#saying the same phrase over and over again to drive in a point

[nexus-nebulae]

i find it interesting that most of my most significant writing embodies mostly themes of either pure panic or desperation

#echos #this is /neu #i think about it a lot #how what i usually see as my best writing is always one of those #I've been told I'm really really good at writing panic attacks #like- writing the character's mental spiral as their thoughts consume them #I'm good at writing spirals #.. write what you know i guess? #all the major stories I've written aren't so much of these themes #i mean they include moments but they're not about it #but the short stories i write almost always go this way #loop. the enderman short story i wrote. the one i never finished about minecraft game modes. the one about the library #i also really really really like to overuse repetition #saying the same phrase over and over again to drive in a point #in the library short i wrote it was; at the end of every paragraph; '[and] the book was in its place.' #and then at the very end of the story i had the line 'the book was no longer in its place.' as like the ominous sendoff #i wrote it for a school project #my teacher said i had a very dark style #it's interesting to me though #to see how words can shape emotions #how metaphors can turn those emotions into something more understandable #stuff like that #idk I'm just. thinking about writing #and how i do

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

[passivenovember]

(sharing again because I'm so proud of this one)

When Billy Falls in Love

--

Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.

Max stays angry red. 

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here-- 

“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag. 

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows. 

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close. 

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar. 

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him? 

About his bones and blood. 

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.

“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--” 

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull. 

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

--

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue. 

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking. 

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black. 

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back. 

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness. 

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him, 

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock. 

Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong. 

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.

So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies. 

If it kills him. 

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers. 

Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”

“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington?  What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away. 

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky. 

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks. 

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks. 

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.

That Steve would survive losing this. 

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

--

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt. 

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard. 

He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door. 

Eddie doesn’t move. 

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up. 

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him. 

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy. 

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?” 

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him. 

He smells like peaches. 

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch. 

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare. 

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”

“--Right--”

“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”

Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image. 

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

Billy stops. Waits. 

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning. 

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And. 

Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does. 

He really does.

Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now. 

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then. 

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy. 

The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him. 

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

#harringrove #clothes sharing #fluff #love confessions

[p4rallel-universe]

wolf-out

(Enid Sinclair x male reader) (this part could probably be read as a GN reader is intended to be male, and if i make some more parts they'll be more clear abt that)

summary: Something about being a teen werewolf in love makes Enid's sex drive act up.

nsfw

soaked in sweat, tousled hair stuck to her forehead, Enid wakes up. blankets twisted around her, half kicked off the bed, she's a mess.

additionally, that morning - just the same as the morning before, and the morning before that - she wakes up with a strange empty feeling inside her stomach. it's all because of a dream. a dream she can never really remember the details of, but when the vague memories of it come to her during the day her face flushes.

she isn't sure what's been going on with her lately. every morning she wakes up, feeling needy and then all throughout the day her thighs press together at the slightest inappropriate thought.

she tries to put it down to regular hormones. and definitely nothing to do with the fact that her lycanthropy-enhanced libido has probably kicked in now that she's found a mate.

speaking of, she's just about going crazy with everything you do recently. every fleeting touch has her flustered. the worst part is, you don't even realise you're doing it, obviously. your hand goes to her waist or rests on her thigh absentmindedly and you don't even see how it makes her want to collapse then and there.

when you find her at school that day, her face lights up. it lights up even more when you invite her over to your dorm that night. she kisses you quickly, "see you at 8!", and then when you run off again she takes a second to panic.

she wonders, should she...talk to you about it? tell you about her feelings? she doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, or make you feel you have to do anything just because she, for lack of better phrasing, can't stop being horny.

and it's not like she wants to have sex. well- she definitely does. but not yet. she doesn't know what she wants to do, but she wants- no, at this point, she needs to do something.

that night, about half 7, Enid gets ready to go over to your dorm. she's giddy and really, she can't wait. she loves to see you, even if it's just to sit around in your bed for a couple hours.

after selecting an ideal outfit for the night, which is really just a jumper and a pair of shorts - it's comfortable, but still flattering, because it's on her - and fixing her hair one last time, Enid bids Wednesday goodbye, telling her not to wait up for her (not that she would). leaving her dorm, her stomach tingles a little with something that's a bit like nerves.

when you greet her at your door, dressed in equally comfortable clothing, she immediately jumps into your arms, wrapping you in a tight hug. you sway back and forth for a bit until she let's go of you, and you invite her inside. taking her hand loosely, you lead her over to your bed and you sit down together. the second you sit, she snuggles right up into you.

an hour or so passes, and you've switched cuddling positions about 5 times, watched less than half a movie, laughed till you cried over really stupid memes on Enid's phone, and of course, kissed. a lot. the clock strikes 10 and Enid figures she should probably go home. nuzzled into your chest, legs entwined with yours, she really doesn't want to leave.

"why don't you just stay the night?" you groan, wanting nothing more than for her to stay right where she is,

"Y/N, i can't-" she replies, then considers it for a second - i mean, it's not like Wednesday will have any complaints about having the dorm to herself for the night, right? - ..."actually, yeah, i will!" she says, and you kiss her forehead, happy to not have to say goodbye.

somewhere between then and 4 hours later, you both fell asleep. you're holding her close to you, her arms are wrapped around you and your legs are tangled together. you both sleep peacefully like this, until suddenly Enid wakes up.

in her sleep, she's moved so that both her legs are wrapped around one of yours. the same provocative dream that's tormented her for days must have struck her again, as the ache between her legs is stronger than ever, and, by her position, she guesses she must've been unconsciously grinding against you. she pricks with shame, and is glad that you're still fast asleep otherwise she probably would've died from embarrassment.

but still, the feeling of shame can't compare to the dull ache that's she's suffered through, unreleased for days. and now that it's stronger than ever, she isn't sure she can sleep or even breathe without doing something about it.

hesitantly, she presses a kiss to your neck, pulling back to read your face, she gives you another. hands tentatively moving to your upper arm, she keeps pressing quick kisses to your exposed neck. when she notices you stirring, she pulls away and looks at your face. when your eyes open, half-lidded, she smiles before anything. your eyes. the way you're looking at her right now only makes her want stronger. she wants you to look at her, all of her, just like this.

before you can even say hey, she kisses you. taken aback, you hesitate to kiss back. when her hand moves to your hair, fingers threading through it, you start to reciprocate. she notices how the want behind how you're kissing her mirrors her own and it only excites her more. deepening the kiss, - Enid wants everything to be deeper, more intense right now - she slips her tongue into your mouth.

hearing your sighs of content, the way you're groaning in satisfaction at just kissing her, is driving Enid up the wall. lost in the bliss of it, without thinking she presses her heat intensely against your leg. the pressure is both too much and not enough, and somehow she just doesn't care anymore, and starts to rut gently against you. she's surprised when your hands move to her hips, rocking her back and forth. she gasps, her hands tightening their grip on your hair.

it's weird, how good it feels, just a little bit of friction, even through two layers of clothing. it's heaven already, and just what she's needed this whole week.

she can't explain the rush - the feeling of your hands on her body, fingers pressing into her hip, the back of her thigh - it's insane, how much she wants you right now. it's almost primal, the way she's rutting herself against you, panting into your mouth through messy kisses.

she picks up her pace, chasing the faint release she can feel building already. you break the kiss to move down to her neck. kissing her jaw, just underneath her ear. without thinking, she growls. deep and low, right into your ear.

the way she's desperately grinding herself against you, so needy. the hot sounds of her breathless panting, her literal growls. it flips a switch inside you, and Enid gasps when you switch your position so she's underneath you.

the closeness, chest to chest, Enid already twitching her hips upwards, trying to gain friction again. it's clear how turned on you both are. you resume kissing, messier than ever, and you immediately start grinding against eachother. this feels even better than just humping your leg. now she can feel how turned on you are as well, and the feeling of you pressed against her is electric.

you're both a panting mess, the room is hot, roasting even. Enid wastes no time in tugging your shirt off your body, and you throw it away carelessly. returning the favour, you tug on the bottom of her jumper and she practically rips it off of herself. Enid isn't really sure where this is going. it's hot, it's so hot. she does want more, but not right now. she just wants to keep doing exactly this, she needs to keep doing this until she finds the release she's needed following night after night of her brain sexually tormenting her.

the movements of your hips grow sloppier as you're both nearing climax. you're grunting and gasping, while Enid's high pitch moans ring out, contrasted by lower growls whenever friction hits a particular spot that drives her crazy.

it's bliss, and she almost doesn't want it to end. but it's going to, and soon. she can feel the first waves of an orgasm coming and her eyes are already fluttering shut.

"please, please-" she chants breathlessly, over and over in your ear.

her climax finally comes, and it's the greatest relief she's ever felt. the pleasure washes over her and her eyes squeeze shut. she can feel it in every part of her, literally buzzing in her fingertips. she chokes out a moan when she feels your hips stutter and you let out a gasping grunt when the pleasure of your own orgasm arrives. aftershocks hit you both and you twitch against eachother.

panting loudly, and completely blissed out. you collapse next to her. your fingers entertwine and you lie there for a second, holding hands as you both sigh in content.

"wow." you say, chuckling, and you look to her. she moves to snuggle into your chest, hand still joined with yours.

"yeah, wow." she smiles against your chest and you pet her hair gently. you're both exhausted. it's 3 AM at least, and you've really worn yourselves out.

you barely press a kiss to Enid's forehead before she's out cold. adorable in sleep, she's sprawled across you, lips slightly parted.

you smile at seeing her looking this beautiful. she's sweet, and hyper, and she's wild.

she's yours.

A/N - p4rallel-universe's first nsfw fic?? i'm so sick rn but i was very invested in writing this lmfao

#may make this into a series that progresses #idk yet #enid sinclair x reader #enid sinclair x male reader #male reader #gn reader #wednesday #wednesday x reader #smut #fluff #wednesday smut

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Age Of Consent [part two]

Summary: Dustin’s older sister thinks Eddie Munson could be a bad influence on her younger brother due to their history. Can he change her mind?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson!Reader

Word Count: 1,785

What you’ll find in this series: big angst, wholesome fluff, sexual content, and a lot of profanity.

A/N: I hope you guys like this!

Read Part One || Read Part Three

It had been three weeks.

Dustin was sitting at the kitchen table with a plate full of french toast sticks and scrambled eggs, both drenched in syrup. "Don't forget, our first campaign is tonight."

"How could I forget?" You deadpanned, grabbing an apple out of the bowl in the middle of the table; you ran a hand through Dustin's hair mercilessly.

Surprisingly, you hadn't changed your mind about it. You figured you owed it to Dustin to at least try- he'd do it for you without even asking, in fact, Dustin would give anyone a second chance. And that was the very reason you had your reservations to begin with. Despite the fact that you knew you were putting yourself in a position to be compromised by the likes of Eddie Munson, once again, Dustin's happiness was more important.

You thought of a thousand and one scenarios- a million different words that you would say to him when you saw him again. Yet, you already knew the moment you saw him, everything that you had planned to say would be forgotten. Eddie always had a way of doing that to you, rendering your brain useless. Thinking back on it now, though, you weren't sure if it was his charm or the drugs.

As the hours passed throughout the day, you did your best to throw yourself into your work- but all you could think about was Eddie. To make matters worse, the day was painfully slow, giving yourself plenty of time to ruminate on your past with him. You had thought it was always so complicated with Eddie, but now that you were a few years older, you realized that you were just two stupid kids; young and absolutely fucking dumb. You blamed Eddie for a lot of things that happened back then, and it took you a long time to realize that the decisions that you had made were your decisions.

But, still, would you have made those decisions on your own?

When you finally got home, the house was empty. Hellfire always started promptly at 4:30 PM and Dustin had already mentioned he was going to just hang out at the library with Mike and Lucas until then. You had a couple of hours to get yourself ready before then, and already you were scrambling through your closet to find the perfect outfit.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath after realizing that it took longer than you wanted to put something together. It'd be okay if you were a few minutes late, right? You could certainly make a statement by making an entrance.

You were panicking, and trying to talk yourself out of it. Your mind was turning against you, planting doubts in every thought, and you were so close to dropping out and finding some excuse to feed Dustin and push it off until the next campaign.

No.

You promised.

Besides, it was inevitable that you would come face to face with Eddie Munson eventually. You were honestly surprised that you hadn't yet and considered yourself fortunate to be able to break up with someone in a small town and not constantly run into them. The phrase, 'might as well get it over with' was the only thing driving you at this point. Dustin's happiness be damned.

Your knuckles were white gripping the steering wheel as you pulled into the Hawkins High School parking lot for the second time in the last month. Which was two times too many, if you were being honest. The pressure in your chest was building with each step towards those double doors, and you were constantly second-guessing your decision. It was not too late to turn around.

The hallways were exactly the same as you remembered, as was the smell. Almost everywhere you looked you could replay the memories in your mind, most of them terrible, but there were a handful of good ones; they usually included Eddie. Your feet carried you to your destination and you approached the door to the classroom with caution. You could hear the commotion through the wooden door and peeked through the small window to see him.

He was smiling and waving his hands in the air, his usual theatrics on full display. Your lips pulled back into your own smile as you watched him; your hand shaking, hovering over the doorknob as you weighed the pros and cons of just opening that door and walking back into his life as if you had never left.

You couldn't.

A sigh escaped your lips as you took a step back from the door. You knew the amount of time and dedication Eddie put into every campaign- you had gotten there too late, an interruption of your caliber could destroy the entire flow of the game. You slid down to the floor and pulled out a book from your bag, knowing that you could be here for hours until the campaign ended.

"That was probably one of the best games we've ever played." You heard a familiar voice as the door opened. "It was short but awesome."

Looking up from your book, you saw Mike Wheeler emerging from the classroom- Dustin and Lucas were close behind. You glanced down at your watch and noticed that three hours had passed.

"Totally," replied Lucas. "Eddie is really good at what he does."

"Hey nerds," you said as you stood to your feet.

"You came!" Dustin exclaimed. "Come on, let me introduce you to-"

"Hey, why don't you go wait for me in the car?" You offered instead, handing him your keys. "I can introduce myself."

His brows came together and he was giving you that look again, "Ohkay? I'll be outside, I guess."

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas headed down the hall towards the exit, still chatting excitedly about their first campaign in the Hellfire Club. You waited for the rest of the kids to empty out of the classroom until there was only one left.

You took a deep breath before you pushed open the door and stepped inside that familiar room. The door closed behind you with a small click, and you were expecting him to turn around. He kept his back towards you, though, picking up the game pieces and putting them away neatly. It was quiet, save for the soft sound of Eddie humming to himself. Just as you had thought earlier, your mind had gone blank, and you were desperately searching for the right words.

Get yourself together, girl.

"Still warping the fragile minds of these young padawans, are we?"

You could see Eddie freeze in place.

"I remember a time, not too long ago, in fact, when you were one of those young padawans, yourself, Lady Henderson." The sound of his voice sent a spark throughout your entire body. He turned to face you, his dark, brown eyes analyzing your every feature. "Oh, how I have counted the days since our last encounter."

"I-I didn't come here to reminisce." All chances of trying to sound confident just went out the window. You struggled to breathe under his gaze, and fuck, if that feeling didn't make you uncomfortable. You had forgotten it- tucked it away, never to be felt again. Yet, there he was, looking as painfully beautiful as ever.

He stalked towards you slowly; step by step, slowly closing the space in-between. "Oh yeah?" He asked. "What did you come here for?"

"D-Dustin."

"Mm, what about him?"

"L-look, Dustin is a smart kid." He nodded in return, taking another step closer. You took one step back but there was nowhere else for you to go, you were backed against the door. "But he's naive and he sees the good in everyone. Even when, sometimes, there isn't any good there."

Eddie stopped inches from you and cocked his head to the side. "You're saying I'm not a good guy?" He placed his hands over his chest. "Breaking my heart again, sweetheart."

"Please," you rolled your eyes. "I did not break your heart."

"You sure?" He asked, taking another step towards you. He was too close, but you were frozen in place. "I was pretty fucking messed up after that."

"Eddie," you placed your hands on his chest to keep him from boxing you against the door. "Your way of life, your choices, they bleed into the lives of the people around you. And I don't want that to happen to Dustin. I don't want him to think that those types of choices are okay just because he looks up to you."

"I'm not as careless as I was back then," He said softly.

"You're not?" You asked, eyes trailing past him to the black lunch box that was sitting on the table behind him. He sighed, knowing that he was busted. "I'm not asking you to change, Munson, because you and I both know that will never happen. Just please, keep it away from my brother."

You turned the handle on the door, opening it behind you before taking a step back into the hallway and getting one last look at Eddie. He would typically use a moment like this to blurt out something adorable and bat his pretty eyes at you to keep you on the hook, but instead, he remained silent; his pitiful, brown eyes watching you as you turned away from him and headed for the parking lot exit.

That wasn't exactly how you wanted things to go, and you cursed yourself all the way to the parking lot. Admittedly, you knew that you had panicked- but how else were you supposed to react when you were quite literally backed into a corner? When you got to your car, Dustin was ready with a thousand questions. You could see him nearly sitting on the edge of the passenger seat, about ready to burst.

"How'd it go?" He asked as you dropped into your seat and you slammed the car door shut behind you.

"I don't want to talk about it," you replied.

"Okay, something is definitely up." He stated. "You have been acting weird ever since I told you that I joined Hellfire."

"It's nothing, Dustin." You snapped and you could see him flinch out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry, just- please drop it."

The drive home was quiet, but again, you could practically hear those gears turning in your brother's head. He didn't stop staring at you until you pulled into the driveway.

"You're not going to drop it, are you?" You asked as you turned the keys back in the ignition.

Dustin was standing outside of the car, holding the door open. "Definitely not," he replied before closing the door and heading toward the house.

#aye part 2 my babies #i hope you guys like this one a little better than the opening chapter #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson drabble #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fan fic #stranger things imagine #joe quinn #joseph quinn

[youn9racha]

Wet Dreams

requested by: anon

pairing: bff!felix x bff!reader

genre: smut

synopsis: felix developed an odd and sexually frustrating infatuation towards you, to the point he has dreams of things he would wish to do to you, yet he has to hide it from you so as to not drive you away from him, until on a certain night came that made reveal everything...

warning: piv, sexual dreams, perv!felix, some perv!reader, masturbation (both fem and masc), voyeurism (?), blow jobs, rushed ending

words: 3.1 k

a/n: ik i said i was gonna do a chan smut, but i intially was set with this lix fic that never seemed to finish, but thankfully i did <3 idk if anon is inactive or not (hopefully not) but if you're still active hopefully you enjoyed it <33

This is no way representative of the way Stray Kids act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers discretion is advised.

“Mmh, yes Felix, you fuck me so well!”

Your whines echo through every corner of the room as Felix inserts himself in and out of you at a good amount of speed where it was fast and hard enough to give you pleasure. He looks down with grunts and heavy breathing, seeing your breasts bounce along with the rhythm of his cock hitting the right spots through his blissed-haze vision.

“Oh, God, (y/n), do I—mm—do I fuck you good?” Usually, he would have felt pathetic at the way he whined out the question, but at that moment he did not care about how his usual deep vocals turned into a high pitch mewl, he finally got to feel you in a way he never would have thought of being in; fucking his crush, his best friend, and making you feel so good as he would hope.

“Yes, yes, you do,” you repeated the ‘yes’ like a prayer indicating how well he is performing as the head, as well as the loud pornographic-like moans that spill out of your mouth. It triggered something within Felix as he suddenly found himself going faster in you, making you straight call out his name, hoping that he could make you come with him simultaneously.

“Oh, Felix! Oh fuck, I’m so close!”

He whines and groans as he grips onto your hips to make his penetration deeper, “me too, baby—ah! Fuck! Please come with me…”

He begged as he was going faster but suddenly, he noticed her voice was silent. Fearing he was hurting you, he slowed down and regained his vision only for you to suddenly disappear and see a body pillow in place of you. He blinked in a confused and sat straight as he wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked around the room to look for you.

“(Y/n)?” Felix called out as he suddenly heard a whisper, that vaguely sounds a lot like you, and is repeating the phrase repeatedly.

“Wake up, Felix… Wake up…”

And suddenly Felix felt his eyes open up to the ceiling, gasping for air and panting. He got up and looked around his room for reassurance that what just happened was a reality or dream. He looks at the time and sees it was 4 a.m. He sighs in frustration into his hand and shakes his head. “Another fucking dream,” he mutters as he wipes his face down before widening them again. He throws his blanket away and looked down at his boxer shorts only to see them stained in a big dark patch in the center.

“Ugh, fucking hell,” he cringed, “it’s like middle school all over again… it’s too much,”

This was Felix’s third wet dream of the week. Recently Felix has been getting those erotic dreams and you would think he would enjoy them, which he won’t lie and say he doesn’t, but he was mildly disturbed over how repetitive those dreams were. They were practically the same; Felix fucking someone repeatedly and then gets rudely interrupted as soon he was about to come. But it wasn’t just anyone, it was you.

You and Felix have been friends for as long as you two could remember. You two went far back and enjoyed each other’s company, so much so that recently you both moved in together to make living easier and affordable. He always has thought of you somewhat platonically for the most part. He didn’t know where the sudden romantic—sexual—admiration come from; all he knows is that since the moment he realized he had developed feelings for you, he had been dreaming about you in a not-so-amicable way.

He feels guilt, but the sight of you splayed out naked for him truly sets him off and these dreams are not helping him in any cause. It’s all he thinks about when he jerks off as well, he would envision his fist to be your warm walls wrapped around his cock and just ride him all day and night. It doesn’t help that the minute things you would do would trigger it; like when you laugh at a bad joke of his or wear something simple like a sundress with a ponytail on, just the small things you could do would make him hard instantly. But he couldn’t risk throwing away years of friendship for his sexual needs, he would push that to the side for its sake. So, it's just him and his hand or perhaps his fleshlight for now.

Flash forward to today, where Felix got up from his bed to take his boxer off and switch it out for a new one. Once wore a new fresh pair, he noticed himself starting to lose sleep. He didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep, especially since he doesn’t have work today, so what’s the harm in staying up? Felix got out of his room to the hallway to wash his face and brush his teeth. On his way there he passed your room and paused as if he was a deer seeing headlights. if it weren’t for his slight alertness, he would have missed the whimpers that came out of your room.

Felix furrowed his brows in confusion at the sound especially when he got back and got closer to your door. Initially, he thought you were in pain of some sort, as you were muttering a bunch of ‘ah’s and ‘fuck’s. Whatever that is happening didn’t stop him from the blood getting to his head, and he ended up grumbling at himself for letting himself feel turned on by the noises you were making. You could be genuinely in pain, and he’s over here being grossly aroused by your hisses. But his guilt faded as he heard his name in a dragged-out, almost pleasurable, moan.

“Felix… mmm…”

Felix had his eyes widened as he realized the two possibilities of what was happening behind the door; you were either masturbating to the thought of him or also been having a raunchy dream.

“Fuck…” Felix muttered to himself as he got closer to the door, to have a better hearing. He sees that the door is slightly open, not too wide where he could notice, but enough where he can see your bed. The lower part of your body was covered, but you were laying naked in bed, one hand was on your breast, pinching your nipple, and the other was also covered by the door, but it is a no-brainer that you were pleasuring yourself. Not just pleasuring yourself though, but you were masturbating to the thought of him, Felix, your best friend. The mere sight of you calling out his name and playing with your tits could easily make Felix come on his pants.

While he hates to admit it, Felix felt like a pervert from the moment he started having dreams of you in a bawdy way. He likes to maintain his usual respectful demeanor and banters with you as friends would, but it doesn’t change the fact each time you show any skin, whether it’d be your cleavage or your thighs or any body parts you show, he’d want to take you at this moment. His disgusting thoughts about ways to make you scream out his name inhabit his brain without paying rent and it’s not like he’s going to send an eviction letter, especially not at this moment.

Who would have thought that this whole time you must have thought of Felix the same way he does of you?! Certainly not him. Either he’s an oblivious person who doesn’t read between the lines or you were good at hiding your signs of interest, he would have not thought you felt the same due to you actively going out on dates. ‘That must explain the failed relationships’ he thought to himself.

He pushed that thought to the side and proceeded to look at you pleasuring yourself, but this time he begins palming himself, as he admires you from afar, and enjoys being the audience. He sees your out-of-view hand start to go faster, followed by the squelching noises of presumably your fingers going in and out collecting your juices and your moans getting louder before you slow down, presumable edging yourself. The sight of you sighing in your masochistic decision to stop before going back to pick up where you left off drove Felix insane as he took his cock out and started to stroke along at your pace, biting his lips to not make a sound.

‘What am I doing? This is so messed up, regardless of if she’s thinking of me or not’ Felix was thinking rationally but it was too late for that, especially not when he already is jerking off. The pace of his hand matches up with yours, even as far as edging himself when you do so, but he had to keep his lip bitten to not reveal himself being in this situation.

“Oh… Felix…” you hissed out as you started to pick up the pace once again and Felix does the same. You found yourself finally almost orgasming but stopped. This time however wasn’t because of your conscious choice. Felix wanted to have a greater look at you, and his attempt to open the door slightly but not enough to alert you failed miserably as the creak of the door deafens the room, replacing it with the sound of your heavy breathing and wet noises.

You gasped as you closed your legs and covered yourself with the blanket as you looked at the door. You see Felix in the doorway, “Felix, what are you doing—” your words were interrupted as you noticed his compromising position; he was hunched slightly with his hand holding the shaft of his cock, as if he were rubbing one out. You two looked at each other flabbergasted as you two realized what was happening.

“Were you looking at me this whole time?” you shyly asked.

“Uh… yeah,” Felix responded equally bashful.

“Well… why didn’t you come in?”

Your question caught him off guard, even though it shouldn’t, considering the obvious call out for his name while you were rubbing your swollen clit and inserting your fingers, imagining him instead of your digits. It was rather dumb, and he sure should have walked in, but it was too late, especially since his hand was already on his hard cock.

“Um… well… I-I didn’t know if you’d react negatively, even though you were calling out my name and such…” Felix nervously rambled, letting go of his shaft and placing it back in his boxer, and proceeded to fidget with his hand. He notices that you were staring at his cock which looks like it was about to burst through his shorts, and he could only gulp as he blushes at the way you were looking at him, eyes filled with lust.

“Come here,” you seductively invited by facing him and sitting on the edge of your bed. Felix obliged as he walked up to you, you put on fake innocent eyes as you were looking up at Felix as you pushed down his boxer shorts. His glistening head was freed from its restrain and slapped Felix’s lower stomach, shuddering in response. You looked down at his cock, slightly drooling at the sight, getting on your knees before having your eyes up at him as you wrap your hand around it.

“Tell me, Felix, how long have you thought of me?” You said whilst stroking him, squeezing at the ideal places to elicit any noises coming out of him, which worked as he moaned in pleasure rather than answering your question. “Has it been long?” You asked, still maintaining the slow pace.

Felix could only mewl as a response, but he managed to nod at your question, making you smile and tilt your head in curiosity, “words, Lixie…”

“Y-yes, been thinking about you… for…fuck.”

His words were scrambled, incoherent in response. You would edge him right there, but you decided against it, thinking it wasn’t the right time. Instead, you smiled at him before you lowered your gaze to his cock and then back to him as you slowed your hand movement. Felix had his mouth agape, unsure of what was to come, but that quickly changed when you wrapped your lips around him, letting out strings of moans coming from him. He started to pant when you began to bob your head, looking up at him teasingly while you swallowed him whole, his head hitting the back of your throat. He fought every urge to not buck himself into you, but the pleasure you were giving him was making him go wild.

He feels himself getting closer and he begins to cry out and whines, “(y/n), I’m so close… stop… I don’t want to come like this…”

You enjoyed hearing how his deep voice was transformed into a high-pitched subby mewls, which you carried on bobbing to elicit more of his cute sounds. However, what you didn’t expect was having your hair pulled back by Felix, pulling your mouth out of his cock, creating a pop sound. He held a gentle yet firm grip on your hair, facing you up at him, as he pants and hisses at the sensation of the air-conditioned cold air hitting his saliva-coated cock.

“I said, I don’t want to come like this…” He whispered, his dark eyes lasered back at you, “get on the bed.”

His submissive side suddenly disappeared and in came this side of Felix you didn’t expect to see, which you didn’t mind whatsoever. You instantly obliged as he strips his shirt off and reveal his defined toned body to you, the body you’ve examined for so long. You weren’t completely innocent either in the realm of perversion, you had spied on Felix when he changes and/or showered, and you would ogle him the same how he would look at you the same way.

Your memory lane was disrupted when you heard the door shut, you looked up at Felix and see him carry a foil wrapper of a condom which he ripped with his teeth. He must have gotten a spare from his room while you were reminiscing, but it doesn’t matter as you prepared yourself by spreading your legs while he takes the protective cover and wraps it around his cock, pumping it slightly to make sure it stays secure. You bit your bottom lip in excitement as you looked up to him while he lines himself against your glistening hole.

“Ready?”

“Go all in…”

That’s all Felix needs as he inserts himself within your velvet walls, resulting in strings of moans and curses coming from both of you. After a few adjustments, Felix began moving in a steady motion to be cautious and fearing to not harm you. While you admired his kind gesture, you felt that you weren’t going anywhere if Felix kept at this pace.

“Go deeper, Felix,” you breathed out against his ear. He looked at you, his freckled face flushed in ensuing pleasure, “what?” he blurted out, his sense of self-being slightly out of it.

You took it upon yourself by wrapping your legs around his waist, your heel digging into his bare back made him realize what you were saying, and almost instantly Felix started to pick up speed and drill further in you just as you were told.

Your moans echoed exactly how you would in his dream, he lifted himself off you to have a good look at you as his cock constantly bore itself in and out of you. This was exactly like his last dream, you splayed out in your bed, breasts bounced to the beat of his cock slamming into the desired spot, skin slapping, and moans of each other’s names coming from both of your mouths were the only sounds being played in the room. His hand gripped your hips firmly as you yelped out his name and whined along with it as your head falls back.

Felix began running his hand through your whole body as he groans out about how good you feel around him.

"Oh, god, (y/n) ... you feel… so fucking good,” he breathed out followed by a groan as you occasionally clench around him. “Oh, how I wish this wasn’t a dream,” he mutters, not realizing what he was saying, which made you chuckle through your moans.

“Oh, baby, this is no dream…” Your voice was cut by your uncontrollable moan before continuing, “this is too good to be a dream…”

The way you were speaking to him drives him even more insane as he speeds up and his growls increase in volume, as well as your mewls and yelps. You felt your ropes tighten to the point of it snapping, “Lixie… I’m so fucking close…”

Felix was not far away from you as shown by the irregular speed and depth he was going, so he began encouraging you to come along with him. After a few more thrusts in and out of you, he came inside the condom with you following along after he thrusts in you to make you reach your orgasm and to slightly overstimulate himself.

After catching both of your breaths, Felix pulled himself away from you and removed the condom off himself before tying it and throwing it in the trash. You could only lay there still panting at the ungodly yet unbelievably pleasant session you had with your so-called best friend. You see him walking up to you to sit next to your laying body, unsure if the red face was from abashment or from the sex you two just had. How can he act all shy and cute as if he didn’t fuck you so good you almost saw God?

“Hey, you alright?” he asked in a caring manner while massaging my side. Can’t believe those caring hands were the same that bruised my hips… can’t say I’m one to complain.

“I’m doing excellent, you?”

“Oh, I’m doing wonderful,” he responded enthusiastically, his Australian accent thickened for some reason. You two looked at each other admiration spread through your gazes. Neither of you knew where all this was coming from, but you two didn’t care; the appreciation you two have for each other was very prevalent by the second each time you two hung out. While you two are too tired to speak of this matter, you were certain that he is feeling the same you were feeling and could possibly make a change in the relationship… but hopefully for the better.

And to think this all started from a messed-up dream you both had for each other…

#stray kids oneshot #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #skz smut #skz fanfic #skz fics #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz imagines #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #felix imagines #felix smut #lee felix imagines #felix hard thoughts #felix hard hours #lee felix hard hours #lee felix hard thoughts #lee felix fanfic #felix fanfic #lee felix fic #felix fic

[sflow-er]

I heard people are mad because they feel like August should be apologizing to Simon also, and I think that’s like, a no-brainer because of course he will – – he’s changed now. He’s not the same person who did that thing so – – we saw him suffer and now he apologized to Wille whom he knows and then – – I’m sure when [August and Simon] meet, he’s going to talk to [Simon] about it too. Linnéa Roxeheim, director of S3 eps 5& 6, PRP interview 59:00-59:22 (– – used for legibility, the redacted phrase is 'you know')

So...this kind of seems to confirm something I've been thinking since I watched the season: the lack of apology from August to Simon feels less like an intentional, character-defining writing choice and more like a mishap overlooking or even retconning the August-Simon conflict.

Some thoughts under the cut.

That conflict was one of the central building blocks and driving forces back in S1. Simon wouldn't have ended up selling drugs if it wasn't for August looking to buy, Wille wouldn't have found out about August's finances and been able to use them against him, and Alexander would not have been framed to save Simon. And for that matter, August's eagerness to pin the blame on Simon was likely fuelled by the fact that he wasn't just a sosse sleeping with Wille, but also a constant thorn in August's side. Someone who had even physically roughed August up at one point.

Still, I do believe August's decision to post the video mainly concerned Wille. I've written about that too many times to rehash it again; let's just take his dismissive reaction when Sara says Simon is distraught in S1E6 at face value. And that made perfect sense for his character, considering his only moral code at the time was (elite) loyalty.

However. From S2 on, the history between August and Simon has been sidelined, and the focus has been on the conflict between August and Wille.

We didn't see Simon suffer any more daily consequences from the video in S2. He could already sing karaoke in Bjärstad without people giving him dirty looks, and both the rumour mill at Hillerska and the hate comments online had stopped. Not being allowed to sing his song at the Jubilee was a concrete consequence, but even that felt more like an obstacle for Wilmon and an opportunity for Wille to stand up for them. Simon and August barely even interacted over the season - but at least Simon did refer to Sara knowing everything August had done to him in the gun range scene, so that was something.

I had hoped for the August-Simon conflict to be picked up again in S3. Even if the writers wanted to focus on other relationships and tensions, to me, it felt too essential to pass up. It would have been a clear sign of August learning the accountability and empathy that he needed to grow, and it would have also provided some much-needed closure for Simon (and tied the series together as a whole). I guess the writers felt differently.

Even though the focus on Simon getting hate on social media again could have provided an easy tie-in, the vile hate messages focused on his and Wille's relationship, as well as him being a POC. Apart from Linda's comment in the settlement negotiation, I don't think the video was even mentioned once in all the hate comments we saw. There was no indication of the media or the public having dragged it back up either (or asked who filmed and leaked it, but that's another matter entirely). Nor were there any references to Simon having already received some hate after the leak - on the contrary, it seemed like he was completely blindsided by all the vitriol. I do realise that the scale was much bigger this time around, but still.

Circling back to the August-Simon conflict, there's also another aspect that is easily overlooked. Namely, that Simon himself actually seemed pretty content to just put all his dealings with August to rest after the settlement was finalised. The only time the two of them even interacted after that was all about Sara. It could have also been an opportunity to show Simon's own feelings, but that didn't materialise.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Simon could still use that apology, but I never got the impression that he needed it the way we fans needed to see it. Based on S3, you might even think their only source of conflict was Simon coincidentally being on the video, and when that was settled, Simon was okay just moving on with his life.

Which brings me back to the ending.

I always figured that August was portrayed as genuinely remorseful towards the end. Yes, I would have liked to see more of his growth and development (even just showing his reaction to the sale of Årnäs instead of having Simon say that Wille said it was a fitting punishment would've worked wonders)... But the authorial intent seemed to be that he had already taken enough steps. His and Wille's reconciliation was as sincere as anything could get, with Wille not forgiving him as such but agreeing to move on, start healing, and even wish each other well. Wille was sincere when he congratulated August upon graduation and tapped him as the next king, thinking he was well suited for the job (it's the narrative that frames it as a sort of punishment, not Wille).

Crucially, Simon doesn't seem bothered by this. If both Wille and August had truly just ignored the harm caused to Simon and reconciled amongst themselves, with Wille essentially giving August the position that everyone but August still thought was all August ever wanted...while Simon was still hurting and needing the closure of an apology...well. That would actually make Wille look like kind of a terrible partner even right at the end, which clearly wasn't the intention.

We can't be sure if Wille told Simon about the reconciliation when they talked at the lake, but Simon will still know that Wille stepping down means August stepping up, and he is happy about it. Wilmon are off to start a new chapter in their lives, and we don't get the feeling that the lack of an apology to Simon is left as an unresolved issue between them (or between them and August).

So...yeah. I guess I'm just trying to point out that this seems to be another example of a previously important plot line being dropped from S3, and to a lesser degree, also another example of execution vs. authorial intent.

#young royals #young royals season 3 #young royals analysis #linnea roxeheim

[bahllinsqrews]

Giving Into Pleasure!

Incubus Niki x Succubus Reader

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Incubus Niki - High sex drive, heightened stamina, big dick size.

Succubus Reader - Heightened sensitivity, tighter pussy, lowered percentage of pregnancy

Messy cumming

Swearing

Biting

Multiple positions

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This story is strictly fanfiction

Negative comments will be deleted

Hide the post or Block if you don't want to see it

Minors DNI

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Two demons getting close, closer than before, their markings acting up again. They need a fix, a fix of each other. The endless love that seeps between the seams of everything normal to get to the once a month messy demonic ritual of their everlasting love for each other.

Riki was just coming home from a long day at work, tired and ready to take a nice hot shower and relax with you. He saw you, his favorite little demon, on the couch, smiling at your frame as it looked comfortable, your face because it looked so kissable. He leaned over the couch and pressed a kiss on your cheek, saying his sweet phrase so close to your skin. "I'm home~"

You gave your cutie boyfriend a big hug, sitting up from the couch and it's when you smelled the sweat in him. You let go and slightly backed off, making him scoff playfully. "Do I smell that bad?" He asked and you hummed before speaking. "Sorry..." That was all you got out of your mouth before pointing to the room for him to take a shower and scrub off his skin and the smell. He did just that and went off to take a shower. Minutes passed and he came out again, those godforsaken sweatpants you bought him, you could see his clear dick print and it made you lose your mind a bit. As a succubus, you had to keep your cool due to your marks being synced in almost every way.

When he got closer, your mark began to give a gentle glow, smelling the coffee scented body wash you bought him for his birthday. His mark began to flash at you too, him getting a little hard from your body signs. You got him to hug you tight, giving you access to his neck and him to yours, him taking the chance, he took a bite from your neck to make you squeak a little while he lifted one of your legs to his knee to hold you much closer. Both marks began to flash a little brighter, arousal pooling inside and burning at the both of you. He gave you a kiss before taking you to the bedroom. He laid you on the bed and you caught sight of the blue inscriptions shining on his lovingly long rod.

Nishimura was a quick one when he wanted something, taking off your clothes and getting a long lustful look at your body before getting his own clothes off, spreading you to put your knees to your chest and ankles above your head, having you nice and straightened out to kneel over you with his long and hardened shaft laying right on top of your wet cunt, both of your begging for it. He moved his hips a little, having it grind on your heated, sparking clit, making your head lay back in intense pleasure, he lifted his hips a bit and plunged himself into you, both of you burning at this point. You squealed a little as his two long and slender fingers on one hand pinched and played with your aching clit, him continuously slow fucking you.

He decided to lay your back on the wall, in the same position, just better with him kneeling in front of you instead. He had better access and somehow hit deeper than on the bed. He moved his hips faster and kept at your clit, groaning and moaning while he stared you in the eye after glancing down at the harsh smacks of his balls hitting your ass. The noises you made were hot to him, making him want to ravage you but he wanted to take his time with the build up, and that he did. He got much faster, leaning in and taking kisses from your lips, drinking in your moans and taking your neck with kisses and markings alike. You were slightly losing it, him pounding you so hard, but it was nothing compared to when he went much faster, ramming you hard against the wall and almost breaking it with his strength, he kept you close, extremely close and got closer and closer to filling you with the hot ropey milk you wanted so desperately. He shifted you and turned you onto your stomach, lifting your ass up to spank and fuck you.

His spanks made ripples in your skin, making your pussy wet as you took him, making his cock slide in with ease. He switched you to missionary to see your face contort in pleasure, using that position for a while as he started slamming your cunt into sloping sounds until he came inside and filled your womb. He kept a few thrusts, making sure to milk it all out, only to make it a mess and have it seep out onto the bed sheets below. You panted as he pulled out, looking at the mess and getting hard again for another round, you weren't walking for a little while.

#kpop #smut #enhypen niki #niki smut #enhypen nishimura riki #nishimura riki #enhypen riki #enhypen

[mypoisonedvine]

I hate hate hate having to talk about this stuff because I know 98% of y'all are not the problem, and the remaining 2% are probably not going to care in the slightest. but I need to set some boundaries and explain why I'm getting frustrated before any more resentment builds.

I've been writing for cillian murphy characters since july 26 when I posted 'thoughtless', since then I've released well over one hundred thousand words of content for him. I'm not exaggerating, I counted. it's been five and a half weeks and I've posted 14 full-length one shots which means I'm posting more than twice a week. that's not even including drabbles/requests.

I'm getting concerned that this has set a precedent that people are holding me to and I'm getting annoyed by the entitlement in some of my asks and comments.

first things first, and I know nobody means anything bad by this but it's pissing me off: stop using the phrase "full smut" in your requests, it's driving me crazy. this started abruptly after I posted a bunch of drabbles in one sitting based on y'all's ideas and requests. I did that as a way to try out new ideas and appease people who hadn't had their concepts written about yet. instead of people being happy with what I wrote for them, people got frustrated that the drabbles were drabble-length and not thousands of words long like my full fics (which take me several days to write, rather than an hour or less which is the point of short requests). ever since, people won't stop coming into my inbox talking about making a "full smut" for a certain character or idea as if they're terrified that I'll only post something short. I usually don't post short things. I feel now like those drabbles were a colossal waste of time because all they did was make people afraid I wouldn't write longer stuff; I wanted to open requests again because I had fun, but now I feel like it's a bad idea because it'll just leave people frustrated when they see it's not whatever a "full smut" is and then tell me it's incomplete and I need to write more. a short drabble can very well be a complete story. stop asking for "full smut" PLEASE. just tell me what you're interested in reading and trust that, as the author, I will tell the story in the correct length of time.

secondly, the way people are asking for stories about new characters is getting out of control. I think you guys don't realize that I only post less than half of the asks I get, because they are so repetitive and constant. I have literally over 2000 unanswered asks currently. if I answered all the asks I received, I would lose followers because it clogs the dash and half of them are the same questions.

and I'm just gonna say this one explicitly: please stop asking me to write for cillian's character in the movie 'anna'. I'm not saying that I won't or that I don't want to. but I need you to understand that I get easily 3-5 asks a DAY about this character and I am exhausted. I'm not particularly interested in watching the movie. not only does it look like it's probably just not that good, but on a very personal note, I am in recovery for an eating disorder (and relapsed recently) and I just... don't wanna watch a movie with a runway model in the leading role right now. I'm sorry if that feels like body shaming or something but I've been waiting until I feel like I can watch it without feeling sick or enraged. it should come as a surprise to no one who is familiar with my work that I'm not a particularly mentally healthy person. but that's only part of it; I answered asks about this character for a while saying I wanted to write for him eventually, but I had to stop because people just asked about him every day anyways without reading my very recent posts with the same question. I'm still not ruling it out. I'm just warning you guys that it will be a while.

people are now commenting requests for new characters ON MY CURRENT FICS FOR UNRELATED CHARACTERS. how entitled and dense do you have to be to do that? I can't believe this has to be said, but comments on my fics should be... related to the content of the fic you're commenting on.

to be clear, I'm not mad at anyone for doing this stuff (except that last one, that's unforgivably ridiculous) because I think the intentions are pure. but now that I've explained why this stuff bothers me, I'm asking you to put a little more thought into how you phrase your questions and comments. to be clear: for the most part I feel incredibly supported and appreciated here and I've been very impressed by this fandom's ability to not be morality police and manage their own content consumption. a lot of you have reached out with concern about the speed at which I was producing and I totally understand and value that. I honestly think I can keep up that pace for a little while longer... I just wanted to explain why I'm getting a little irritated and hopefully decrease the amount of asks I get repeating the same two or three things.

so, tl;dr -- I've been having a lot of fun writing and I plan to keep doing it as much as I can. some people are spoiling the fun for everyone by being (usually unintentionally) entitled and impatient. I don't mind you guys showing enthusiasm for things you'd like to see from me, in fact it's helpful because it tells me what might get a good reception. but please be thoughtful in how you make these requests and please support what I've already written if you want to see more. I think non-writers have a hard time understanding how inspiration works (hell, even writers don't really understand it in ourselves lol) and so it kinda just seems like if I can write about one thing I can write about any thing. but I only write so much and so fast because I write what speaks to me and not other people's ideas. again, thank you so much for all the love and support this past month!!

p.s. I also get asks multiple times a day asking when I will post a fic, especially if I've announced it. I always post fics between 4 and 5 PM central US time. I would recommend calculating when that is for you and I promise you'll find me posting very reliably at this time on days I have fics announced. hopefully this saves us all some trouble in the future lmao

#long post

[hezuart]

Regarding Utena, I wouldn't use the phrase "sleeping with each other" when most of the sex is outright abuse.

For example, Utena and Anthy are 14 years old, and cannot consent to having sex with Akio, so saying they're just "sleeping with" him frames the issue as if it was consensual and an active choice on their part.

Ah I wasn't just talking about Utena and Anthy. Akio also slept with Kanae (and Touga... I think) Shiori slept with Touga. Touga actually slept with everyone in school. Our main three sibling groups in the show, Akio & Anthy, Touga & Nanami, Kozue & Miki were all incestuous. So that statement was just an overall. Pretty much every relationship in this anime is heavily messed up in some way

Forgive me, I haven't watched Utena in a very long while, so there are some things I totally forgot about, but from my memory, the love square was insane. Utena started dating(?????) Akio, and then found out he was sleeping with Anthy, and then the two of them seem to passive-aggressively fight over him briefly?? This show is absolutely beautiful and started off with a somewhat clear story. A tomboyish girl named Utena joins a strange magical fight club at school for the hand of Anthy. Anthy is maybe under some kind of spell to serve whoever she is betrothed to. Utena doesn't seem to get it, and really only wants to fight for Anthy's freedom and happiness. After living together, the two become good friends and maybe even start to fall in love. Utena loses at one point and falls into a depression, dressing up like a girl again, doubtful and insecure about herself, only to make a comeback. There's a mysterious prince who descends from the heavens to grant her power through the sword she pulls from Anthy's heart. That castle could be real magic, from another realm, or just from her imagination from the prince who saved her as a child- (sike!!! its a projection in the sky?????? guess what, everything is fake!! ??? ....except for the swords pulled out of peoples hearts. Those are real, somehow.)

But yeah once Akio is introduced the show quickly devolves from "Magical LGBTQ+ highschool girl challenges gender roles and relationship norms, saving a princess in the process and falls in love with her," to backtracking, incest, sex, sexual abuse, weird comic relief, manipulations, illusions where everything isn't real yet at the same time it is, shirtless men, driving cars, dead people, etc. The bitter-sweet confusing ending where Anthy is finally free but at the expense of Utena, who in the end realized she could never be a prince, apologizing in despair at her failure, pierced with thousands of swords in Anthy's place...

It still has an interesting aspect parallel of Anthy, a princess, sacrificing herself for a prince who in the end becomes a corrupt shadow of himself. Vs. Utena, a princess acting as a prince, sacrifices herself for the princess who was a shadow of herself to free her. The fact that the thing that saved her all those years ago was her want to save Anthy was really poetic.

Like there's a lot of metaphors to be found here, really beautiful, surreal amazing ones, but in my head I can only see it as a horrific confusing tragedy. But the cliffhanger is like "Utena is out there somewhere in another universe! I'm gonna go travel to find her : ) " how and why did that happen and where on earth did she go-

(I don't know how to associate the movie with the anime because those feel like two completely different universes and probably are.) The show mid to 3 quarters of the way went absolutely bonkers. I feel like it kinda lost sight of where it was trying to go for a while. The ending was truly beautiful, but it was so odd due to prior inconsistencies in the story. You couldn't tell what was actually real or not, or how things came to be or why. And things that happened before, like all the sexual abuse is never addressed or brought up again. And it acts like the ending is happy, like there's hope for Utena and Anthy, but it just feels like nothing was really resolved. Anthy leaves the school, which, you know, good for her, her freedom was the point of the anime, it was what Utena was working towards her whole life, even if she didn't remember. But I don't know if she was well and truly saved if Utena was now in her place. Feels like they're just gonna go in a loop. Doomed by the narrative when the narrative itself doesn't really acknowledge that. I just got a "Don't try to be something you're not because you'll succeed but at your own demise" kind of moral from it, which felt like a loss rather than a win when it came to the gender role commentary.

#with a surrealist metaphorical show unless stated otherwise by the creator #its left up to interpretation- and with this show there are many #just everyone in this show is just so messed up #Nanami killed a cat #Akio slept with kids #Touga slept around #green haired guy abused #Utena and Anthy themselves fight over Akio #everyone is manipulating each other in some way #and then we turn around and have nanami becoming a cow- laying eggs- anthy collects bugs like a quirky school girl- #anthy and akio gaslighting some guy into being in love with their cousin who set the school on fire #its inconsistent tonal shifts #like what on earth was going on #utena #revolutionary girl utena #utena critical #ask #text post

[tumblezwei]

Bear with me I'm about to go insane for a few paragraphs.

Actually scratch that I meant a lot of paragraphs, because this became so much longer than I intended.

A thing that Honkai Star Rail is utterly obsessed with doing is masking the involvement of Aeons in certain events or encounters with their own personal symbolic language. If you read a piece of text and it mentions amber or constructing walls, for example, you can be pretty confident that it's referencing Qilpoth. Similarly, mentions of flapping wings, multicolored material, or things smelling of fruit is likely in reference to Tayzzyronth.

The Swarm Disaster in particular is rife with this shit. You can drive yourself insane reading through Trailblaze Secrets trying to parse through whether this line is meant to refer to something, or if you've been staring for way too long and need to slow down. In particular you can drive yourself insane looking for references to Terminus the Finality.

Terminus in kind of annoying because they don't have an entry in the Data Bank, but they are referenced well enough that we know a decent cursory amount about them. The main facts being that they somehow exist and move backwards in time, they are currently asleep and murmur prophecies, and they have two factions: the Omen Vanguard and the Creed Exequy.

The symbols we can generally look out for when it comes to Finality are concepts of time moving backward, prophecies, and, of course, references to "finality."

And to add more context to what I'm about to say, I have to mention that the Finality is all over the Swarm Disaster (so is HooH the Equilibrium but I don't care about them right now). In one of the Trailblaze Secrets we learn than an Omen Vanguard managed to hear and decode part of the prophecy murmured by Terminus and tried to spread that prophecy to members of the genius Society, but all who learned of it were killed by Polka Kakamond along with the Omen Vanguard. And like, the same part has Finality prophesying Tayzzyronth's death, which maybe implies that this prophecy is what caused the whole Swarm Disaster in the first place. But I'm also not a great theorycrafter so take that with a massive grain of salt.

The point for this post being, Terminus is connected to Tazzyronth in terms of their possible role in the Swarm Disaster.

Why bring all of this up? Because I watched "the "Fables About the Stars" again.

This trailer is unique among the many Hoyo have put out because it's one of the best jumping off points we have to sorting out the different symbols and motifs used by the Aeons featured in it. One of whom is mentioned three separate times without being explicitly shown. And I bet you can guess who.

The final minute of the trailer, after the Harmony, we get a rush of lines and images about the unplayable Aeons that are likely important to HSR's story. The images and titles that flash by are, in order, Aha the Elation, Ouroboros the Voracity, Idrila the Beauty, Tayzzronth the Propagation, Mythus the Enigmata, HooH the Equilibrium, Fuli the Remembrance, and finally, Akivili the Trailblaze.

"But that's weird," you think. "Where are those mentions of the Finality you talked about?" And that, my fellow mentally ill friends, is where this gets fun for me. Because when you turn on closed captions for that video, almost each reference to an Aeon that Black Swan says is accompanied by another phrase in parenthesis. No other Aeon earlier in the video gets this, it's just the Aeons in that last minute.

Now, some of these are in reference to the Aeon that the line in Black Swan's poem is referring to. But others, in my opinion, are referring to one Aeon in particular.

Aha -

Ouroboros -

Tazzyronth -

Mythus -

The first reference to Finality I think appears is right after "the mariner's intemperance" with this line:

"End of All Things" seems pretty Finality-coded to me. Why they are referred to as "the infant" I can't tell you. maybe something to do with how they exist backwards in time. Much like the prophecy given on Tayzzronth, perhaps Finality's existence predates their birth. Another strange aspect of this line is it's transition into Idrila, who doesn't seem to get a reference at all. The glass shattering into their title might imply that they are "the mirror," something suported by the fact that one of The Beauty's factions is called the Mirror Holders, but I don't really know enough to be confident about that. Considering Idrila is one of the missing Aeons, we can maybe take this line as a hint that Finality also had a role in Idrila's disappearance.

The next reference I've already shown. Just after Idrila we have the line introducing the Propagation, and the phrase (as they enter the dream (Consciousness)." If my ramblings about the Swarm Disaster previously were coherent enough, you might have already connected the dots on this one. If Terminus was indeed responsible for Tayzzronth's ascent to Aeonhood, then this line can be ready fairly literally. To put it in less flowery words: "Listen to the Propagation as it spawns into existence."

The third reference is thus:

Now, "the shapeless prince" is a reference to HooH, of that I'm....mostly certain. And what makes me the most certain is the next phrase "Against the Current." The concept of "currents" being another fun little symbolic reference to Terminus.

Reading more into the Swarm Disaster, you can also begin to see that HooH, alongside Ena the Order, is greatly involved in the Propagation's demise. Tayzzronth's appearance disrupted the equilibrium of the universe, and obviously that's HooH's whole shtick. So Terminus (who flows backwards in time) murmurs a prophecy that spawns Tayzzronth into existence, and HooH (Against the Current) participates in Tayzzronth's destruction. You see what I mean?

And that's. Really it. As a closing note, you know what else is fun? Outside of Idrila (maybe, neither I nor the other lore enthusiasts I follow have quite parsed that out), each Aeon mentioned in that last minute of the Fables About the Stars trailer has a role in the Swarm Disaster. Aha, of course, was one of the key players who was brought on by Ena and further recruited Akivili for help. Ouroboros was created because of the Swarm Disaster. Followers of the Enigmata are mentioned creating false histories of the disaster (this one is my personal theory). HooH as previously explained. And Fuli because of this one particular Trailblaze Secret which might have been about Akivili falling into IX and Fuli grabbing their memories before they were consumed, but honestly this post is long enough and I'll explain that one later if people are interested.

But uh, yeah. The Swarm Disaster has made me go a little nuts and so has the Finality.

#honkai star rail #rambling #this took *checks clock* 45 minutes for me to write #because I just kept watching through the trailer and reading wiki entries #I'm gonna go do something productive now #like touch grass or tell my family I love them

[mad4turtles]

mikey/donnie or leo/donnie bonding?

Ask and ye shall receive! Sorry this took so long, I've been busy XD

Enjoy some Disaster Twins because I'm weak for them.

---

Leo had been the one to insist he and Donnie were twins. 

Splinter had never refuted it—they're the same age, or so he says; Donnie hasn't had the chance to carbon date them yet—and neither had Raph, Mikey or even April. It used to drive Donnie up the goddamned wall when they were little, more so when Leo coined the phrase 'Disaster Twins'. Where the hell he'd gotten that from, Donnie cannot fathom, nor does he wish to. Not even he can hope to comprehend the machinations of Leonardo's brain.

Still, there are some benefits. For example, as the elder 'twin' he has Twin Killing rights when Leo pisses him off. 

0o0o0

Donnie slams the fridge shut. “Leo,” he growls. 

At the kitchen table, Leo's spoon freezes halfway to his mouth. 

“If you drank my freaking milk again—”

“Donnie, for god's sake!” Leo drops his spoon on the table and scowls. “Look, I'm sorry, but I needed it for my cornflakes—”

“That shit better have been soy, or your face is going in The Bucket again!”

Leo pales. He scrambles out of his chair and backs up, a seething Donnie matching every step. “No, not The Bucket—!”

“The freaking Bucket, Leon!” Donnie cackles, a metallic claw snatching a dusty, Leo's head-sized bucket from a forgotten corner of the kitchen as he looms over his quivering twin. “Sadistic Laugh!”

Sweating, Leo shields his face in vain. “Donnie, please! Anything but The Bucket—!”

“Here it comes, bitch!”

“AAAAH—!”

THUNK!

Donnie dusts off his hands. “There. Now think about what you've done for the next four hours.” He struts out of the kitchen, humming under his breath.

Sitting defeated on the floor, Leo coughs. It echoes in the bucket prison. “It smells like fish in here,” he whines.

Watching everything unfold from the doorway, Raph and Mikey share a look, decide it's none of their business and walk away.

0o0o0

There are other benefits, too. Like how, logistics be damned, one will know what buttons to push to get their way and when the other is at their Limit.

On those days, Donnie is glad Leo understands.

0o0o0

“Don?”

The door scrapes across the stone as it slides open, and Donnie flinches hard. He bites his lip against a cry as he rocks, the back of his head bumping against his bed frame. His headphones are across the room with his flipped desk and scattered papers. The noise cancelling contraption built to his specifications isn't cutting it today, apparently, but everything else has no freaking problem cutting straight through him like paper— 

“Donnie, can you hear me?”

It shouldn't be that big a deal; sounds, smells, and textures exist, that's just fact, all a big part of what most call 'life' while others (Donnie) call it a cruel bitch of existence whose out to freaking get him, all the senses merging into one, big middle finger pointed straight at Donnie's brain, and he's letting it because he, he—

“Oh, Donnie...”

They're all different, different from humans, Yokai, and even each other for all that they're brothers and family. But Donnie—Donnie feels like a machine; cold at best, unfeeling at worst, armoured from head to toe to hide his weakness. And the slightest thing—a disrupted routine, an unwanted touch, or in this case the feel of an old, scratchy blanket on his bare shell—could send his systems into overdrive, break him, render him useless because that's all Donatello is if he isn't building things or being the smart 'fix everything' guy, isn't he—?

“Donnie, I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to touch you—you can't do that, you're hurting yourself—”

He almost hisses—hisses, like the beasts they pretend they aren't—when two hands gently grab his wrists and pull them from where he'd been banging his fists against his head. He looks up, breathing hard, fast and on the verge of tears—

Leo's here. His smile is a soft thing he usually reserves for Mikey, and there's a plastic bag full of fidget toys by his knees—Donnie spots a rub-ix cube and one of those rainbow pop-y things Mikey adores—and Leo's weighted blanket. 

“Bad day, huh?” 

Donnie's jaw locks, the lump in his throat thick and heavy. The words are there but they're not, but they have to be because Donnie's the smart guy, the funniest, he always has something to—

“Hey, hey, it's okay, Dee,” Leo shuffles slightly closer—not too close—keeping a firm grip on Donnie's wrists as his fingers twitch, claws peeking out. “We're not talking right now, that's cool. S'all good, but we don't need the hissing, m'kay? Cool.” Leo lets Donnie go and stands, pulling up the blanket and carefully throwing it over Donnie's shoulders—

Oh, holy truffle mac and cheese, this is so much better.

Leo chuckles. “Would you listen to that? Purrytello back at it again.”

If Donnie had words, he'd snap at Leo. He settles for a glare and testy clicks instead. Leo huffs, clicking right back and tossing Donnie the Rubix cube. He doesn't come under the blanket like Donnie expects, opting for Donnie's bed as he sprawls on the mattress, hanging upside down with his legs braced against the wall, his head inches from Donnie's. He has a little cube with buttons and switches that he fiddles with, eyes on that instead of Donnie. 

A few minutes pass in relative silence save for the clicking of switches and Donnie's rapid fingers across the puzzle box. The world feels softer under the weight of the blanket that feels like a wanted hug and smells like his brother, and Donnie feels—not better, not yet, but his battery feels fuller than it has all day, all week. Feels less like a 'thing' and more like a 'he' again.

All thanks to Leo, who'd known, somehow, that Donnie was having a Bad Time and went out of his way to help. Leo, whose been silent and still for far longer than usual, far longer than he's comfortable. Leo, whose smile is strained at the corners as his leg bounces—

Donnie puts the Rubix down and taps Leo's shoulder. The clicking stops as Leo, still upside down, tilts his head. “Hm?”

Donnie holds up the blanket in silent invitation. 

Leo stares. His new smile is relieved and real as he rolls off the bed and nuzzles against Donne's side, the little black cube forgotten in favour of cuddling the soft shell as he tucks the blanket around them both. “Thanks, Dee!” he chimes, snuggling closer now that he knows he won't get scratched, shoved or bitten for it. 

Donnie almost rolls his eyes, but he gets it. Like how Leo gets him.

His dorky twin can be pretty cool, sometimes.

0o0o0

And then there's the other side. 

There's a popular myth that twins are 'linked' from conception to death. They can read each other's minds, feel the other's pain etcetera, which is all bullshit. Leo, again, had insisted otherwise until Donnie had tested that theory with the business end of his staff against Leo's skull. He hadn't brought it up again after that.

Then Leo disappears through a portal in the sky. 

And Donnie feels him leave.

It's the shock of falling into a frozen lake and the feel of a bullet piercing your chest—cold, gaping numbness that you can't control, can't breathe through or comprehend. 

It's the tearing of a limb off your body, the sudden wrongness of everything as something you'd had your whole life—you relied on it subconsciously, knew it was there and assumed it always would be, so you took it for granted—is ripped from you mercilessly, violently, leaving you to look at where it had been and think 'that shouldn't not be there' moments before you shriek in agony.

But Donnie doesn't scream.

Raph falls to his knees. Mikey stares at the sky where the doorway to hell had shut. Donnie turns away and stares into nothing.

“Casey, listen to me! When I get to the other side, you close that door!” 

This isn't right. This is impossible.

“Leo, please don't do this! LEO!”

“Ha... you're one to talk, big bro. Hero moves are totally your style.”

Leo. He should be here. Right here. Right next to Donnie, where he's always been. He's not supposed to leave.

“Casey! Close the portal now!”

They're supposed to stay together. They're twins, aren't they? Leo said—he always said—Leo is a constant, their constant, Donnie's constant, he's not supposed to—

“Casey—augh—please!” 

Static. 

Cold, hollow numbness, a hole torn in his chest where a brother used to sit.

His hand moves to his cheek before he registers it. Calloused fingers meet damp skin, and he pulls his hand back—oh. Tears. He's crying.

It's real.

Leo is gone. Donnie felt him leave. 

His twin is gone.

…

And then, by a miracle named Mikey, he isn't.

A beam of orange light tears a hole through reality. They see Leo, drifting in a sea of black and debris—

And Donnie feels him.

“Took you guys long enough.”

He sees him. He hears him.

And then the Krang lurches from the dark like a demon from hell, and Donnie sees red.

(Later, much later, in a nest of their softest pillows and blankets, their family gathered in a heap of aching limbs and snoring (breathing, living) bodies, Donnie forgoes his aversions and holds Leo tight (not too tight, mind the shell and every bone that monster dared to break). Leo's bandaged arms squeeze him around the waist as he whispers: “Don't think I've ever seen you so pissed off, Dee.”

Donnie huffs. “Yeah, well...” He bumps his forehead against Leo's, damp with sweat and remnants of blood seeping through the bandages around his temples. “The bastard had it coming. No one messes with my twin.”

Leo jolts slightly. Then he snickers wetly, pressing their heads closer and grinning wide, lips quivering as tears threaten the corners of his eyes. “Yeah. Disaster Twins, right?”

Donnie huffs through the lump in his throat. He grins back.

“Disaster Twins for life.”

---

Thanks, @randomness227

Keep the requests coming! I'll do my best to answer them all :)

#rottmnt #rottmnt fic #rise of the teenage mutant ninja tutles #rottmnt disaster twins #disaster twins #my writing #i love them your honor #donnie is autistic and leo is ADHD you cannot change my mind #i wrote this at 2am #tw meltdown

[eccentricmya]

In defence of Maedhros

A couple days ago I vilified him, read his character in a truly unfavourable light, arguing that he was never a good guy. Well, this time I'll defend him! I don't think he was truly a bad guy either.

I start once again by summarising the general opinion on him: he was good then he turned bad, very bad, or even villainous. The phrase that caught my eye was "he ended up doing the enemy's work". Well, yes, if we assume the enemy only wanted to eradicate the free people. But I'm of the opinion that Morgoth was erasing dissension and opposition to his 'rule', his goal was not wiping out people but subjugating them.

Maedhros never did that. Yes, he killed refugees (an act when seen through the perspective of the world we live in seem even more horrific), yes he ruined Doriath, but he did not do these 'unprovoked'. Had his demand of the return of the Silmaril been fulfilled, there would've been no second and third kinslayings. One may argue that his reaction to not getting the gem was disproportionate to the offence. And I will counter-argue that the same logic can be applied to the people of Doriath and Sirion, who valued a jewel over their lives. The fact that the Silmaril escapes with Elwing shows an unwillingness to give up the jewel, even at the cost of the lives of their people. The Sons of Feanor were not asking them to give up their freedom and live under a tyrant, like Morgoth was, they were asking for a mere trinket, the return of which would've prevented all that bloodshed. The kinslayings in Beleriand did not happen in isolation or for some grand evil plan. They happened because both sides put pride before lives. (At least the Falmari at Alqualonde had he excuse of defending their own creations, not a stolen one.)

All this on top of the Oath as a driving factor. The text gives it an almost sentient quality in its wording of its presence. For the third kinslaying the Silm says this: "the third of the great wrongs achieved by the accursed oath." Not by Feanor or his sons but by the Oath. To me, this reads like the Oath has taken an evil turn of its own, much like the One Ring. And you will bend to its will, whether for good reasons or not, and few will be able to resist its call. As many have pointed out, Maedhros did resist the Oath, both before Doriath and before Sirion in repentance of Doriath. That is not how a villain works for me.

Some speculation- it is said that Feanorions did not have the guts to assail Luthien while she wore the Silmaril, and I raise you this: what if they did not attack her and kill her as the Oath demanded because she had turned human and could no longer be reborn?

Which brings us, at last, to a very controversial idea. Why is killing elves so bad? Elves who have the option of rebirth with no loss of memories? I think most of us forget that they're not human who, once dead, will never return in the same form, or if they are indeed reincarnated, then unable to recall their previous lives or meet their loved ones from before. Elves get to return to life and resume their lives from before. Indeed, that is one of the prerequisite for rebirth- that they're ready and willing to take up the life they had before dying. So how is it as bad as killing humans? I feel callous and heartless saying this, but ending an elf's live is like uprooting a tree. It'll take years for it to grow back from the seed again, but it will grow, not in the same place or time but it will exist again. Not like animals who die. Once they cease to be, there is no coming back for them.

In conclusion, I don't think Maedhros is a true bad guy, which is why I used 'anti-hero' for him, though maybe 'anti-villain' would fit better. He's simply someone working with the cards dealt to them, chiefly the Oath. Now sure, that is as much a defence as voluntary intoxication is in hit and run cases, but even the Oath was not of his own wording or sworn in isolation or with full awareness of what it truly entailed (otherwise words like 'torment' would not have been used in relation to its effects). The one who chose to swear to Eru was Feanor, while his sons chose to follow him. It's a minute difference but it's there, which is why Feanor is still the far more condemned one in the eyes of the Valar.

#opinions are my own take on the silm not a comment on yours #maedhros #i can have five different readings of him and none would do him justice lol #silmarillion #he's neither truly bad nor truly good #he just is #like me and you #i swear this is the last I will say on this #but he's so 'compelling' lmao #JustBizarre

[applesontheground]

i love the way you write patrick bateman! could you write something nsfw, like dubcon with him overstimulating reader? thank you!

thank you! and i absolutely could!

i don’t pray that way 💼

NSFW | Word Count: 543 | Patrick Bateman x GN Reader

contains DUBCON, overstimulation, choking, degradation, fingering, nipple play

“Can you stand to look a little less blasé?”

The taunt was barely heard, your windpipe being pushed against the mattress to the point that his words only swam in dull recognition. Even then, he caught the exasperated dart of your eye, and it lead the hand that wasn’t on your neck to find your chest.

Your mouth flinched open in a silent motion, unable to cry out with the pressure on your larynx but needing to writhe at the feeling of how he rolled a nipple between his fingers in a pace that wasn’t even close to sensual, and his watch’s metal was catching on some body hair all at the same time. You could barely tell if he was enjoying it, but when he adjusted on his knees from where he had been between your legs, you felt the strain of his cock as it slid up the back of your thigh.

He nearly pulled away as soon as contact had happened and scoffed, squeezing tighter until your vision swam again, “Get over yourself, I’m barely touching you.”

There wasn’t even a reaction for that, no matter how delirious you had become from the cutoff of the oxygen to your head; not even a coherent [Y/N] could think of what to say about it. Still, the asphyxiation was stirring your gut regardless – even if it was unexpected, and even if it proved relentless. He only made it worse by releasing your nipple, nails unforgiving as they dragged down the side of your stomach and he started working at something else.

“Try this on for size.” Your eyes crossed as he didn’t serve too much favor with how his fingers slipped inside of you. When you made another face, and your entire body locked up in the surge of pressure coupled with the heat that followed, he only went further. Farther into your body, touching your core and mercilessly ramming it with a couple of fingers.

Too broken to do anything besides wheeze under his rigid hand, you then felt him pump in a near frenzy, almost looking bored by it in a matter of seconds as your mind spun, no thought coming clear but the feelings making you twitch like something was deeply disturbed inside of you.

He didn’t do this to get closer to you. He didn’t even do this to understand you. Breathing shakily, he reminded you, “If you could only fathom how much I’ve wanted to hurt you like this.” A smile barely quirked your lips, the wrench of your gut only making you drive your hips up into the pressure of his hand and make him mutter another awful phrase in your ear.

“What a weird reaction to something that I could only scrounge up for a [girl/guy] like you.”

He wished he could make this hurt you. It only brought pleasure, and although he didn’t say it, you knew that fascinated him alongside the frustration and the disdain. He didn’t need to show it; the fact he didn’t even stop when you huffed out a sob and let him continue to overstimulate the burning skin, not caring how much you gave a sign that it was torture.

It was almost like he wanted that for you.

#patrick bateman x reader #slasher x reader #requests #slasher requests #slasher fanfiction #notsfw #✏️ #💼 #just so we're on the same page #my general consensus on patrick is that i wouldn't go near him with a ten foot pole irl but boy does my inner masochist love him

[starfall-spirit]

Heavy Rests The Crown

HRTC Masterlist

Summary: Respectively ruling land and sea, the newly appointed High Lord and young merqueen find themselves pressured to marry. Their solution-a union their advisors would never approve of. Not that they can do a thing about it now.

Word Count: 1,764

Chapter II: So, She Wants to Marry Her Mate

Rhys

She didn’t feel it. How the fuck did she not feel it? It wasn’t like she was a human. Did the merfolk and fae mate? Water wraiths, possibly, but not high fae. Not even a half-breed. But it was, quite obviously, a possibility. The second he laid eyes on her that evening he suspected the bond. The second he took her hand he knew for certain. And the young queen hadn’t felt so much as a tingle, let alone that cord of gold. Unless she was just that good at hiding her emotions.

Alone on the house’ balcony, he could help but give that cord a little tug, summoning the female from his circle of friends. She glided up to the balcony, slowly swirling the red wine left in her glass. “Is that a little High Lord trick or something else?”

He chuckled. “I do like to keep an air of mystery, Feyre darling.” Her eyebrow quirked at the endearment, but she didn’t scold him for it. She merely waited for him to explain why he requested her presence. “I apologize for dragging you away from everyone. I was just hoping to get to know you better.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve barely seen you in passing until tonight, yet you seem to spend a lot of time here. Now that I’m home, I want to know who all is involved with my family.” She nodded, biting her lip a bit awkwardly. “I’m sorry. With everyone around I didn’t know how to say it, but… I am so, so sorry to hear what happened to your family.” 

He couldn’t help but tense slightly as she rested a hand on his arm, her lilac and pear scent flooding his senses. “Thank you, Feyre. They’d mention you every time I did come home, you know. Avy saw you like the sister she never had.”

“She was easier to get along with than my own at times."

Rhys hummed. “I’m not certain we’re still talking about the same princess."

She snorted, leaning her hip against the balcony railing. “A thought for a thought, Feyre darling?”

Her soft smile fell. “I’m thinking…” Her hand fell from his arm, dipping into that pocket where her crown rested since she left the river. “I’m thinking I don’t know how to do these things they expect of me. It’s been a long time since illness killed a mer ruler and—and even Nesta is too young to deal with this. I have—” 

She stopped, straightening herself in an instant. How many people had already told her not to show vulnerability around another leader? “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” she feigned, her tone a bit too sharp.

“Don’t start locking away what matters to wear a mask of strength.”

“You don’t know what your talking about.”

“Feyre—”

“There was an envoy sent to the surface this morning to bring the shipment routes to your attention. I know how important trade is above land, but the larger ships coming in over the areas damaged by—”

“Feyre.” 

She huffed a bit. “You haven’t been at this any longer than I have, so don’t tell me you know best. I’m trying—” 

“You’re trying to drive yourself straight into the ground.” 

She sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers curled around her wrist, his thumb just brushing her pulse point. When she drew that arm to her chest the movement lacked the certainty she seemed to possess before then. Oh, she felt something alright. “With all due respect, High Lord, I don’t think you know me well enough to decide what will drive me down.”

She turned to leave. “Forgive me.” She paused. “I’m only seventy-five, but I’ve already seen too many females ruined by politics.”

Her blue eyes flared with her temper again and he realized where his phrasing had put them. “How dare—”

“I do not insinuate you are incapable of leading,” he interrupted, undeniably backpedaling. “I warn you not to let yourself be off-kilter with your rising tasks. It would be a shame to see that vulnerability abused. To see you tread over by a male and his expectations in matrimony. Do not let someone make of you what traditionalists tried to make of my cousin and every female in her line before that.”

She was slightly flushed, caught somewhere between insulted, angry, and flat out affronted I’d be so bold in speaking of the fate her advisors may come to demand. After calming, she seemed merely perplexed. “Let’s just say, as long as your waters touch my land I want to be doing business with someone who uses the brain inside her head. Not whoever’s deemed your suitable match.”

He pushed down the feelings that reared up at the thought of her selecting another consort.

She settled back into her spot beside me. “Do your governors demand the same thing, Rhys? A pretty doll of a wife rather than your mate?”

Slowly—achingly slowly, her words registered, tumbling in his head five different ways. Their little fairy tale ending hadn’t snapped on her side, but she wanted it desperately. “It’s been suggested,” he admitted. “A marriage would be uplifting in a time of mourning, for Velaris and the other cities surrounding it. Honestly, I’ve been too preoccupied working against wing-clippings and the nonsense my father encouraged in the Hewn City to humor taking a wife. I too would prefer a bond to a wedding,” he confessed.

Before she could say her piece, Cassian stepped out onto the balcony, swaying slightly. “I’m headed out. Feyre, did you want me to fly you back to the docks?”

She bit her lip, nervous at the sight of him. “Cassian, are you even in any state to fly yourself home?”

“No, he isn’t and we don’t need any unnecessary damages, to people or property,” Rhys answered for his brother. “Take your room here for the night. I’ll get Feyre home.”

“Fine. Goodnight, you  two.” He leaned down to kiss Feyre’s cheek and a possessive snarl ripped out of Rhys, making them both freeze and causing Cassian to retreat, hands raised in surrender, even as a grin spread over his face. 

“I—Fuck.” This was not how he wanted Feyre to piece everything together. He told himself he’d be better than other males he’d seen when his time with his mate came, but it seemed he was no different. One more look to his brother and the smug Illyrian excused himself, no doubt going to crow to the rest of the family what had just happened.

“Feyre—”

“I’d really rather not have this conversation around such a nosy group, Rhys.”

He nodded stiffly. He trusted his family with his life and shared next to everything with them. Even if they all knew and loved Feyre already, this was… complicated. He was mated to a female incapable of surviving longterm on land. Without some rather tricky enchantments, breathing underwater is impossible for anyone other than water wraiths and mer. But he would make it work.

As long as she agreed. 

If she wanted this, they would make it work. “I know you aren’t a fan of flying, but I need to get you out of the ward radius before we can winnow down to the street. Or the townhouse if you’d prefer a quiet place to talk.”

“I think so,” she murmured, stepping closer as he stretched his wings. "I think the townhouse would be best, I mean.”

“Okay.” She braced quivering hands on his shoulders and he took that as permission to sweep her off the ground, launching into the air. As promised, he only took as long as it took to pass the wards before sweeping them into shadows and setting down in the townhouse. “So?” he ventured, settling into a chair built to accommodate his wings.

“So, Rhysand, I need to know this will be worth it.” 

He tensed. “Worth it?”

“You and your brothers have made yourselves a reputation. Even beneath the waves we hear such things.”

He clenched his jaw. “You think I’d be unfaithful to my mate?”

“I don’t know a thing about you, beyond common facts and gossip. And no matter how much I want a mate, I first want someone I know and trust.” 

He should have expected his boyhood fun to fall back on him. Hell, he’d bet good gold at least one of his brothers was straying from his own bed tonight, half-drunk or not. Slowly, he stood again, approaching Feyre. “From this day forward I will be true to you and only you. No matter the trials and complications. I swear it on my life.”

“Before Cassian came over… Before I realized…”

“I’m not so backwards in my thinking as some. You are not a possession. If you chose to walk away even now, I wouldn’t take that choice from you. If you’d prefer a husband of your own kind, I understand.”

“I won’t reject the bond over something so discriminatory.”

Relief flooded him. Despite the casual interaction between the merfolk and fae, he knew very little about mer laws and what precisely could be demanded of her marriage. While some would undoubtedly be skeptical of their union, no faerie was stupid enough to contradict a mating bond. When they were mated—their scents bound—there would be no push back. 

He took a step closer, reaching to trail a knuckle down the side of her face, tracing what remained of her silvery scales there. “Take the time to get to know me, Feyre. Then we’ll look at marriage and mating.” Her blush told him she had yet to consider the frenzy, no matter how well known it may be. 

“I’m five months from my next birthday,” she murmured.

“You’ll fall for me in three.”

“You’re too confident for your own good.”

He chuckled. “I realize you can’t stay on land for more than a few days.”

She shook her head slightly, starting to lean into his touch, much to his delight. “Not to mention my daily duties. I am a queen, you know.”

“In the evenings you’re available, allow me the time to court you on the surface. There are guest rooms here and in the Moonstone Palace. Of course you’re always welcome to my bed—” She swatted his shoulder. “Our courtship period will protect us from other arrangements, so long as there’s proof of it.”

“Alright. Five months of nightly courtship, Rhys.”

“It’s a deal, then.” 

She cursed him soundly as dark ink scrolled over her arm. Not that much could be done about it now.

~~~~~

Tag List: Reach out to be added or removed.

@shallyne // @s-uppertime // @the-lonelybarricade // @faeriequeensuriel // @reverie-tales // @pandavelaris // @goddess-aelin // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya

#heavy rests the crown #hrtc #acotar fanfic #feysand fic #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #mermaid!feyre #merqueen feyre #young rhys #acotar #love indignant feyre #love simp rhys

[dapg-otmebytheballs]

Okay while i dont think that they are extremely rich, i do think their networth is well over a couple million, mainly just bc there is no way their house is worth less than a million pounds. A house like that? In london? It would not be cheap. Like they dont earn enough to live off it for the rest of their lives, but i also would not say they were struggling by any means. I mean they were able to go 5 years without many significant career endeavors and buy a house during it.

Oh yeah they aren't struggling whatsoever, they are one of the "successful" YouTubers, and they've had more steady income from other sources too, like the radio show. These guys very much are middle class (hence them making bougie jokes- bougie has always referred to middle class), being able to afford a house and all. But that's basically the point of that post, that people who aren't constantly financially struggling and people who have disposable income aren't the same as quote unquote "rich" people.

We're talking in terms of class analysis, yeah? The category of "rich" when used in such phrases as 'eat the rich' is convenient insofar as it helps us categorise the people for whose benefit a capitalist system works, whose interests are being taken into account when making policy, and who horde resources and mooch off of the labour of others. When we're just joking amongst ourselves it's understood what you mean when you call your middle class friends rich, or when you call YouTubers of this status rich (and again, they aren't even like Mr Beast levels of rich, who in turn isn't Hollywood A-listers level rich, who in turn aren't capitalist pig Bezzos level rich). But with a lot of people getting more involved in online activism these concepts are getting blurred and our perceptions of class are affected.

So while I've seen no one from like, our fandom do this, I've seen this happen to other YouTubers (and a friend and I were just talking about it today so it was on my mind) where people who haven't taken the time to understand class divides very well think that internet celebrities are genuinely hand to heart rich rich. On the same level as rich when we say the ruling class the elite the exploitative rich class. Except they aren't. They're middle class and upper middle class people. Even the millionaires amongst them are a far far cry from billionaires (we've seen the graphics explaining the massive difference between a million and a billion of course). And that skewed idea of "disposable income/being able to afford a house or good phone or bathtub or [insert item associated with Richness] means that this person is Rich" becomes dangerous when applied to clear political action in terms of class divide. Because then we're viewing these YouTubers as being the class that has their interests taken care of and are the ones exploiting people, rather than industry workers who are getting exploited by companies like YouTube.

And people very much are taking it too far, like that person who said John Boyega can't talk about class struggles and exploitation because he's also 'the rich'. He isn't. And these YouTubers aren't either but skewed ideas of what wealth looks like drives online hordes to view the wrong people as the enemy or as the exploitative class.

When talking about "the rich" we should be thinking about the capitalists. Blurring these classes is an issue precisely because people online are now engaging with artists and creators with great contempt, entitlement, and misdirected "eat the rich seize their resources" calls to action.

Btw not at all saying you should stop making jokes about them being rich lol, that's again, something we understand as "they have monies now" amongst ourselves. It's more to understand and know how to counter any misdirected rage of the sort we've seen lot of other internet celebrities and actors face. Idk how clear I've made this but feel free to follow up with me!

#hope anyone didn't feel like i was mad about the bougie jokes lol we've all been making them it's cool #and if some attacks were to happen based on it they probs won't come from the phandom anyway right? #more in general about how internet celebrities get treated nowadays because it makes me so sad #and also angry that we're distracting from the real rich who are supposed to get eaten lol #asks #dnp