widen at the sight of his erotic tattoo.

“You…” Anaxa murmurs, grabbing your wrist and bringing it close to his tattoo. He squirms as your fingers run along the emerald ink. Your hand glides down to the band of his underwear, ripping it apart effortlessly. “You really are an alpha.” He says, as if he ever truly doubted that.

Your head spins just from seeing his pussy. His t-cock pokes out from his untrimmed hairs. He lifts himself up, allowing you to really see it. You don't realize you're drooling as you watch him sink down onto your length. “Fuck~” He moans.

You don't think you've ever heard him swear before.

“My insides–” He forces himself further down your length. “Are stretching for you~”

Seeing the bulge appearing in his stomach triggers your orgasm. He shivers and licks his lips. He doesn't stop though, he keeps going.

“Hah–” He can feel your cock against his cervix but you're not fully inside yet. His tattoo is glowing, like it's telling you to go further. Your hands move faster than your thoughts, reaching for Anaxa’s waist. You lift him up before roughly slamming him down, his cervix opening itself up for you. Anaxa cries out in pleasure as he squirts. “I…I’m really yours..” He mutters.

You shiver. “Mine.”

Anaxa starts riding you. “You're so deep inside me~” He moans your name. “Fuck, I think I’m gonna get addicted to this~”

Your cock twitches from his words. He presses his fingers against his tattoo, his pussy flexing around your length. He lets out a breathy curse. He's overloading his senses and yet he's still moving vigorously. He whines in both pain and pleasure. It's the perfect amount of pain. “You're huge~” He stops for a moment, taking in all the sensory input.

Your heart pounds aggressively as you salivate like a dog. You watch as his chest rises and falls, as your combined fluids trickle down your cock. He slowly grinds on you, his mouth hanging open.

You grab his waist and swiftly change positions. The way he looks right now, the way his hair slightly splays out onto the pile of your clothes…how his nipples are hard and how beautifully his tattoo glows, it's almost like you're doing a photoshoot. You aggressively rut into him.

“You're so desperate for me~” He giggles softly, talking like someone with low alcohol tolerance. You’ve definitely never heard him giggle before. He reaches for you and you lean in, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and take in your scent again.

Your hips stutter before your cock fills him with another load. Anaxa moans softly, his pussy weakly flexing around you.

Things are going to change between the two of you now.

[willnaib]

i didn't mention levi's heroin addiction at first because i wanted to make a longer post about it, but... may as well tack it onto this one because it's on topic.

i know it's optional in-game when you play as him for a reason, but i really wish the addiction was unavoidable. it's something i like about termina a lot -- that you Cannot Escape the horror. levi's trauma isn't something you can just write off and move on about, it's a constant debuff that affects every combat encounter in the game. you have no choice but to think about it when he's in your party. there's meta discussions on how levi is really only useful when you have heroin and need a heavy hitter for a boss fight, but useless for general fights. that's the point. he's a product of prehevil and of the war that frames the game. when he has the drug, he's practically a killing machine. when he doesn't, good luck. it's an intentional thing -- that it's not just cosmetic or a personality trait, but a debuff that affects how you play the game. because it affects how levi lives his life.

we see this in the plot of the game too -- how the only time levi shows any sort of excitement (or emotion other than vaguely miserable) is when he remembers his hiding spot in the woods from when he was a kid... and then gets somewhat embarrassed as he remembers that he was stashing beer and god-knows what else in there. when he was, like, twelve. because he was conscripted at 13. (which is why personally i don't agree with the avoidable debuff, since we know he's already predisposed to it because he grew up in Depths of Shit Orphanage, but w/e.)

it's been mentioned in the tags of the og post a few times (ty all for your additions btw. i read them all. i love them) but it really is disappointing that levi's addiction is either not acknowledged or treated as a joke. it's something that impacts his gameplay -- and character -- fundamentally, and it's not as if resources on addiction aren't easily accessible through searches. don't try to escape it. does it make you uncomfortable? good! fear and hunger is a horror series. horror is meant to make you uncomfortable. the existence of a barely-adult character who has struggled with substance addiction since childhood is supposed to make you uncomfortable, and then question the circumstances that made him into that. termina is very overtly an anti-war game. aside from his childhood, the war is what denied him an opportunity to grow past his origins. he is a victim of circumstance.

thinking about the complexity of levi today. how he’s the first person to suggest just burning the city down, how easy it would catch fire. how he doesn’t feel bad for the moonscorched citizens because, in his opinion, they kind of deserved it. how he still wants a home. how he wants to take up piano again. how he doesn’t register when abella asks him if he’s okay and doesn’t take a noncommittal “yeah” as an answer. how he’s only 18 and has been at war for five years. how he always offers to watch the door, guard the exit — just in case. how he doesn’t want to just be a scope behind a rifle anymore. how he’s been prepared to die his whole life, but doesn’t want to. he’s only 18.

[thecruellestmonth]

Do you guys really believe that killing is the singular bad thing that cops do?

Or even that killing is the most frequent bad thing that cops do?

Are you saying that if cops didn't kill, then they'd be the same as Batman? Because then you're suggesting that effectively Batman already is a cop, with the "exception" that he hasn't killed (just like the majority of U.S. cops, who have never once shot or killed anybody).

I'm a bit worried to see opinions suggesting that only killing is wrong—and that violence, stalking, and humiliation are okay. In real-life, police commit countless acts of those "little" abuses, terrorizing entire communities, before they murder anybody, or without outright killing anybody.

Invading people's privacy is wrong. Hurting people to the point of hospitalization is wrong. Forcibly drugging people is wrong. Putting people in cages is wrong. Torture and "enhanced interrogation" are wrong. Ambushing people in their homes and safe places is wrong. Keeping inexhaustible wealth is wrong.

Superhero comics are power fantasies. Not all fantasies need to reflect our ideology in reality. But once you apply your real-life values to fiction, once you decide that fiction showcases exemplary real-life ideology—then your praise for Batman's ideology does become a worrying reflection of your real-life understanding of social issues.

[wireddless]

Addict

pairing: Coriolanus Snow/Reader

cw: 17+ hate. fucking. dubcon, possessive behavior, corio is emotionally abusive, vaguely implied Plinth reader, p in v, unprotected sex, nsfw below the cut,

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i just know hes so hung you guys i want him so bad

Living in the shadow of Lucy Gray was never an easy feat. That’s all she was after the erasure; a shadow, soon to be only a whisper on the sleeping breath of Coriolanus. The closest he could ever feel to real love was with the District 12 songbird, and had she been more than just a district animal, a member of the Capitol, there was no doubt in your mind he would have married her instead.

Your days at the academy, a few years his inferior, were spent in the naive mindset that he was fully capable of love. However, the only true love he would ever feel was towards the power in his cold-handed grasp. After your graduation, you continued living with your family, their prized figurehead of poise and beauty, until they managed to propose your hand to him, only a year or so before he became president.

Coriolanus, living on top of his family’s hidden debt and poverty, accepted nearly immediately, driven by the thought of the millions that came with your name. Your family, so charmed by the icy man, was manipulated into paying for the lavish ceremony. A Capitol wedding was a spectacle to behold, a sea of colored heads and garments, textiles in unique patterns decorating the spectators in a myriad of colors. An insipid eye-sore, in his opinion.

And there you were, the pale lavender of your dress cascading down your body like the drapes that covered a window in a lonely mansion, baby fat gone. The bright light in your eyes that has now long-since faded, the happy expression you held, truly believing the facade he had put on to convince your family that he was a perfect match, it all fueled a fire of satisfaction in his psyche. He remembered the young girl from their studious days, the sneaky glances shot his way from a face framed by baby fat, it was so easy to take advantage of a schoolgirl crush, to charm his way right into your heart. He’d never go hungry again, and he could finally focus solely on his rise to power.

Or so he thought. When you managed to pick his intentions apart and discovered the cunning and manipulative nature of the man, you became defiant, fucking petulant. Your once tender and loving gaze, seeking to nurture and care for him, hardened like the calcium deposits on the well pumps in the poorer districts of Panem. He heard in passing from the workers of the house about your violent fits of tears late at night. It wasn’t like he cared, hell, the idea of your reddened face damp with tears and snot amused him to no end. But fuck if it didn’t annoy him when Tigris became your closest friend and confidant.

Coriolanus kept you locked away in the golden cage of his home, not permitting the men of his staff to go near you, forcing you to discuss with him the simplest task of visiting your own family. You were still the key to his now inherited wealth, a prize that he had won with cunning and malicious tactics, and the thought of you straying into the arms of another man, who could take you, who could take even a bit of the control he held, it infuriated him to no end.

It took almost a year for you to realize that without your family, he was completely broke, and it took almost two to realize he never once held even a glimmer of fondness towards you, that he was using you. Tigris, who had spoken to you during her regular visits, had become the arms you fell into when the agony of your situation first befell you. Her hands wrapped around your body as she shushed and hummed quietly were a solace to you as the pain dawned on you. Three years after your marriage, you would speak in hushed tones over cooling tea, not bothering to hide your glare when Coriolanus bothered joining. He was no longer the subject matter of your conversations with Tigris, instead discussing gossip that had spread through the yammering mouths of Capitol citizens, and the newest trends to pass around them. She had become your dearest friend, one he couldn’t find a valid reason to hide you from. Though he never would admit while his heart was still beating, despite your shared animosity, you were still his favorite accessory.

The Reaping ceremonies for the next annual Hunger Games would begin soon, which became a sensitive topic between you and Coriolanus. It was no secret to you who Lucy Gray Baird had been, who she had been to him. What the hunger games meant to him. You resented her. Not for the place she held near his heart, but for managing to escape him before he had caged her.

The fire of your arguments was always sparked by her name, the tinder and fuel having already been prepared by the years of building resentment. Almost always in his office, your hands would shove him back as he rapidly approached you after you provoked him with harsh and unforgiving words, only fanning the flame of hatred he felt towards you. Then he would corner you, your back against the wall as one hand found your neck and the other found your hair, his fingernails digging at your scalp. His minty breath falling out of his mouth in heavy gasps as he fought the urge to kill you right there. You made him feel as though he was an animal from the districts, dirty and foaming at the mouth. And he hated that.

“You know I would never harm you.” He’d always reassure you when his grip on your throat finally loosened, his eyes taking in the way you would suck in air he had prevented from reaching your lungs. Coriolanus considered what little he allowed you, even the air you breathed, a favor. He thought himself generous, benevolent even. He wasn’t of course, and you were always quick to point that out.

Today's argument was only different in setting, within the walls of your shared bedroom rather than his office. You had shoved him, predictable, and turned to storm away, wanting to find a guest room to sleep in instead. But before you could reach the door, his hand had yanked you by your hair back towards him before nearly throwing you on the bed. When you sat up to scramble away, he shoved you back down by your shoulders and crawled on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress, an echo of your frequent taunts. It was rare that you two would actually be in such a position, as neither of you particularly craved intimacy with one-another, yet the way one hand slid up your negligee and gripped the curve of your thigh conveyed a much different message tonight.

“I just wish you’d shut up for once, you know that?” He growled. Coriolanus Snow was an aggressive lover. He put all his weight on his forearm strung across your chest to keep you pinned down as his fingers left their place on your thigh and slid up to the junction of your legs, cupping your heat rather aggressively before shoving them aside and sliding his fingers over your folds to find the sensitive and rather neglected bundle of nerves. You could hardly hide the shudder that overcame you as you responded.

“Fuck you!” You spat at him, writhing under his touch. Your head fell back on the luxurious sheets and you bit back a moan as he swirled his fingers in a circular motion over your clit, stirring the lust you had repressed to life. How he loved to see your eyes rolling back into your skull as you fought surrendering to his ministrations. The edges of his mouth lifted in a smug little smirk when your arousal became more evident, making your cunt slick and pliable.

Oh, how he adored to see his poor, neglected wife fall victim to her own human nature. It made him want to consume you whole, like you were a treat he got all to himself. Coriolanus’s mouth fell to your collarbone and his teeth scraped over the thin skin as he slipped his middle finger inside your sopping hole, earning an earnest mewl from your normally argumentative lips. He bit down rather hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder as he slowly, teasingly pumped his finger in and out. This would be easier than he thought.

He tilted his head back up to take in the sight of your demeanor flickering to something more vulnerable, before taking your mouth with his. He kissed you like you provided the air he needed to breathe, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate. You’d be a fool to say you didn’t still crave him after the years of strained marriage. His teeth clashed with yours as you both attempted to deepen the kiss. When he pushed another finger inside of you, hooking them and speeding up, your mouth fell open with a shaky moan, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

When your mother described to you what sex was like, she explained it like an intimate dance, where two souls would merge with love and passion. But it was never like that between the two of you. It was always a battle, aggressive and antagonistic as one of you sought to take something from the other. For Coriolanus, it was a display of his authority and control. His fingers quickened in pace and your hips bucked up into his hand, searching for more friction that would aid in your release. And he was benevolent wasn’t he? Who would he be to deny such a rare and primal pleasure? His fingers continued their attack on the spongy roof of your walls, pushing you closer and closer until your hand tore at the skin of his back with the intensity of your orgasm. Still seeing stars, he pulled his lips from yours and hovered them over your ear, his cheek brushing against yours, damp with tears.

“See how easy everything can be when you just stop resisting me at every turn?” You opened your mouth to respond, to bite back when the arm that pinned you down quickly shifted so his hand could cup over your mouth. He loved shutting you up. His silent voice hissed in your ear with a lingering promise. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

So focused on his words and hot breath on your ear, you almost didn’t notice when he pulled his fingers from inside you to tug down your panties, discarding them somewhere behind him before fumbling with the breeches he slept in, the cold air of the room hitting his stiff cock. He brought that same hand up before him, spitting in it and spreading the wetness of his saliva over his hardened length. Barely giving you a second to process all that was happening, he pressed himself inside of you, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow furrowing as your tight, wet heat engulfed him entirely.

Having not been intimate with him in so long, it was like he was splitting you open, and you cried out with pleasure into his hand, your own lashes pressing together as you took his total length. Coriolanus didn’t remain still for long, and his hips soon began setting a bruising pace, his balls slapping against your ass as he fought the urge to moan himself, not wanting to appear any less in control than he was. Your muffled gasps spurred him on, practically driving him mad as he pummeled into you. The volume difference when he removed his hand from your mouth and forearm from your chest was quite noticeable, and his fingers wove into your hair once more, holding your head back against the bed as he swallowed your moans with his mouth.

The stinging pain of your nails in the skin of his back when they flung around him was dulled by the sheer thrill he felt taking you like this. The hand that coaxed your orgasm out of you found its way to your thigh again, pushing it up over your torso to rest on your shoulder, allowing him to thrust deeper inside of you as his fingers dug into the hot and tender skin. You nearly screamed into his mouth from the change in sensation as his hips came flush with yours over and over again. For a brief moment, he pulled away from the kiss to bite and suck at the skin of your neck, letting you sing out unmuted by his hand, as he imagined his songbird would so many years ago.

Coriolanus hated you. He hated almost everything about you. He resented you the way you resented him, but he was still addicted to you. Addicted to the control you allowed him as he fucked you stupid, to the way your pitful moans were brought about by him, to the dumb fucking look on your face as your body managed to make his hips stutter and falter as he came inside you with a low moan. He didn’t care about pulling out. You were his wife, a state figurehead, it was part of the job description to give birth to his children. Maybe getting you pregnant would even do him the favor of shutting you up. He didn’t bother helping you clean up as you readjusted your nightgown, instead opting to wipe the sweat from his brow and tuck himself back in the satin pants he intended on sleeping in.

Coriolanus Snow was not capable of real love. All those close enough to him were well-aware of that fact, including you. But when he crawled into the bed and pulled you, still breathless and trembling, up next to him, when he tucked your head into his chest in a possessive manner, your hands pressed against his heated chest, when he fell asleep holding you like you’d run away too, you momentarily convinced yourself he might have been able to love.

[dmitriene]

Hiya👋👋 I hope you start feeling better❣❣ Anyways I was thinking.. Hybrid Au with any of the Cod guys you can choose, where reader and whichever of the guys you pick are both hybrids. One and or both of them go into heat/rut at the most inopportune moment possible, like on a mission or in the middle of a meeting type thing. Please and thank you❣❣😊

cw: hybrids, mating, rut, breeding, mentions of 141.

simon ghost riley realizes how important it is to discuss the next mission in order to strategize the matter between the soldiers, so when captain john price pulls him out of your grasping, hugging arms with a phone call in the morning, saying that in fifteen minutes he will be waiting for everyone in the briefing room, you both have to unglue your eyes open to the mercilessly bright morning rays and start getting ready.

the thing is, you've been lot, awfully clingy all recent week, sure, it's not something new for either of you, you've already been making simon's life harder from the point when he made you his mate, your body always wrapped or rubbing against defined expanse of his muscle and bone, kitten tail flicking around and curling over his leg, sweet face always nudging in against his own rugged and stubbled mug, his precious, needy darling.

but the further it's goes, the more possessive you got, obsessed, even, something been gnawing in at the pit of your tummy, making you scrape your sharp, tiny teeth's against the exposed pulse point on simon's neck, claw over every honed out, full corded lines of his body, make his pointed, dark furred dog ears twitch, fluttering at your very touch and ghost of a smell, cloying enough to his sensitive nose, flaring out in response to your antics, as you coated him in the smell of your body, didn't let him go anywhere without your company by his side.

the center of the reasons for your behavior were laying in impending heat, simple as that, but both you and simon missed all the signs, until today's briefing, a room full of other members of taskforce, soldiers all around both of you, and the air seems stuffy, almost, as you brush it off on being a little bit annoyed by the early morning you had to start, the burn of your skin a distant hint that something is wrong, yet you're too engrossed in listening to captain talking.

too unaware for your own good, because the smell of you permeates and fills the room until there's no space and corners left, wafting, flowing around and under the noses of your fellow sergeants and captain, heads turning, chests expanding and chasing the wafting notes that tickle their noses, making all the discussions cut short, curious, confused eyes searching your own from across the table, settling, and then does it's strucks you, body shuddering, searing hot, as you try to find simon with your slowly glassing gaze.

simon smells you before he sees you, whiskey pooling eyes eclipsing, and he feels the way his tail gives an interesting wag, straightening against the back of the chair he sits on, as it scrapes to follow his raising body, sending a screech of metal legs and a low rumble that bubbles up his constricting, swallowing throat, searching for you, his sweet mate, sitting between two ogling sergeants, their hands fidgety at the table, a simple instinct, since they know best than to touch what doesn't belong to simon, but still, it's enough to make him pounce.

saliva burns down his throat as if he’d gulped down battery acid, body moving on autopilot, chased only with the sound of his heavy boots thumping down against the shiny floor, before he reaches and snatches you off the chair, it's almost menacing, spine shuddering in it's roughness, but his gloved hands soften their touch when connecting over the curves of your shaking body, scooping you up and secure against him, and when simon's gaze shoots over each head in the room, the soldiers hide their gazes and turn around.

john's nose is covered by the palm, shielding, they all know the smell is addictive, arousing, plugging their noses and greedy mouthes, filling their bellies and pressing upon their underbelly, until they are hard in their pants, and without needing the voiced out permission, price's mouth preoccupied with biting down at his lip, simon carries you towards the door, shushing the whine that tears through your parting lips, exhaling out a feverish breath, jolting even in the tight grasp of his enveloping hold, before the door snaps shut.

it's gonna be alright, a voice of his, gravelly through sharp gritted teeth's, rings in through your ears, maybe, you seem to whimper, maybe you move, since simon's soothing is endless, blanketing over your frayed, distressed nerves, because you need him closer than just carrying, you need him naked, you need him weighting down on you, need his mouth frantic and covering you like a tactical map, need to feel your hole full, the one that is sopping wet against your sticky panties now, and your arousal bleeds with scent that won't stop abusing simon's senses.

every minute is countable, and he won't doggy you in some cramped, dusty room to give you a quick relief, so he has to walk all the way through the long hallway until his gaze sharpens at the sight of his room, shoulders squaring to bump against the door, elbow jutting down on the doorknob, until it's gives down and cracks open, letting him weight aside, spreading open further, until he steps past the doorway, your body and mind seeming to feel the changes of the air, the comfortable warmth of the walls around, the all fulfilling scent of simon, helping you to know, for sure, that you're safe.

your pointy, fluffy kitten ears flicker, no longer pressed tight against the crown of your head, tail curling in the air tentatively, then wraps around his forearm, and you let out a purr, small, contented sound as you bump your forehead beneath his masked jaw, the tension flowing off the shore of simon's shoulders muscle by muscle, melting in the weight of you in his arms, vibrating from the force of your little sounds, his own ears softening, no longer straightened forcefully in alertness, as his legs carry him forward, to bed.

there, simon would take care of your heat, fill your greedy, gaping leaky hole until it's too much and you're too full, the swelling weight of his cock inside of you, fat and curved to but against the gummy root of your cervix, tease right where you need him the most, filling you of warm spurts of his cum, leaving you plugged whole of his seed, but he'd take his time, first.

you'd get him in his own rut too soon like that, keening and blabbering his name through small, broken sobs, because you don't like how slow he moves, trying to be gentle, but you need this cock deep in your guts, battering your gummy, rippling insides until your thighs are soaked, glinting with tacky slickness that oozes out of your cunt, pounded along every wet slap of his thighs, lingering as a burn, full, hanging balls pressing against the plump swell of your ass to feel the way his bulbous tip nudges in that tiny, sensitive spot.

little claws piercing in his own flexing butt, scratching and tugging at his thumping, wagging tail, making him growl down at you, watery eyes all glazed as you peer at him through sooty lashes innocently, moaning on a purr in response, high pitched and so, so aroused, and he can do nothing but speed his already frantic enough pounds, to make sure you're sated, as you chirp in acceptance, cunt accommodating to each rutting motion of his hips, relishing in the roughness, in the sweaty mix of your scents, the darkness of his dilated pupils, enraptured by you.

until simon's thighs cramp and shake, every part of skin aflame from scarlet scratches you left, long and crisscrossing over his back and shoulder blades, as his cum oozes, drips out from your stretched out, pulsing hole, frothy globs soaking in the rumpled bedding beneath your entwined, heaving against each other bodies, and only then do you let him rest, your poor mate, panting in the curve of your neck, warm and sharp scented, his thrusts faltering, as your clawed fingers find their way in the sweaty locks at his flushed nape.

perhaps, you'll both crawl out the bed only by the time of a next mission, but it's doesn't matter, as long as you remain pleased and simon's rut won't trigger in the middle of the field, because that thing, none would survive for sure, especially not your captain and the sergeants, after the bothered state they were left in the briefing room, discussing the upcoming mission without you both, all while throbbing in their pants.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[ask-codeearasure]

There should be a noted difference between creative fanon works and character generalizations for discussions like these. I think it would help distinguish between whether fanon in general is being criticized or the stereotyped versions of these characters are.

I've got a lot of complaints for how Killer, Swap!Papyrus, and Error are mischaracterized in fanfiction if you'd like to hear them.

I don't know why I'm phrasing it that way because I'm gonna rant regardless.

I'm not a fan of how Error is always assumed to be aggressive and aggravated beyond belief either, because the only times he is shown to BE outwardly aggressive is when he's in the process of destroying a reality and torturing the people in it OR his boundaries were crossed. You can see these cases on the AskErrorsans blog, in the asks where Error's fighting Swap!Papyrus or when he thinks he's being manipulated by either Blueberry or one of the askers in the Anti-Void (the one who asked for a handshake).

There are CONDITIONS to how Error reacts and It's less likely to earn his fatal responses in the Anti-Void because, well, that's pretty much his safespace despite his past with it.if.

But note that he is not angry ALL THE TIME. He's sadistic and all but he's got unstable mood swings and a certain detachment from reality and characterizing that shit as unfiltered rage, malice, and threats all the time is nothing short of a stereotype for people who experience those symptoms intensely.

It's just gotten aggravating at this point. Error experiences more emotions than this. There are more times where he's happy or caught extremely off guard by stimuli he did not expect (see: Fresh).

My complaints with Killer's characterization is similar and I know @howlsofbloodhounds has the same grievances given... her entire Tumblr, I mean look at it. It's a landmine of Killer. It's great.

Killer is almost always characterized as this perverted flirtatious sex guru in both Stage 1 and Stage 2, but mostly Stage 2, the Stage where he could care less about interacting with other people unless there is an interest he has latched on to.

He has never been shown to be a particularly sexual person, and the one time he had been was as a joke between Rahafwabas and Jokublog about him making an effort to repulse the shit out of Nightmare.

But here's the thing. In full honesty, the sex part of how he's characterized is something I could care less about. It's moreso his personality and lack thereof depending on the Stage he's in. Killer is a tragic character with trillions of sins on his back. It's especially evident in Stage 1 where he has the disposition of a wet cat who sometimes aims to get Color to kill him or warns others about Stages 2 and 3 if he can't have the former.

In Stage 2, he is in such an intense state of dissociation he has convinced himself he feels nothing and cares about no one. Perhaps he could put on a false persona here and there but he has to have a CAUSE first. He's not going to put in all that effort unless he's getting a benefit out of it and often that benefit has to include a semblance of control over himself or another person.

Stages 3 and 4 I can't speak on as much considering they're both completely weaponized states of mind. One is most easily comparable to a feral animal and the other a machine with tunnel vision onto one objective: killing. They don't have much personality to warp in a sexual or flirtatious way and that is why these stages are consistently ignored in fanfiction.

If you can't sexualize a concept, you're better off ignoring it or completely rewriting it. This is where the "sex addict Stage 2" comes from. The people who write this shit either didn't care for what this character actually was or couldn't bother to do the research.

This isn't even a statement against fanon in general, coming from me. What irritates me so much isn't the basis of creative liberties, it's about the constant warping of these characters to the point the results overshadow what they were intended to be. Too many people still think Killer is a mouthy pervert instead of one of the most unsocial, guilt-ridden, and suicidal characters this fandom has ever made. And again, that's just him in Stage 1.

It becomes an issue when one perception of a character, one that isn't even right (or one that could be a harmful stereotype), gets pushed so commonly and so harshly that that is all people think that character is.

This is a reason why I still have friends that don't like Killer, Underswap, Dreamtale, Ink, Error, what have you. They have outright said many a time that they don't like what common fandom treatment has done to them and that is why they avoid looking into them.

Swap!Papyrus suffers from this kind of shit too but because he's not Swap!Sans, we don't see all that many complaints about fandom making him an overprotective crack addict with depression so intense and so fetishized his needs are ignored or even shamed by his older brother.

In renditions of Underswap where Sans is the younger brother or Sans and Papyrus are the same age, they suffer from these same character clichés regardless. Because they are never expanded upon aside from being a bland joke at mostly Papyrus's expense and sometimes at Sans's expense for having symptoms of AuDHD or just being such a nice guy that kindness is considered a fucking weakness and Swap!Papyrus is just soooooooo damn cynical he has to either ground his brother at every turn or imply insult to his helpful nature.

I've seen way too many fanfictions that do this and in a way, they implement these character traits to make Papyrus a lazy form of antagonist.

In canon Underswap, the main traits about the main cast is their ROLES are all swapped, and their personalities are only swapped on a PARTIAL BASIS. Sans becomes eccentric and Papyrus gets a little lazy.

And yet, despite these minuscule changes in personality to the two, Swap!Papyrus has become the stereotyped Classic!Sans, where his entire personality is angst and the occasional joke and jest is made to cover up how depressed and tragic he is. The only light in his life is his brother, who he constantly infantilizes and isolates because he's nice, appears naive, and may or may not be neurodivergent, and therefore too symptomatic and utterly defenseless to make his own decisions as an adult.

Recognize a pattern here? Cause it's certainly ableist and disrespectful and I am fucking tired of seeing this shit in just about every Sans and Papyrus duo, ESPECIALLY those with swapped origins.

And the fuckin Swap!Papyrus is a drug/smoking addict thing? It's been played off as a joke so much that no one seems to want to expand on how these addictions could affect Swap!Papyrus and his relationships in the long run. Sure, he doesn't have a brain or lungs to fuck up, but did you know daily use of drugs and other chemicals can screw with your bone marrow or how strong your bones are in general? Why not do something with that?

Maybe have that while Papyrus himself plays his addictions off as jokes, it's a bad coping mechanism where HE wants himself to ignore the health issues he'd have to deal with years from that point and his brother vocalizing his worry about those possibilities is just that bit agitating to him.

Because Papyrus knows Sans is right, but the resources for addicts in the Underground might be extremely limited. Perhaps he's tried to curb his reliance on cigarettes or weed without any assistance before but always fell back into them because of withdrawal symptoms or he couldn't handle another depressive episode without a distraction and didn't want to burden Sans with it.

Maybe Sans, instead of shaming and insulting Papyrus for these problems, really does try to support and help him however he can. Maybe another reason why he joins the Royal Guard is so they can afford the few resources and modern research that'll help Papyrus manage his issues. Perhaps Sans is dealing with his own internal struggle here too, that he is great at so many things but doesn't know how to help his brother in a time where he needs him the most, that he blames himself for not stopping Papyrus from forming these addictions in the first place, but didn't catch onto it in time because he was working so hard for most of his waking hours?

Why can't we do this instead of relying on fandom generalizations to make cheap conflicts between these guys? Why can't we do this instead of making substance abuse look like a fucking joke?

-- Sarco

Here is my hot take:

When people talk about who's the most mischaracterised they are always wrong because it's not Ink or Swap. It's Error. I have yet to see someone draw Error that isn't: a) extreme exaggeration of fear of touch, b) too sweet to be in character c) too evil to be in character and d) way too confident. Most of these are apparent in fanfics. It's fine if people want to take creative liberty with him, but making Error one singular characteristic and make him always react in one way (ex. Always aggravated and violent at everyone and everything) is not only flat writing, but also just unrealistic. Anyways this was brought to you by a Ink fan who is tired of either or both Error and Ink being done so badly.

Honestly, to me the most mischaracterized tends to be either Killer or Papyrus (literally any Papyrus, because tell me why Underswap Papyrus is almost always an overprotective asshole who babies his older brother in most fics??).

But that's also mostly because it's been a good while since I last read either an Error or an Ink-centric fic. While I love them very very much, it's just too hard to filter stuff out the way I want on AO3, all because UTMV isn't recognized as an actual fandom (despite it being very detached from Undertale). It's frustrating and I don't have the patience to go through every fic just to look for the dynamic I'm hoping for.

So yeah, I'm not an expert on how people write Error anymore, but if they really do flatten him to just one characteristic I do get why that's frustrating since unfortunately that always happens to my faves as well.

The only solution to that I've found so far has been writing the fics I wanna see and ranting endlessly about the blorbos here on Tumblr with all the wonderful people who get them

[puppyaulait]

Part 2- CW for discussion of addiction and alcohol (part 1)

[mrsjellymunson]

Game Two: TWO PLAYER GAME

Part 2 of Damsels & Debauchery: The D&D Chronicles

Pairing: DM!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

WC: ~9.9k

Summary: You find out the result of Eddie’s dice roll, and you both make the most of every point…

CW: 🔞 SMUT, NSFW, MDNI! Lots of kissing, boob play, dry humping (brief), finger sucking (brief), hair pulling (subtle), oral & fingering (f rec), unprotected p in v (protection discussed), chair sex, aftercare, allusion to cream pie, the tiniest amount of angst between party members, mentions of food, mediator!Dustin Henderson, insightful!Erica Sinclair.

A/N: Many thanks to everyone who expressed so much love on the first part and convinced me to write more for these two - this is now a series, if you want to be on the taglist, or my general one, just ask, I’d love to have you on board 🌼 Also grateful thanks to two superfans @airen256 and @80s-addict who gave me some ideas for interactions with the kids, you guys rock!🤘

“Okay, Master. How about this? You roll, and the result is how many kisses you have to give me...”

Eddie’s never been so desperate to roll a 12 in his entire fucking life.

“Four? FOUR?! Goddammit!!”

Eddie’s high-pitched screech slices through the dense, charged atmosphere of the trailer. He’s clearly not thrilled with the result of his dice roll. 

And, if you’re completely honest, neither are you.

The heavy ambience returns, however, when he drops his voice to a much lower timbre, leans forward, and murmurs directly into your ear,

“I guess I’d better make them count then, huh?”

You feel the heat contained in his words, as well as in his breath fanning over the back of your neck. Goosebumps travel down your spine despite the warmth, and your core clenches gently around nothing.

Eddie’s strong hands come to your hips, and he kneads at the flesh as he considers in his Dungeon Master voice that’s only slightly laced with trepidation,

“Are you sure you want this, Princess?”

You nod rapidly, slightly jostling both of you, but it’s not enough for Eddie. He lightly rests his forehead against your shoulder blade as he continues,

“Need your words, sweetheart. I need you to tell me.”

You gasp as he places a gentle but firm open-mouthed bite to your covered shoulder, the damp heat of his breath passing easily through the thin fabric of your shirt. His grip tightens, and your breath hitches in your throat as you somehow manage to stammer,

“Yes, Eddie. I want this.”

Turning so you can speak to him over your shoulder, you add,

“I want you.”

He groans into your flesh before he lifts his head and his gaze meets yours. His palms slide up, slowly, like he’s still not sure he’s supposed to do this, over your shirt against the sides of your ribs until he’s cupping the undersides of your breasts. He pauses, still half-expecting you to push him off you, chastise him, maybe even get up and leave.

But you don’t. You’re a little surprised, but pleasantly, and your chest heaves with excitement combined with a little disbelief that this is actually happening.

Eddie lifts and squeezes, just a little. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, and your eyes roll too as you revel in the sensation of him touching you. Finally. His hands feel just as good as you’d imagined they would, better even, because it’s actually real. You run yours up his strong, veiny forearms, brushing over bracelets of leather and chains and feeling the heat of his skin. Your thumbs graze the undersides of his wrists and you hear him let out a tiny, breathy gasp as you draw minute circles on the sensitive skin. But you don’t linger. You want more from him, and you need him to know it.

You gently push upwards, directing him to take more of your flesh in his hands. He acquiesces and moans as he places a wet kiss to that spot where your neck meets your shoulder, letting his teeth graze your skin as his hands roam your chest and his fingertips skim the peaks of your nipples. He closes his lips and begins to suck, and takes as much of your breasts into his hands as he can, palming and groping and moulding the flesh like it’s giving him life.

You slide your hands up and over his, feeling his knuckles and the pointed nubs of his rings against your palm. You imagine feeling this without any fabric barrier separating you, and the image makes you whimper. Eddie’s hips buck up at the sound, pressing his not-insignificant bulge into your ass, and as much as he wants to do this forever, he wants more of you too. 

You lose your grip on him as he slides his hands down again, past your waist and hips and over your thighs, squeezing them before he settles them around your waist and moves to twist you as he softly whispers, voice cracked and broken,

“Will you— Would you turn around?”

By way of an answer you go to stand, toppling a little on your wobbly legs and grabbing his hands for balance as you manoeuvre yourself to straddle his lap, facing him. You slowly lower yourself onto his thighs, your legs pushed apart as you settle across his knees.

It’s the first time you’ve been able to fully look at him since before any of this started, and you’re enraptured by the sight. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, and you can see the smattering of freckles that adorn his perfect, alabaster complexion. His dark, wavy bangs are a little mussed and fuzzy from where he’s been leaning against you, and his rosebud lips part as his gaze roves your form. They’re puffy and pink, and shiny with his spit from where he’s been mouthing at your neck. He looks up at you with what might be awe, and those beautiful, deep brown eyes, rimmed with the longest and darkest eyelashes you’ve ever seen on a boy, flick around your cheeks and your lips until they settle on your own. 

For a moment, neither of you move. You simply gaze at each other, taking in the other's features as if it’s for the first time. In a way it is - you’ve never had free rein to just… ogle each other before, previously always conscious of being caught. He looks to you like a sculpture, as if every curve and line of his face is exquisitely positioned and shaped to create the most aesthetically pleasing whole, and his molten chocolate irises glow in the sunlight cascading through the blinds. Entranced, you trace a fingertip across his eyebrow, his cheekbone, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth, the subtle stubble on his top lip, his Cupid’s bow. You swear you can feel the crackle of electricity where your skin meets his.

He inhales sharply as his hand flies up to grab yours, stilling your movements. You flush with worry, terrified you've done something wrong, but it’s quickly assuaged when Eddie opens his mouth a little more, and gently pushes your first two digits past his lips and onto his tongue. Your breath hitches as his lips close around it, and you feel light suction as the wet muscle caresses your finger. You can’t help but whimper, Eddie’s eyes still locked on yours as he slips his tongue between your fingers, and you feel a rush of his warm breath flow across the back of your hand as his lips part and he breathes deeply.

You close your eyes for the briefest of moments, enjoying how it heightens the sensations, but you can’t deny yourself Eddie’s gaze for long. You open your eyes, and one corner of your mouth kicks up ever so slightly as you pull your hand back and remove your fingers from his mouth. He watches you intently as you smile, turn your wrist so that your fingers are pointing towards you, and slip them past your lips and into your own mouth. You lick and suck, trying to garner everything of Eddie that he’s left. His taste is faint, but it’s there - cigarettes, coffee, and the merest hint of spearmint gum - and before you can stop it a low moan leaves your chest. But the merest hint of him isn’t enough, you want the full Eddie experience, to taste him in his entirety, to have his essence suffocate you, drown your senses. 

You plunge both hands into Eddie’s glorious locks, your fingertips running through the roots as his breath stutters and he trembles beneath you. You lean forwards, and your noses bump and your breaths mingle and fan over each other as you skim your lips against his with the lightest of touches. Speaking so quietly it’s almost inaudible, yet with so much power Eddie thinks he might actually die, you murmur,

“So, Master... Are you ready for kiss number one?”

Slack jawed and barely coherent, Eddie nods an assent, and as you move forwards an almost imperceptible amount Eddie tilts his chin up, the joint movements eliminating the space between you. Your first kiss is soft, tender. His pillowy lips press against yours with what feels like barely contained desperation, his breath uneven and shaky, and you wonder quite how much he’s holding back. It’s delicious. The scent of him is stronger at this proximity, and you inhale it like holy smoke. You immediately press back, feeling his lips move beneath yours. Your mind fills with images of pink silk, warm honey, fizzing wine and swirling glitter. No one’s touch has ever given you visuals before, and there’s a brief moment where you wonder whether there were hallucinogens in one of the snacks, but then Eddie jolts you back to reality by moving the tip of his tongue ever so gently against the seam of your lips. You can’t stand to wait any longer. Parting your lips and dropping your jaw, you immediately allow Eddie full access to your mouth. His tongue plunges in with a fervency you’ve never experienced, and he moans as yours slides over and around it.

His hands are on you again, stroking and squeezing at your waist and your hips, and you whimper into his mouth. Braver now, or perhaps just unable to resist, Eddie’s hands cup under your ass, his fingertips drifting dangerously close to your cunt, kneading the flesh and pulling your cheeks apart, causing you to let out a groan of your own. You almost break the kiss and drop your head back, but stop yourself, not wanting it to end. After all, you only have three left after this... Instead, you lean forward and kiss Eddie deeper, gripping his tresses and tugging gently at the roots, and he moans harder into your mouth.

Eventually you both need air, and you break apart, gasping. You gaze at Eddie’s flushed face, his pupils blown wide and his lips reddened and slick from the kiss. You swear the temperature in the trailer has risen a good five degrees, and without thinking you grab the hem of your shirt and lift it up and over your head, discarding the fabric somewhere in the room. Eddie's arms go slack at his sides and his eyes widen. His Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows, hard, as he’s presented with the sight of your tits at eye level, covered in nothing but the cutest bra you own (that you totally didn’t wear especially).

His eyebrows furrow and he breathes out a ‘haaaaah’, in a strangled half sigh, half moan. Your confidence soars as it becomes clear that he likes what he sees, and although you’re feeling both flattered and desired it does seem to have stunned Eddie into some sort of paralysis. You move your hands to his and position them over your boobs, encouraging him to hold them, squeeze them, make them his. He complies, groaning again as he massages your warm flesh in his palms. His calloused fingertips dip beneath the tops of the cups, and with sudden urgency he roughly pulls down the fabric, your tits bobbing free and your nipples peaking at both the rush of air and the intensity of his gaze. You slip the straps down off your arms and the cups fall away against your ribs, your soft flesh jiggling in front of his face. You look down to see he’s practically drooling, and there’s only the briefest beat before he’s manhandling you again, squeezing and kneading, pressing his nose against your sternum and burying his face between them. 

You feel an odd wet sensation in your cleavage and realise it’s Eddie’s tongue, probing and prodding and tasting your flesh. He hums loudly; it reverberates through your chest, and you moan in return. He laps and licks at your flesh, kissing and sucking through shuddering hums. Open-mouthed kisses and swipes of his tongue turn into gentle bites, sucks, and eventually combinations of both that you’re sure will leave marks, and you can’t bring yourself to care.

He turns his attention to your nipples now, reverently but firmly pinching and twisting them between his calloused fingertips, watching them harden further at his ministrations, jaw slack. You whimper above him, and his eyes dart up to your face, his gaze settling there as he drinks down every furrow of your brow and each little gasp and whine that he draws out of you. Smirking slightly, he slowly lolls out his tongue and watches your reaction as he licks a broad stripe over one bud, and you let out a sigh so sweet he wants to record it and play it again and again. You watch as he wraps his pretty, plush lips around your firmed nipple, sucking hard and quickly flicking his tongue over it, his fingers still gently pinching the other. It fires sparks throughout your entire body and stokes the flames between your legs. You let out a primeval sound that you’ve never heard yourself make before, and below you Eddie can’t help but break into a feral grin as his eyes turn dark and wild and he moves to do the same on the other side.

Your hips roll against his and suddenly you need more of him, so much more. You shift back just a little and slip your fingertips under the hem of his Hellfire tee, knuckles just grazing the warm skin of his abdomen as you pinch the thin fabric between your fingers, questioning,

“And yours?”

He smiles softly, hardly believing you’re asking him this, and he grabs the back of his collar, ripping his shirt off with the same fervour you did, neither of you watching where it lands. You can’t help but grin and bite your lip as you view his naked torso for the first time. It’s just like the rest of him, sculpted and exquisite - perfect-looking skin, marble-like contours, pretty pink nipples and the sweetest dusting of chest hair, decorated with beautifully contrasting charcoal ink. You lightly run your fingers over the spider and gruesome figure on his pec, allowing them to drift over his nipple, which immediately peaks under your touch as he shivers beneath you. Fuck, he’s beautiful.

Your hungry gazes devour every inch of each other, before flicking back to one another’s eyes. There’s a brief moment of stillness and eye contact, and you swear you’ve never before been this hungry for anything in your entire life. It’s like a pause before an avalanche; you know something big’s about to happen, and that there’s nothing either of you can do to stop it. You lurch forwards simultaneously and your chests crash together, your arms slide around, gripping and grasping and mussing each other's hair as your lips meet again in a wet, deep and passionate kiss. Eddie’s hands roam your back, his fingertips dragging down your spine and hot palms caressing you. Your breasts squash against his pecs, and the feeling of his skin against yours intensifies the kiss to the point where the only way to deepen it would be to climb inside of him.

You kiss for what feels like forever, leaving your lips swollen and tingling and a slight ache in your cheeks. Whilst it all feels fucking amazing (really fucking amazing), the throb between your legs is growing and begging for attention. Keeping your mouth attached to his you slide your hips up Eddie’s lap, easily finding the significant protuberance and pressing your centre against it. You moan long and low as you grind down on Eddie’s prominent bulge, the slick in your underwear still offering a pleasant glide, and Eddie joins you, the stuttered sound vibrating against your lips.

You roll your hips again and sparks leave your core and travel all the way up your spine. You’re certain you could cum like this, pushing Eddie’s covered length between your folds and rutting your clit against his swollen tip, and you wonder if he would want that too. But, abruptly, Eddie’s grasping your upper arms, pulling away from you and looking into your eyes, pleading. He speaks again, his voice now broken and low and it makes your insides liquify as he rushes out,

“Goddamnit, Princess, I wish I could make this more special, take my sweet time with you. I swear on the soul of James Hetfield I would love that so much. But right now, I just really, really want you.”

You weave your fingers deeper into his hair and bring your face so close to his that you can’t focus. Breaths mingling in the space between you, you breathily assent, peppering his nose, forehead, cheeks with wet kisses as you respond, softly but clearly,

“I want you too.”

You lean in for another passionate kiss, anticipating sliding your tongue deep into Eddie’s mouth again, imagining him humming with delight and approval and reciprocating, hard. But suddenly, you’re lifted from his lap. You’re momentarily confused as he encourages you to stand, moving you backwards until you’re braced against the table, your tits out and knees splayed apart over his.

Eddie pauses for a moment, taking in the scene. He’s been thinking about this for so, so long and now he can’t quite believe you’re here. Are you an angel? A dream? A hallucination? Did Wayne’s casserole go off again, or have erroneously foraged mushrooms in it?

Whatever option it turns out to be, Eddie doesn’t care, he’s all in. He drops off his chair, pushing it backwards as his knees connect with the trailer’s scratchy carpet, feeling the hot friction against his skin through the rips in his jeans but never caring about anything less in his entire life. All of his focus is entirely on you, on feeling you, touching you, tasting you.

He grabs the hem of your skirt and tucks it into its own waistband, getting it out of the way and revealing your thighs, belly and pretty, sheer panties to him (variations of which you definitely don’t wear every time you’re going to see Eddie). He sighs, gasping out a soft exhale as he runs  warm, calloused fingertips down over your soft belly to the top of your underwear. He’s vibrating with tension, yet so reverent, and you feel like a piece of art under the hands of its creator. His fingers drop lower, and his eyes flick up to yours as if asking permission. You don’t know whether you’re answering his unspoken question or simply begging as you breathily whisper,

“Please, touch me.”

Eddie doesn’t need telling twice. Both of his hands are splayed wide as they roam over your soft hips, your belly and the creases of your thighs. They feel strong, and a little rough, and it drives you close to insanity. One thick thumb swipes over the flimsy fabric again, and dips just low enough that you feel an exquisite hint of pressure where you need it most. You gasp loudly, following it with a moan as Eddie presses down slightly more, watching your expression as it morphs from surprise to pleasure.

“Oh, there we go, my sweet girl. That’s the spot, huh?”

All you can do is pant in response. It’s incredible, but it’s not enough. Eddie knows he’s teasing you, and he smirks from beneath his chestnut bangs as he hooks over the top of your panties and starts to drag them slowly down your body. He only gets them midway down your thighs before he can no longer resist, and you feel his round nose bump against your mound as he inhales deeply, releasing a long breath of satisfaction as he breathes in your scent for the first time. 

Your eyes widen - no one’s ever done that before - but the desperate, animalistic gesture is definitely doing it for you. His hands continue to work, dragging the sodden material down your legs, and he helps support you to lift each foot as he removes the flimsy garment. You don’t see him shove them hastily and desperately into his pocket, but even if you had you probably wouldn’t have cared.

He marvels at the sight of your core before him, bare and exposed, your knees spread and feet either side of his thighs, and you feel deep, warm breaths fanning over your most delicate areas. His position shifts as he lunges forwards, breathing out a soft, 

“Oh, sweetheart…” 

And then his face disappears between your thighs. You feel a breach of your folds as Eddie’s long tongue immediately probes for your hole, finding it easily and dipping the tip inside. His mouth is open wide, collecting your juices as they run down his muscular appendage, and he hums as your taste fills his senses, the strokes and vibrations sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

You moan and your legs buckle slightly, which only serves to open you up even more and allow Eddie deeper access. His hands grab you underneath your ass, preventing you from falling any lower, his grip strong as his tongue probes ever deeper and you grasp the edge of the table as his rounded nose bumps against your clit. You chance another look downwards, and from what little of Eddie’s face you can see, he seems to be enjoying himself. His eyes are closed and he looks blissed out. He may be fucking your pussy with his face, but he’s using his entire body. His whole head rolls rhythmically and his upper body moves forwards and backwards with each stroke of his tongue, his thighs tensing and releasing and his hands kneading at your ass.

You’ve gripped the edge of the table for stability, but it’s rickety, and the undue stress you’re placing on the aging piece of furniture is making it wobble and sway wildly. Dustin’s pencil pot ends up on its side, and Lucas’s notebook shifts causing his ball cap to slide to the floor, but you can barely hear the commotion above your own moans and the lewd sounds of Eddie’s mouth against your cunt.

For his part, Eddie’s in heaven. He’s suffused with your scent, your taste, and he can’t get enough, alternating between lapping his tongue around your folds, dragging it up and over your clit and then plunging it as far inside you as he can get. He prays to all the D&D gods that you’ll let him do this again, maybe even on a bed, let him eat you out for hours and hours until you’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you cum and his tongue sprains and he can’t talk. But right now he has only one thing on his mind - making you cum here and now on his face. And even if this is as far as you two ever go it’s a memory that’ll keep him in nirvana forever, and he knows it.

One of Eddie’s hands leaves your ass and his thick fingers dip between your legs, the tips of two of them slipping easily inside your slick hole from behind as they replace his tongue. You gasp at the sudden intrusion from an unusual angle, but it’s all so very welcome and he slides in easily, your abundant slick providing a frictionless glide. Your wide eyes and open mouth are a joy for Eddie to see as he beams up at you from his place between your thighs, his face shiny with your slick and a hunger behind his eyes.

He pulls back, making a show of licking his lips and humming, and you feel heat flush your cheeks. Nobody’s ever taken such delight in your taste before. Then, his eyes darkening, Eddie lolls out his long tongue, and you can’t help but whimper at the sight. It’s cut off by another gasp as he lunges back towards you and connects with your clit, licking his tongue across it with the flat before tickling the bundle of nerves with the very tip. It’s intense and exquisite and just so fucking right and you want him to do it forever and ever, until he changes his technique yet again and your legs almost give out beneath you.

He suctions his lips around your bud and starts flicking and suckling intently at your clit, making you tremble and whine, one hand flying to his head and grasping again at his soft tresses. You buck your hips forward and accidentally pull on a handful as you try to stabilise yourself, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seems to like it, moaning against your core and sending more shockwaves through your centre. His fingers move deeper, roving, searching, and curling just right to graze that special place inside you, and something hot and familiar ignites in your abdomen.

“Oh fuck, Eddie, I’m gonna—”

Eddie redoubles his efforts, sucking and swirling the tip of his tongue around and over your clit hard and rhythmically. His fingers continue to massage inside you, and his hums and groans get louder as he encourages your release. He wants to tell you how he can’t get enough of this, of your scent, your taste, of you, how good you’re being for him, how much he wants you to cum on his face and soak him. But more than that he wants you here, in his mouth, on his fingers, and tries to convey it all in grunts and growls and the strength of his other hand digging his digits into the plush flesh of your ass.

Your whole body begins to shake and you try to find better purchase on the tabletop, flailing and swiping a load of dice and one of Eddie’s manuals onto the floor. But nothing matters anymore as your vision goes white, your limbs lock and you stop breathing, and your head tips back as you grace the ceiling with a silent scream. Electricity sparks through your form as the only thing in your universe becomes the fusion between your cunt and Eddie’s face. Your body tremors as you experience the most intense climax you’ve ever had, and it lasts for what feels like an eternity.

Eventually your lungs stutter into function again, and you hear an ungodly noise emanating from your own chest. You could be embarrassed, but before it’s even fully left you, you hear a similar noise coming from Eddie, something primal and unbidden. He remains fixed to your core as he licks and sucks you through a series of jaw dropping aftershocks.

He only stops when you manage to slap an uncoordinated palm against his forehead, pushing him away. He pulls back, panting and breathing deep, his jaw slack as he inhales deep lungfuls of air. He looks up at you, his big doe eyes searching yours as you blink down at him and try to swallow. After what feels like an age you’re finally able to mumble, breathily,

“Best. Kiss. Ever.”

He chuckles and nods, curls bouncing as he says, putting on a gruff voice halfway through,

“Oh, fuck yeah. But that still only counts as one.”

You roll your eyes, aghast but somehow also entirely unsurprised at his ability to be a total dork in the midst of an erotic encounter. You can’t help but chuckle at the Lord of the Rings reference, and manage to reply,

“So that’s three, right?”

His grin is wide and dazzling as, still panting a little, he responds with the sexiest wink you’ve ever seen,

“Told you I’d make them count.”

He gently slips his fingers from your sopping core, and grunts as he rises to stand in front of you. His face and chin are slick and dripping with your juices, and he places his wet hand on your hip as the other traces the side of your face.

His smile is sweet and soft as he begins to back away from you, and you briefly mourn the loss until his legs hit his chair and he sits back down. He pats one denim-clad thigh as he asks, in a tone that’s somehow full of both concern and condescending desire,

“Are your legs okay, Princess? Come sit, sweetheart.”

You do, wobbling as you manoeuvre forwards to straddle his knees, taking a few moments to compose yourself, breathing deeply. You can see Eddie doing the same, the movement of his ribs under his soft skin making his muscles dance and his tattoos ripple. You roll your lips inwards in contemplation, briefly considering your next move. It’s not a hard decision. You reach forward with trembling arms and fumble with his belt buckle, and his gaze flits down to your hands and back up again, as if he can’t believe you’re actually doing this. Because he can’t. He’s absolutely certain that this is a dream, and that Wayne is going to wake him up any minute, banging a wooden spoon against a pan and yelling at him about how he's late for school. But it never happens, and as he licks his lips the sweet, musky taste of you invades him again, jolting him back to reality. Yep, he thinks, I definitely do have on my lap a whole-ass, motherfucking angel…

You give him a reassuring smile as you work the fastenings of his jeans open, releasing his turgid cock to tent inside his boxers. Your mouth waters at the sight, and you note the significant damp patch on the fabric near his tip. He really did like your third kiss… Your hands move of their own accord and you reach for him, grasping his (oh god, impressive) length through the thin fabric and wrapping your fingers around him, noting with trepidation and arousal that they barely meet.

He groans long and low, and you feel his thighs tense as he ineffectually bucks his hips against the weight of you atop them. You run your hand over him a couple of times, revelling in his heat and solidity, and push your still-trembling legs into motion until you're hovering over his thighs. You grapple haphazardly with his belt, jeans, boxers, you just want it all gone. You push at his clothes as much as you can until he takes over, clumsily pushing everything down over his knees.

His boxers catch on his cock and as it’s set free from its fabric confines it slaps up against his stomach, smearing glossy precum against his happy trail as it stands proud between you. He’s long, and probably the thickest you’ve seen, with a fat, swollen tip that’s flushed a pretty deep pink and is practically begging for attention. As you stare it kicks up, leaking again, magnificent, and you’ve never wanted to get anything, or anyone, in your mouth so badly before. You move to shift off of Eddie’s lap, intending to drop to your knees, but he stops you with a hand under your elbow.

“Princess, you don’t need to do this. Trust me when I say I really, really want you to. But we don’t have much time, and… okay, this isn’t romantic in the slightest, but I really need to be inside of you, like, right the fuck now.”

You nod quickly, and he’s abruptly pulling you onto his lap again. His naked thighs (those glorious thighs that started all of this) feel divine against yours, a perfect blend of solid, soft, warm and slightly fuzzy. Your smile turns into a salacious grin, and you reach between you to pump him again a couple of times. Before you can go any further, Eddie stops you once more with a hand on your forearm.

“Should I, uh, go get…”

He nods towards his bedroom, you presume to indicate getting a condom.

“You, um, you don’t need to, if you don’t want to. I’m on birth control for a health thing, and if you can promise you’re clean—”

He nods quickly, waves bouncing.

“I promise sweetheart, I promise…”

“Okay, then we can, y’know…”

You gesture vaguely between you, but Eddie gets your meaning.

“Are you— Are you fucking serious? Holy fuck, Princess. You’re gonna kill me, I swear.”

You shift forwards and rise up on your still-shaky legs, grasping his length with one hand and dragging the head of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance and barely grazing your clit. You let loose a strangled whimper, and Eddie’s hips buck beneath you.

“Oh fuck, those noises you make… I don’t know if I can sto— Shit! You gotta tell me right now, are you sure you want this?”

You nod, so vehemently that you wobble both of you on the chair. Your brows pinch as you slide him through your folds and notch his tip at your hole.

“Uh-huh. I’m really fucking sure.”

The brightness of the grins you gift each other could rival the sun. Eddie can’t believe it, but you’re here, over him, ready to take him. Oh god, he thinks, this is really happening… I’m really fucking the girl of my dreams…

Eddie's jaw drops open and the grip on your hips gets stronger. He tries and fails to stop his hips from bucking again and it pushes him a little further inside you. Oh god, you think, this is really happening… I’m really fucking my gorgeous dungeon master…

You stabilise yourself by gripping onto his shoulders and drop slightly. As his fat tip slides fully into you he lets out another primal-sounding noise. It’s something between a groan, a grunt and a squeal, and it’s the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard. Your eyes lock as he aids you to move forwards and down, your brow furrowing as you slip down his length. Eddie sighs, loud, as you take the top half of him in one go. You pause, unbreathing, and Eddie searches your face for any sign of pain, or regret, or discomfort. You close your eyes, take a deep breath and pause for a moment, steadying yourself as you relax into the substantial stretch. You may have been prepping for this for the entire morning, but the stretch of your walls as he slides in deep still requires some acclimatisation.

Just as Eddie is about to ask you whether something’s wrong, your eyes open again, and he sees just how blown your pupils are. Your knees bend and his hips buck up, and it closes the gap between you and seats him fully inside you. You exhale conjoined moans of relief and arousal, both wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Eddie’s cheek ticks up in an incredulous half smile as your eyebrows raise, and almost immediately you’re rolling your hips on his lap, lifting off and pushing down and sliding him in and out of you with exquisite precision, lewd sounds and wet slaps of skin against skin filling the air. 

Eddie wants to tell how amazing you are, how good this feels, how he’s in heaven and never wants this to end, but his banter and eloquence entirely leaves him and all he can manage is a series of grunts followed by a spluttered,

“Fuuuuuck. Fuck, fuck, holy fuck!”

You’re no better, not managing to speak at all and just letting out a long moan as he’s repeatedly buried deep inside you, filling you like nothing or nobody has before. He effortlessly reaches that perfect spot inside of you, the one that no one else has ever cared to search for and that you can only reach with a toy, but Eddie seems drawn to it, connecting with it relentlessly like he was made to be within you.

You lunge forwards and grapple Eddie into another messy, wet and fervent kiss, so deep it’s like you can’t bear for there to be even a molecule's worth of space between you. It’s becoming almost more than you can bear, the desire to be one with all of him. You already had his mind, and now you’re having his body, but you want his heart and his soul as well, and the desire for you to climax together becomes overwhelming. 

You move faster, angling your hips so your clit rubs against the dark curls around his base, ignoring the tremors in your thighs and the burning in your muscles. With as much movement as he can manage, Eddie thrusts upwards with each roll, smacking your flesh together with lewd slaps as you both tremble and race towards your highs. He’s moaning constantly, hands roving wherever he can reach, feeling and mapping your body with a desperate urgency, like he needs to be in contact with every single inch of you right the fuck now. He keeps kissing you, mumbling gruffly against your shiny lips between wet, slick, open-mouthed kisses,

“Fuck, Princess, you feel so fucking good. So fucking good. You’re squeezing me so tight, are you— uh-hh— are you gonna—?”

You have no control over the pitch of your voice as you growl, practically shouting in his ear,

“Yes, Eddie. Yes!”

Surprising you, he snakes one hand down between your writhing bodies until he reaches your clit. The pad of his thumb circles and presses, and in an instant that’s it for you. Your rhythm starts to stumble and you lose control of your spine, inelegantly slumping over and moaning obscene sounds into his ear as another torturously intense orgasm crashes over you in a wave. You feel yourself clenching around him, and somewhere in the recesses of your partial consciousness you hope this feels as good for him as it does for you.

You get your answer as Eddie grasps at your lower back with his free hand, pulling you onto him, and he slams up into you once, twice more before stilling. You feel his cock pulse rhythmically as he empties into you, filling you with hot, seemingly-unending ropes of his cum as you twitch and spasm involuntarily on his lap.

There’s a long pause, a moment of peace and silence as you breathe into Eddie’s ear and he slowly runs his broad hands up and down your back and over the swell of your ass, breath cascading over your neck and shoulders. There’s no sound in the trailer save for a ringing in your ears, your heavy, mingled breaths, and the low hum of the refrigerator. 

Eddie’s the first to move as he kisses your neck, now clammy and sweaty, with gentle pecks before murmuring, 

“Are you okay? Was that… alright?”

You roll up just enough to be able to look him in the eyes.

“Fuck, I— I’ve never— That was more than alright.”

You chuckle lightly as your forehead drops to his, and as you rest there you feel the cooling dampness of your combined perspiration on your chest and torso. Just one more exquisite way in which you’ve melded together today.

You unclench your hands from where they buried themselves within his hair again, and gently scratch at his scalp. Full of endorphins, you blurt out something that you weren’t sure you were ready to admit.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a really, really long time…”

He chuffs a laugh into your neck as he mumbles against your skin, admitting in return,

“Seriously? Shit, so have I.”

He snorts, and strokes your head as he adds,

“I’m such an idiot. We could’ve been doing this for weeks if I’d only had the stones to ask you out.”

You giggle as you pull back to look at him and he grins widely, those gorgeous dimples popping in his cheeks. You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing them.

“Hey, I could’ve asked you too. How about we say it was just a really, really long session of foreplay?”

You both break into a fit of giggles, and as you shift on Eddie’s lap you feel his softening cock begin to slide out of you. Your head flops backwards as you take another deep breath, and you languidly roll it around on your neck as your eyes fail to focus on anything in particular. Your eyes drift past the kitchen, and blink as they skim over the clock. You blink again, focussing, and your eyes flash wide as your brain slowly processes the symbols. With a start you realise the kids are going to be back soon, and the two of you really don’t have long to get dressed, clean up, and somehow make this place look like a gaming venue again, rather than the debauched sex palace it currently resembles.

“Shit, the time! Oh my god Eddie, we need to clean up!”

You look around you and grab his shirt from where it landed on the table, and Eddie hurriedly pulls it over his head. He helps you to stand, roughly pulling up his pants with one hand and supporting you on your wobbly legs as the two of you stumble towards the bathroom. Eddie tries unsuccessfully to hide the smug look on his face as he realises that him fucking you is the cause of your difficulty walking.

In the bathroom he sits you down and helps slip your arms back into your bra straps, gets you a warm cloth, and does what he can to adjust your hair. You stand and smooth your skirt, realising there’s something important missing, 

“Where are my…?”

You turn to see Eddie looking at you with a smirk, your panties dangling from one finger. You lunge forward to grab them, but he’s faster, balling them in his fist and clasping them to his chest (heart?) in a faux defensive move. You huff out what you hope is an annoyed sigh, but it comes out a bit too breathy and Eddie just finds you alluring all over again. 

“You know, under different circumstances I would probably ask if I could keep these, but seeing as we have a game to play this afternoon and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, I guess…”

He proffers them to you, and you grab them with a smile you can’t suppress.

From outside you hear the distant noise of chattering teens and the quiet crunch of gravel. Both your eyes pop wide. You turn, intending to have a brief final check in the mirror, and are distracted by the reflection of your barely-covered boobs, now adorned with slowly darkening pink and purple marks. Whilst you’re loving the image, you can’t exactly greet the party like this.

“Eddie, where’s my shirt?!”

“Fuck!”

Eddie is still fastening his jeans as he stumbles around on gangly legs scanning the living room, looking for any sign of your top. He finds it draped over Mike’s backpack just before footsteps hit the porch, and rushes back to the bathroom to pass it to you before anyone enters. You pull it on over your head, almost wearing it backwards but noticing at the last second, and as you squint into the mirror to check your face you see Eddie in the reflection.

“Your hair!”

It’s a mess, even more wild and voluminous than usual. Eddie does what he can to flatten it, but quickly concedes it’s a lost cause. He’s in the doorway just about to leave when you realise evidence of your tryst is beginning to leak down your thigh. You beckon him over and quickly whisper into his ear to ask if he has a spare washcloth, not really wanting to go into much detail but making it clear what you need it for.

Eddie swallows audibly and looks you up and down, a slight smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth as he licks his top lip, his cock stirring in his jeans and a pink tinge coming back to the top of his cheeks, visibly affected by what you’re telling him. He presses his lips into yours once more as he passes between you and the bathtub, and retrieves a clean cloth from the cabinet. As he leaves again, he murmurs into your ear,

“Fuck, Princess. You’re amazing, you know that?”

He gives your hips a quick squeeze and briefly presses his crotch against you, his semi evident. You feel your cheeks heat a little, hoping the sensation will dissipate by the time you get back to the table. 

Positioning the washcloth into your underwear as best you can and taking a few breaths before exiting the bathroom, you carefully make your way out, saying hi to all the kids as they file in, babbling about whatever is important to teenagers and passing Eddie a greasy pizza box and half-full bottle of soda.

You spend a little bit of time in the kitchen, trying to mentally and physically regroup. You stand for far too long at the open fridge, making a show of choosing a cold soda when you’re actually attempting to quell the residual heat in your neck and face. Your head is still a little fuzzy, far away, and you briefly wonder whether that really just happened, until the burn in your thighs and the slick you can still feel between your legs lets you know that yes, it most definitely did. 

After everyone’s present, you head back to the table, sitting at a place next to Eddie after he pats it when he sees you coming, having batted everyone else away, a wry smile on his face. Someone has finally noticed the seating situation, and has dragged the floral, fur-topped laundry bin from the bathroom to use as an extra seat. It’s too low, a grumbling Dustin losing a die roll and ending up sitting on it, trying to raise himself a little with a precariously placed cushion. Eddie responds to his chuntering with,

“Suck it up, Henderson. It’ll be someone else’s turn next time.”

You pause, realising that this is essentially an assumption that you’ll join in with another campaign at his house. Your chest fills with warmth as you acknowledge the feeling of truly being an integral part of the group. One of the gang. One of them. You swallow back a collection of emotions as everyone gathers at the table, and the afternoon’s gaming begins.

Eddie seems happy and content, touching your thigh under the table when everyone’s distracted, and running his knuckles against your knee or your hand, just to keep you close. He keeps looking towards you, pupils practically heart-shaped if you so much as glance in his direction. Which you’re doing. A lot.

Nobody notices. Well, almost nobody…

Everyone has a great time, the game flowing well and containing a perfect balance of challenge, humour, terror and exasperation. It’s a testament to Eddie’s skills as a Dungeon Master, and as you watch him command the game and slip his voice and demeanour seamlessly between characters you feel yourself becoming even more bewitched. 

Having said that, you’ve noticed that he’s being somewhat less dastardly and devilish than is his wont. The kids spot that he’s a bit more lenient than usual, but pay it little mind, deciding to use it to their advantage and getting away with increasingly bold moves that they wouldn’t normally be able to slip past him.

Mike and Lucas try to take the lead at various stages of the game, using their deep-but-breaking voices to proffer their ideas more loudly than the rest. They’ve clearly physically developed faster than Will and Dustin, and although Dustin is whining and arguing you get the impression that Will’s somewhat quieter disposition means he’s now all too easily talked over. 

You muse that the two larger boys have certainly had more than their fair share of your home baked cookies too, and whilst you don’t mind too much, you make a mental note to bake a special batch for the other three to share next time. By the middle of the afternoon there’s only one left, and you casually lift the plate, offering it to Eddie with a cheeky,

“Care for the last cookie, Master?”

You even tag on a tiny wink, that you hope no one else sees, and Eddie’s cheeks flush that pretty pink again as he goes to reach for it, giving as good as he gets by adding an overly-polite,

“Why, thank you so much for your kind consideration, Princess.”

He moves his toned arm over to the plate, but his fingers stall, hovering a couple of inches shy of the sweet treat.

“You know what? Let’s make this a challenge. Everyone roll a D6, and I’ll roll a secret die behind my screen. Whoever gets the highest combined score wins the cookie, and gets a bonus healing spell to use later in the game however they wish.”

Everyone rolls, a few people groaning as they score 1s and 2s, Will rolling an acceptable 4. You only roll a 3, but you don’t mind, knowing you can create your own cookie stash whenever you want, though you can’t help rueing that you didn’t get that spell. Also, you have a sneaking suspicion this isn’t actually about dice scores…

Behind the screen, Eddie rolls and scribbles, rolls and scribbles, Will’s being the final toss. As you hear Eddie’s die land, you think you see the faintest microexpression of disappointment flicker across his face, but he recovers instantly, booming a joyful,

“Congratulations to Will The Wise! Enjoy the benefits of your Cookie Of Healing, my friend.”

Eddie waggles his brows at a grinning Will as you pass him the plate, the taller boys groaning as he takes it, and you share an eye roll with Erica at their antics. Looking back at Eddie, he wears a fond expression as he looks at the smaller boy, and you realise he’s definitely done this deliberately. You knew he was kind, but you can add generous to the growing list of qualities you’ve observed in him.

You thought you knew him, perhaps not all that well, but at least a little. But this afternoon has shown you that there are even more facets to this fascinating man than you could’ve imagined. He’s kind and generous (and not just as a lover, though you obviously appreciate that about him too, your face heating a little as you think of it). He always puts others before himself, and you wonder whether he’s had anyone take care of him like that. Saving his uncle Wayne, of course, whom you know he loves very much.

The game continues, and becomes especially and delightfully tense when you’re all fighting the guards around the final bad guy’s lair. Will has cause to use his Cookie of Healing, and there’s a moment where your character almost dies, but fortunately Eddie manifests a reason for your dice to be re-rolled, and you are miraculously saved. You notice that Mike is giving Eddie some hard looks for the next few minutes, but assume it’s because his character has accumulated quite a lot of damage.

A comfort break follows shortly afterwards, and Mike stalks towards Eddie as he fiddles with the stereo in the corner, putting on some Deep Purple at a low volume to mix up the energy in the room. Cornering Eddie, he hisses,

“What the hell was that?”

Frowning, Eddie plays the innocent as he asks,

“What?”

“You know what! Her character totally should’ve died back there, and you— you—”

Mike’s keeping his volume low, but his indignation is turning him red in the face. He clenches his fists as he whisper-shouts,

“You cheated, man! You never cheat! You always say the dice don’t lie! What’s going on..? You loooove giving her extra help, don’t you? Love it when she asks you stuff. Wait, is it because you like her? Is she your girlfriend now or something? This is so unfair, it’s favouritism, man!”

In an unusual display of intimidation, Eddie straightens up, puffs out his chest and looms over the younger boy despite them now being of similar height. His eyes are wide and piercing as he replies,

“Don’t you ever, ever say anything about her, okay? Not ever, you geddit?”

At that moment, Dustin appears. Ever the one to diffuse a tense situation, he murmurs,

“Hey, hey. What’s going on over here?”

Putting on a mocking tone, Mike spits, 

“Eddie’s favouring his girlfriend. He got to perv over her when she needed help with her dice, and now she’s getting preferential treatment. It sucks!”

“Eddie, is this true? Did you— Did you cheat?”

Eddie’s still incensed by Mike's behaviour, but he softens a little as he turns to Dustin. Sweet, caring, innocent Dustin. His shoulders slump and he huffs out a breath as he admits,

“Yeah, so, I guess I kinda did… fudge things a little back there… I’m sorry, okay? I really like her, and she spent so long building that character, and she was so into it that I…”

His posture slumps even further and a hand comes to rub at his face and the back of his neck as he realises,

“I guess I failed you guys. I’m sorry. I’m a shit DM, I should—”

Dustin interrupts.

“No, Eddie. It’s okay. I mean, it’s pretty obvious how much you like her. It has been for a while.”

Mike looks dumbfounded, completely oblivious to this apparently clear dynamic. Dustin continues,

“Look, we’ll let it slide, this time. But only this time, ‘kay? And we won’t say anything to the others about any of this if you don’t want them to know. Will we, Mike?”

He looks pointedly in the other boy’s direction, and Mike shuffles his feet as he mumbles,

“No, I guess not.”

The game resumes and all seems forgotten, although Eddie spots that Mike is now paying particular attention to what happens after every dice roll. The Party take worrying amounts of damage but ultimately achieve a resounding victory, and Eddie congratulates everyone on a good campaign.

As the boys pack up their gear you gather plates and glasses, taking them to the kitchen, and as you place them in the sink Erica corners you.

“So, Princess, tell me why you’ve been making eyes at that dork all afternoon. Are you tryna get on his good side or something? Use your feminine wiles or whatever?”

Surprised at her forthrightness, you stutter,

“What? No, I don’t— I’m not—”

She rolls her eyes. It’s so very Erica. And then she’s immediately back on the offensive.

“I saw how he let your character off with minimal damage when he should’ve legit vaporised your ass… What's going on, huh? Are you tryna fix the game?”

“I… I- uh.”

Erica doesn’t let up.

“Cmon girl, spit it out. Or I’ll tell everyone those delicious cookies of yours came out of a box!”

She spits the last word like it’s a mortal threat, and she’s pointing at your chest, although she’s thankfully not making contact. You reckon she’s got the strength of Bruce Lee in that one digit alone, even if it would manifest as sarcasm and piercing wit.

“Erica, I— I like him…”

Erica's eyes roll again, and she flings her arms skywards.

“I knew it! I fuckin’ knew it!”

She crosses her arms across her chest as she continues,

“Y’know, I genuinely don’t know if this is better or worse than just using him to get ahead in the game.”

She sighs, exasperated. Cocking her head to one side, she questions,

“Okay, you gotta tell me what you like about this loser.”

You immediately jump to Eddie’s defense.

“He’s not a loser, okay?”

“Go on, I’m listening. Be specific.”

“He’s got the most beautiful eyes…”

“Dude, they’re just brown. Like dirt.”

“I love his hair…”

She shakes her head.

“That hair is a mess! It looks like a bird's nest. Or a wet dog.”

“His tattoos are pretty cool.”

Her eyebrows practically ping off the top of her head.

“Those shit stick drawings? Those messy ass doodles? Jeez, there are some things I will never understand…”

She sucks her teeth, and you can’t help but defend him some more.

“And you know what? He’s clever, and kind, and the sweetest person you’ll ever meet. He’s creative, and generous, and funny, and sweet, and adorable. He always looks after you guys, and I think he’ll look after me too. And yeah, we might be just starting out, but if he’ll have me, I’m in it for the long haul.”

Folding her arms again, Erica looks you dead in the eye as she says, mockingly,

“Oh my, you’ve got it real bad for this nerd, dontcha?”

There’s a pause. Your expression mimics that of a lost puppy as your brows furrow ever so slightly and your bottom lip juts out. 

Oh god, what if you have ruined everything? Messed up the group, lost all of your new friends…?

Suddenly, Erica's expression softens, and she gives you a sardonic smirk.

“Well, I’m glad. I was a little worried that you were gonna fuck up our DM or something. But now I can see that you really like him, y’know, for him. And you’re not gonna mess him up. In fact, I think you’re good for each other.”

There’s another short, nervewracking pause, before she declares, with a grin,

“You know what I say? You’re alright, Princess.”

She wraps both of her arms around one of yours, squeezing tightly and guiding you, still a little stunned, back towards Eddie’s living room. You spot him glance up from the mess of manuals he’s gathering, and you both give each other syrupy smiles as your eyes connect. Erica diverts your attention once again as she says,

“Now, there is just one more thing…”

You glance down at her nervously.

“When in the hell do I get that cookie recipe?”

Eventually Mike and Will’s moms arrive, and everyone files out, books and pencils stuffed in bags and clasped in arms. Eddie lets the others exit first, and as you shuffle slowly towards the open doorway he grabs your elbow and pulls you towards him, out of sight. 

He presses his lips to yours in a messy, over enthusiastic smooch, sliding his tongue in momentarily and sucking on your lower lip as he withdraws.

“That’s a bonus one, right?”

A little taken aback, and still not quite stable from your earlier antics, you almost lose your balance and giggle as he wraps you in a tight embrace, kissing into your neck and growling quietly. You must admit you don’t want to leave.

You steal a few more pecked kisses before you hear car doors slamming, the realisation that your ride is waiting for you weighing heavily between you. Eddie hooks his pinkie with yours, keeping your hands out of sight as he reluctantly directs you to his open front door. He leans his shoulder against the frame and pouts a little, gazing at you through his bangs as he asks, as nonchalantly as he can manage (which, to your great delight, is adorably flustered and not very nonchalant at all), 

“Soooo, you gonna come back and play again soon?”

Thanks so much for reading! There’s gonna be more to this series, just ask if you want in on the taglist or my general one for everything 💜

Speaking of taglists, this is for you my lovelies: @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @losingmygrasponreality @richter-raccoon @1deverland @evileyeandthecattywhumps @3rd-conchord @bellalillyrose @katethetank @justalotoffanfiction @emxxblog @awkward00noodle

[cosmereplay]

One of the fascinating things about addiction (intellectually, not to experience, obviously) is that the pathways involved in addiction (famously dopamine but others too) are also the pathways involved in connecting to each other. Feeling good is connected to feeling a sense of safety and belonging.

Humans are mostly social creatures. Broadly speaking, most of us want to be around other people, and rejection hurts. Bad. If we get rejected, those dopamine pathways make us crave belonging, and that pain motivates us to do whatever we can to get back in the social circle, to belong again and feel safe. Sound familiar?

It's no coincidence that people who are lonely and rejected are more at risk for addiction. Dopamine-mimicking drugs can briefly give us that sense of safety and belonging when we don't have it. At their best, drugs provide us a brief respite, a feeling of safety that can carry us through when we can't get it (with abusive families or pandemics, for example). At their worst, drugs are a distraction from facing the ways we've hurt other people and doing the hard work to actually belong with people again. Often with addiction, it's both at the same time.

(There is lots of evidence out there about the connection between addiction and belonging. A great entry point is Johann Hari's TED talk called Everything You Know About Addiction is Wrong.)

Moash is particularly vulnerable to wanting to keep Odium's gift for both reasons - he's isolated and lonely, and he wants to avoid thinking about the people he's hurt. He misses the camaraderie of Bridge Four back in Oathbringer, even before his new 'family' of Graves and co are all killed by the Fused. Moash needs to belong, and Odium sucks him in. He's given jobs and gifts and even a new name to show how he is welcomed there. But he's not safe there like he was with Bridge Four, and deep down he knows it. Odium's gift of 'peace' is enough to distract him - to quiet his doubts, and squash any motivation he might have to escape from a very bad situation.

One of the the things that I've noticed is how addicting Odium's powers/boons are. Obviously, we have the Thrill, where people get addicted off the high of killing people. We have the Heart of Revel, where it entices you to indulge.

But I haven't seen much of Moash's addiction to Odium's "peace." Like, I've read it as Moash is drugged. Odium's boon is literally him taking away guilt and hurt and pain. I've never had alcohol or drugs, and a big plan of mine is to never have any, but from the way i've heard and understood it, that's what drugs do. They take away emotions that you don't want to have and artificially create "happy" ones. And then once they wear off, emotions crash in, and you body craves the high from that substance, they don't want to be feeling these "bad emotions."

That's literally what happened to Moash.

[muletia]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 ₊˚⊹♡

obsessed!smokescreen x human!reader

summary: you and smokescreen are trying to watch a movie, but his irresistible and constant need for closeness stubbornly gets in the way. will you make it to the end? (spoiler: you won’t)

cw: fluff, suggestive, obsessive thoughts, unhealthy clinginess, possessiveness, very mild not nsfw dub-con, biting/marking, very light manipulation from smokey

word count: 1570

Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Consciousness drifts into another dimension, and your head slowly tilts forward further as you lose contact with reality and embrace sleep with open arms. But alas, sleep is not meant for you—not yet. Your boyfriend is keeping watch, ensuring you continue your fight to stay awake. And when he's near you, he seems unusually attuned to moments like these.

"Hey, hey, don't drift off on me now," he pleads, voice desperate, because this isn’t your first slip-up. "We just started the movie!"

"Ah, sorry," you mumble, rubbing your face to try and wake yourself up, which works. For now.

Your attention returns to the flickering TV screen in the garage, and for a moment, you really do feel alert. You're not proud of how easily you drift off, especially with company, but the day's events are catching up to you, pulling your eyelids downward. You’d promised him you’d finally finish this movie together— you’ve both tried to get through it multiple times, only to be interrupted every single time by something—or rather, someone.

That someone is none other than your personal heater sitting next to you, the primary disruptor of your small private movie nights.

And, as you catch him from the corner of your eye, it's clear he’s got a new idea for spicing up your passive movie-watching routine. His broad smile is utterly contagious, and you fight hard not to let your lips curl. It’s endearing, but you’re not falling for it—not yet. You know exactly where this evening will go if you give him your attention. After all, you’ve lived this scenario many times before.

"Optics on the screen," you chide softly. "We just started the movie, hypocrite."

"Oh, I am watching," he replies, with mock indignation.

"Not me!" you sigh. "We’re not restarting this movie for the tenth time. Look at the screen." You motion toward the brightest source of light in the room.

He knows he should listen. He’s the one who suggested the movie night in the first place. He also chose the film—one of your favorites—because he wanted to experience it with you, to watch your reactions, hear your thoughts, and discuss it afterward. All of it was just a way to interact with you, to be showered in your attention. To absorb it like the finest energon, savoring its addictive sweetness.

It’s not his fault that everything you do is infinitely more interesting than any fiction on the small screen. Sure, he likes human culture and finds it genuinely fascinating—but only because you’re at its center. You’re the one who reveals its secrets, who offers him glimpses of the daily life he so desperately wants to be a part of. Watching movies together lets him simulate that life. He knows he should use every chance to learn more about your world. The problem is, he can’t focus.

It’s not as if there are moments when he thinks of you more or less. No—he’s always thinking about you. Seven days a week, every hour of Earth’s solar cycle. During missions, patrols, recharge—even when he’s with you. It’s suffocating, overwhelming his processor, a constant need to express his untamed emotions, but with no outlet to relieve the ever-growing weight.

Having you by his side is wonderful—feeling your scent, your warmth; brushing shoulders and sharing a blanket. But, ever ambitious, he needs more. Thoughts of you provide only fleeting satisfaction, failing to meet even a fraction of his desire. They leave him helpless once again.

Smokescreen doesn’t want to be just an observer anymore, a witness to the action around him. Those days died with Cybertron.

He wants to feel, touch, and explore, even though he already knows every inch of your body—every mole, scar, and birthmark. Alien, but captivatingly beautiful. Unparalleled softness. Addictive. Meant to be worshipped and adored. It’s no surprise his servos fit your curves perfectly, as if you were made for each other—not just in spark, but in body too. No stimulant could compare to the euphoria of adoring you. No human cinematic masterpiece, no mission, no praise from Optimus Prime himself.

"You’re incorrigible," you sigh. "You just missed the most important part."

Suddenly, he realizes he’s spent the last several kliks staring only at you, fantasizing about physically expressing all the emotions roiling within him. His servos are trembling now, and he has to touch you—to prove how much you mean to him, how vital you are in his life.

Electricity courses through his frame—a signal of surpassing limits. He’s nearing a breaking point, teetering on the edge of abandoning the careful balance of your relationship. Can’t let that happen. He accepts destroying himself, allowing his yearning for you to dictate his sanity, but no scars could ever mar your soul. No matter how many he bears himself.

His trembling servos find the fabric of your shirt and gently tug at it. Enough to send a signal, not to frighten. If you pull away—he’ll shatter.

"Hey," he begins. You glance at him briefly, but your eyes quickly return to the screen. He tugs harder, practically pawing at your stomach now, desperate for attention. "Please, I don’t want to watch the movie anymore. We can finish it another time, can’t we?"

He knows he’s repeating himself, using the same lines he always does. It’s cheap and undignified, unworthy of someone whom even Optimus Prime considered passing the Matrix to. But his need has consumed him, taken over his frame and spark, which craves you so intensely that static buzzes in his audials. Every molecule of his being chants your name, begging for you.

He moves closer, exerting pressure. It’s a dangerous game, one that could easily irritate you. But he’s so desperate he has to play his cards on this gambit.

"I promise we’ll finish it next time, okay? [Name], please, I need you."

"We could also finish it tonight, hmm?" you offer.

"But I already missed the most important part."

"You’re smart—you’ll catch up on the plot." He sees your playful smile, teasing him with your intentions. But this time, he’s too overwhelmed to join in the game.

One servo continues tugging at the edge of your shirt while the other slides beneath it, cautious and precise—while he still has the control to be so.

You finally give in, unable to focus on the film any longer.

"Alright, I’ll hold you to that," you warn, finally turning your head toward him.

What greets you are wide, pleading optics, shimmering with need. Begging for you. Beautiful, but deceptive. Luring you into a trap. Or maybe you’ve already been ensnared? Enchanted into letting him do more—letting his servo wander further up, finding its way to your chest.

"Incorrigible," you murmur, tilting your head slightly to one side, exposing your neck—his canvas for the evening. "But at least I’m not sleepy anymore."

"Good," he purrs near your neck. Warm, processed air brushes against your sensitive skin. "I’m going to show you how much you mean to me. I’m afraid it’ll take a very long time."

Servos press tightly to your body, while dentas leave their mark, creating art from love bites—one of his favorite human inventions. Such a pity he couldn’t bear them himself—would flaunt them proudly if he could.

"I wish they lasted forever," he whispers, kissing the bruised skin, already intoxicated by your closeness, even though it’s only a fraction of what he craves.

"And I don’t," you admit. His response is a hurt whine, but Smokescreen quickly resumes his work, moving slightly higher. His marks always came out messy, more like bites than love bites, but he was so proud of them that you couldn’t bring yourself to criticize him. At least, not directly.

"One of my friends noticed them once. She thought I’d been mauled by a wild animal."

You feel him smile against your skin because it’s an accurate description of his love. Wild, untamed.

"Sorry," but it's also unimaginably tender. "But you like them, right? I’m good at this, aren’t I?"

"You’re unmatched, love."

Not sensing the sarcasm, he holds you tighter, as if he wants to merge you both into one being. Feels his trembling spark yearning for a bond, a union with yours. And while you can’t grant him that, the mere act of sharing the most intimate, vulnerable parts of himself is satisfactory. Not enough, because nothing ever will be. Just like the love bites, the most blissful interfacing, or kisses and cuddles. They work for a brief moment, a fraction of existence. They fill the void, which begins emptying the moment you part.

"I need more," he groans. "Please. I need you."

"I wish you were this eager about watching movies."

You reach for the remote because yet another movie attempt has ended in failure. Your boyfriend doesn’t appreciate your effort to put some distance between you, even for a few millimeters. His servos hold you firmly in place, and his dentas possessively catch your neck. Luckily, you don’t have to reach far.

"We’ll manage next time," he promises, though the absent tone of his voice makes it clear he’s lying. You know he won’t last. He’ll falter at the start, trying to make up for lost time by showering you with affection, though it’ll only be a fraction of what he wants to give.

"Hard to believe that."

"Mhm, love you too," he mutters, utterly enraptured by your closeness.