#I hate my brain whispering the things it does. it's not pointing out anything that's Wrong but i know it's not right either

[ashwhowrites]

I hath come bearing a request:

Bully!Eddie with an insecure Reader where he openly flirts with someone else where she can see in an effort to make her jealous, and it does. She is jealous of the nicer version of his attention they’re receiving, but she’s more sad than anything else.

She’d started to think that maybe he did pick on her because he was interested. Like how boys would pull a girl’s hair back in elementary school. But after seeing him flirt with someone else, she realizes that can’t be the case.

Reader supposes that no one wants her. Even the “freak” of Hawkins High is beyond her league.

Happy ending if you can, pretty please 🩷

I'm usually against bully!Eddie but I did like the angst in this so I'm going to do it but he won't be like a huge bully, just an ass? I hope this is what you were looking for and I tried to make it happy :) ( with the help from my SB)

Never proofread

There's a time in life where the line between love and hate is blurry and no amount of staring at that line will make it clear.

Y/N was on the love side, she had big feelings for Eddie. Her nose in the air as she follows the scent of his strong musky cologne and a hint of weed. She couldn't pick who she fell for, it was out of her control. She didn't want to love him, but she did. She had so many reasons why she loved him but there was one big reason why she shouldn't- he hated her.

Eddie was on the hate side of that line. She can't pin point where she pissed him off or what she did to make him hate her. It was like the second they met, he pushed her and she fell in love. She's an idiot and she knew that. It was obvious he didn't like her. The rude comments sent her way about all the little things she does. He teased her, tripped her, smacked her books in the hallway, but all her heart focused on was that he interacted with her.

Her dumb heart craved to be near him, even though her brain was screaming how horrible of an idea it was.

She already suffered with insecurities and somehow Eddie knew how to hit all the open wounds.

A part of her thought maybe he did like her, he just wasn't sure how to show it. He didn't seem like the type to be affectionate and sweet. Maybe this was the only way he knew how to show his emotions. Or maybe that was a shitty delusion she created to help her sleep at night.

~~~

Y/N heard from other students that there was going to be a partner project in English and she hated that she knew no one in that class, except Eddie.

She knew if she asked he'd shut her down and embarrass her in front of everyone watching so she planned to do this project alone. But turns out the teacher already assigned partners.

"Y/N and Eddie"

Y/N perked at the sound of their names, her eyes finding his body. He had an annoyed expression on his face. She felt her heart drop, he didn't want to be near her.

"Excuse me?" Eddie announced, throwing his hand in the air. The teacher rolled his eyes but allowed Eddie to speak.

"what If I can't stand my partner and rather fail the project than spend a second with her?" His words were cruel and mean. She hated the smirk on his face when looked over at her.

The whole class erupted in laughs, with a few pity looks sent her way. She couldn't tell which hurt worse, people laughing or people feeling bad for her. She shrunk down in her seat, Eddie once again embarrassed her for his own pleasure.

"Munson. Watch your mouth." The teacher talked over the class.

Against his will, Eddie accepted that she was his partner. Her head down as she walked over to his desk. Holding her breath as she took the seat next to him.

"I'm sorry you got partnered with me " she whispered, looking at his eyes as he glared at her.

"You should be." He snapped.

~~~

Being his partner was just as miserable as she thought. Every time she sat in that English class next to him, he shared every thought he had about her. He never had anything nice to say.

"Yellow is not your color." He said in disgust as she sat next to him, in her new yellow sundress. A dress that had her smiling all morning. Now the material against her thighs made her sick to her stomach.

Then the project moved to her house. Apparently, her room was not to his liking.

"Books? Fucking nerd. People with lives don't have time to read." He snickered

She just shrugged it off.

"you know you might be pretty if you actually tried." He mocked, looking through the book, his eyes never looking at her.

....might be pretty

If she changed, would he like her?

If she changed everything he hated, would he have anything left to say?

~~~

They've been working on the project for a few days. Every day she changed little by little. She threw the yellow dress in her trash. She packed away the books she barely read. Tore off every girly poster on her wall and removed all the things he pointed out on her desk. She styled her hair every day, and learned how to do make up that would show she "tried" every day.

And he never said anything

Just found new things to hate about her.

She was starting to wonder why he hadn't run out of anything yet. He somehow found something wrong about her every single day. Things she didn't think she would dislike about herself.

But he noticed everything about her, that means he liked her, right?

~~~

He didn't like her

It was apparent now

It was the final day in class to work on the project, and the whole hour was spent watching Eddie and a random girl flirt.

Her name was Brie, and Eddie seemed to really like her.

He was.....nice

His eyes were soft, never glaring at her.

He complimented her. On her hair, outfit, makeup, and personality.

Paying no attention to the project they need to work on. He was all focused on her and how perfect she was.

If Eddie ever liked her, he would treat her the same way he was treating Brie.

The line between love and hate was not as blurry as she thought.

~~~

Watching Eddie flirt with Brie today was not how she wanted her day to go, and now she had to end her day with Eddie.

She sat silently on her bed as he made his way through the bedroom door. She wanted to finish the project and never spend another second near him again.

But Eddie looked around her room confused, and walked over to each corner.

"What?" She snapped, guessing he was taking in her room to find something else wrong with it.

"Where are all your books?" He found himself asking.

Y/N was annoyed by the question.

"None of your business, Can we work now?" Her attitude was noticeable in her tone.

Eddie swallowed and sat next to her, beginning to work on the project. Yanking the notebook paper too hard, ripping the piece in half.

He quickly crumpled it up and went to throw it in the trash, spotting the familiar yellow dress in it.

"Why did you throw this away?" He asked, taking the dress out, nothing else was in the trash so it was untouched.

She looked up, her eyes turning hard when she spotted the color. She hated that his eyes seemed guilty. He wasn't sorry.

"Who cares, it didn't look good on me so I don't need it. Look can we work or not? We already missed an hour because of your little date with Brie this afternoon." His constant interruptions were driving her crazy.

She watched Eddie drop the dress on her desk, a smirk growing on his face.

"Jealous of the pretty girl?" He mocked. His eyes switched back to that teasing look.

She rolled her eyes and put her focus on the project. But Eddie didn't appreciate the silence. Walking up to her as she sat on the bed.

"I asked you," he said, gripping her chin to look up at him, "Were you jealous of her?"

She wanted to smack the smug look off of his face.

She yanked her jaw out of his grip, slamming the book as she stood up. Chest to chest with him as she huffed.

"YES! I am fucking jealous. But not because she's pretty and she knows how to capture your attention. But because you were so nice to her. You didn't pick her apart until she was a tiny shell of a person! I just thought maybe you picked on me because you liked me, but I can see I thought wrong." She ranted out, catching her breath at the end as Eddie stared at her. He slowly blinked as he took in her words.

"I threw away the dress because all it did was remind me how much you fucking hated it. I got rid of the books because you made fun of my interests. You made me hate the remaining parts of myself that I actually liked." She continued, her eyes filling with water.

Eddie didn't know what to say, but the regret was clear in his eyes as he looked at her sadly. He figured he should start with an apology.

"Y/N...I am so sorry...I'm sorry." He whispered, reaching forward to wipe her tears but she stepped back. Protecting herself as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Just go." She whispered back, keeping her focus on the floor.

"Please let me f-" He started but she caught him off.

"Eddie, I don't care what else you have to say. I am done talking to you. Please just go."

~~~

She dreaded going to school. Eddie left last night when she asked, and she's been terrified to see him again. She didn't bother to believe his apology, there was a good chance he didn't mean it.

She stayed up all night finishing the project, she did not want to work with him again.

She was walking to class, eyes on the floor as she always does. She grew more and more nervous as she made it closer to English. Preparing herself to see Eddie again.

Before she knew it, she felt her body being shoved to the ground. She didn't have time to catch herself and smacked her nose against the floor. She gasped at the horrible pain that shot through her nose, cradling it softly. She could feel her hands getting wet from blood. She looked up, expecting it to be Eddie, but it wasn't. It was someone who bullied people to an extreme amount, Jason.

She felt the tears flowing down her face. Crying from the pain in her nose and the embarrassment running through her body as everyone laughed and stared.

"HEY!" she heard Eddie's familiar scream. Her body froze as he raced towards her. Fear in his veins as she worried about what he would add to her suffering.

His eyes looked over her frame, glaring once he spotted the blood leaking through the cracks of her fingers. The familiar dangerous look in his eyes almost had her apologizing for nothing at all. But then he turned, right fist clenched as he knocked Jason straight to the floor.

The crowd gasped and moved closer. Silent for a small minute before another punch landed on Jason's face. Once the students caught a sight of blood coming out of Jason's nose, the crowd began to scream, encouraging the violence in front of them.

She didn't understand why Eddie was beating the hell out of Jason, and not joining him. She used the distraction to get up and race to the nurse. Running as fast as she could away from the crowd that was focused on the new fight at hand.

"DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH HER!"

The anger in Eddie's voice almost made her turn, almost made her feel protected, almost made her feel safe...but just almost.

~~~

She sat in the nurses office, the bleeding stopped but she held the tissue to her nose just in case. Minutes later a fuming Eddie wandered in, his bloody knuckles caused the nurse to gasp and race for an ice pack in the back freezer, down the hall.

She tried to avoid looking at him. Praying if she didn't move a single muscle, he wouldn't see her.

"Are you okay?" The softness in his voice was something she never experienced. She made herself look at him, trying to see if that truly came out of his mouth.

She sat quietly, she still didn't want to talk to him.

"I'm sorry he did that to you." He said, the softness still lingering.

"mad because you couldn't do it first?" Okay, maybe she did want to talk to him. She wanted to snap at him, yell at him, make his life hell the way he did to her.

Eddie flinched at the blow. Her words stung worse than the cuts on his knuckles.

"Mad that I ever did it in the first place. You never deserved any of that." He admitted. He was ashamed of himself. " I grew up with bullies and I became one. And the worst part is I bullied the most beautiful girl on the planet that has a fucking heart of gold. I adored how fragile you were and I destroyed you with my bare hands. And the reason is so stupid and selfish." He ranted out. Wayne would be so disappointed in what Eddie has become.

She felt like screaming at herself, hating the way her heart skipped a beat when he called her beautiful.

"what was the reason?" She asked, her voice quiet as she took in his apologetic gaze.

"I used to like this girl and I thought she liked me too. We dated for months and it turned out to be a prank with her friends. I was so hurt and angry at myself for being so stupid. I promised myself to never waste time on liking a girl in high school ever again. Then you and your bubbly personality walked in and I was scared. I liked you instantly and I needed myself to hate you. I was selfish. I tore you apart just to make it easier for me. It's not something I ever think deserves forgiveness. I know it's so fucked up to take out on you. You were just an innocent girl and I hate what I did to you."

She took in his words. The emotion in his eyes told her he meant all of it. But at the same time, he was right. She didn't deserve a single thing he did to her. She never once hurt him or put him in a position where he needed to protect himself.

"You never even gave me a chance, Eddie. Why couldn't you just ignore me? Seems like us never talking would have been better for both of us." She wished more than anything she never gave him her time. Let his opinions change the way she felt about herself.

"I wanted to, but in some twisted and toxic way, it made me feel special? I could treat you so poorly and you'd still come running up to me. And I know that is such an asshole thing to say. I wish I could take it all back. Treat you the way you always should have been treated. Given you a chance to show me you wouldn't hurt me. But I caused all of this damage and I know it's something I'll never fix. I'm sorry for everything." He apologized

" I appreciate the apology, but I don't forgive you for shit. You are an asshole, incredibly selfish, treated me like shit all because you were scared of a little crush? You're pathetic." Eddie winced at her words. "But, it shows you are flawed and human. Right now, I really don't want to be near you. Maybe in time I'll find it in me to forgive you, just not today."

He respected her honesty above anything.

"I understand. Thank you for letting me explain." He said with a small smile, turning around to walk out into the hallway.

Before he made it out of the doorway she spoke up, "why did you stop him?"

"No one gets to bully my girl but me." He said, a smirk on his face, throwing her a wink before he disappeared out the door.

God she hated him.

~~~

I could not figure out a real "happy" ending but to me, I like this ending so I'm sorry if you read this whole thing and was very disappointed in the ending :(

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingwicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @manyfandomsfanvergent @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff x reader #bully!eddie x reader #bully!eddie munson #ashwhowrites

[lottiecrabie]

pray for my soul. part three – matty healy

even after all your prayers, you feel matty's presence linger in all parts of your life. in church, in class, in the knock on your window...

warnings: 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, choking, roleplay, religious imagery, blasphemy, pfms typical desecration

part three of five

13683 words

You’ve been clenching your fingers too much, hands clutched together as you pray or smother a wave of smoldering emotions. Your heart ring digs into your middle finger; the blood cuts off, pain spreading up your knuckles. You’d find it divine if it didn’t leave some ugly, red rash. 

It makes your mother crazy at the sight, gasping as she spots the scarlet. She grabs your wrist, tugging you across the house. “Mom,” you whine, stumbling along. “It’s nothing.” Of course, she scoffs, pinching the bitten raw fingers and the chipped white nails to prove her point.  

Opening the bathroom door, she shoves your hand under the sink. Scalding hot water pours out. You flinch at the sensation. She’s unbothered, squeezing hyssop soap, scrubbing your hands under the burning heat. 

“You have to keep your hands clean,” your mother says, squirting some more soap. 

If she really knew how soiled they’d been… Dipping in impure places, reaching for sinful desires, memorizing the feel of scattered scars… White soap on reddened, raw skin, but still you know she’ll never make them clean. 

“Dirty girl,” she continues, shaking her head, scratching at the stubborn nail polish. “Don’t you know how to take care of your skin?” 

Your eyes water, but you don’t make a peep. Lingering in the doorframe, the somber presence of your father towers across the bathroom. “I think it’s fine, honey,” he says, but she doesn’t hear, scraping away. 

“I don’t know where this side of her comes from,” your mother mumbles to herself. Water pours and pours, drowning out your pained moans. “Certainly not me.” 

Your father frowns, scoffing. “Well, not me either.” You throw him a pleading look, but he seems just as overrun. 

“I’ve raised a clean girl.” Your mother scrubs your palm, muttering more than anything coherent. “Not this, not this…” 

But she did. She can scrub all she wants, but she can’t wash away the stain of him. You’ve been touched, rotting under the skin. She can cut it off and you’d still remember the feel of Matty Healy. 

Scorching flames lick up your arms. Your hands burn, barely bones anymore. You clench them, frowning at the sight of them. How funny that water doesn’t cool. That soap doesn’t clean. That your mother tries to control you, and all she does is teach you that fire doesn’t kill. 

—

Your youth leader, Betty, offers you the bag of gummy bears, shimmying it in front of your face in appeal. You blush, more from the special attention than shyness, and dig for a red one. You bite the head off first, letting the colored sugar melt on your tongue for a few seconds. Still, as you swallow it, you can’t help but feel that pit of guilt grow inside your belly. You know your mother doesn’t want you eating candy. 

Betty smiles benevolently at you, like she could read the thoughts on your forehead. You hate that. If people are capable of digging inside your brain— Gosh, the filthy things they could see. 

Do you have that same guilty, hungry look when looking at Matty Healy? Can everyone see? 

Betty winks, popping a gummy bear inside her mouth. “I won’t tell,” she says. 

She’s a good person, capable of teetering that line between devotion and relatability. She looks out for you in Youth Group, asking questions when you grow quiet and fade into the background. She calls you little mouse and you pretend to find it funny. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. Your mouth is coated in sugar. The taste won’t leave your tongue; it nevers does. 

Later, with everyone high off fruit punch and chocolate, when the younger kids are playing with an old PlayStation in the basement, Betty looks at the five teenagers left and says with a trickster smile, “Today, I want to talk about sex.” 

A chortle reverberates through the group. Your stomach drops, some unquenchable void spreading through your muscles. Oh, shit. 

Betty grins, laughing too. She even encourages some more chuckle, drawing them out with her hands. Glancing to the sides, you manage to fake some small, nervous giggle. “I know, I know,” she says playfully. “It’s hard not to laugh. It’s this big, taboo thing no one can mention, right?” Betty doesn’t wait for an answer, but the group settles down nonetheless, paying attention. 

You look around. Are they intrigued? How much do they think about sex? Do they know the burning feel of pleasure, waving through tense muscles with relieving fingers? Have they— Have they seen someone’s face break into ecstasy, rough hand passing on a hard, leaking cock, swollen lips whispering the filthiest promises, cum spilling—

You shake your head to chase the thoughts away. You can’t seem to escape it these days, passing that fateful day at the confessional to the fine comb. Heavy breaths, tingling hands, throbbing cunt; it takes everything in you not to tease a finger over your growing need, starting small like he taught you. 

“But it’s important to talk about it. At your age, the world gets confusing,” Betty starts, suddenly serious. “There’s all these temptations, and these hormones, and it’s normal to think about it. To want.” 

Your heart smashes against your ribs. You’re afraid everyone can hear. Yes, you practically want to scream. I want. I want.

“But,” Betty continues, and once again she offers this warm grin, spreading over her face like she is trying to coax people into this sense of safety, “It’s important not to act on them. Peter 2:11. Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles, to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul. The war is human, but abstaining is the godly thing to do. As tempting as it might be, there will never be anything as satisfying as following God’s path.” 

But has Betty felt the burning lips of Matty Healy stealing secrets from her mouth, coaxing an insatiable appetite out of her tongue? Has she felt his callused fingers on her breast, pinching a sensitive nipple? Did he ask her to get on her knees, panting in the hot air? See if she manages to say no. 

Betty doesn't know how much temptation can satisfy. You cross your arms, falling back on your chair. It’s clear now that no one here has grazed the fingertips of damnation. 

“Timothy 2:22. Flee also youthful lusts; but pursue righteousness, faith, love, peace with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart. The Lord tries us all in different ways, but listening to his preachings and surrounding yourself with fellow followers is the only way to go. I promise that whatever desire you think you want will never make you feel anything other than dirty and guilty, whereas abstinence, although maybe harder and less tempting, will leave you proud and realized.” 

Dirty. Guilty. Forsaken. Disgusting. Stained. Rotten. It spins in your head. You’re merely the idea of a girl; inside, you’re nothing but darkness, coursing fire smothered under the ashes. 

Maybe she’s right. 

Of course, Betty is right. But there’s this constant ache between your thighs, begging, pleading. Would the depths of hell at least take you out of your misery? You’d drown in its murky waters, surely, lost to the voice of God and His merciful hand. 

But at least you wouldn’t burn anymore. 

“Does someone have a question? This is a safe place: feel free to be honest.”

Samantha, a detestable try-hard with pursed lips and a haughty nose, raises her hand. Betty nods towards her. “I don’t have a question, but I would just remind everyone of Corinthians 6:19. You surely know that your body is a temple where the Holy Spirit lives. The Spirit is in you and is a gift from God. You are no longer your own. It’s important not only to abstain from impure relations with other people, but also yourself.”

You hold back a roll of your eyes.

“Great point, Samantha,” Betty says, and of course Samantha practically beams from her corner of the sofa. “You must treat yourself and your God with respect.” 

Your nails dig into your upper arms, faintly scowling. No one here has ever touched themselves. They don’t know. 

They just don’t fucking know. 

—

Matty is in your history class. He scribbles in black sharpie on his desk — three spots to the left and two back from you. You feel his presence, some sort of magnetic pull you can’t explain. 

Indulgently, you wander a guilty eye over to him. He’s beautiful, face pulled down, slight frown as he concentrates on some desecrating piece of art. One single curl falls on his forehead. You wonder if it tickles him. You remember the feel of the loose, dark mess between your hungry fingers. Your stomach clenches; you’re starved. 

You look at him and he doesn’t look back. His lack of heavy stares feel purposeful, thick in the tense space between you. You’re a ghost to him, a stranger. Sometimes, you daydream of standing up and doing something outlandish. Dance, flip off a teacher, slap his desk, get completely naked. Just to get his attention. Just to make him acknowledge that you’re there. 

It’s silly. It’s wrong, even. You’ve sworn to stay away from Matty Healy in all your evening prayers since that fateful day in church. You mean it—echoes of needy groans and wet skin and she’s coming, she’s right there—most of the time. 

You’ve been touched by the mark of Satan. You fester from the inside, rotting around your bones. You can feel it. 

You turn back to the teacher, penning down the new dates on the blackboard in your pink notebook. You bite the end of your stylo when you’re done, crossing your legs, kicking one just to feel that faint, tantalizing rippling up your thighs. 

It’s part of you. You can’t unroot it without killing everything else. 

—

A pink, fluffy towel wraps around your body. You sit at your vanity, brushing your wet hair, staring in the mirror. The girl stares back at you. 

You frown a little, arm dropping down. Cocking your head, you pass a hand over your right cheek, watching it grow red under your fingers. You press at your collarbone next; handprints of bright white on your skin, then nothing at all. 

You stand from the bench; not a chair, your mother says it ruins a posture. Facing your mirror, you drop the towel. 

There’s a naked body in front of you. Inches of silky skin. Red-toed feet wiggling in the carpet. Legs licking up to hips. A stomach, clenching and unclenching. Peaked breasts. You take your hand— and it is your hand— and spread it over your belly. 

You climb up to your breasts, cupping them. You descend them back down your ribs, dancing on the bone. Your waist expands to your hips. You press into them, into the curve of your ass. 

Finally, you cover the apex of your thighs. The hair tickles your palm; the heel of your hand presses into your clit. You try to ignore the strike of pleasure, although you can’t stop yourself from biting your lip. 

With a single finger, you dip into your pussy. Not even to be impure with yourself. Just to feel the warm entrance, growing faintly wet under your grazing touch. 

It’s my body, you tell yourself. You take your finger out, sucking on it. It’s my body.  

—

You find Matty Healy smoking behind the bleachers. There’s a football practice faintly happening beyond it, balls being kicked around on the fluorescent green grass. You ignore the coach’s metric whistle and the resounding cheers from lovestruck girls. You approach him carefully, hands shyly tucked behind your back. 

You forget what to say. You forget the mere existence of bisyllabic words standing in front of him, a lazy cigarette between his ringed fingers. “Hi,” is the only thing you manage. Matty jumps in surprise, raising his eyes from his dirty sneakers and settling them on you for the very first time in weeks. 

Dark brown, nearly black things. They don’t warm at the sight of you. You didn’t even know they could be so frigid, meant to cut apart— or at the very least bleed. All your nerve endings are aware of him. You gulp, blinking away his knifing glare. 

Finally, he blows a cloud of smoke out of his mouth. “Hey.” Monosyllabic too. At least you feel a little less silly. “What are you doing here?”

What are you doing here? You don’t even know, spotting his dirty frame in the corner of your eyes and feeling your feet moving before you could think anything else. You’re there now, with barely your wits about you, and you can’t help that sinking feeling that you’re about to be eaten alive. 

Why would you ever think you’d be anything but prey to Matty’s biting teeth? 

“I wanted to talk,” you say, because that feels the most safe. 

Still, Matty scoffs, taking a new drag of his cigarette. You wonder if your meat catches between his teeth. If he picks your flesh out of the gaps when he’s done tearing through you. 

“Don’t talk for too long. I could bring you down to hell with me, isn’t that right? Ruin you?” Bitter words spat in your face. Your eyebrows rise. 

For the first time, you’re hit with the fact that Matty Healy might actually be hurt. By you. That he’s a boy, a confused teenager kissing a girl, and not some horned serpent luring you to your doom. It demystifies him. Drenches him in normalcy. 

You clutch your cross, softening your stare. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“Whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “Big bad atheist is forsaking you. Bo-ring.” It’s mean. Cruel and careless. Still, it’s easy to see through him. 

You take the lashing out, smirking at the hit. It’s obvious to you now how open he is, how clear the emotions read across his forehead. How could you have ever wondered what he was thinking? It’s right there, to pick and cherish, to hold between your palms. 

It would mix with the stain of you. Your dirty hands would be indistinguishable from his dirty thoughts. Two spirits catching at the edges, blending into some messy art, wrong and off-putting and yet undeniably beautiful. 

You want to hold him. 

You’re afraid he’d pass through the crack of your fingers like water. Gone before you could bend and sip an indulgent mouthful. Gone before you could let the taste linger in your mouth. Gone before you could swallow him and stick him in your throat. 

Would he leave? You cock your head, considering him. Where would he go?

You feel the ground shift beneath your very feet. The Earth must spin dusty seconds slower. Oxygen must be lighter, dangling your head just slightly over your neck. That’s right, you must be entirely headless. 

“Matty,” you sing with your own saccharine smile, taking a slithering step towards him. 

His jaw ticks, watching you carefully. You stop barely a few breaths away from him, staring him straight in the eyes, unflappable. How good to look at him without shame, without manually blinking between the seconds. 

“You’re not ruining me.” You smile some more, teasing and playful and perhaps just a little bit seductive, if you can manage that at all. Leaning into him some more, you whisper conspiratorially, “I can do that myself.” 

Matty looks away, shaking his head. You spot some faint blush spreading across his cheeks. You bite back a giggle, something overjoyed and overpowered striking through you at the very sight. 

Your hand, ring-free but still sporting that splash of damning scarlet, reaches out for his. You trail two fingers over his, grazing the metal of his index. His eyes snap to the spectacle, engrossed by just the tips of you. You smile victoriously, kidnapping his cigarette. 

With a vague gesture of your hand, you say in a botched raspy tone, “You know, we're all really alone in life, and religion can't save you, and God is a huge dick.” You end your grandiose declaration with a drag of cigarette, blowing the smoke out in his face. You smile proudly as he laughs at your antics. 

The gray disperses around you, finally revealing him. He’s grinning warmly down at you. “Is that supposed to be me?” 

“Nah. Just generally a big bad atheist.” You make sure to coat his words with cheeky taunting which he rolls his eyes at. 

“You’re not funny.” 

“You laughed.” 

Stuck, Matty quickly changes subject, leaning back on the metal structure to peer at you from above. He crosses his arms. “I’m surprised you didn’t cough.” 

You shrug, staring down at the burning cigarette between your fingers. “Maybe it’s not my first cig.” 

When you look back at him, his eyes have grown dark, burning again with that fire that’s become indistinguishable from him. How good to see it again. You feel it seeping under your white sweater, tickling your ribs. You want him there, tearing the bones from you. 

Matty cocks his head. “Is it?” Again, you just raise your shoulders with an air of mystery. He smirks, something dangerous to the edges. Here’s not the boy, but the animal, flashing his teeth like he could sink them in your throat. “What would your God say about that?” 

You hum, refusing to look away from his tense stare. There’s much less teasing when you say, “Probably something disapproving. But then, we all have our vices.” It’s not your fault. Your breath’s caught in your throat. Your head spins, warning bells you delightfully ignore in a back corner of your brain. 

To distract the slight tremble in your hand, you bring the cigarette back to your pouty lips. You take a drag, but it goes badly down your throat, and you cough in the elbow of your other arm. Your cheeks blaze. You peer at him tentatively to find him smirking at you, condescending and smug, clearly having found the answer you so craftily avoided before. 

You scowl, mostly in warning, but that does not stop him from opening his mouth. “Gotta suck it like a straw,” he taunts. His smirk grows wider, more like a grin, “Or a c—” 

“Okay,” you blush further. Images of his— and you on your knees, finally obeying his request, praying real real hard for— You twirl the cigarette in your fingers, feeling the red spread across your face. You mumble, “Don’t be crass.” 

“I thought you liked that.” Must he be so cocky, so detestable. Must he make every cell of yours aware of him, every inch begging for his skin, must he raise your temperature to a feverish degree? Matty seems to read right through you. Perhaps he, too, sees the emotion written across your forehead. “Yes, if I recall correctly, you really, really love when I’m crass. Almost made you com—” 

Your eyes snap to his, daggering him with a glare you don’t mean. You have to stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together, chase that sinfully good reverb to your wet pussy. Triumphant, Matty leans into your ear, breath grazing the sensitive skin as he whispers, “I didn’t even scratch a tenth of the things I want to do to you.” His hand lingers over yours.

In an instant, he’s snapping away from you, stolen cigarette between his fingers. Matty takes an easy drag, pouring the gray cloud over your face in retaliation. A shit-eating grin reigns over his lips.

He’s beautiful. Your insides melt like syrup. He’d try to grab your hips and he’d soak through, sugar sticking on his palms. 

“Save it,” you say finally, taking one step away. You smile. “I like a surprise.” 

He snorts. “I thought I was disgusting.” 

“No,” you shake your head, rolling your eyes like he was very silly, “I said I was.” Giving him a purposeful onceover, you smirk. “Or at least I could be.” 

—

You rub the ringless knuckle with two fingers, still feeling the memory of a ghost on your skin. Kneeling at the end of your bed, you pick at your nails. You think of what to say, of prayers to mouth in the evening. You’ve been sinning, you know this. Forming an hubris, leaning into desires, smoking— smoking with a boy who smirks and pours gray clouds out of his lips and looks you up and down like he could swallow you whole. A boy who’s Matty Healy, a proud sinner, a reckless atheist. 

Still, you kneel at your bed and you find most of your head empty. Your bedroom door is cracked, letting a shine of light pass through. Your father walks; you hear the monotonous steps, loud and heavy and regular. Instinctively, you close your eyes, muttering nothing to yourself. 

“Goodnight, sweetie,” your father says, peeking his head through. You open your eyes in false surprise. 

“Oh, goodnight, Dad.” 

“Sleep well,” he says, and you nod curtly. You’ll dream of filthy things. Scandalous mirages. You’ll imagine skin and hips and breasts; fingers and lips and cock. Licking and biting and devouring. He can’t stop you. 

You grin, bright and wide. “Thanks. You too.” 

Your father keeps the door ajar as he leaves. The hallway light is still on. Your mother is downstairs, busying herself with the dishes. You hear the soothing sound of the running water, a faint hum of a song. 

Beside you, someone knocks at your window. You frown, twisting around, coming face to face with Matty Healy’s scrunched body as he peers through the glass, a smirk on his lips. Your eyes widen. You jump to your feet, heart beating in your chest, looking around like your father would pop through the door at any moment. 

Grabbing the handles, you slam the window up. Matty grins lazily at you, unworried in the face of your clear stress. “What are you doing here?” You whisper-yell to him. 

“Wanted to say hey,” he shrugs easily. 

You blink at him. “At ten PM?”

“You know, it’s still pretty early for us deviants.” He pointedly peers past the window frame, coming back to you with an arched eyebrow. “Can I come in?” 

You bite your lip, flipping back to your half-opened door, to the floating sound of your mother’s song. You should say no. Nothing good can come out of seeing Matty Healy, especially at this hour. 

But a low hum of thrill rings in your belly. Your heart slams in your chest, singing, alive for the first time in too long. You’re electrified, hyperaware. You’re never catching sleep now. 

Fuck it, you think, because you can swear in the sanctity of your own mind. You tiptoe to the door, slowly shutting it. You’re diligent, twisting the doorknob to make sure not a single sound travels back to the kitchen. When your mission is done, you turn back to Matty, a proud, victorious smile on your lips. He grins back easily, already standing in your room, dirty sneakers on your carpet. 

“Hey,” Matty says. 

“Hi,” you answer, hands twisting behind your back. It is impossibly teenage-like. You almost feel like a caricature of yourself. 

“So this is your room?” He continues, speaking softly as to not alert your parents. You half-believe your mother really could magically sense the presence of a teenage atheist boy in her house. Some sharpened instinct for sin. 

“It would appear so.” 

Matty walks in your room, faintly tentative in his steps. He looks around, taking in your vanity holding scattered bottles of perfume and lotion, your gold full-length mirror, the glued flowers to your walls, the fluffy carpet dirtied by his sneakers. The twin bed with pink sheets. The bible on the nightstand. The crucifix watching over you. You flush, looking away embarrassed. 

“Cute,” Matty says. It feels almost derogatory. Cute, like a little girl, someone you coo at and pat the head of fondly. Someone that’s empty brained, not smart enough to follow his wild wordvomit, the boundless theories haunting his mind. You scowl. He seems to see through you, chuckling easily. “I like it,” he insists. 

“No, you don’t.” 

“Well,” he grins. “It’s a little pink for me.” 

“Shut up.” You shake your head, huffing a laugh. 

Matty takes off his shoes, sitting down on your bed. He scoops himself up, resting his back against the wall. A spike of nerves strikes your stomach, but it spreads nicely through your limbs. Between your thighs most of all, clenching around nothing. 

A boy in your bed. How strange. 

“What were you doing?” 

“Praying,” you answer in habit. 

He arches an eyebrow, grabbing your bible. He flips through the pages, half-curious and half-sneering. A small defensive thing beats in your heart. You frown at him. “What were you praying about?” 

“Just—” Now you’re caught off-guard. There’s much valid answers spinning in your head. Peace, health, family. But there’s an insatiable need in you to knock him off his pretentious pedestal. Shake him to his core, just so he knows the ripples passing through your soul whenever he decides to smash into your world. “Sex.”

This definitely shakes him. His hands freeze around the bible, eyes snapping back to you. There’s no shock, per say, but something darker. It calls to you, climbing up your spine. “Oh?” 

You smile. You barely register the step you take towards the bed. “Yes. I’ve been really bad, getting all mixed-up in my impure thoughts. I just had to pray the lust away.”  

Matty inhales slowly, watching you like he could eat through your flesh. You see his chest rise in quick successions. A devilish smirk teases at your lips. “Does it work?” His voice is surprisingly even. 

You sigh. “Does it ever work?” 

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. God, he’s so easy. “Why don’t you show me?” 

A playful look through your eyelashes. “Yes, Father.” His breath hitches in his throat. Matty grips the bible like a lifebuoy, and, oh, isn’t that just deliciously ironic?

You fall to your knees under his mesmerized stare, elbows resting at the end of your bed, fingers interlocking together. Spine comically straight, eyes innocently closed, you’re a caricature of a devotee. 

You hum, licking your lips. “Lord, I’m sorry I thought about that boy again.” You relish in the breath of air choking from his lips, half a gasp and half a groan. Your eyelids tingle, begging to take a peek at his reaction, but you know your little act requires your eyes closed.

With a fake frown of guilt, you continue, “I shouldn’t have thought of him bending me over my desk in the middle of history class. I shouldn’t have thought of everyone watching us as he flipped my skirt up.” Definitely a groan, low and gravelly from his sinful lips. “Should definitely not have thought of him fucking me in front of all these students— and the teacher, of course— until I’m cockdrunk and drooling on my desk.” Another muffled sound. Rustling of jeans and sheets. You smirk, incapable of keeping the innocent schoolgirl act, devious as you say, “Lord, I’m so sorry I considered touching myself in class thinking of—”

Matty caresses your hair, following the curve of your jaw, gripping your chin between his fingers. You snap your eyes open, breath stolen from your throat. He towers over you, godly, knees siding your elbows. It’s suddenly not funny at all. 

“I forgive you.” 

And then, all of a sudden, you know what it’s like to be clean. Your soul frees of the soil; of the dirt and grime and mud tacking your bones. Your fingertips buzz, carpet-burnt knees forgetting the pain. 

Your head nuzzles in his hand, grinning. Matty’s thumb grazes your lower lip. Instinctively, your mouth slips open, practically inviting him in. 

His thumb dips inside, pressing meanly on your tongue. You suck on his finger, staring up at him through your eyelashes. His ring tastes like metal in your mouth. Something in you loves it; craves the aftertaste of blood. 

Matty breathes heavily, lips parting. Dark eyes discombobulating you. Your head feels slack on your neck. He slips away from your mouth. Drool coats his skin. It dries on your cheek, thumb rubbing it tenderly, hand spreading on your jaw. 

Your eyes are locked with his, almost mesmerized by the dark pupils. You want to drown in the murky waters. That must be where hell lies, alive and rustling. 

Where you want to dive, lose yourself in the intangible. 

Matty smirks down at you. Like he knows. Like he reads the thoughts on your forehead. Little mouse practically screaming your filthy thoughts. 

“You’re quiet,” he says almost matter-of-factly, like an observation he just realized. The smirk betrays him, broadcasting the gleeful cruelty in the words. I’ve shut you up is unsaid, but much felt. 

You resent it. You want to scream, to be heard, to crash into his ribs and burst the bone. Of course, it’s when your thoughts roar the loudest that your tongue curdles, useless in your mouth. Words escape from you, mind spinning with wantwantwantwantwant without needed direction. You’re a mess of a girl, more a tactless binding of contradictions than anything real— yarn and clusters and knots tying staggering opposites under skin. 

But you want, and isn’t it just great to allow yourself to? To desire, to hunger.

Words loose in your throat, you push yourself up from the ground with two hands spreading over his knees. He follows your biblical rise like an avid follower until you loom over him. He has to tip his chin to look you in the eyes. There is something inexplicably thrilling about it. Power surges up your spine. 

Your hands settle on his shoulders. Slowly; time is yours. Matty skips a breath. His fingers find the back of your thighs, a second nature, more a thoughtless impulse than any type of decision. His digging stare is still locked with yours. You wonder if he’s even realized he’s grazing your legs, dancing fingertips on the skin. 

Your eyes trail to his lips. Parted, gasping an irregular pattern, waiting for you. Red like he’s licked the blood off, trying to catch the last trace of you as he tears through your heart.

“I don’t want to be good,” you whisper, because he has to know. Because it has to be said. Because you don’t, and more importantly, you don’t have to. 

Matty smiles. His fingers hook behind your knees— whiplash from how present he suddenly is spreading from the still hot handprints. He tugs you into him, making you land squarely on his lap. You gasp as you settle, gripping his shoulders, digging in the cotton of his washed-out shirt. 

“I don’t want you to be good either,” he says, bending his head towards you conspiratorially, like telling you a secret. Your heart slams against your ribs, calling for him, for his lingering touch, burning even when he’s gone. I want you, I want you. 

You try to catch your breath, to grab onto your heart with two hands and tell it to settle down, but it’s not enough. He’s seeped under the cracks, loosened the knots. You’re embarrassingly wet, dripping for him even if he’s barely given you more than a brush. 

“It’s settled then,” you say with much bravado, traveling your begging hands to his nape, scooping your hips to sit closer to him. You smile playfully, leaning into him. “I’ll be very disgusting.” 

Matty cringes, letting go of your scraped knees. Fear grips you— you act on instinct, taking his wrist and puppeteering him to your waist, wrapping him around you, interlacing him before he can slip away from your fingers. “I want you,” you say, crystal clear. 

Matty considers you, perfectly controlled if it wasn’t for the betraying blush pinking his cheeks. Two fingers dip under the hem of your pajamas, thumb rubbing at your rib, pinky resting on your hip annoyingly still. It ripples in your body, toes curling like some prophetic foreteller. You throb around nothing, biting your lip. 

His other hand ghosts over your collarbone. The non-touch is still enough to race your poor heart, drunk on the presence of him. He watches your breath quicken, chest rising and falling, then flips to your eyes. “Do you really mean that?” He asks, unsettlingly serious. You nod, once again lost for words. His fingers skislope down the bone. 

He lands on the cross dangling from your neck, sitting perfectly straight on your chest, the crowning ornament of a paper girl. Your breath catches; the world stops. He arches an eyebrow at you, hooking into the gold chain. “Do you really mean that?” 

Turning points, life forking in two like the tongue of a snake. Possibilities on the tip of your teeth, so close you can taste it. 

“I want you—” Catching the chain, he tugs you to his lips, siren to your sailor. Your mouths lock, frenzied delight spinning around your neck, scrambling any remaining wit. Yes, you think, parting your lips, finally.  

You sigh into his mouth, from relief or pleasure or perhaps the vertiginous feeling of standing on the cliff of the unknown, unstable ground rippling under your feet. But Matty is solid under you— your hands rack through his curls, softer than you remember them, gripping the tangible, the steady. 

His hand at your side digs into your hip, drawing you square on his hard cock. You gasp, rolling your head, lingering in the first electroshocks of bliss biting into your limbs. Like jumping into cold waters on the hottest day of summer— shocked from the contrast, giddy from the refreshing cool. You grind into him again, a happy laugh spilling from you. 

Matty doesn’t waste opportunities. He finds your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your pulse. He climbs up to your jaw, biting then licking away the ache. You shiver, trapped between his arms.

The cross rests in the center of his palm still, pretty and cool. He could tear it apart if he wished. Tear you straight to the bone. Instead, he runs a thumb over the metal, over the bloody edges of you. You drip on him, wax candle melting from his flame, but you can trust he’ll lick it clean. 

You take him by the cheeks, drawing him back to your lips. You’re already panting. The room blurs around you; your hip exists because he touches it, because it’s him that does it. You roll them against his, reveling in the choked groans from deep in his throat. 

Matty lets go of the cross, finding your breast instead. He pushes down your camisole, revealing your peaked nipples. The back of your mind half-thinks of being self-conscious, but he pinches one, rubbing it, making you moan, and suddenly there’s no thoughts at all but his name. His mouth rips from yours. He bends down, licking a nipple with an expert tongue. A strike of pure ecstasy waves through you. Your fingers twist into his mane, encouraging him, furiously humping his lap. 

Matty can’t make his mind up— he vacillates between wanting to devour your tits, biting the underboob meanly, kissing it better; between watching your face as you whimper, frown digging in your eyebrows as you concentrate on not making much sound; between kissing you, tongue slipping through your lips; between wrinkling his face close, letting himself get washed in the euphoria. 

In the end, he twists you, laying you down on the bed, him over you. It’s a practiced maneuver— you want to scowl, but he settles deliciously between your thighs and now you’re too busy rolling your eyes into your skull. 

“Beautiful,” he says, short-winded, flicking between your face and your untidy body, pajamas barely covering any flushed skin. You redden, chin dipping shyly. 

Matty burrows underneath your tank top, uncovering your skin inch by inch as he slowly climbs up your waist. His calluses dance on your ribs, branding iron to your vestal body, something to linger when he’s gone. You breathe harshly, staring up at the ceiling, trying to stay very still. 

He passes the shirt beyond your head, hair falling through the neck. He throws it over the bed carelessly, like it didn’t exist now that you weren’t wearing it. 

It’s not like it was occupying its function as a shirt before, more a bunched belt around your waist than anything. Still, you feel self-conscious, uncovered like this in front of him. Topless. Naked. You have the impulse to cover your breasts, hide away from his baring stare. It tickles at the back of your mind. 

“I wanna hear you,” Matty whispers, ghosting up your stomach, eyes following his hand religiously. “You had so much to say before.” 

You wrinkle your nose, shaking your head. It’s all impossibly real. You don’t know how to do any of this. 

Matty smiles reassuringly. “What do you want?” He spurs you on, thumb finding your nipple and circling it. You moan, arching into his palm. 

You don’t know what you want, you just do. Everything. Anything. As long as it’s sinful; as long as it’s worth the damnation. 

“Angel, what do you want?” He whispers in your ear, biting your lobe, unwilling to let it go. You try to contain a shiver, but your legs still part instinctively for him. He smiles at that, something crooked to it, something raw. 

“I’m not an angel,” you say petulantly. 

He’s hard between your sticky thighs. An atheist is kissing your neck where the chain meets the skin. You’re— You’re in your goddamn childhood bed, on the fluffy pink sheets you got for your ninth birthday for Christ’s sake. Nothing about you is innocent, or pure, or angelic. 

You’re poisonous, and dirty, and hungry.  

Of course, Matty doesn’t seem to agree. He pouts condescendingly at you, trailing the tip of his fingers—callused and hard worked and meant to burn, but oh so gentle on your belly — lower, near the waist of your pajama shorts. 

“Is that so?” He says, overly cocky and teasing, practically mocking the very words out of your mouth. Still, you nod. At that, he smiles wider, shadows catching his teeth. “Well, prove it.” 

His hand meets the band of your underwear. You stop your eyes from rolling inside your skull, from scrunching your face in pure delight. You want to see him. See him as he watches you, licking his lips, following every rising chest and huffing lips and trembling thighs. See him as he takes you in, as he stares like he wishes to memorize the very edges of you, like he wants to swallow you whole. 

God, you want to be consumed. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You push. “I’ve done my evening prayers,” you say with a moan. “Your turn.” Matty laughs, but he’s going down your body obligingly. 

His lips graze your skin with head-swooning attention. He kisses down your neck, pressing a demure peck on your cross, like handshaking the Lord. A blush reddens your cheeks. 

Your chest heaves, trying to quiet down your screaming heart, the overwhelming anticipation spreading through your body. Every particle of you is aware of him, of what’s coming, and you sense an incriminating flutter invading you. Your thighs close around his waist, softly grinding onto him, biting your lower lip. 

Matty kisses the top of your breasts, gently biting your nipples. He’s diligent on this part of your body, lingering there happily. You can’t seem to swallow down the striking pleasure, quietly whining as he sucks and licks and twists. 

Your mother must be downstairs still. Your father is only a few rooms over.  They could hear, or worse walk in, find you half naked with a boy between your thighs. What would they think? What would they say? What would they do? Scrub your skin off under the burning shower, scrape and scrape until you’re raw, as though you could ever forget the memory of his lips on you? A furrow dents your eyebrows harshly. You bite your lip, relishing in the pain spreading down your chin. 

You can be depraved as long as you’re punished for it. A taste of sin if it slashes down your throat. 

You’ve barely grown accustomed to him that he’s gone already, moving down your waist, ribs a xylophone to his tongue. A small line of hair scatters over your belly. He follows the path, lips floating over your skin. You flex under him, excited and nervous and impossibly hot. 

Matty kisses just above the hem of your pajamas, hand digging into your hip. He looks up at you and inexplicable pleasure grips you. He’s— He’s majestic. Better than some God; prettier, too. 

Dark eyes, red lips, frenzied hair. You rack through the mess of curls, tugging as encouragement. He’ll make doom worth something. A dust of a moment traded for eternity feels awfully fair when he’s looking at you like this. 

Matty’s fingers hook into the shorts. He pulls them down your legs, scratching the silky skin as he goes. Once again, the scrap of fabric is thoughtlessly discarded as soon as it slips out of your feet. 

You’re in your underwear. In front of Matty Healy. You take a few seconds to attempt to wrap your head around the fact, but it’s nearly impossible with his tough fingers climbing back up your shaking legs, approaching your thighs. 

Need throbs inside of you. You crave him. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He says, approaching the apex of your thighs. 

You moan, face clenching, toes curling in the idea of what is coming. Your body holds its breath, anticipation running down its veins. Something about this moment is inherent; your mind barely understands the implications, but your legs retain the memory of a pleasure you’ve never had. Remaining sins from Eve herself. This is millions of years in the making. 

“Love, is this what you want?” 

You huff, resting on your elbows to look at him. “No,” you bite. “I want more.”

Matty laughs, kissing your hip bone just above your underwear. You choke on a breath, shiver dancing up your spine. “Like this?” He whispers, cheeky and teasing because he knows it’s not. 

Your hips rise towards him, falling back uselessly. “No.”

He hums, finding the twin bone, giving it a sweet mirror kiss. You whine, head rolling in frustration. “How about this?” He’s so proud. 

“I want—” You sigh, words fleeing down your throat in a cruel game of hide and seek. The chasm of the unknown reels under your toes. You frown. “I want—” 

“Yes?” Matty bites your hip, smiling knowingly at you as he licks it clean. 

You stare at his dancing eyes, at that damn curl of his falling across his forehead like lightning, at his tongue, pink and soft and— “I want you to lick me.” You’re too proud to be embarrassed at the dirty words. The idea already calls to you, spinning deliciously in your head. Matty grins at you. You push his head, hand still firmly tucked in his hair, lining him up to your center. “Just—” You moan as his chin bumps your ignored clit, “ruin me.”

Matty doesn’t need to be told twice— thank God. He slips your underwear off your legs. You have no time to grow shy at being completely, entirely exposed because he’s pushing your thighs open the next second, licking your clit. 

Your hips jump. A cry slips your lips. You slap a hand over your mouth, heart racing. Again, you can barely finish wondering if your mother heard that Matty is sucking on your bud. Thankfully your palm catches the moans freefalling thoughtlessly from your mouth. You can’t seem to hold them back— it’s beyond reason, beyond you. It listens to the heated bliss soaring through your limbs and nothing else. 

You’re the apple and the snake and the first woman. You’re multitudes stretching under your skin. You’ve got a man between your thighs, eating you. The thought doesn’t seem real, although his tongue proves otherwise, languid and sure and flicking. 

You can tell he’s following the same rhythm he ordered in the dark box of the confessional, ironically close to a priest prescribing penance for mortal sins. Slow and gentle and teasing; meant to boil your blood, get you begging. 

As though you’re not dripping on the sheets for him. As though you’re not dizzy with want. As though you’re not holding back screams. 

Still, he licks and sucks at your clit, swiping and circling on the nerves. He cruelly ignores your entrance clenching around nothing, practically weeping for him. His nails dig into the meat of your thigh like he wants to, though. Like he has to stop himself from doing so. 

You’ve never had more than a lick of sacramental wine, but you feel drunk already. The bed is your island, spreading across the world. Sweat sticks your hair to your forehead. You grind into him desperately, chasing that syrupy ecstasy coaxing through your veins. What is the point of blood? You’d rather live off the sweetness. 

You rack your fingers through Matty’s mane, brushing it back from his forehead as though he needed to see to best work. “Matty,” you say, high-pitched and desperate, “please.” 

“You just had to say, pet,” he whispers, coming out of your thighs out of breath, slick coating his chin. You flush, thinking of why. Devoted, he throws one of your legs over your shoulder, diving back for more. 

Thumb rubbing at your clit, he runs his tongue over your folds. “Fuck, Matty—” You bite into your lip, face scrunching to keep in the visceral words screaming in your mind. 

This is what people have been hiding, keeping firmly locked behind rings and hushed whispers, spelling it out so you wouldn’t put the letters together. Endless euphoria waving, razing, ravaging. You get it now. 

It’s too much power to give to a girl. Because that’s what you are, in the end. Just a girl. 

Matty laps at you, burning tongue finding the apex of all your desires and rubbing a frantic rhythm against it. He moves purposefully, knowingly, as though he already learnt all the secrets even you haven’t discovered. 

Your head rolls back. You bite your hand, tearing through the palm lines, crushing under your teeth whatever future a fortune teller would’ve read in the fated dents. The path bursts; you’re soaring through the sky— or perhaps freefalling. The two feel awfully the same, heaven and hell intertwined until you can’t distinguish which cardinal point you’re following.

Pornographic, sopping sounds ring through the room. He groans against you, reverberating in your cunt. You clench around his tongue, hips flapping wildly. Pressure builds in your belly. Your limbs tense, electricity coursing through the lines. “Matty, I—”

Who are you to wreck God’s perfectly curated plan? Still, you tug at Matty’s curls, grinding into his face, heel digging into his back. Ecstasy wipes your mind clean.

“I know, angel,” Matty moans. He ducks back single-minded, licking into you with a frenzied passion. Quick and strong, thumb pressing on your clit meanly; he devours you. You feel feverish. You feel sick. 

You’re on fire. 

Let you burn down. Catch the sheets, the fuzzy carpet, the whole goddamn house. You’re tired of smothering fire, like a fickle flicker of flame wouldn’t bring it back in an instant. You want to blaze. You want to melt. 

Infinity smears your tongue. You are but a body, and it breaks apart. 

You bite your palm raw holding back a scream. Euphoria erupts under your skin. The yarn rips; you fall apart on his tongue, scattered sins bursting around the room. You tug at his hair cruelly, the last remaining hold on reality as your vision blurs. 

How good. That is all you think for a blink of a moment. How good. 

The debris settles around you. You lay in ruins, catching your breath, laughing softly. This is a fucking orgasm. 

All those talks of sin, of flesh, of ashes. Of apples and girls and flames. All those prayers you’ve done, fingers intertwined as you mouthed false promises. All the guilt you’ve carried with you. For existing, for wanting, for being a girl with a body. 

You should feel dirty. Matty Healy has just eaten you out until your brain leaked out of your ears. You should be disgusting. 

Instead, you feel oddly free. 

Matty peeks out of your legs, face wet and dripping with you. He wipes at it. You finally let go of your tyrannical hold on his hair, brushing away the strands as an apology. He frowns, asking worriedly, “Are you crying?” 

You pat at your cheeks, finding the telltale tears. “Oh,” you say, somehow surprised. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” You wipe at them furiously, flushing under his baring stare. How embarrassing. 

He settles beside you, tucking your side onto him with a lazy hand on your waist. The contact is reassuring, somehow. You nestle into him closer. “Why?” He says, trailing a finger on your skin. 

“Just—” You blush harder, looking away abashed. “I don’t know.” 

“Did I…” His eyebrows furrow further. Your heart jumps. 

“No,” you say, wide-eyed. “You were great. It was—” You wrinkle your nose, suddenly ashamed to be talking about all this. Like he wasn’t buried between your thighs just a few seconds ago. “It was really good.” God, you just don’t know what to say. “Thank you,” you add, unsure. 

Matty laughs. “You’re welcome, love.” He runs a hand through your hair, tucking a strand behind your flushed ear. “What is it, then?” 

“I guess—” You bite your lip, trying to find words for something instinctive, thoughtless. “I was just really happy. And free. Like I’d broken through something.” You shake your head. “I don’t know. It was my first time, obviously. It’s… new.” 

“Good new?” 

You smile at his tentative words clearly searching for validation. It makes you a little glad. That it’s not just another day for him, certain and cool and all knowing. That there’s doubts just like you, some pubescent anxiety. 

You nod. “Good new.” 

Although you mean it, something in you still spins with nervosity. It’s new; freeing and hot and fresh. But it’s also new; strange and different and unknown. Now your thoughts are filled with questions. If he liked it too. If you were too loud. If you weren’t enough. If you tasted bad. If you looked good. If you should have done more. If he expects more. If he likes you. 

If it’s it, then. If you’re forsaken. If there’s no going back now. If you should feel guiltier. If you should care less. 

There’s no wrong way to feel, yet it seems you can’t find the right one either. Your brain goes through gymnastics, finding a new worry to latch onto, volleying between contradictions. 

You are free. You are guilty. You don’t know how to reckon with either. 

Matty seems to sense the overthinking smoking out of your ears. His fingers graze down to your naked hip, drawing a slow pattern on the skin. “What?” He breathes in your ear. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head. 

That’s what you want to feel. Nothing. His calluses press on your skin. You feel your walls flutter, already awoken by his ghosting touch. 

You know a way to get there: mind wiped blissfully clean. With a purpose, you hook a hand behind his neck, tugging him back to your mouth. Matty sees you coming, lips parted in readiness, tongue slipping in hotly. 

You moan against him, already feeling yourself boiling under your skin. It’s an instinctive reaction. He’s barely licking into your mouth that you’re already in a frenzy, heart slamming against your ribs for more. 

You comb a hand through his unruly curls, scratching at his scalp. He shivers against you, letting go to breathe a relieved groan before finding your lips with renewed fervor. You like the power it gives you. You repeat the movement over and over, relishing in the smallest reactions you can coax out of him. Not a marble man; he crinkles just like you. 

He spreads his hand under your back, drawing you to your side, titling his head to kiss you better. His fingers dance on your spine, unshy and learning. You feel awfully naked, all of sudden. Laying in your childhood bed, bare other than the cross still dangling from your neck, now tangled somewhere in your hair far from sight. With a boy who’s very much dressed. 

Attempting to rectify the situation instead of having another spout of anxiety, you sneak your fingers under the hem of his shirt. He’s warm and familiar. You’ve somehow learnt the shape of him in the one time you indulgently held him— or perhaps it’s been all those dreams you’ve replayed over and over. 

Still, you’re excited to stop touching blindly and see. Climbing up his chest, you raise the band tee, feeble and immaterial in your greedy hands. Matty leaves your lips, shortwinded as he reaches behind him and tugs the shirt off. It falls in the sea rumbling beneath your bed, lulling you softly. 

He tries to bend back to kiss you again, but you halt him with a hand on his shoulder. Your stare rakes across his chest; skinny and lanky; faint, forgotten scars you know the feel of by heart; a delicious trail of hair feathering down his stomach; a tattoo kissing his skin. Your heart squeezes in your chest. He’s magnificent. Your lips burn, needing to touch him, to lick down his belly and feel him tense and flex for you. 

Your eyes snap back to his. He’s grown almost self-conscious, blushing under your gluttonous peer. You relish in the sight, licking your bloody teeth. You want him, through the flesh and bones. 

“You’re pretty,” you say finally. 

Matty shakes his head, chuckling. “You can’t call a man that.” 

You pout meanly at him. “Big bad atheist can’t be pretty?” 

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Matty bends to your neck, kissing just under the jaw. His hair tickles your temple. You giggle cheerfully, letting him push you back into the bed. “Will you ever let me live it down?” He whispers, hot breath blowing on your electrified skin. You shiver, growing wetter just at that low tone of his. He knows this, smirking as he leaves a burning path down the curve. 

You hum, trying to gather some sort of wit. “Depends,” you say, but it already falls short, considering how out of breath you sound, practically purring. “Are you gonna start believing in God?” 

Matty snaps away from your neck, propping himself on his elbow as he watches you with affront. You can’t help laughing, wrinkling your nose as the sheer offense on his face. “I’ve got some great quotes underlined if you want,” you add playfully, pointedly looking at the bible resting on the bedside table. Quite precariously too, half of it hanging in mid-air from Matty’s careless throw. 

Matty gets on his knees, staring down at you unflinchingly. Like this, towering over your still laying body, he almost looks godly. “Yeah?” He says, grabbing the bible, cracking it open. “Should we read some right now?” 

You would usually love a chance to rip apart Matty’s skull. Find the unhealed wounds. Teach him words to plaster over. But he’s shirtless, and pretty— to hell what you can call a man, and you’re naked and wet. 

This is not the time for bible reading. You want his mouth busy with something else. 

Of course, Matty is already squinting at the pages. “Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.” His voice was made for music; it comes melodic out of his mouth, like a tempo, like a harmony, like a poem. He looks up from the pages, staring down at you with an arched eyebrow. 

You blush, suddenly hyperaware of your peaked breasts lying openly for him. “Of course you would fall on Song of Solomon on your first try,” you mutter. It’s like sin calls to him, some singing on his fingertips when he runs through the pages. 

He snorts. One hand leaves the weathered hardcover, instead grazing up your thigh. You can’t stop a shiver, feeling the hair rise where he touches. Instinctively, you spread them— just slightly, an unconscious reaction reverberating to your legs. Still, Matty smirks, proud and knowing. 

“You know, you might be onto something. This sounds like my kind of book.” And then, to prove his point, he recites, “Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread abroad. Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.” How dirty pious words sound from his profane mouth. How he twists the shape of them, warps their meaning. Matty, again, looks up to your reaction, shit-eating grin cracking his face. “I think we just got done with that.” 

You flush even harder. Your head spins with memories— not daydreams, not fantasies, not vestiges from your slumber, but memories, real and undeniable. His head between your thighs, licking into your cunt, starved and gluttonous. You throb uselessly, dripping on the sheets. “It’s not—” 

Matty’s climbing fingers find your cunt, and suddenly you have no words to say. You gnaw on your lip, whining through the shocking wave of bliss hitting you. He gathers your telltale wetness, as though to prove some sick knowledge that you’re enjoying this. That he’s tearing through your beliefs with nails and teeth. 

That you won’t ever look at those pages the same again, just like you can’t catch a peripheral peek of the confessional without straightening in your seat. 

An opportunist, Matty spreads the slick to your clit, rubbing the tender thing slowly. You moan, throwing your head back, dropping your thighs completely open for him. His calluses, rough and mean, are heavenly on your bundle of nerves. 

“Do you want more?” 

You’re not sure he means fingers or passages, but still, you open your eyes, whining, “Yes.” You raise your hips to his palm, falling back on the sheets with a pout. “Please.” 

Matty stops. You clench around nothing, unsatisfied. He flips through the pages, slick fingers drying on the bible’s hardcover. You want to look away— it’s filthy. But they’re so long, spindly and wide-knuckled, and you can’t stop staring. 

Matty finds a page, balancing the bible on his forearm as he finds your upper thighs again. “Now the serpent was more crafty than any other animal that the Lord God had made.”

You almost want to roll your eyes. How cliche. But Matty is teasing a finger against your wet entrance, and you’re rolling your eyes for a much different reason. 

Matty lingers in this moment, circling your clit with his thumb. He watches the spectacle, following his hands, your cunt, your breasts, your face religiously. 

Swallowing harshly, he continues, “He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, ‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?’” 

You nod, encouraging him on. For further argument, you wrap your own hand around his wrist, grinding softly into his fingers. Matty licks his lips, distracted again. 

One finger enters you. Slow, to make sure you get used to the feel. Your face scrunches close to hold the cries in. Your cunt flutters with pleasure, begging for him, for more. He’s much longer than your own, but there’s barely any resistance. It’s still not enough to completely splinter you, unravel you to sweet nonexistence. 

Slithering around his wrist in a vice-like grip, you feel the need to tell him, “I want more. Please, Matty.” 

He thrusts in and out of you languidly, sopping sounds resonating in the quiet room. Your neck goes slack. He doesn’t seem to get the crux of the request, however, because he bends back to the book, “The woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said ‘you shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.’” 

You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree. You shall not— But it’s too late for you, isn’t it? 

You’re famished. 

You press his hand into you, locking with his dark eyes. “More.”

Finally understanding, Matty dips a second finger into you. This time, the stretch is uncomfortable, wider than you’ve ever known. You frown at the new feel, trying to clench and unclench to get used to him. He’s patient, waiting, rubbing a delicious pattern on your bundle of nerves to loosen you up. 

“You’re so good for me,” he whispers, and your lips grow slack with a proud smile. 

When you finally feel ready, you grind into his palm. Matty thrusts his fingers, curling them just so. You’re losing your mind, organs pushing against your skin to make place for the invading ecstasy. It’s poisonous, eating through your veins, but you must bottle it up. Being quiet is the most sadistic torture you’ve ever know. 

“But the serpent said to the woman,” Matty’s rhythm falters as he focuses on the words again, “‘You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’” 

Your legs kick wildly on the sheets. Matty is unwavering, steady and consistent, fingers fucking into you. Your free hand, not knowing whether to grip the sheets or rack through your sweaty hair, finds his knee instead. Your nails dig into the jeans, like he deserved punishment for making you feel like this. Good and evil. 

“So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food,” Matty’s breathing is hitched, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat. Words come out rough from his lips, yet still just as poetic, just as holy, “and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise.” He smirks at his emphasized words. 

Like you don’t agree with a full heart and a full mind. Like you don’t crave to take a bite of him. 

Like you don’t want to consume him and be consumed by him. 

Like you’re not letting him defile you with the Lord’s words coating his tongue. Like you’re not needing that very tongue. 

Licking his teeth, Matty stares at you. Can he see the thoughts spinning through your mind? Can he see you? “She took all of its fruit and ate.” And you did.

God, you did. 

You can’t take it anymore. You reach for him, dragging him back to your pleading lips. Again, Matty throws the bible beyond the bed, uncaring for even holy texts. How easy for him. To make religion stop existing— something for the rest of the world, but not these sheets, not you. 

He lets go of your mouth, panting above you. Faster, not to chase some quicker end but to watch your face break apart for him, he thrusts in and out of you. It’s sinfully good. You claw at his bare shoulders, glad to have some skin to sink your nails in. 

You want to leave him permanently changed. Scarred. Because you will be. God, you will be. 

Moaning against his lips, heart beating to the rhythm he fingers into you, brain surely melting out of your ears, you hear a knock at your door. 

You gasp. Eyes comically wide, you freeze in the bed. Matty goes still inside of you. 

“Honey?” Your mother calls, sounding worried. 

Your eyes flip to Matty, sending him an alarm call. He looks pointedly to the door, nudging his chin towards you. You miraculously understand. Racking your throat, you say, “Yes?” It comes choked out of you, clearly out of breath, and you cringe at the fact. At least it’s an answer. 

“Are you okay?” She continues. “I heard a thud.” 

Your face wrinkles in annoyance. Matty sighs above you. That fucking bible. How comical that it’s this and not Matty’s literal tongue between your thighs that will bring your downfall. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “I just— knocked something over.” 

After a torturous moment of silence, time and destiny hanging in the air waiting for the final blow, your mother finally answers, “Okay.” 

God is real. Some higher above is watching over you if, for the first time in your life, your nosy mother chose to drop a line of questioning instead of following it to its fatal end. Your eyes find Matty, grinning in surprise. You have to stop yourself from giggling giddily. He smiles back, nosing your neck. 

He moves between your legs again, a slower rhythm, building back to what once was. Pleasant tingles spread up your belly. You frown, biting down a wait or a moan. Your mother can’t be gone yet. She pesters incessantly. Although, if you were to make a noise, she would definitely burst into the room, nose sniffing sin. 

You’re right. “Well, go to sleep soon. It’s late.” You dagger Matty with a stare, trying to send him a telepathic message. She’s there. She’s right there. 

But Matty just smirks against your jaw, curling his fingers perfectly. You arch your back, slapping a hand over your mouth. Fire courses through you, pleasant and all-consuming. 

“Uh-huh,” you manage, spit out between two smothered groans. 

“You need your beauty sleep,” she continues on, always one to martel a point home. “Remember those dreadful eyebags you had a week ago? We don’t want a repeat of that.” 

You were studying for a test, but that reply is too lengthy to come out of your trembling lips. Matty is now shamelessly thrusting into you. He’s risen to his elbow to properly see you struggle through monosyllabic words, like watching you tortured was a personal pleasure. 

Stress and pleasure coaxes through your body with this twisted excitement. Something sick in you likes the idea that your mother is right there, one door away. That if she found you in bed, getting fingered by a filthy boy who laughs in church, she’d faint on the spot. That you’re spitting in her face and she doesn’t even know it. 

You won’t have a wink of sleep. You’ll sport the eyebags proudly. 

Smiling, your legs close around Matty’s hand, trapping him there. He’s so fucking smug and proud, bending down to suck at your nipples. You want to scream. You need to. He’s so— so perfect. If God is real, he made him for you. Built him out of your rib. 

“Yes,” you manage out difficultly, sticky and ill-fitting out of your mouth. 

“I put some spoons in the freezer to help with the puffiness. Of course, nothing is better than prevention.” You can practically hear your mother nod to herself, snobbish and all-knowing. “Good night’s sleep is the best makeup, that’s what I’ve always said.” 

Matty smiles up at you as he bites on your nipple. You roll your eyes, holding back a laugh. “Yes.” Your eyes dig into his dark stare. Yes, yes, yes, yes! is what you mean. 

“Well, I will leave you to it then.” Your mother finally declares. “Goodnight, sweetie. Sweet dreams.” 

Matty’s thumb swipes at your clit in a frenzy. “Night!” High-pitched, transforming into a cry you cruelly kill behind your palm. 

When you hear the steps diminishing in the hallway, you slap Matty’s shoulders. “Asshole,” you bite, but the insult loses all meaning when you’re laughing, rolling your hips into his hand. 

“D’you reckon she knows the ‘sweet dreams’ will be of me?” 

You up your nose. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.” 

Matty laughs, rolling the both of you. He lays on his back as you straddle him, fingers still firmly buried to the knuckles inside of you, hand practically sprouting from his jeans. It’s— It’s phallic, sort of. You blush at the new position, at the feel of his actual hard cock pressing into you, too.

To get you going, Matty’s free hands dig into your ass, puppeteering you to grind into his fingers. You roll your shoulders, shiver dancing down your spine. White heat coils in your belly. 

“Am I wrong?” 

And he’s not, of course. But you don’t want to just let him win. 

Hips rolling on his palm, clit deliciously hitting his wrist, you hold yourself up with two hands on his chest. “There’s a lot of profane men out there.” 

A displeased groan leaves his lips. He wipes his face clean of telltale emotions, cocking his head at your far too proud grin. “Is there?” He whispers dangerously, eyes twinkling. Your belly flexes, some sick thrill at the sight of him, of what he could do. 

To egg him on, you nod eagerly. “Tons. Enough to make my head spin.” 

Matty reaches up, hooking his fingers into the cross tangled in your messy hair. He frees it, letting it dangle between your collarbones, dancing to the sinful rhythm of your hips. He watches the show for a second, enthralled by the necklace, breasts bouncing as you— you ride him. 

Because that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking yourself into his fingers, chasing some new mind-wiping orgasm. Peering down at him through your eyelashes, with his swollen lips and his unruly halo and his dark eyes; some fallen angel orchestrating your dive. 

“D’you think about them a lot?” You can feel him set the trap, dropping pomegranate seeds for you to follow between each word.

“Oh, all the time,” you lie, smile loose and languid on your flushed face. 

Matty’s smirk cuts through his face. “And do they make you wet like this?” He lingers in a quiet moment to prove his point, the sopping sounds of your cunt ringing through the room, heavy breaths harmonizing. You have some leftover decency to blush. “Do they have you purring and dripping on their hands? Moaning so sweetly for them?” Your throat closes on itself, attacked by waves of dirty pleasure. You clench around him, shamelessly scorching for him. Robbed of words, you manage a nod. “Yes?” Matty repeats. Smaller, distracted by the resonating bliss throbbing inside of you, you nod again. 

His voice goes low, rough but implacable. Meant to be listened to, to be obeyed. “Well, that’s not very pious of you, is it?” 

A rush of euphoria. You shake your head fervently, still thrusting into him. “No, Father,” you whimper.  

He cocks his head. “What shall I do with an impure girl like you?” Your eyes close, letting a wave of rapture swim through you. How good he makes the words sound— not mean, not real. 

You hit your hand beside his face, bending over him. It hits a new spot inside of you, sweet moans falling through shamelessly. You grab his free hand, spreading it across your bare throat. 

Matty groans at that. His fingertips dance on your skin, repositioning correctly over your arteries. “You sure?” He pants. 

Again, you nod eagerly. “I want you to.” To unexist. To unmake. To unravel. To unlearn. 

Matty digs his fingers into your neck, pressing meanly. Headrush, pure and saccharine. Your lips part in bliss, eyes rolling in your skull, hips rolling into him. The world swims around you, soupy, lazy. The tips of you burn. You want his handprints on your collar like some branding iron. Want to be his, want to be known.

Matty lets go of you. The world snaps back to reality all at once. You've never been high either, but this must be awfully close to it. Everything is frenzied, electrified and crazed. Exhilaration strikes through you. You laugh at the contrast. You flutter around his fingers; he curls them into you, like an unsaid good girl, some physical sort of praise. 

“How many guys could do this to you?” His hand still ghosts around your neck. 

“Only you,” you say, revering. “It’s only ever you.” 

A flash of elated grin splashes across his face, but it’s wiped clean for a cruel pout. “Oh, poor little girl,” he tsks. “You lied to me?” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, taking his hand and trailing it up your lips. Staring down at him, unflinching, unwilling to blink, you suck him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his fingers. He groans, head falling back tortured. 

“What shall I do with you?” He says roughly. It seems like a genuine question, like he doesn’t quite know. You giggle, laugh choked by his digits. You revel in the fact. To overwhelm Matty Healy himself. To be too much girl, too much hands and skin and hips. To wrap around him. 

Freeing him with a ‘pop’ sound, spit sticking between your tongue and his fingers, you bring them between your thighs, joining its hardworking twins. Wet and crowded, he rubs at your clit instinctively. 

“That’s not quite a punishment now, is it?” He smiles at that. Your free hand presses against his shoulder again, straightening your spine. He’s at a very focused spot between your legs, but you still feel him everywhere. On your stomach, your breasts, your neck. Under your very skin. Everywhere he’s touched, everywhere he’s merely grazed— hell, sometimes you almost believe he’s lodged himself under your lungs, breathing with you.

You shake your head. Feverish elation spreads through you. “Don’t want to be punished.” 

Matty softens at that, toffee eyes growing warm. You could sink into them. “No?” 

You don’t. And, better, you don’t even know why you should be. Why be punished for wanting? You might be a poor collection of sins stretching under a girl, but the names of them fade from your mind as quickly as his thumb swipes at you. Faceless monsters. Unfanged. Uncovered. 

You can have everything you want. You deserve to. 

Staring at him, you grin shamelessly. “Can you eat me again?” 

Matty has never seemed happier than to do anything. For a profoundly rebellious person, he smiles at your demand, boyish and eager to please. You expect him to roll you over, but he takes you by the thighs instead, pulling you over his face. 

You kneel above him, hovering awkwardly, unsure of where to rest. What if you break him? 

You tell him as much, to which he answers, “Well, what a way to die.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m serious.” 

“Don’t worry, love,” Matty smirks, although you can’t really see it when your cunt is blocking the vision. “I’ll haunt you afterwards. Let you know which one of us is right.” Something in you secretly likes that. That he’d linger for you, seep into your routine. 

It hits you almost in surprise. That some part of you might actually like him. Beyond what he makes you feel, beyond the taboo, beyond the serpent smile. 

You don’t have time to meditate on that. He distracts you instantly, peering at you as he whispers, “My choice fruits.” He turns his head at that, kissing your thigh. 

You laugh, a small shiver grazing your spine at his tender lips. “Shut up,” you say, amused, still chuckling. 

Soft and chaste turn into open-mouthed kisses, wet from his tongue, which turn into a bite, sucking at your skin, licking it better afterwards. Your breathing quickens. Excitement drips down your ribs. (Although that might be your heart. You barely can feel it anymore, a small miracle considering how fast it’s racing.)

Your eyes roll back. Something catches your stare— it snaps to the crucifix hanging above your bed. Jesus Christ himself, nailed to his cross, nailed to the wall. Your savior, all-knowing, all-loving. He died for your sins, and this is how you thank him. You swallow thickly. “He’s watching us,” you whisper.  

Matty’s eyes rise to the cross. “Good,” he answers, careless, impossibly nonchalant. You’re glad for him. For ease. “Give him a show.” 

Matty’s hands pull you down to him. You fall on his mouth, moan ripped out of you as you collide with his burning tongue. It’s already working at you, singleminded, passionate. You’ve been teased for long enough— you know it’s a short matter of time before your end, especially with the fervor Matty licks into you. 

Legs spread around his face, he’s swallowing you whole. His hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, blunt claws leaving crescent moons on your skin as a starved groan graces his hungry lips. Your head rolls back, stomach flexing with need. 

Your hands rack through his hair, grabbing a fistful just to tug on it. Your hold is fierce; you soothe the burn away with a thumb, rubbing at his forehead as your fingers wreck ravage on his curls. 

Breathless, scattered moans fall from your lips. The strangled cries, stifled to the best of your abilities, make him buck against nothing. You would feel guilty at that, at taking and taking and giving him nothing in return. Unfortunately, your brain is working overdrive just to remember your own name.

You rock carelessly against his face. You’re unafraid of breaking his neck, chasing your promised release with acute precision. Your clit rolls against the tip of his nose, strikes of euphoria licking up your spine every time you find just the right angle. His tongue laps at your entrance, thrusting inside. 

This is heaven. You do not rest on some material cloud, do not grow feathered wings and shiny halo. You sit on a man’s face and you whine oh, my God. You make it sound sacred. 

God cannot blame you for your blasphemy; if he made this tongue, he understands. 

Your eyes flick to the crucifix. You could say sorry. You should say sorry. 

Instead, they fall back on Matty. Locked with his dark gaze, you rub against him, chanting his name. “I’m— I’m right there—” 

Gently, he bites on your clit. Slash of ecstasy tears through your stomach. It ripples down your limbs, biting through the flesh, leaving you bloody and scarred and, oh, fuck, you’re coming. 

Gripping his curls vengefully, slapping a hand over your mouth, you scream. Your head loosens from your neck, parts of you discombobulating and reattaching in under a second. You break on his tongue. The proverbs were right— it’s a poet’s greatest weapon. 

Once again, you float a moment into the sheer idea that you can. That you did.

Breathing heavily, you unmount him, laughing to yourself. He takes a gasp of air, but he’s just as languidly satisfied as you. Sticky chin shines with the moonlight. 

“That was—” You shake your head, lost for words, falling on the bed beside him. 

“You’re welcome,” he says smugly. You push his shoulder, shaking your head. 

Suddenly, you realize you haven’t— he hasn’t— It cuts through the daze. You blush, a little embarrassed, a little unsure, a little nervous. You rack your throat, frowning. “Do you want me to…” Your eyebrows rise meaningfully. 

“Oh,” Matty exhales. He blushes, too. “Um, no. I’m… taken care of.” 

You can’t control your eyes dipping to his jeans curiously. There it is— wet patch on the front, no trace of his hard cock. Your cheeks redden further, but something in you is unbelievably proud. 

You’ve made Matty Healy come in his pants. Can you add that to your list of accomplishments? 

You roll to your back, trying to hide the self-satisfied grin. You rest your head against his shoulder. “You know, in second grade, they told us the white marks on our fingernails were signs we had committed mortal sins.” You don’t know why you say it. It bubbles out of you, beyond your usual tyrannical filter. 

Matty sighs, racking a hand through the sweaty locks. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Yes, it was he.” He snorts at that. 

His shoulder pushes your head up. “Well, let’s see them, then. How many sins have you got?” 

You flaunt your nails, raising your arms over your heads. Matty narrows his eyes, inspecting the handful of white marks dusting your fingertips. He takes one hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, bringing it down for a closer analysis. The flutter spreading through your stomach is different than usual. 

You watch his side profile, suddenly desperate to memorize all angles of him. He throws you a playful glance, teasing, “How many of those are about me?”

You scoff, ripping your hand away as he laughs. “You’re a child.”

“No, no. I’m truly impressed.” He grins. “You got more than me.” He shows off his hands in turn. Blunt nails, cut too short, roughened by guitar strings, but practically spotless.

“Well, maybe I’ll be the one corrupting you.” 

Matty rolls over you, pressing a kiss on your lips. “I’ll take it with open arms,” he whispers, then leaves another one, just a little longer, a bit more wistful. Against your mouth, he says, “Forsake me, angel.” 

You shake your head, nose wrinkling. “That’s an oxymoron.” 

Matty rolls his eyes, nearing your lips again. “Stop talking.”

You gasp, cheerfully crying, “The roles really have reversed!”

But he seemed to mean it when he said stop talking, because he doesn’t bother with an answer. His mouth finds yours, hand holding onto your jaw as he draws secrets out of your wanton lips. It’s slow, devoid of the frenzied rush you’ve spent the night in. It leaves you floating, dazing, thoughts incoherently blurring away. 

“I should go,” Matty declares, breaking away from you. Your heart pinches. 

“Yeah,” you nod along, more to convince yourself than him. “I should get some sleep or my mom will freak about eyebags.”

Matty laughs, then surprises you with a kiss on your forehead. Of all the places his mouth has been, this is where you feel him burning the most. “Goodnight, angel.” 

He rolls out of bed, catching his discarded shirt and pulling it back on, slipping into his sneakers next. You're sad to see him like this; put-together, balanced. Throwing the window open, he sneaks out, leaving you with only one last heated look. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, you think once he’s gone and the room still smells like him. Your thighs are sticky with your drying juices and sport— you look down at them to make sure and, yes— a purple hickey with the shape of his lips. You're naked, ravaged, undone. And he's walking the streets right now with the taste of you still on his tongue.

Your eyes fall on the crucifix still towering over your bed. There’s really no going back, is there?

#this is.... yeah. #take a shot everytime 'you want him' shows up #religious traumatized girlies will have a field trip with this one! #matty healy #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 #the 1975 smut #smut #writing #imagine #pray for my soul

[shootingstar-scuderia]

tomorrow never knows

summary: oscar knows a lot of things but when logan seat gets taken from him it turns out that oscar really doesn't know anything at all

(or my brain is still stuck on australia 24 and one (1) line from taylor swift and phoebe bridger's nothing new )

Oscar knows it before the news even breaks. He’s hanging around the garage, antsy, waiting for one of his engineers to get back to him about the data they were going over earlier.

He’s been on edge all day really, anxiety chewing on him in ways that don’t make sense. He’s at his home race, surrounded by fans who love him, who are excited to see him race and somehow that’s not the part he’s nervous about.

He’s nervous about Logan. Worried about whatever is happening behind closed doors at Williams. There hasn’t been any official statement yet, but the writing is on the wall. 

There have been whispers of it all over the paddock, murmurs of “that’s tough luck” or “what a shit thing to do to your driver” throughout the McLaren garage. No one is too worried about it really, Logan’s not their driver, but Oscar can still feel something still hangs thick in the air. It’s the knowing he thinks, the waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then the other shoe does drop.

The other shoe drops and it’s like nothing has even happened. Everyone in the garage is still going about their jobs, unaffected by the news. Head down, it’s not your team, it’s not McLaren. And Oscar thinks that he would be the same way too, if it was someone else and not logan. He thinks he’d be able to get by on a shared look with Lando and a murmured “horrible.”

But it’s not. It’s Logan. And Oscar is with a rage that simmers under the profound sadness he feels. Because he knows what this means for Logan and he knows what this means for them.

It’s almost unconscious the way his feet move. One moment he’s in the McLaren garage and the next he's in Williams trying to find Logan. Trying not to think about the way his eyes water when he’s distraught. The way he shifts his feet from side to side, when he’s antsy and desperate to be anywhere but where he is right now.

When Oscar does see him it’s not a pretty sight. He can see the panic in Logan’s body, torn between fight or flight, surrounded by his team in a way that Oscar knows is suffocating rather than comforting. 

He breaks through the little circle that’s formed and grabs Logan by the shoulder to pull him away from everyone. Oscar doesn’t even care that people try to stop them, single mindedly focused on corralling Logan down the corridor and into his driver’s room.

“Osc, what are you- they still- I’m so,” Logan’s neck cranes to look behind him, but his feet keep the marching pace Oscar has set.

Oscar gives Logan a quick squeeze, “I know,” he says. “I know. They can wait.”

He sits Logan down on the little massage table that’s been set up and settles down next to him, pulling him close. “Come ‘ere.”

And that all it takes for Logan to throw his arms over Oscar’s shoulders and bury himself into him.

“It’s so unfair.”

“I know Logs, it’s not fair at all.”

“I know.” It seems to be all Oscar can say and he hates it. Because it’s not really true is it? He doesn’t really know, does he? He doesn't know how it feels, he doesn't know why Williams did it, he doesn’t know anything at all.

“What’s worse is that I think I could have done it. I could have gotten us points.”

And the only thing Oscar can do is pull Logan even closer to him, “they’re making a mistake, you would have gotten points. I know it.”

Logan doesn’t cry, he just lets out a shuddering breath, his body sagging against Oscar’s.

“No you don’t,” Logan says his voice wavering, “you don’t know that.”

And Oscar knows he’s right. He knows that they’ll never get the chance to know if Logan could have gotten points this weekend. That they were robbed of it before they even could figure it out.

“And I know what people will say,” he continues, “I know they’ll be saying that it makes sense from a points perspective, that they did what they had to do. And they’ll say that I’d be better suited in Indy, at something else.” 

Logan sighs, his whole body collapsing in on itself. “But I don’t want to be better at something else, I want to be better at this.”

And Oscar knows that too. Because he knows Logan, because he knows that it was always the dream. That it was supposed to be the two of them, on the podium together, winning championships.

It feels impossible to know if this holds true now. A couple years ago, when they were moving from F3 to F2 and winning, they knew there was a chance. But when they were younger, they knew this without a doubt. They knew that it would be Logan and Oscar, Oscar and Logan, racing each other until time itself stopped.

How could they have known everything at 15 and 16, but nothing at 22 and 23?

He’ll come with Logan to the track tomorrow Oscar thinks, hide him away in McLaren for a little bit until he has to go and play nice with everyone for the cameras. And he’ll hold Logan close tonight and stop him from thinking of the future, of the cliffside of legacy they’re teetering on the edge of. That much he knows and that’s enough for tomorrow. And for the day after that, and for the day after that. 

Oscar knows that Williams didn’t make the right choice, but they made a choice and they’ll continue to make choices. Choices about Logan’s future in F1, choices that will shape his image as a driver. Choices that they can’t control and ones they won’t know about but will have to face together.

Oscar can only hope that when the time comes they’ll make the right choices.

#loscar #loscar fanfic #logan sargeant x oscar pisastri #oscar piastri x logan sargeant #oscar piastri #op81 #logan sargeant #ls2 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #australia gp 2024 #f1

[ladydommestrescu]

Fight or Flight

pairing: alcina dimitrescu x reader

summary: you're a former maid at castle dimitrescu, now married to alcina. but when she gets mad enough to turn her anger toward you, your paniced brain turns back time.

tw: physical violence (not described)

it's been a while since you've been told to clean anything in castle dimitrescu under the fear that you would be sent to the basement if you didn't

you had barely gotten to know your routine when you stepped into a room one day and saw alcina taking her anger out on another maid you didn't even know the name of

it seemed like her brother had upset her at mother miranda's meeting (again) and a small mistake by the maid had been blown out of proportion to relieve the lady's stress

in doing so, it quickly became physical

the (extremely) tall woman's impeccable hearing didn't catch you walking in when all she could focus on was a tea cup she didn't hate lying broken on the floor from the clumsy maid

you were too afraid to move

after her anger subsided just enough, she called her daughters in and allowed them a new play-thing to have in the basement

she just barely caught sight of another woman running away from the door on the other side of the room

she was more pleased than anything to instill more fear into a second victim

since then, you were not sure if the lady knew it was you or not who saw the incident that day

a while after that, the lady needed a new personal maid as her former one was now... preoccupied

she chose you after seeing you make a point to stay out of her way

if it worked out, she got a maid who she wouldn't have to worry about

if it didn't, she got a snack

it worked out

maybe a little too well

you grew to be a confidant in her frustration toward her brother and she eventually took a liking toward you when she told you to finally speak your mind

long story short, she developed a soft spot for you that lead to your relationship and marriage

you'd been surprised when you fell in love with the woman you were so afraid of so long ago

until now

her brother had seemed to upset her beyond the expected amount this time

she had been in your shared room when you came in to comfort her like you usually did

you didn't expect it to get this bad

she had thrown her own vanity (again) and was moving on to other furniture in the room

you tried to talk to her but she threw a chair at the wall next to you, not realizing exactly where you were standing, and proceeded to turn toward you while screaming

your brain goes into fight or flight mode as your love hasn't looked at you in this way since she learned your name

the first thing it does is look toward the ground as you loudly whispered a "yes, my lady"

alcina pauses, confused as to why you would call her that at this point

she looks back to you and notices you won't look at her and have your shaking hands clasped in front of you

it takes her a second to realize what she has done through her anger

alcina knew you knew what she was like to others, but was sure she was never like that with you or maybe even around you

until she remembers one incident where she never caught a maiden's face after they ran from the room

she couldn't breathe for a moment after the realization

"oh draga, no, no, no, I'm so sorry"

she immediately goes toward you and reaches her hand out to touch your cheek

you flinch away

alcina retracts her hand quickly when her eyes start tearing up from the confirmation

her next reaction is to prove that you're not the maid your mind is telling you you are

"my love, I'm so sorry"

no change

she sticks with the idea and goes to grab her old sweater she keeps in the back of the closet that she knows you love

"please, my lady, sit, I will get it"

"Draga, no, please, let me"

"I can do it"

"I know you can, but please, sit for me"

you follow her command and sit on the chaise, hands in your lap and not looking at her in the eye, hoping to avoid angering her more

her heart breaks as she watches your out-of-practice motions

she grabs the sweater and sprays more of her own perfume onto the fabric

she sits next to you and throws it over your shoulders

you're still tense and out of it

she hopes that having her sweater around you will help you differentiate yourself from others as she would NEVER let another maid lay more than a hand on her clothes when putting them away or washing them

she hopes that the smell from the clothing will stick to you after

she puts her arms around you, pulls you into her lap, and starts rocking you

your first instinct at that moment is to tilt your head to the side so she can take a bite from your neck

the motion makes the tears start falling down her face

"no, iubirea mea, not that" and she tucks your own head into her neck as she rubs up and down your back while holding you impossibly close

she continues to whisper how much she loves you, more sweet nothings, and how grateful she is to have you as her wife forever

her heart breaks as she waits for your heart to stop racing and your brain to catch up

it feels like an eternity until she feels your own arms wrap around hers, keeping her close

"i'm so sorry iubirea mea, i would never hurt you, i'm, so so sorry"

"i know you wouldn't. i love you too alcina, always"

#alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village

[l3viat8an]

OMG FINALLY!!

I've been trying to send an ask for the past 3 days and it wouldn't let me 😭

The levi brainrot is bad‼️

Okay so imagine this

After living in the hol for a while you notice things begin to go missing, specifically your panties. You decide your just being forgetful of where you placed your things and move on. One day, Levi asks you to meet him in his room, but when you arrive he isn't there. You wait for awhile but he shows no sign of arriving, so you, being the little nosey thing you are, begin to look around. It starts off innocent, your admiring his figurine collection when you see a hint of red fabric out of the corner of your eye. You walk over to his bed and grab the clothing item to find its your..panties? You look down and see a box peaking out from under his bed, you grab and open it. It's all of your panties that went missing! But, why does levi have it? You hear the door open and then leviathan screams. You turn around, box in hand, and see how red levi is. I mean, he's redder then the fabric you were previously holding. He begins to stutter out an explanation and it finally hits you. "Your a pathetic little panty stealer, huh levi? He practically moans at your words as you notice his growing buldge. You look at him, a devilish look in your eyes. "Y'know, if you wanted me this bad all you had to do was ask." Hes panting at this point so desperate for your harsh words "But now that you've gone and been a little thief, you'll have to beg for it." You slowly walk towards him, "Well? Are you gonna be a good little slut and beg?"

That got a lot longer then I planned it to be 🧍‍♀️

-🕸

Nsfw content MDNI

Istg I still don’t know what’s wrong with my ask box 😭 it hates me I swear!- and uhhhh idk what happened Levi just eats at my brain 🧍🏼‍♀️CW: probably typos, sorry!! dom (?) gn!reader. Hand job / blowjob, ruined orgasm, degrading, lil bit of marking (my biting kink tbh) (Levi receiving all of it!!) 

Levi felt heat rush to his face at your words, his breath hitching as he tried to wrap his head around the situation. He had never wanted you to find out……but at the same time, the way you immediately talked down to him….well, he’s a pervert….it turned him on.

"I-I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself…” Levi whispered, his eyes locked onto the floor. "Please...please…..please let me make it up to you. I'll do anything. P-please…”

You smirked at his words, just taking a moment and basking in the power you held over him. You slowly walked towards him, your hand reaching down to grab his stiffening cock, clicking your tongue in mock disappointment, "Anything, huh? Well then, let's see just how far you're willing to go.”

Levi let out a small whimper as you began stroking his cock through his pants. He was completely under your control….and he loved it~

"Please, please, please f-fuck…please M-MC, I'll- I meant it!! I’ll do anything, just t-tell me….” he begged, his hips thrusting into your hand.

You pull his cock out and rub your thumb over the tip, giving him a few slow strokes, “Then you’ll be good for me, right Levi?”

Levi nodded, immediately, “Y-yes!! I'll be good for you, MC, I- I- oh fuck- I promise…please” Levi replied, his voice shaking as you continue to tease his cock.

Levi whines as the feeling of pleasure building as you worked him harder. Soon he was gasping for breath. Fuck it felt good to have such a powerful demon weak from your touch~

You leaned in close, your hot breath tickling his ear. "Dirty pervert…..you really are gross Levi…” you murmured, as you brought your lips to his neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. “Yes!! I am, s-so gross…p-p-please don’t stop!!!”

Levi moaned, his hand reaching up trying to grab onto your hair as he tried to keep himself from giving into the pleasure, just yet.

Obviously you weren't done with him~ You pulled away from his neck, eyes locking with his as you slowly sink to your knees.

"At least you know…..but now…let's see just how good you can be.” you said, as you wrap your lips around his cock.

Your lips and tongue working in tandem to push Levi closer to the edge. You could feel his body tensing up with every passing second, his hips  subconsciously thrusting forward as he gave in to the warmth of your mouth.

With each flick of your tongue, each gentle suck of your lips, he was pushed closer and closer to his orgasm. Levi is panting heavily now, one hand covering his face as the other tangled desperately in your hair as he begged for release. Endlessly self-degrading words fell from his lips as you sucked him off……

Before Levi knew it, you were pulling away….his orgasm ruin and you standing up, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

A satisfied smirk across your face when Levi sobbed out “W-why w-what are you doing?!?” But you still pulled away, "I'd say you made it up to me, Levi.” you said, a sly twinkle in your eye, as you made your way to his bedroom door.

Opening the door and stepping out into the hall, “Oh and Levi~” you waited until he looked at you, “-no cumming until I say you can.” and you’re gone.

Leaving a very red, very horny and very upset Levi in his room. Alone again.

#🕸 anon! #told you I got it lol #this ended up uhhh yea- idk- heh- my brain got an idea ‘n ran with it 🏃🏼‍♀️💨 #obey me! #obey me smut #om! levi #om! leviathan #om! smut #om! gn!reader #obey me gn!reader #obey me #om! #obmswd #obey me levi x reader smut #obey me levi x reader #obey me levi x you #obey me leviathan smut #obey me leviathan #obey me levi smut #obey me leviathan x reader #om! x reader #obmswd smut #obmswd leviathan #obmswd levi #obmswd levi x reader #roro writes #pervs <3

[aguzsstuff]

Hannibal's ocd headcanons!

cw: very basic talk about mental health and ocd, can be triggering so be aware.

Three people said I should share my headcanons so here I am, first of all what's ocd? OCD is the acronym for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a mental disorder that affects daily life making the person have intrusive thoughts that distress them and lead to compulsive behavior like the ones I'll be talking now.

Why do I headcanon that Hannibal has OCD?

through the series Hannibal shows a lot of subtle ticks, changes of behaviors, change of tones, subtle facial expressions that really made me realize that he has a lot of moments where their thoughts seem to fight his actions, something I feel a lot when I'm on a bad day, and I have a great amount of ocd symptoms (another undiagnosed thing, thanks argentinian healthcare) and so I made headcanons about it I won't extend to much on this.

What kind of OCD could distress Hannibal Lecter?

I know I know, a cannibalistic serial killer seen to be feeding his intrusive thoughts, but I don't think so, Hannibal's ocd has nothing to do with killing, hurting, made anything unmoral, Hannibal's OCD lays on dirtiness and rudeness.

Hannibal hates rude people, he hated rudeness as a whole and same thing with dirtiness, but not necessarily as something that's inherently bad, but something that he could never be and disgusts him profoundly.

What kind of intrusive thoughts does he have?

I've been thinking on a few and his consecuences.

Screaming in the middle of a lecture with other professionals, it distressed him to the point he stopped going.

Talking too loud or aggressive to someone else, he never ever raised his voice and sometimes even talked in whispers.

Yawning in the Opera, he ends up with his hand bleeding because he pinch himself from time to time to avoid it.

Forgetting his plastic suit, he can't even remember how many times he looked at himself, he knows he's wearing it, it can be so frustrating that he sometimes had to walk back and make sure of it twice plus times.

Being rude himself, sometimes his brain will scream insults and curses and he would go purposefully mute to avoid saying those words out loud.

Accidentally throwing garbage out of the trashcan, he has to make sure a lot even when he knows he did throw it in place.

What about Will rudeness?

I think Hannibal found Will's rudeness endearing because he was pretty not gonna lie, still there's moments when he seems about to correct him, but he doesn't, because for him correcting an adult man on his manner would show rudeness on his part.

Thank you for reading !

I'm one of those people who like to think a lot and I can't help but spiraling on some headcanons, maybe this could gave you all some fanfics ideas too.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal headcanons #headcanon #ocd #mental health talk from a mentally ill person #feel free to add anything!!

[interestinglittlerelationship]

We Should Kiss Like Real People Do

It’s finally time! This was so much fun! @jatpfebfanfest

This is for @princessmuk

“Wait, wait, wait, explain this to me again?” Julie says, tilting her head at him in confusion.

“Aragagh,” Alex groans, “I’ve explained it twice already,” he tilts his head at her, “Shouldn’t you know all about this, already? Willie is basically your brother.”  

Julie flings herself down next to him, “I know about the stupid family reunion thing, yeah, but why are you going?”

“Because Willie doesn’t want to go alone,” Alex supplies.

“Right, but…” and then she seems to stop herself, “You know what? Never mind. So, Willie asked you to be his fake boyfriend, and you said yes?”

Alex face plants into Julie’s pile of pillows, “Yes,” he mutters. This does nothing to block out the sound of Julie’s giggles, “I hate you,” he adds, rolling over and hugging a pillow to his chest.

After a moment he feels Julie’s arm press up against his side, “I’m sorry, Lexi,” she says seriously, “this is just a situation so ridiculous only you could have managed to end up in it.”

“Thanks, that just make me feel loads better.” 

Julie sighs, “It’s really going to be okay, Alex.”

“You think? Because I think I’m gonna get my heart broken.”

“I’m fairly confident that’s not going to happen, besides you already said yes,” she points out.

“I know,” he whispers.

“So, what are you going to do?”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s nothing he can do. Willie is his best friend and he needs help. Alex has to do this even if it destroys him, “I’m going to be Willie’s fake boyfriend.”

The time of his demise is delayed slightly by the fact this “favor” Willie asked him for is actually a week away. For someone with a normally functioning brain that might be a good thing, but Alex is far too anxious, and simply comes up with ten new ways it could go horribly wrong with each passing day.

His friends are unsurprisingly the opposite of helpful. Bobby straight up laughs in his face when he finds out, pats him on the shoulder, and says, “Good luck with that.” Reggie gets really excited and insists that this is the start of Alex’s very own rom-com, and then goes on a long-winded tangent about movies where the two main characters start fake dating and end up falling in actual love. Luke, at least, seems properly sympathetic but offers exactly zero practical advice.

Willie, for his part seems remarkably unconcerned about the many possible ramifications of this deal of theirs. Then again, Willie seems remarkably unconcerned about most things. It’s part of the reason Alex likes him so much, Willie balances him out somehow. Calms the whirlwind in his brain.

Willie is holding his hand.

Honestly, he’s having a hard time focusing on anything other than that fact. And he knows it’s for show, that they’re walking up Willie’s uncle’s driveway and someone might see, but none of that matters because Willie is holding his hand.

“This is going to be easy. You already know everything about me and they know practically nothing. You probably won’t even have to lie that much,” Willie is saying and Alex is nodding like a bobble head even though he’s only half listening, “Besides,” Willie adds, “it’s only for the day anyway.”

And that snaps Alex right back to reality. Because tomorrow he’s going to have to go back to pretending like he isn’t in love with his best friend. And he’s going to have to pretend like that fact isn’t slowly killing him. And none of this is real and Alex sort of wants to cry.

Instead, he says, “Right, no big deal.”

Willie yanks them to a stop on the bottom step, tugging his lip between his teeth for a second, “Seriously, Lexi, thank you for doing this.” And then he does the most unbelievable thing and reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind Alex’s ear. It does absolutely nothing since his hair is not actually long enough to stay put, but Alex melts anyway.

“Hey,” he says, squeezing Willie’s hand, “anytime.”

Willie blushes, “Yeah,” he breathes, turning away, “um, ready to do this?”

Alex shrugs, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As Willie introduces him around, Alex starts to relax. Really, pretending to be Willie’s boyfriend is not nearly as hard as he thought it would be. They hold hands and when anyone asks how they met, they tell the truth, “We were friends first.” Willie calls him truly ridiculous pet names like, “Hotdog” and “Honeyboo” which make some of his aunts coo at them.

Willie had basically said that he didn’t want to go to this party alone because all his relatives were awful, but that he’d only be allowed to bring someone if they were dating.

And yeah, Willie’s aunts and uncles are all a little distant and awkward, but seems mostly unbothered by their snubs.

His cousins, on the other hand are admittedly sort of awful, the kind of spoiled rich kids who think their money entitles them to look down on everyone else, but they pretty much leave the two of them alone too.

Willie’s mom had been the black sheep of the family, a free-spirit artist, who had run off with Willie’s dad right out of high school. Willie had never seen his mom’s family growing up, but after she and his dad died in a car accident, his attendance at these yearly reunions had become mandatory out of some twisted sense of duty or something. The rest of the year, Willie lives with his dad’s best friend, Ray, who is apparently not allowed to attend either.

Alex isn’t quite sure how to help, but Willie never once lets go of his hand, so maybe just being there is enough.

It’s a long afternoon, but only slightly painful, and then suddenly they’re climbing back into the car.

It takes a few seconds for Alex to realize that Willie hasn’t actually put the key into the ignition, or for that matter, let go of Alex’s hand.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs, “you okay?”

Willie drops his head onto Alex’s shoulder, “It’s just so exhausting, you know?”

Alex hums, because he doesn’t really.

“They’re all so fake, being all polite, and acting like they want to know me, but they didn’t fucking want me.”

Alex realizes then that Willie is crying, and he tries to shift so he can pull him into a hug, but Willie won’t let go of his hand.

“And I love Ray, I do, and it’s not like I want to live with them, but they spent my whole childhood pretending I didn’t exist and then when they were forced to acknowledge me, they still didn’t want me. And I lied to you. Ray usually goes with me and they wouldn’t have cared if I’d brought a friend as long as they could put on their little ‘happy family show,’ but I wanted you, and I wanted to be able to hold your hand, and now I don’t want to let go because I love you so much, but you probably don’t want me either.”

And Alex is, well, Alex is trying to wrap his head around the fact that his whole entire world just got rewritten. Because even if that was a bunch of heartbreaking word salad, he’s pretty sure Willie just said he loved him.

And this is why he doesn’t respond nearly fast enough, giving Willie the time to realize what he just said and freak out about it. Honestly, it’s all very Alex of him.

He tries to pull away, but this time, it’s Alex who won’t let go.

“Hey,” he says softly, and when Willie just keeps fighting against him, he says it louder, “Hey!” Willie freezes, staring at him, wide-eyed, “I’m, like, stupid in love with you too.”

Willie blinks, and Alex has a feeling his whole world is rewriting itself too.

“Oh,” he says, “Well, that’s convenient.”

Alex smiles at him, “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

The sit there smiling at each other, and they’re both crying still too, but none of that matters because Willie loves him.

“So, um, I’m gonna kiss you now,” Willie whispers.

“Okay,” Alex whispers back.

#jatp 2024 feb fan fest #julie and the phantoms #willex for the soul #fake dating #love confessions #i hope you like it

[mushroom-witch-writes]

Empty Sounds of Hate

Chaper 1

Eddie Munson x f!reader

Genre: enemies to lovers, angst

Warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol/ smoking

Note: So this is my first story after a while, a bit shit , but that's okay cuz the next chapters will be angstier promse. Slightly proofread. Feel free to point out any warnings or typos I might have missed. love you all <3

Word count: 1.708

Just another day walking to school. You had just missed the buss of course ,but it gave you time to think so it wasn’t that bad. Music blasted in your ears and the cold morning breeze was hitting your face as a white, beat up van stopped  beside you. Not just any white beat up van, Munson’s van. “Morning poser, exercising to fit that sex bomb bad bitch persona are we?” the brown haired boy asked with a mocking tone “how bout you fuck off Munson? It’s 8 in the morning and I’m not in the mood for this” he laughed and licked his lips “oh you know how I love it when you get feisty y/n” you gave him the finger before he drove off and mouthed “prick”.

You and Munson had history , well , in your head at least. You used to go crazy over him when you first arrived to Hawkins. You tried on different styles to find what fits you best and hanging out with Harrington and his clique of assholes was the thing that made Eddie hate you. After Steve graduated you figured you should stick to your own personal style which for the most part matched Eddie’s ,but of course then he assumed that you’re just posing as something you’re not, like you had in the past.

School was hell. Not because something out of the blue happened, but because it was so boring. You were packing up your stuff next to Robin when she spoke “ So Steve said there’s a party at Claire’s tonight” she said with a smirk “ we could check it out, I mean spring break starts tomorrow “ you looked at her with a straight face “ a little fun can’t hurt I guess” you replied and she jumped up. Munson walked down the hall and Robin’s face instantly lit up , you mouthed a no to her but to no avail “ hey creep you should check Claire’s party tonight with us, good for business” she whispered the last part. “only if my favourite person tags along” he said with some theatrics here and there “now that I think about it I have a thing to do” you said smirking at him “ great so we’re all going” Robin said.

Evening came and you were all dressed up , wearing a short zip up leather skirt , leopard top , fishnet tights , hair all poofed up and messy , looking like a rock star’s wet dream. Your mom dropped you off at the family video to wait for your friends and then head to the party together. “…yeah I get it okay? I just think that the Lost Boys is the best vampire film till now” you argued with Steve “yea cause you have no taste y/n” That was when you heard a van pull up blasting Iron  Maiden “uh guys , why is HE here?” you asked half panicked. It’s not like you didn’t know that he was coming , just the fact that he would see you right now , in that lighting made you self conscious. Okay maybe you weren’t over the whole crush on Eddie Munson.

“ Does my hair look like a rat’s nest?” you asked Steve and he smiled mischievously “why do you care?” he replied as Munson walked in. When his eyes landed on you his entire brain shut off. “ Oh Munson don’t start” you said right of the bat before he could say anything. His palms were sweating and he couldn’t ,for the life of him, find the right thing to say. “No I was thinking… I’m really high right now…the lights in here probably freaked me out” he said finishing with an awkward laugh. You just stayed there just gawking at each other while Steve and Robin just stared in accomplishment. “ooookay we shall go” Robin finally said. They closed up and you all walked out the family video.

“ There’s this problem, Steve’s car is full of boxes and it only fits two, hope you have no problem riding there with Eddie?” Steve looked confused ,as always “No it’s no-“  Robin elbowed him “oh right, the boxes , yea, filled, sorry” he said. “ I hate you guys” you said and walked to Munson’s van . “ Ah princess, why is your carriage leaving without you?” he said while rolling a cig “ because this is my carriage tonight” you said showing him his van. He looked at you wide eyed and laughed while mouthing something along the lines of ‘these assholes’ “ okay , do you mind me smoking ? Actually don’t reply, I don’t really care. Hop in” this was going to be fun.

“ Seriously Munson, you enjoy smoking that?” you asked while you were rolling your own “ you’re not here to lecture me for smoking sweetheart you’re here t- oh ,ohhh look at that” he said when he heard the clicking noise of your lighter. He kept driving and you both laughed a little. The ride was quiet, you would both steal looks from each other. “hey Eddie, quick question” “I don’t think I’ll be replying ,but shoot” he said in monotone “ why do you hate me so much? I mean, have I done something to you?” ‘ yes you have been haunting my whole entire existence ever since you came and I can’t allow a person to come too close’ he thought but spat out “ I just don’t like you. No reason behind it other than the fact that you’re pretentious.”

You regretted ever asking. The car fell quiet again. He parked and you got out as quick as you could and slammed his door. He looked at you and cursed himself for being the asshole he is. You were hurt at his words ,but this wasn’t the time for this, tonight you were going to have fun. You walked in to find Robin.

Once you found her you took her hand and ran to the kitchen to get boose. “ so how was your ride” she asked smiling while you poured the drink in your cup. “ I still hate you” you replied smiling to hide the fact that his words popped in your mind again. “let’s go dance I don’t want to think about that asshole right now” you said after taking a big ship. She led you to the living room and you booth started dancing at the sound of ABBA. Yea you were into metal and rock , but no one can deny ABBA.

An hour passed and you were both drunk out of your minds. Steve was dancing with you after getting rejected by half the girls in the party. “ hey I’ll go get a refill, be right back” you probably shouldn’t drink more ,but tonight you wanted to feel numb. As you got to the counter where the drinks were , you were greeted by non other than Jack Miles. He was a douchebag sure , but he was also the school’s heartthrob right now. “ hey y/n , didn’t know these parties were your ‘scene’” he said with a soft smile. From the corner of your eye you noticed Eddie looking, you don’t know why but you were hoping he would get jealous.

“ it’s not my scene, I’m spicing it up” you replied smiling and looking for a filled bottle “looking for this?” he asked bottle in hand “ yea thanks” you said holding out your cup as he refilled it “ so y/n , we should hang out sometime” “ aren’t we hanging out now?” you asked with a smile leaning towards him “ sometime when we’re not both drunk out of our minds so I can do what I’ve been meaning to for so long” you batted your eyelashes at him “ and what would that be?” you asked trying to look as flirty as you could “well I really wanted to kiss you ,you know…” he said coming closer when all of the sudden you felt an arm around your shoulder. “ hey babe, missed you back there, oh hi Jack?” Eddie said “ yea yea Jack..ugh I gotta go I think the boys are ready to leave, see you around y/n” he said leaving.

You chugged your drink while Eddie laughed , threw his arm off your shoulder and ran out the house. He ran after you “ Did you see that guys face? Hahaaaa oh come on y/n that was funny as fuck” you turned to him “ what the fuck is wrong with you Munson?” he smiled down at you “oh did I fuck up your night love ?” you walked closer “fuck you Munson , I was having fun with that guy” you said angrier than ever.

 Steve and Robs walked out the house and saw you two arguing “hey what’s wrong” Steve asked carrying Robin “ Eddie the virgin Munson decided to spoil my fucking night because he can’t stand to see me having fun with someone” it was true , but not because he didn’t want you to have fun with someone ,but because he would kill to be that someone. “ you’re making it sound like I would ever give a damn about you. I fucked up your night and I couldn’t be happier” your eyes started welling up as you stepped even closer pulling his chin close to you “ don’t ever come near me again, I’m done with your bullshit, I’m done with you being a fucking piece of shit and I’m done with trying to put up with your shit. I fucking despise you Eddie Munson” you spat out with a trembling voice.

 He just looked at you , he didn’t move nor did he say anything. Just looked at the only girl he had eyes for walk away crying, because that’s what Eddie did. He fucked everything up and then did nothing about it. “ you are a jerk man” Steve said walking Robin to his car “ don’t go after her, not that you would. I’ll take her home. You should go home too” he told Eddie before he left.

#eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #enemies to lovers #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie angst #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie monson x y/n #stranger things fanfic #eddie smut #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things smut #stranger things 4 #robin buckley #fanfiction #eddie x y/n #stranger things season four #stranger things angst #fluff #steve harrington series #steve x eddie #steve harrington drabble #steve x reader #steve x billy #stranger things four #st s4 #st season 4

[bri-the-fando-meister]

A Long Time Coming

Gally X Original character female (OC IS THE POV)

TW: Assault, fight, yelling, first-time sex

Shit, I'm doing smut. Hate me later, read it now

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The backstory:

You and Gally had a relationship that many would call, a love hate relationship. You could barely say you were friends, you had a tolerance for each other, yeah, that's what it was, a tolerance.

Now being the only girl in the glade however, it kind of made you like the fact that Gally wasn't begging for you to do him, it was actually somewhat nice, having someone that hated you.

You, Paisley the rebellious Paisley hated? Never. The fact that the boys were head over heels for you was, definitely something.

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"Hey Paisley, are you actually going to build or what?"

"Oh darling, go buy a bloody brain. You, shank, should already know that I rather climbing all the things that we, I mean you, dearest Gally builds."

"Oh, fuck you Paisley."

"I mean, if you insist" you look at Gally, grinning, but you knew if you went at it much longer you would step the line.

"I'd be in the right mind to call a bloody meeting of my fellow keepers and have you thrown in the slammer. Tread lightly, shuckface."

Now, as you'd learn soon, Gally would keep his word.

"Well, Gally's point still stands. Paisley doesn't chip in, she does no work."

"Newt, c'mon. I am not meant to be a builder, I want to do something where I can get rid of my energy, roam free or something."

Newt pulled Minho to the side, it was definitely something, why the shuck would Newt involve Minho, he was a runner, not a builder or a keeper of anything even closely related, wait, he was a runner, he got rid of energy, and got to roam free. Shit, Newt didn't think, shuck did he?

Minho looked at you, then back at Newt. They continued to talk, after they talked, they nodded in agreement.

"Hey Alby, C'mere for a second."

"Yeah, Newt, Minho, what's up?"

They whispered again, this time, it was Alby who nodded.

"Everybody quiet down, we have come to a conclusion."

Each keeper in the room took to their seats without a word, waiting eagerly to see what you were in for.

"Gally, I would like you to state what has been happening, for everyone to understand the situation."

"Ok, as everyone knows, Paisley, is not a very hard worker, and of all the jobs in the glade, she has failed to do any of them. With me, she is a bit more tame, because she is seriously just climbing around, she has seriously only built one thing. A shucking climbing frame."

A few people laughed at Gally's proclamation, a few look at you in annoyance.

"Okay, okay. Newt and myself have come to an agreement with one of the other keepers. Paisley has stated that she needed to get rid of her energy and roam free. Make you think of a job anyone?"

Frypan was first to speak "Runner?"

"Right on mate, Minho has agreed to this."

Minho nodded, he always liked a challenge, but, the two most sarcastic and snarky people in the glade, being cooped up with each other for 6-8 hours at a time, that, could get interesting.

Gally rolled his eyes, "Come on, give her the title of being a runner and then she can stay in the shucking maze for as long as she wants, you won't be able to get her out of there."

"Now now Gally the superhero, keep on rolling your eyes, who knows, maybe one day you will find the brain I told you to buy. Anyways Gally, you are seriously concerned or something."

"Oh you stupid klunk, I am just saying that you will probably stay in there, hopefully getting trapped. Then we won't have to deal with your shenanigans anymore, don't you get it, you, don't, belong. You aren't normal" he said the last two sentences with spite.

"Gally, Gally, Gally. How hard it must be for you, using all of your vocabulary in one statement. Also, define normal."

"Paisley, how about we go outside." a voice said, it was manipulated, like Gally's but also like Newt's, assuming it was Newt's you just walked outside.

Only after you got a few meters outside of council hall did you turn around. There he was, Gally, looking fuming.

"You better watch your self, you are getting so fucking close to being dead meat. I promise you, you don't want to be a runner."

"Well I don't give a fuck"

Gally, the giant he was, towered over you furious.

"You aren't my keeper anymore, that is Minho's job now, you are now a fucking nobody to me in this glade, you are just, another, person"

Gally, not being able to hold his temper, swung at you, aiming for your gut. Luckily you ducked and elbowed his crotch, causing him to fold like a deck chair. Flinging a fist to his back he collapsed completely to the ground.

Gally flung his arm out and snatched your wrist, pulling you into him.

"I tolerated you, haven't you noticed that I was nicest to you. You don't understand, now you have stepped the line."

Gally pulled himself up, and still held your wrist.

He began to walk toward the slammer, pulling you along with him.

He grabbed your other wrist and put it into his other hand, he had both of your arms in the grip of one hand.

"Gally, stop it."

You wriggled your wrists, attempting to remove them from his grip, only to being given an even tighter grip and to be dragged even harder.

You were almost at the slammer when Gally spoke,

"You know, Paisley, there is a reason I have always picked on you, been really stubborn with you."

"Why is that, Gally, because I am fun to annoy, because I bite back?"

"Ughh, shuck it. It's because I fucking like you, you dumb shank, how hadn't you noticed. It's ruined anyways, no doubt about that."

Gally yanked the door to the slammer open.

It wasn't your first time being in the slammer, you had seen in when you were on the tour.

It smelled musty and sweaty. The walls were cracked and scratched at, they had a bit of graffiti on them too, typical boys. The ground, it was just dirt. Sitting in the middle of the slammer, covered in dirt, was the chair, the one that Nick, poor, poor Nick told you had 1 leg shorter to cause discomfort.

"Gally, what are we doing here. I don't under-" Your words were stopped by Gally pushing you in, this wasn't a gentle push, it was enough to send you into the opposite wall, even though the slammer wasn't that big.

The door slammed behind you, making you shudder.

"Gally, what the fuck has gotten into you."

"Paisley, I need you to listen to me, and don't interrupt me until I am done"

"Well it's not like I have a choice, is it?"

"Nope"

"Well go on then, I don't have all night"

"I have always told myself that, you were the only girl, that must have hardships, she probably has had enough with boys and their desires, so I should treat her how I treat my men, never make any exceptions, and crack down just as hard for anything she does. And for the most part, that is what happened. But Paisley, I like you, I like how you are sarcastic, I love that you can stand up for yourself. And I am sorry for trying to punch you earlier, I needed to get you here, so you would have to listen."

"Gally, slow down, let me out."

He complied, prepared for you to be angry.

The door creaked open and he got punched in the face with the smell of sweat and mildew.

You walked out, confidence filling your body, you had the upper hand, the ball was in your court.

"Gally, I can't believe you. I fucking can't believe it."

He was confused, he expected you to hit him already.

I mean, you did hit him, but, like, with a hug.

You slammed your body into his, pushing him backwards into the door, grasping your arms around him, savoring the warmth of his body, turning your head into his chest, you listened to his heart, it beat quite fast.

Gally smelled like clean, like fresh, he had the smell of soap, but a hint of lemongrass and dill.

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Gally POV:

I thought she would have hit me, I made an outrageous statement, that I was in love with her, yet she took it so easily.

She just leapt at me, as a flash of black and blue. It all went so fast, I tried to stand firm, knowing that we were probably about to get in a fistfight.

I stood frozen for what felt like forever, and then she was on me, small little Paisley, the little fighter, but she wasn't fighting, she was embracing.

I don't know what got into me, I was paralyzed. She gripped her arms around my midriff and clawed at my back, pushing herself into me, refusing to let go.

My heart was pounding, I still don't know what got into me, the effect she was having was unrecognizable to any other emotion that I had.

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He wasn't present in that moment, he was like a statue. That was until, you felt him begin to melt, his muscles relaxing and his bending over, leaning into you.

His arms drifted slowly around you, like they were light as a feather, he took care not to put too much pressure on your body.

You released your arms from his back, moving them up to his face, pulling his face in toward yours, closing the gap between you even more.

Your lips pressed together, slowly moving, creating a gentle suction, Gally grazed your lips with his teeth, making your lips tingle.

Gally moved his up and down your hips, pushing on them, all the while pulling you in.

Before you knew it, his hands slipped under your shirt and tried pulling it off, man, this boy has got some nerve, but you allowed him, momentarily stopping kissing.

Then he pulled off his shirt, showing his smooth, layered, rippling muscles, and his tanned skin, warm and inviting.

He pulled you behind the slammer, so nobody could see the two of you, making love after you just got into a fight.

Gently tracing up your arm, over your collar bone, up your neck and chin, he spoke soft words,

"Are you sure you are fine with this Pai?"

"Yes, yes, show me how much you have always wanted me." you spoke breathy, flustered and alarmed. He wanted you, shit, that is cool.

As soon as you had finished speaking, he grabbed both your hands in one of his, in a simple sweep, then he had them up and slammed them against the wall of the slammer.

He pushed his head into your neck and sucked, leaving marks, leaving hickeys.

Your breathing and your heartrate sped up and you couldn't stop yourself from making a small noise, a moan.

Gally let go of your hands and worked at removing your jeans, undoing the button, and undoing the zipper, before he finally pulled them off.

"Seriously Pai? Pink underwear, for the way you act, I would have thought it would be black hole colored."

You winced, embarrassed, but Gally took this as a chance to dominate you even more, he yanked your underwear down, dropping himself with it.

Peppering your abdomen with kisses was annoying, why can't he just get to the good stuff.

Then he began to finger you, effortlessly finding the right bundles of nerves on your skin, leaving you a trembling mess, shuddering and shaking.

You wrapped your fingers through his hair tugging at it. "Gally, we really shouldn't be doing this. It's too much."

"Pai, calm down, you don't need to get so concerned."

"Gally. Gally listen to me."

He stopped everything, and stepped back and looked down on you.

"What Pai, what is wrong, the fact that for once I am actually being nice for once?"

"No Gally, it just feels wrong doing, this. Especially when less than an hour ago we just fought each other. Maybe we can try this another day, please Gally, just let's take a break for a bit."

"Ok Pai, sorry I made you feel like that. But Pai, just remember I love you."

Gally stepped towards you.

"If you want to stop Paisley, I am fine with that, I only want to do what you are comfortable"

He cupped his hands around your cheeks and used his thumbs to massage up and down your cheek bones. He slid his hands around your head and dropped them behind your shoulders, pulling you into a gentle hug.

"I love you Pai, I love you Pai, you are so beautiful." he whispered into your ear.

"We can try again whenever you want. If that's okay with you."

"I love you Gally, thank you."

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Ok, it is finally done, this took way too long. Hope you enjoyed!

#tmr gally #fan made #maze runner the death cure #tmr minho #tmr newt #the maze runner #maze runner #tmr #tmr fandom #tmr alby #smut tmr #fem reader #female reader #gally x reader #tmr original character #smut writing #paisley is an icon

[prof-polaris]

//While this is canon to Indigo's storyline, this is only put on the blog so that you Know of the events that occurred here.

As Indigo and Wallace swim up to the cave, it is quiet except for the lapping of the waves against the shore. They roll away from Wallace, carefully recalling him back into his ball. The professor releases Tag and Flicker in the same movement, and the typhlosion helps them to stand, maneuvering them onto Tag's back. The three move into the cave in tandem.

Flicker and Tag immediately begin searching for- something. Indigo does their best to help, reaching down to run their hand along the walls of the cave. Eventually they brush against part of the wall that doesn't seem to match.

"Tag, easy. Think I found it."

Indigo presses their hand into the indentation and a mechanism of some kind clicks. They pull out a small, ornately carved box.

A voice in their head whispers, "This is it! You've found it! Excellent job, you can free us now! We can finally be free!"

Magenta sounds delighted because these are his ashes. His final conduit to this plane. Other than Indigo themself of course. He can finally be done. Finally, see his family again...

But it's never that easy.

Uxie's overwhelming presence fills the room. Indigo freezes automatically.

"WHAT IS THIS."

They clutch the box of ashes close to their chest. Magenta whispers urgently to them, but they can no longer hear him over the static in their ears.

"Give them back."

"WHAT."

"My memories. Give them back. All of them. Now."

And Uxie...hesitates. For a moment. And it slowly reaches out and Indigo feels it, digging through their mind. And for the first time in their life, they let it happen, feeling the memories slot back into place. The memories of Sprite, and memories they gave as offerings. And then. 7 years of memories.

They point an accusing finger at the legendary, face contorted with rage.

"You- fucking! Possessed me?? For seven years???"

Uxie almost looks nervous, drifting farther away from it's chosen.

"IT WAS...A PRECAUTIONARY MEASURE. YOU WERE LEAVING. I COULD NOT ALLOW IT."

Indigo nearly snarls at the legendary, a habit they learned from Violet. They grip the box tighter in their hands.

"You do so hate to let things go. Like me. Or, Magenta perhaps?"

The being of Knowledge freezes in place.

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW."

"Everything. The way you connected us. The fact that you wanted me to be a conduit for him. The ashes in this box."

"INDIGO. DO NOT MAKE A DECISION THAT YOU WILL REGRET."

Their grin is feral as they raise the box above their head.

"Oh, I won't be regretting anything. Flicker."

The typhlosion perks up, Indigo slams the ornate wooden box to the ground, the wood splinters.

Uxie screams.

Barely over the sound, a command is given.

"Flicker- use flamethrower!"

-

...A few things happen, all in succession.

A spirit is released: Magenta whispers a thanks to Indigo. They feel it as he goes, a presence leaving their body, a gap in their brain filled all at once. A more secure feeling in their body. Their feral grin widens. Both of them are Free.

A choosening is undone: Uxie has no need nor want for Indigo now that what they were made to be is gone. Especially after what they have done. They lose the Knowing. Everything that they have ever Known is lost to them now. The unwanted knowledge is gone. Their eyes will remain gold, but they will no longer steal the memories of onlookers.

Uxie is furious: Indigo is forced off of Tag, and they hear more than they feel their body being slammed into the cave walls. Uxie screams at them, but they no longer Know what it is saying.

As Indigo begins to lose consciousness, they see- something. They can't quite make sense of it. It- She? Is pink. And she looks like a person, a snake pokemon, and a turtle pokemon, all at once. Their brain refuses to make sense of it. She presses a kiss to their forehead and murmurs something to them.

"I have you, my lover of all things."

The last thing Indigo sees is all of their pokeballs opening at once, rushing to meet Uxie in battle.

#desecration of our grave #//off screen post #pkmn irl #pokeblogging #rotomblr #pokemon irl #pokeblr #long post #//quite possibly the longest piece ive written for this account. im very proud of it.

[clandestinegardenias]

A CERTAIN STEP TOWARDS FALLING IN LOVE PLEASE

no lie i would trade my firstborn child for jwds pride and prejudice au

yesssss I LOVE THIS ONE, @stormyoceans and I talked some time ago about how Beyond Evil is essentially just a P&P AU anyway--handsome arrogant city boy with too much money/power comes to a small backwater town and promptly falls in hate/love with local eccentric with fine eyes. ANYWAY. This fic is my attempt to write something RELATIVELY short that COULD turn into a longer multi-chapter piece at some point.

Summary: Pride & Prejudice AU. Dongsik teaches Juwon to waltz.

Snippet:

Just over Hyeok’s left shoulder there’s a swirl of dark curls, escaping charmingly from a loose tie. 

He tries to look away, quickly, but before he can the dancers shift and he can see a smile, a twinkling eye as Lee Dongsik leans in to whisper something to his twin sister, who he’s currently leading in the dance. 

Juwon is hit with a stunning pulse of relief that it’s no one else–he’s not dancing with any of the eligible young women that wait all along the benches. Just with his sister. 

Immediately, he suppresses the thought and the emotion that comes with it. Why should he care who Dongsik dances with?

Because it could have been you, his brain whispers into his consciousness. Because until it is you, you’ll be jealous of every single–

He turns abruptly, facing the window and loosening his cravat slightly. He’ll look rather like a trollop like this, all hot and bothered and showing too much skin. 

Oh well. They could hardly think less of him.

Juwon’s entrance into local society had been…less than precipitous. 

It is his nature to be reserved. It is his preference not to touch a lady’s proffered hand, much less bend to kiss it. 

He has been told he is cold, an ice prince, unfeeling and uncaring. Too quick to judge, too unyielding once his opinion is formed. He does not see anything wrong with this. Underneath, his emotions roll like the tides, dragging him about against his will, bashing him against the rocks, forcing him to scramble for safety, for shelter, only to be repelled again and again. 

It is good to be aloof. It is right to be unswayable. His father’s words. 

In general, Juwon does not regret his actions. He acts only in accordance with his principles, and if others find fault with him then they would not have been a worthy acquaintance to begin with. 

In one regard, however, he feels a certain pang of what could, he imagines, be considered remorse. 

—--------------

It had been the first ball in the neighborhood. Hyeok, ever the peacemaker, had been suggesting dance partners for him in an increasingly frustrated attempt to make a favorable impression. Juwon denied each offering simply and succinctly–”No.” 

Until Hyeok suggested Lee Yuyeon. For some reason he still doesn’t understand, Juwon had faltered. Barely, but his hesitation was enough that Hyeok was on him like a cat on a mouse. 

“Aha, so our ice prince does have some hot blood in his veins! I knew it was only a matter of time before I found out your type. Come, let us walk over and introduce ourselves and then you will ask her to dance–”

Juwon had pulled his arm from Hyeok’s grip, a look of horror spreading on his face. 

“I will do no such thing.”

“No? Too shy? No matter, I’ll go make the introduction for you, if that’s easier. It’s a small matter.”

“Absolutely not.” Hyeok had finally turned to look at him, eyes wide in response to the fear revulsion in Juwon’s voice. 

“No? But she is, in fact, very pretty. Anyone can see that. Come, Juwon, you must dance with at least one lady. One single dance. What can it hurt? She is certainly the most agreeable creature in the room.”

Just for a second, unaccountably, an image of her brother had flashed before Juwon’s eyes.

#my fic #ask game #beyond evil #jwds #this is such self indulgence I'm living for it

[da-proti-toku-grem]

just me ranting again pls don't feel like you have to read or anything i just feel like i'll punch smth or someone if i don't get this out of my chest rn

i hate this fucking weird anxiety that apparently no one that i know irl fucking understands bc why does everyone gets encouraging words every time they're feeling anxious but i have to fucking suppress my anxiety (i'm starting to think maybe some of them are even panic attacks but it's not gonna help me to think about the now anyways) attacks bc people think it's stupid and i'm overreacting to normal situations that shouldn't be hard for anyone. and i hate that everyone thinks i have a problem with them like don't you fucking understand that i don't even know how i'm keeping myself alive at this point how the fuck am i supposed to have a problem with you when my own mind alone is a whole problem of its own

like this is all coming bc all of a sudden my parents decided to go out to dinner together (the three of us + my 2 brothers) and i really don't want to go out. fuck i'm crying my eyes out as i type this just at the mere thought of going out i feel like my heart is going to fucking explode if i put a foot outside. and i'm trying- i'm trying to tell my mom that i really really can't do this right now and i know that i have to try, that i have to do stuff so my brain gets the message that it's not bad, so i can get better, but I've barely started therapy 3 months ago and i have to take short steps not full on jump to do the scariest things. and i'm really trying my best to do stuff but today is not the day. and i tried to explain it to my mom but she (like every fucking time) just hit me with the "but why don't you want to go out with us, we're your family". girl is not that i don't want to go out with you, is that i don't want to go out

and then on top of that she was talking with my grandma over the phone and she asked about me (bc she knows i'm not doing well) and i know she's just asking bc she cares about me, but i really couldn't talk to her right now, but my mom saw that i was crying and she tried to pass me the phone anyways and i whispered to her "please don't. i can't talk to her right now" and she just turned around and said "she doesn't want to talk to anyone right now, she's just crying because she doesn't want to go out of the house with us" and really wtf was that bro

now i feel fucking worse because now i've made my grandma feel bad because she thinks i don't wanna talk to her and why tf do i do everything wrong. why tf does no one understands how i'm feeling or at least tries to. why can't i like normal things so i can get along with more people. i really don't want to change myself, i like how i am, but it's so fucking hard to believe in yourself and love yourself when everyone arounds you who claims to love you wants you to change the thing about yourself that makes you you. do they really love me or do they just love the façade i put for them when they're around. i feel so fake whenever i have to change things about myself. but if i don't they always hit me with their "don't wear that or they'll say [x]", " don't do that, that's weird", "why don't you go out like your friends do", "don't sit like that or you'll look like a dude", " you have to have some hobbies outside of your house", "you have shave like every woman does", " you have to start making sport to loose weight", etc etc etc

and i TRY, i fucking TRY to ignore all the comments, to just be the way i am, but what the fuck am i supposed to if no one likes me, they like the version of me they have in their heads, the potential of what i could be one day. but they don't fucking see that i'm fighting to stay alive every fucking day and the mere thought of having to wake up in the morning feeling like a weight is crushing on me. how tf am i supposed to think about the future and what i want to study now that i finally got the courage to tell my parents that i wanted to drop out of uni, when i'm fighting to stay alive

but even like that, i can't put it into words properly and explain to them how i feel and why i react the way i do to certain things because the moment i think about it i start crying like a pathetic baby. so now i'm in my room, crying silently because i can't even cry properly because i don't want to bother/worry the rest of my family. because even if i feel like shit i don't want to worry anyone

i feel fucking horrible and i'm not even capable of facing my own feelings. i just wish i could disappear in a house in the middle of the mountain and never talk to a single person ever again because i feel like i fuck it up every time i open my mouth. i should just shut up forever and never talk again. i'm the quiet girl after all, probably no one will notice anyways....

[milfswriter]

Unexpected Guest

Alma Lefay Peregrine x OC!Jaime Walsh

Summary: Jake scared the children at the bombed house, he gets dealt with and reveals terrible news.

Notes and warnings: it’s my first time writing with an OC, go easy on me lol. Hurt/comfort. SEND REQUESTS FOR MY BABY ALMA OR ELSE

Alma sat at the breakfast table, waiting for Jaime to finally show up. It’s become a habit of them, waiting for the other to arrive before eating, though the children were already halfway done with their food. 

Jaime rushed down the stairs, knowing how Alma always fusses about time management. “Morning, children!” she chanted, her black trousers and satin white shirt hugging her frame perfectly. “Good morning, Jaime!” they chanted back. 

Alma offered a soft smile as her wife kissed her cheek. “hello, love”.

They heard the door shut and the panting of Emma, Olive and Millard, like they’ve been running from someone. “If it’s the police again, Millard you better deal with it yourself or so help me bird!” Jaime warned as she sat next to Alma, facing the empty seat of Millard, and beginning to eat.

“no..it’s..it’s not the police” Emma said, catching her breath, “It’s a boy..he..I found him in the old house and thought it was Abe but then he turned and..it was not him. He kept following me before I managed to get away” Alma had a weird look on her face, and god does Jaime hate it when she hides things from her.  

“Where’d you leave him?” She asked the three children standing in front of her as though they were being interrogated. “Just outside the loop entrance” She stood up from the table, hearing her wife’s warnings echo behind her. 

“Think twice before doing anything!” She grabbed a knife and a pistol, pocketing them before giving Emma a rope to hold.

“Damn it, it’s thundering!” Enoch groaned. Jaime’s peculiarity was weather manipulation, and the weather changes based on her mood. So whenever Jaime was grumpy, they couldn’t go outside or they’ll get struck by lightning. “language!” Alma scolded before Jaime opened the front door, taking a deep breath so she can calm down and stop the thunder. 

“oh, Jaime what if it’s a wight?” Emma gulped behind the older woman. “Why’d you think I brought a gun?”.

They kept walking, looking around just in case the boy got in the loop and Jaime kept her hand in her pocket around the gun as we walked and Emma gulped. “Stop fussing, we’ll either kill him or scare him off” Millard said.

As they left the loop, they saw the same boy lurking around the loop entrance. “that’s him!” Emma whispered and Jaime hummed, using wind to distract him while she took out her gun, walking to him swiftly before she pulled his hair back and aimed at his temple.

 “Scream and I’ll blow your brains to pieces!” she pushed him hard against a tree and he groaned, breathing faster.

Jaime turned him around to face him, gun still pointing at him confidently as she stared with a tilted head. “What are you?” she hissed.

“An-uh, I’m an american” he stammered, “I’m Jacob” Jaime came closer, pressing the gun on his forehead. “Do NOT fuck with me, asshole. What were you doing in that house? Why were you chasing my ward?” 

“I just wanted to talk to her! Don’t kill me!”. She fixed him with a scowl, “about what?”

“About the house, the people who lived there” she clicked the safety, making him whimper. “Who sent you here?”

“My..my grandfather, Abraham Portman” her lips parted in surprise, looking back at Emma for a second who gasped lightly.

“Liar! You think I don’t know what you are? I wasn't born yesterday. Open your eyes!” 

“These are my eyes!! I can prove it!”. Her hand relaxed a bit. “Then prove it, or I’ll water the grass with your blood”

He reached into his pocket with the gun aimed at his hand. “This letter’s part of the reason I came here. It’s from The Bird, it’s what you call your headmistress isn’t it?” She pulled the letter out of his hand and pushed him against the tree again, making him groan in pain.

“It’s you, miss peregrine and my grandpa before he want to war!” he exclaimed as Jaime stared at the picture. “You’re..you’re Jaime, aren’t you?” she rolled her eyes, holding her hand out to Emma to give her the rope and tied his hands.

“Okay, now you’re my prisoner, do as I say or you’ll regret it” Jaime pulled him by the arm and entered the loop again. As they neared the front door, Jaime sighed at his appearance and told Emma to check where Alma is.

“His shoes are caked with filth. Can’t have you tracking in mud, Bird will have an attack” she tutted and he took off his shoes, walking in the house. he gaped as he looked around the house, unable to believe it was the same house as the bombed one outside the loop.

 “Miss Peregrine’s in the living room” Millard said and Jaime took him there. Alma waited a second to look up as she sewed but gasped a few seconds after she registered who he was, somehow recognizing him.

 “Jaime! What on earth did you do to the poor boy!” The younger woman scoffed, not believing what she was being asked.

 “Oh, please, Alma! He was following the girls! What was I supposed to think?” she pushed him further into the room and he almost tripped.

“Stop!” she warned as she stood up. “You’ll have to pardon Miss Walsh. She has a certain flair for dramatics” he nodded. “Yeah I figured” he scoffed, looking back at Jaime. 

“Watch your damn tone” she growled, another thunder roaring outside and Alma turned. “Jaime, I’m warning you” she looked away, causing Alma to start introducing herself. “My name is Miss Peregrine, and as you already know, this is Jaime” she extended her hand and only when he failed to shake it did she notice the rope. 

“Miss Walsh! Untie him at once! Is that how you treat a guest?!” Jaime looked baffled.

“First, I’ll pretend you did not just call me that. Second, he’s a liar and a-” she raised her hand. “Jaime..”.

She sighed, flashing her blade and going behind him to cut the rope and he shook Miss Peregrine’s hand. 

Jaime was quiet until Jake brought up Abe. “He told me to come find you, to warn you about..the monsters” she scoffed, throwing her hands in the air.

“And why would he do that? Why can’t HE come and warn us himself, has he grown too old to go potty? I warned him about the outside, time and time again, I knew-” Alma yelled as she interrupted her.

“He’s dead, Jaime!” she gaped, looking at her wife with wide eyes. “He’s dead” Alma nodded, and that’s what finally shut her up for good, she gulped before walking backwards a few steps and turning to leave the room and a few seconds later, they heard the front door slammed shut. This cannot be true, no.

Alma sighed, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Jake” she offered him a sympathetic smile before looking out the window as the thunder intensified, Jaime soaked with the rain as she looked up at the sky. “That’s her...ability, isn’t it?” Jake asked, now feeling a little guilty.

Miss Peregrine nodded, sighing. “She’s quite...protective. Especially when it comes to the safety of the children. Abe hurt her more than she liked to admit when he left”.

------

The next time they saw Jaime was in the garden, helping Emma put the squirrel back in place before walking away somewhere else. Alma waited a few minutes before deciding to follow her wife inside the house, hearing sobs coming from the kitchen. 

She stopped at the doorway, looking at Jaime who was hunching against the kitchen counter, sobs racking her body. She couldn’t remember the last time she heard Jaime cry like this. Mainly because the same day is repeating over and over again so the day would be predictable. Well..except when Victor died. 

Alma approached her wife gently, placing a hand over the small of her back, startling her. “Love” she called, causing the short-haired woman to look at her, eyes red.

“I’m sorry for the way I laid the news on you..I-” she shook her head. “It’s..It’s fine, it was bound to happen anyway..but I can’t help but feel like shit. First Victor, and now Abe” her lips trembled before she broke down again.

Alma let a few tears escape before wiping both of their eyes, kissing her lips softly before hugging Jaime close to her. A clearing of throat startled them and they looked to see Enoch standing there sheepishly. 

“The police are here again” Jaime and Alma couldn’t help but laugh, though the police came everyday for the past 70 years

“We’ll be right there”

Taglist:

@mmemalwa @ara-a-bird

#alma peregrine #Alma peregrine x reader #miss peregrine x reader #eva green x reader #eva greeen #miss peregrine's home for peculiar children #mphfpc x reader

[apolloanddaphnis]

Amberline

Part IV

Disclaimer: Not proofread. Slight fingering. Dick against pussy grinding. French kissing.

A Kyle Scheible x OC fic.

Kyle ended the mall trip by taking me to Build-A-Bear. I secretly am such a stuffed animal hoarder and he found my weakness. Do you know how many skelanimals I have? I picked out a black lab because I always wanted one, but mom would never let me have a dog claiming I'm the most irresponsible person she has ever met. I named my new little buddy Cerberus, and gave him two hearts instead of one because I love him that much and he deserves to be loved. I couldn't believe Kyle bought him for me.

I was trying to not look up at him with big heart eyes, that would be ridiculous and lame, and he'd make fun of me probably. 

Once we got in his car he drove me to the top of a hill overlooking the city.  "This has been a lot of fun." I said looking down as I stroked Cerberus' floppy ear. The Gin Blossoms were softly playing and it all felt a little romantic. 

He leaned in and tilted my chin to have me look up at him, his hooded green eyes focused on my lips made my heart race. "You have such a pretty mouth. "

I looked down again. "They're too thin." My mother always told me I had the kind of lips that couldn't even eat a hot dog.

"No way, they're shaped like a perfect pink heart." His voice was like a sexy soft Gossamer of a whisper.

"I thought you hated participating in the economy. You spent a lot on me today." 

He smirked. "I guess you made me break all my rules." He nuzzled my cheek. "Maybe you are a witch." We then looked into each other's eyes and he pressed his lips to mine.

I missed the feeling of his mouth on mine, as if we didn't make out an hour ago.

I let out a gasp of relief and so did he, like under that cool exterior he was desperate for me too, or was I just easy and available? I don't know, I can't think when he does that thing with his tongue.

I don't know when our seat belts became undone but his hand moved up my skirt to grasp my thighs and I loved the feeling of them there. I let out a shaking moan as he sucked on my tongue and rubbed circles on my inner thigh. I felt it, his thick hardness trying to rip through his pants.

I've never done anything before Kyle, and as he tore his red lips from mine to kiss and suck down my neck, I was trying to talk to myself logically. No Amberline, you should not be tempted to lift your skirt, push your panties to the side and ride his cock. No, don't do it, he'll make you regret it no matter how good his mouth feels–Oh God why does he look so hot with his head under my shirt?

My eyes closed and a breathy, high pitched moan fell from my lips as I felt him suckle on my nipples as he squeezed my breasts. His face was nuzzled and buried into my full cleavage as I reached for any part of him I could grasp. "Kyle!"

"I love your tits, I always have to force something grotesque in my brain to not get hard everytime I look at you." He moaned in his low voice before sucking on a nipple almost painfully.

I yelped and felt myself becoming wetter and wetter. No one has ever wanted my body this much or described it like that, I never thought anything but horrible things. I hated this body so much that I ended up in the hospital because of it, so to hear Kyle wanting it finding it desirable…

He ripped my shirt off and discarded my skirt, so quickly I was only in my panties before him. I attempted to hide myself, ever since I got "better " my stomach has been a little soft, my ass a little bigger and breasts now double D's, I looked away. "No." He growled softly and gently grabbed my face to force me to look at him. He kissed me slowly but the depth was there, he drowned me in the intensity and I lost myself to the point I unwrapped my arms from my body to wrap around his neck. His tongue gently nudged mine and his hands moved down my waist to my thighs, squeezing them.

With a gasp he pulled his mouth from mine and his hair fell in his face. "So hot, look at you baby, like my own personal centerfold for Playgoth."

I giggled causing him to groan, I felt his tent against me. "Don't do that, baby don't giggle, it'll make me bust. I need to be inside of you. I have to, I'll chew my hand off to get there." He kissed up and down my neck making me feel that dizzy feeling again. "Mmm Kyle, I- ah!" I moaned as he pushed his hand into my panties to roll my clit. "Oh f-fuck!" I squealed.

He licked my throat and nipped my jaw. "You're so wet Jesus." He slipped a finger in me as his thumb managed to tend to my clit, I almost burst into tears with the amount of pleasure inside of me like a volcano with lava ready to burst. "I'm a virgin!" I burst out.

He paused, his breath hot on my neck, I felt him twitch against me. "Fuck, fuck…that's so…" he pulled me closer with his other arm and I nuzzled his hair in response. "I know the concept of virginity is just a con invented by the church but fuck, I find it really hot that no one else has touched you like this. No one else has, right?" His question came out as a demand.

I shook my head. ''Everything was a first for me today. I promise."

He stole my mouth in an aggressive kiss, he kissed me so hard and I daresay possessively,  as he pulled me even closer the feeling of my naked body against his clothed one made me feel strangely safe. I hardly know him but I feel like I've known him forever. I feel like he's weighed down expectations and something else, and I want to be his happy place so badly, like he has become mine. I know my therapist told me not to be codependent but I can't help it, not with him I just can't. 

"Let's save that first for another time." He said when we came up for air.  He then undid his pants and stroked out his cock, I felt my abdomen burn and my pussy throb at the sight of a cock that could easily be mistaken as a flesh colored cucumber.  He was leaky at the tip and I had an urge to lick it. "You look so hungry for it baby, but right now I just want to feel you, can you do that for me? Be my good girl and let me just feel your wet heat?" 

I nodded.

"Words baby, I need words." I shivered

"Yes Kyle." 

He moaned and had me lay down and spread my legs, his eyes were on my jiggling breasts and he started to rub his engorged member against me, it was sandwiched between my folds and he slapped it against my clit a little earning a cry from me. He the held my body close he rocked against me, it felt so fucking good. "K-Ky-Kyle!" I whimpered.

He panted softly a whisper of a whimper oozed from and he began to rub against me faster as he sucked my breast into his mouth. I rolled my hips up against him whining as I tugged on his hair. "Fuck!" I have never felt so good, he makes me feel so good. I don't want it to end.

My fingers moved inside his shirt to rub his chest and he shuddered, grinding against me faster, his breathing uncontrollable  and I was glad I had the same effect he had on me. He lifted his mouth from my breasts to look into my eyes with burning intensity, rutting his hips faster. I cried out feeling close and I tried to close my eyes but he grabbed my jaw forcing me to to look into his eyes as his rutting became more aggressive against my clit and almost slipped down into my entrance. 

My lips parted as pornographic sounds came from it, his nostrils flared and his pupils dilated and I sucked in one of the fingers that held my jaw, causing his hips to snap forward sloppy and hard. "I'm almost- Kyle oh fuck, please, please, I- please!" Tears poured down my cheek in ecstasy and he leaned forward to lick up everyone. "You are such a good little girl for asking for permission, fuck where did you learn that?" His teeth grazed my cheek and his hold on my jaw squeezed tighter. "Cum!" He growled his command and I screamed his name as I released all over his cock and his pants. My body convulsed. I felt possessed, and he burst his cock released ropes and ropes all over my abdomen and dripped down my pussy.

He collapsed against me, cheek on my breasts. Panting like a dog, but not too weak to not hold me tight. "Inside of your pussy, wet hot, I felt with my fingers.." He mumbled all dazed. 

I was too happy to be confused.

@meetmyothersouls

#timothee chamalet #timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet x oc #kyle scheible #lady bird

[wingedquill]

soulscream

whumptober day 1 | alternative prompt: "broken" | word count: 1572

fandom: Stranger Things | characters: Steve and Robin | cw: daemon-related torture, major character death (ish) | tags: daemon au, unhappy ending (for now)

Robin will hate herself forever for it, but part of her sees the whole “getting kidnapped and slapped around by Russian guards” thing as a big fucking adventure, a wild story that she’ll be able to tell people when they ask her how she spent her summer, right up until they start beating Steve’s daemon.

And then everything gets really real, really fast.

Her ears start ringing after the first hit, like it’s her they’ve just suckerpunched instead of Steve’s fucking soul, and all of her clever plans of a glorious escape turn to static in her brain. Steve screams, short and agonized, and she can feel his whole body spasming against her.

They’re tied back to back. She can see Estella but he can’t, he couldn’t even see the blow coming.

This isn’t happening. This isn’t—this isn’t something that happens.

The guard draws back his arm again. The baton comes back down. Steve screams again, somehow louder.

“Who do you work for?” the guard asks, swinging the baton back and forth like a batter getting ready to hit a home run. He sounds almost bored. Like this is something he does every day. Like this is normal.

“I—I don’t—” Steve gasps. “I don’t—please—please no—”

Another whistle of air, another crack. Estella whines, high and animal-like, like she’s a real dog. The general laughs from somewhere behind her.

“They start leaking Dust, after a while,” he says. “I’ve always found it a pretty sight. Most disagree. I will not have my men stop when you start to dissolve, Butterscotch. Who. Do you. Work. For?”

“No one,” Steve sobs. “No one, please—”

Another swing. Another. Another, another, another, too fast for Robin to track, too fast for her to distinguish them.

“Stop!” she hollers. “Stop, we don’t know anything, we’re just kids, he doesn’t…he didn’t do anything to you, stop!”

“Would you rather we ask your hummingbird?” the general snorts. The guard lifts his foot, lets it hover over Estella’s paw. “You did spit at me, after all. You did something.”

Achilles curls up against her chest, whole body vibrating like a tiny heart. God if they started…if they started hitting him…one strike of that baton would be enough to kill him, to kill her.

The guard crushes his foot down. Gold starts to seep out from underneath it, pooling over the floor like dry ice smoke. Steve’s whole body contracts, jolting so hard that for a moment Robin thinks he’ll knock them both over.

“Please,” Robin whispers, watching helplessly as Steve’s soul bleeds all over the cold tile floor. “Please.”

It’s all either of them can say for the next—hour she thinks? Longer? Steve stops screaming at some point, stops struggling against her. If it weren’t for the feeling of his breaths, and Estella’s long, continuous whimpers, she’d think he was dead.

“Stop,” the general says eventually, when there’s a veritable pool of Dust around Estella, bright and gleaming as a firework. Fuck, they were supposed to be watching the fireworks today, they were supposed to steal a gallon of ice cream out of the freezer and lug it up the big hill behind the mall, they were supposed to be goddamn children about it—

“You are very good at keeping quiet,” he says, and there’s rustling behind her. Steve’s warmth disappears from her back, and then she’s being hauled upwards, hands gripping her arms. She doesn’t fight them. She doesn’t want to give them any more excuses to—god there were knives on the fucking table, and pliers, and a fucking bonesaw, and she doesn’t know if the Russians are planning on using them on her, or Steve, or Estella, and—

“Most men would have spilled everything by now,” the general continues as his men bully Robin forward, and she can finally, finally make eye contact with Steve.

He’s conscious. Standing. But there’s something horribly, horribly wrong with his eyes.

They’re shuttered. Or empty. Or gone, or—

“Steve,” she croaks, trying to reach for him. One of the men yanks her arms back, hissing a command in Russian in her ear.

“But you’d let us break you without answering the most basic question. So either you are a better spy than any man I’ve ever trained, or you truly are just a know-nothing child.”

He tuts, almost sympathetically. Behind Robin, there’s a rattling of chains, a loud whine, the sound of a body being dragged over the floor. Steve twitches, tears slipping from his empty eyes as he’s finally able to see what they’ve done to him. Estella makes a noise like a sob, legs twitching as she tries to gather them underneath her.

She fails. They keep dragging her like a sack of meat, smearing gold across the tiles. Bile sloshes in Robin’s stomach.

“For what it’s worth,” the general says, shoving Steve towards the door. He stumbles over his own feet, whole body hunched over in pain. “I do hope it’s the former. I truly do. But either way…either way we are out of time to ask you things. But worry not. We will learn something from you nonetheless.”

“What are you gonna do to me?” Steve croaks.

Me. Not us. Robin wonders if the thought of them hurting her is so unthinkable Steve hasn’t even considered it, or if he’s trying to keep them from realizing it's a possibility.

“You have seen our accomplishments, yes?” the general says. He parades them out of the cell, one hand on Steve’s shoulder like he might try to run. Like he wouldn’t get a bullet in the soul for trying. “You have seen the rift. We believe there is another world on the other side, and we would like very much for our scientists to explore that world. But there are many possible dangers that we do not yet know how to prepare for.”

“So you wanna throw me in?” 

Steve doesn’t sound like he’s discussing the concept of being thrown into a fucking hellworld with his torturer. He sounds like he’s asking his fucking basketball coach if he really wants him to play the second half.

“No,” the general laughs. “No. We do not want to see what you might get up to unmonitored. But there is a test you may help us with.”

If she were a hero, Robin would tell them to do it to her. She would tell them that Steve had had enough. She would tell them that they’d already broken him.

But she’s not a hero. She’s not a hero, and she’s watching a daemon bleed on the ground, and this doesn’t fucking happen. So her vocal cords stay frozen shut, and Achilles stays safe against her heart, and she does nothing to stop whatever’s about to happen to Steve.

They push through another set of doors and there’s the rift. Most of it looks just as it had before, a violent mess of red and black spreading over the wall like a disgusting fungus, but there’s an opening right in the middle. Not quite big enough for a person.

“I’m told we finally broke through while we were having our…discussion,” the general says. He inclines his head, and the two men holding Estella start dragging her over to a massive cage on the end of a chain. “And so you get to assist us with our first, and most important test. To make sure the daemonic bond can survive unscathed between dimensions.”

“No,” Steve whispers, glancing between the cage and the rift. “No, you—what’s that gonna do?”

“We don’t know,” the general says. “Hopefully nothing.”

Steve looks at her wildly as the guards bundle Estella into the cage. Help me. Do something. She can read that as clear as if he said it.

But she can’t move. She can’t speak. Her feet are frozen to the floor and her tongue is glued to her mouth. She’s a bug encased in amber, and she can do nothing but watch as the two guards hoist Estella’s cage between them.

“Steve,” the daemon groans, Dust spilling from her mouth like vomit. “I love—”

The guards hurl the cage forward, right through the opening in the rift.

Robin stands there.

Steve’s knees buckle.

“Get her out,” he gasps. “Get her out, get her—get her out, get her out, fucking get her out of there!”

The general barks an order and the two guards scramble for the chain. Steve collapses entirely, limbs jerking and thrashing against his binds.

“Get her out!” he wails. “Please, dear God, get her—”

And he just…stops.

All at once, like the power’s been cut to his brain. His limbs stop jerking, his eyes stop rolling. He goes completely and utterly still.

Robin stands there.

The general leans down, presses his fingers against Steve’s jugular. Frowns.

“Playing dead will not work with me, Butterscotch,” he says.

Robin stands there.

The two guards haul the cage back out of the void. It’s empty.

Everything freezes for a minute. The general stares at the cage, and for the first time in this entire fucked-up ordeal, Robin thinks she catches a flash of guilt in her eyes.

He murmurs something under his breath.

Robin will spend the next week pouring over Russian dictionaries and anthropological texts to learn both the phrase and the meaning behind it. When she does, it won’t tell her anything she doesn’t already know.

Living broken. 

Severed.

Steve is severed. His soul is dead. He'll be an empty shell for the rest of his life.

And Robin just stands there.

#whumptober2023 #no.1 #Broken #altprompt #stranger things #fic #torture #major character death #my writing #st daemon au #sorry guys this is a sad one #i have a whole-ass au for it in my head (shocker) that ends happily though

[mae-gi-writes]

22:07pm . kevin moon 🌙

Soft fluffy nights with Kevin when you've had a rough day.

---

"--so annoying!"

"Y/N calm down," Kevin lays a hand on your arm, halting you in your stormy pacing, the back and forth going on in your bedroom.

"I just--I was so pissed! They put responsibility on me, then they decide to change it up at the last minute!" You can feel the onset of tears filling up your vision, the frustration finally overcrowding your already-stressed out brain until you feel like you're breaking at the seams.

"Hey hey hey," Kevin doesn't hesitate, his arms coming in around you in a comforting backhug. But you're already crying at this point, head bowed and trying to keep your sobs silent. To no avail.

"It's okay," he murmurs into the shell of your ear, before pressing a kids to your temple, "you're okay. Shh."

He stays. Even when your sobs merely intensify as frustration floods through you like a tidal wave unable to be tamed, a tsunami that devours everything in its path until there’s nothing left to latch on. Kevin stays, even when it feels like the world is conspiring against you and you’re too fucking tired to do anything about it. He stays.

And then finally, when you finally stop shaking as the tears slowly dry up along your cheeks, Kevin leans into you with his mouth at the shell of your ear, “I’m here,” his murmur is soft, a comforting hug that causes fresh tears to rise in the back of your lids, “I’m here for you. I got you.”

“I’m—I—“ you gulp down shards of air like glass scratching against your throat. You blink back some more tears though you can’t feel the knot in your stomach anymore, as if that has released some of the pressure off your back to allow you to breathe, “I—I’m so sorry—“

“Don’t be sorry,” Kevin shushes you instantly, a furrow between his brows. You look up at him through a film of tears but he’s adamantly shaking his head before cuddling you even closer if that’s possible, “don’t ever say sorry for being sad, or annoyed, or frustrated. On the contrary, I want you to tell me these things. I want to know about these things.”

You close your eyes, nose buried in the fabric of his sweatshirt as you breath in slowly, feel his scent slowly comfort your insides like a cup of warm tea on a cold winter night.

Kevin has always been your anchor. You feel bad sometimes, you really do, especially when you come home in such a state and he’s already had his plate full at work, only to have to deal with your onset of tears as soon as he opens the door. So you try really hard to not make it obvious, to keep in your emotions so that you don’t bother him because you find it to be a burden.

But Kevin hates it, and he’s told you so multiple times. It’s just that you have a stubborn streak. And what you think is right is what you’re going to do at the end of the day.

Not the greatest way of looking at things, obviously.

It is only when a silence covers the room and buzzes with the aftermath of your thoughts that you hear Kevin's whisper, "you feeling better?"

You nod. You do feel better now that you've let out everything in your system, though you wonder whether that's just temporary. You hope not.

"Come on," he's already tugging you to the bed and before you can protest, has you seated on the mattress. He grabs the blanket cover folded at the edge of the bed and wraps it around your frame before sinking in beside you, an arm circling your frame.

"Want to talk about it some more?" He prompts you, guides you to give him an inkling of what you're thinking.

But you shake your head, "no. I don't want to think about it."

"Okay," his hold tightens. It's firm, and loving. It makes you want to sigh, "so let me tell you about my day."

He launches into this long-winded explanation about his day, from the fact that he went out of milk to the way his stomach had cramped up because of his lunch earlier that day and how his co-worker had pissed him off by submittibg his document late.

And it helps you. It really does channel your attention somewhere else and little by little, bit by bit, you start to forget about your initial frustration.

Your muscles loosen, your shoulders lose tension. You cuddle closer on impulse, wanting to sink into Kevin's warmth.

"And now you know everything there is to know about my stupid day even though nothing interesting has happened," Kevin tilts his head at you, a semblance of a smile painting his lips, "and it seems like you're better because you're trying not to laugh--"

"No I--" you can't help the giggle bursting out of you despite your earlier mood, "--you're an idiot, Kevin Moon."

He looks at you in shock, "hey, I'm trying ro get my girlfriend to smile. Don't judge me," he puts a palm on his chest and the movement is so dramatic that you cannot help but laugh a deep-bellied laugh.

It bounces throughout the room, loud in the silence that prevailed earlier and it feels nice to laugh after all the sadness has been hollowed out of your body as if you've been scraped raw.

"I still stand by what I say," a small smile plays across your lips as you lean in. Kevin doesn't hesitate to press a soft kiss to your forehead, nuzzling the skin there while you burrow deeper into his warmth, "you're an idiot and I...I'm very grateful to have you."

The honesty startles even yourself. You're not used to saying such things out loud and suddenly, you feel kind of vulnerable.

"Hey," Kevin nudges you, and then before you have time to register it, he's turned you to face him and grabbed onto your forearms.

Pressing his forehead onto yours, he looks at you with such tenderness that it makes you want to squirm.

"I love you."

You blink. Warmth floods your insides. Suddenly, it's a little hard to keep eye contact and heat rushes to your cheeks.

"Oh," you breathe, can't help the giddy smile that tugs your lips upwards. But it's impossible to keep eye contact, which is why you avert your gaze to his chest, "I--I love you too."

He grins and without warning presses a kiss to your lips.

It's short, but still leaves you breathless. As if you're kissing for the first time. Giddy.

Butterflies echo in your ribcage.

"I do though," you continue on, knowing that if you do not say this now you won't ever have the courage, "I love you so much and it's so scary to think that I've become so dependent on you but I--I'm so sorry for always being all cranky and ulset about stupid stuff. Honestly you shouldn't even have to deal with that--"

"Wouldn't you have done the same?" Kevin cuts you off.

"I--" you falter, hesitating, "I--yes. Of course I would--"

"Then that's all irrelevant because I want to be there," he locks eyes with yours, "for you."

A pause.

Then, you break out into a soft chuckle, "you're corny."

He grins, "apparently I have to, to make my girlfriend smile."

"Okay one, this is irrelevant to our conversation and two, that is weird for you to say."

You pull a face in response and he giggles before stealing another kiss from your mouth, "you're so cute. I want to keep you in my pocket and take you everywhere with me--"

"Hmm," Kevin feigns contemplation, before he tackles you into a hug and almost squeezing all air out of you, "nah. I think it's very relevant. Actually, it's always relevant."

Nose finding the crook of his neck before inhaling his scent, you close your eyes and bask in his essence, in the way his body feels against yours, in the strength of his arms around you to hold you to the ground.

He's home to you, and you'll never exchange that for anything.

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