#breaks my writing block | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blindmagdalena · 9 months

Note

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #i blacked out and wrote 85% of this yesterday #i desperately wanted to finish it but had plans fghjkl #anyways wow! a brief reprieve from my writers block?? a temporary break in the dam????#i had so much fun writing this either way #thank you for sending this!!#not proofread we die like men #my writing #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #smut

814 notes · View notes

strangersteddierthings · 1 year

Text

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

#steddie #my fic #porcelain steve #TW: Eddie calls himself a faggot and he means it in a bad way #did I make a playlist on spotify w/ Top 40 songs for June 21-27 1987 so id know how many tapes eddie had to use to record it?#yes. its 2 tapes fyi‚ using side A and B of one. a total of 2h54m. in my defense it was a writers block activity.#couldnt figure out what to have jeff say to comfort eddie that was in character and era-appropriate so... playlist it was!#if i were titling these parts this would be Eddie's No Good‚ Very Bad‚ Terrible‚ Horrible Day #I mean... he's had worse days (Spring Break '86) but this is up there for him #also back to back updates!? who am i??? but don't expect another one too soon #i started this one as part 6 originally but decided i wanted a more lighthearted piece first #so i wrote like 2/3 of this before writing what i posted for part 6 so finishing this was quick

676 notes · View notes

z0mbieb0yx3 · 3 months

Text

Usually don’t share art here (trying to more though :3) but I’m so overwhelmingly obsessed with Grillby rn so here’s me figuring out how to draw him

#undertale art #undertale #Grillby #grillby undertale #my art #ignore my weird ass writing its a habit that I don’t feel like breaking #also hi mutuals good luck #if my Fixationposting gets irritating block the Grillby tag ill try and remember :skull:

97 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 28 days

Text

Me: dang, why am I so sleepy and headachy today? I can't focus at all. What possible explanation for this could there be.

Me yesterday: i'm sure there won't be any consequences to writing 6300 words in one afternoon

#(WHEN WILL YOU LEARN. WHEN WILL YOU LEARN THAT YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES)#(I accept the consequences. I've had writer's block something awful the last couple weeks. Finally breaking through it.)#about my writing

54 notes · View notes

boredsoup · 2 months

Text

Look at your coach, it is homo-baroque! 🗣️ Don't talk to me about taste! 🗣️

#my posts :3 #sillyposting #falsettos #march of the falsettos #also sorry for not posting #school has been kicking my ass #since I got back from spring break #but once I get used to my schedule again I’ll post more #analysis content hopefully I’ve just been stuck in a kinda writers block low key (if you could even consider what I do writing)

56 notes · View notes

echo-stimmingrose · 3 months

Text

“Leo!” Nyssa called, her voice echoing against the metal walls of cabin nine. Upon hearing no response from her little brother- he is probably listening to music at unholy decibels again- She opened the door fully, making her way back to Leo’s workbench.

To her surprise, the cabin was quiet. Apart from the whirring of a few machines and the sounds from campers outside, the typically rambunctious cabin nine was entirely peaceful. Normally, on the rare occasions that this happened, she basked in the few moments of peace, however, currently it was just concerning. Leo hates the quiet. The kid gets all jittery when there's no noise to stimulate him and will make noise himself if necessary to keep his speedy little brain in check.

She sped up, making her way through the maze that was their living space due to all the half-finished projects she and her siblings had lying about. She had tried many times to get them to keep their cabin even slightly organized but that was basically a lost cause at this point. (She was always a bit of a hypocrite when it came to keeping a tidy space anyway).

“Leo, Oh.”

The tightness in her chest loosened as she stopped at his work desk. Her little brother snored softly, his head resting atop his mountain of blueprints. She watched him for a moment, taking in his features. She noted the dark circles under his eyes and the way his cheeks sunk in ever so slightly. He hadn’t been quite the same since coming back, not that she could blame him after everything he went through, but she was still worried. Gently, she removed his skewed goggles from his face, before lifting the smaller boy into her arms -gods above this boy is tiny. With plans in her mind to feed him later -heavens sake, I’m turning into my Abeula- she brought him to his bunk which was, thankfully, already out. She tucked him under the covers and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Te quiero, Hermano.”

After turning off the lights (except for one near Leo's bed, as she knows he doesn’t like it completely dark), she left the cabin, heading back to the forges.

“Didja find him?” Jake asked, looking up from whatever he was welding.

She nodded, “Yeah, he passed out at his workbench, you’re gonna have to do this project without him.”

She knew many of her other siblings were relying on Leo for this massive project they had wanted to do, (It was frankly ridiculous but they were excited about it so she didn’t say anything), but Leo’s health came first and she’d be sure to make that clear. Besides he had already done more than enough for all of them- The kid had sacrificed his life damn it, the least they could do was take care of him now.

“Oh- Well that's alright, we’ll manage. Gods know that kid needs more sleep.”

#This is short and poorly written but I am trying to despratly break out of a writers block atm #leo valdez #nyssa barrera #jake mason #hephaestus cabin #cabin 9 #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #my writing #pjo fluff #heroes of olympus

59 notes · View notes

myloveforfanfictonisendless · 7 months

Text

Me hyping myself before I open my Wattpad or Tumblr every night

My mind: Are you ready to read yet another amazing tf fanfiction

Me: yea...

My mind: To be deeply invested in the fascinating creation manifested by the fingers of those authors pushing you in believing yourself to be "All are one"

Me: Yes!!!!

My mind: Only to find the the story being disconnected and leaving you heart broken until the history repeats itself the "X"th time

Me:

This is to all the authors or artists I have seen or met here or in any other platforms.

People hounding creators for updates and them feeling disconnected enough to produce nothing of their own liking or standard often results in the discontinuation of some of the most amazing stories and art work I have the honour to witness

It is something I see and sympathize often.(as I also write once in a while)

Despite all of that they still write amazing stuff daily so thank you for your hard work is all I wish to convey them.

@lets-try-some-writing-draws @lets-try-some-writing @spreadwardiard @staticoctopus @no-eyj000 @nilawii @tfp-enthusiast @th3e-m4ng0 @transfrmrs @umaia3aurart @robotsaremymuse @robot-horde @lucywrites02 @tamales78 @cyberrose2001 @searchingforatrail

#I am born ready to be heartbroken like this #if you can relate reblog it #please don't hesitate to take break in between your writing #I understand how it is to write well thought story and how hard is writer block #satute to the author #they know how to write something #i love orion pax #not my art

70 notes · View notes

godstrayed · 15 days

Text

After some consideration my blog is going to be transitioning to private / mutuals only. I’ll probably be considerably more picky with who I write with and it will only be things I enjoy. I don’t want to come off as an asshole but I don’t have the time or energy for anything but stuff I genuinely am interested in or enjoy.

That being said, if something doesn’t work out I’m always open to trying something else! I’ll still be open to plotting and new threads but only interested in continuing those things if they’re interesting or unique to me. I’m not really a big fan of casual threads that don’t go anywhere – if that makes any sense! :)

If anyone has questions, concerns or needs clarification feel free to dm me. ✨ Soon I’ll update my rules with a more coherent version of this. For the most part, the people I usually and consistently write with are likely to be unaffected as we already have a repertoire and I clearly enjoy the interactions. For anyone else I’m more than happy to try to find something we can both enjoy and work with! (Probably just requiring more plotting than winging it so I know what direction we’re headed and stuff!)

#&. ooc.#&. psa.#( tbh I just don’t have time for like one time things anymore h #( or writing that doesn’t have a distinct direction )#( or plots I’m not fully convinced I enjoy )#( that being said I’m sorry in advance if this comes off the wrong way )#( and I have a bunch of new ppl here I’d love to write with )#( I just wanna make sure I 100% enjoy everything I’m putting out )#( so my time being used is optimized for my own pleasure yk??? )#( 🫶🏻 it’s mostly directed at the super casual one time interactions & such )#( if anyone needs to break mutuals for this can yall hard block me pls 💀 so i don’t accidentally approach )

28 notes · View notes

actual-changeling · 10 months

Text

Crowley remembers the nightingales just as well as he remembers the look in Aziraphale's eyes that afternoon at the Ritz. The champagne flute had been weightless in his hand, his limbs were kept afloat by almost ethereal relief and brightly burning hope. After six thousand years of running and hiding, after a tense decade of trying to stop the end of the world and ultimately succeeding, no thanks to Above or Below, they could finally stand still.

They had been granted a chance to catch up with each other.

Sure, maybe he still went a little too fast for him, and there is something to be said about the unsaid hanging between them, but both of these were topics reserved for another time.

Their glasses had clinked with the softly floating sound of a bell, a miracle manifesting itself simply to deepen the smile on Aziraphale's face, and their voices were laced with something old reborn.

To the world, Crowley had said, his lips tingling with the words even now as tears sting in his eyes.

To the world, Aziraphale had responded in kind, the emphasis on world taking a shape not unfamiliar to his name, his essence.

Relief and hope both paled compared to the surge of affection crashing through his system, and when Aziraphale's hand found his within minutes, the world had narrowed and expanded to the infinite space left between them.

It's funny how things change, how an entire universe built with traded miracles and silent promises can break apart without making a single sound.

Whatever world they had blessed under the song of a nightingale disappears behind the darkened shades of his glasses, and deep in his mind, an eons-old memory stirs. Crowley stills the bell ringing behind him and coats himself in the remembered cold emptiness of space, the one thing that has never changed and will never change - loneliness.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #i swear to god if this show is what finally breaks my writer's block i will write neil gaiman a physical letter of gratitude #I’ll follow queue anywhere you go

92 notes · View notes

abalidoth · 1 year

Text

Look I get that not every piece of wish fulfillment is gonna be universal. In fact in a lot of cases, the more niche it is the more effective it is emotionally.

But gender essentialist trans wish fulfillment magic systems (eg "only the girls in this family turn into werewolves, main character is a trans girl and becomes a werewolf") just. make me really fucking tired.

Again. Not every piece of media has to cater to me. I get that. But it just kinda sucks when I'm digging for trans fiction as a way to make myself feel better, and there's a world that I can't see myself in. where the existence of someone outside the binary is a weird exception to be handwaved away if even addressed at all.

My relationship to gender is that it's a socially constructed mess that I take bits and pieces of that I enjoy. I don't want to think about a world where the laws of nature tell me "no, a Woman is a Real Fundamental Concept with sharp edges, it cannot be subdivided, it is atomic and inviolate."

#this is in reaction to a certain piece of fiction but i really want to be clear that this is not something anyone is doing Wrong #if you're writing something for the sake of your own gender euphoria and considering enbies completely breaks it #then keep doing what youre doing #i guess i just need to push through my own writer's block so i can provide my own counterpoint that's all.#tesserants

198 notes · View notes

ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 5 months

Text

Can someone please gently encourage me to write? :’)

#writer’s block has hit me #quite unexpectedly #but with the power of Star Wars I think I’m finally breaking out of it #KEYWORD ON THINK #MAYBE!!!#I’ve been wanting to write for the past couple days but I’m a little Frightened by the idea #writing is such a weird thing #my post

50 notes · View notes

daddiesdrarryy · 4 months

Text

I usually don’t have writer’s block, I have writer’s slump, where I’m still writing but it’s a slower progress than usual. Does that make sense?

#writing #writing woes #it means i needed a break from my writing so that’s why #it’s so slow but i know what i’m gonna do #is that different from writer’s block?#it’s like i wanna be fast but i cant #writing humour #writer block #writer #writers life #writers #on writing #writblr #writer things #it’s a vicious cycle

28 notes · View notes

poohbea · 2 years

Note

Hey Pooh

Hope your having a good day or night. I just want you to imagine this for me, you don't have to write anything because I know your having a little writers block, but it's your decision if you want to or not.

Imagine Draken coming back from the military ( whether he was a marine, navy, army, etc) surprising his chubby s/o and she tries to make him dinner but he stops her and says " but baby I'm not hungry for dinner, I'm hungry for you" *draken signature smirk*

Low-key I just died. Plus Kenny would look so hot with military attire on. Oh dear lord

sha shaaaaa my babyyyy, my day is going well, got up late today hahaha. ALSO, IM IMAGINING, TRUST ME IM IMAGINING. imma write a little something because it’s you and i can’t not.

military husband!draken x fem!chubby!reader

content: oral (receiving), pet names (baby, sweetheart), getting eaten out on the kitchen counter, neediness cause he hasn’t seen you in a long time, unfinished smut

Draken ruffles his hair with a towel as he enters the kitchen, stray water droplets speckling his skin in doing so. He watches you tend to the pot you have on the stove, unaware of his presence just a few paces behind you.

You hummed to the song playing in the background, his shirt adorning your frame swaying in a baggy mess that sat just below your ass. Oh, how he missed this, how he missed you. How he yearned for you during those lonely nights at the compound, your voice, your bubbly aura, your cooking. The scent of hot curry filled the room in a shroud that made his mouth water. However, food was the last thing on his mind right now.

“Mm, my favourite.” He purrs, slipping his hands around your waist.

You giggle in surprise, leaning your head against his, comfortably. “I know how much you hated the MRE's at base so I thought I'd make your favourite.”

“I wasn't talking about the food, baby.” He whispers, kissing just below your earlobe.

“Oh, is that so?” You tease, exhaling as his fingers path their way down your stomach, snaking beneath the thin cotton of your t-shirt.

“No panties?” He smirks, digits welcomed by the warmth of your thighs.

“Just the way you like it.” A sigh escapes you when he begins to circle your clit, your own fingers combing through his black locks tickling your neck.

“You spoil me, baby.” The low baritone of his voice turns your mind fuzzy, his hips rocking slowly into your backside. He watches the curry bubble in the saucepan, free hand switching the knob on the stove to off. “How about we skip dinner?” He growls, nipping at the juncture between your shoulder and neck.

“But I thought you were hungry.”

“Mm, not for dinner, baby.” You turn in his arms, hard nipples grazing against his chest beneath your shirt. He laughs at your playfully skeptical expression, hands finding purchase in the softness of your ass. “Plus, I always preferred to have my desert first anyway.”

“Corny as usual, that’s one thing I didn’t miss.” He mimics your cheeky smile, brow raised in challenge at your statement.

“Oh, now I know that’s a lie.” His fingertips descend to the back of your thighs before lifting you effortlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. “You missed me." He steps forward to sit you on the countertop, hands moulded to the curve of your ass as he pulls you to the edge. "You missed these hands." His lips caress the dip of your collarbone, tongue laving heat into the flushed skin. "You missed these lips." He kisses past your navel, parting your thighs to settle between them on his knees. "You missed this tongue." Your gasp sets him off as he paths a long stripe over your clit, the sweetness of your arousal egging him on further as it dances on his taste buds.

"Okay, okay. I may have missed it a little bit- fuck." He chuckles at your weak moan, tongue dipping into your wet heat, unyielding in his movements. "Okay! A lot, a lot."

"Mm, that's what I thought." Your hips buck when he sucks on your clit, a delicious whine cascading from those pillowy lips of yours as he continues his assault.

"'Ken, please, fuck!" You cry, your weak attempts at running halted by his large hands rounding your thighs, delving deeper into the paradise of your pussy.

"Uh, uh, we're not stopping till I'm done eating." He smirks as he blooms a hickey on your inner thigh. "And unfortunately for you sweetheart, I'm starving."

tags: @gardenof-venus, @sailewhoremoon, @okhotel, @xharia, @sakinotfound, @hoohoohope

#forgive me if this is garbage but this is my attempt at breaking my writer's block #i tried sha sha i tried #cause this was just too good not to write #you forced my hand #pooh's thirsts ♡#tokyo revengers #tokrev #draken smut #draken x reader #draken #draken x female reader #draken x chubby reader #chubby reader smut #chubby reader

565 notes · View notes