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#gentle reader i did not
justthatspiffy · 5 months ago
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for somebody who does printing and also worked housekeeping it is hilarious how much of a baby i am about my hands. they are princess hands and they will never harden to the work required of them and every time i break a nail or get a paper cut or a bunch of microabraisions across my knuckles i WILL get emotional about it
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ihatebnha · 6 months ago
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older bf deku who's so gentle :( this also applies with kiri idk they have the same dilf vibes!
it's not very good but, trying to post this today was like trying to put water in a bucket full of holes. you need to be arrested for putting this imagery in my head. *scream*
(warning: genderneutral)
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I honestly think Gentle is the most perfect word for this.
He toes around your relationship for a while, not wanting to impose, not knowing how to express that he wants more, wants whatever you have to give him.
He’s shy about holding hands, and always acts so surprised when you reach out for him, his face going red, fingers wrapping around yours so securely it's like they have no other purpose. Letting go is like shaking off tape; he forgets that you're attached and doesn't seem to remember how not to be when you reach for something else and again, he reaches to you.
He also doesn’t have a good grasp on like… greeting kisses. He wants to kiss you, always, but there’s still that lingering shock when you stand on your tippy toes when you first see him. It’s not just "hi," it’s "hi" and a kiss. It’s "goodbye" and a kiss. He didn’t realize it was going to be that easy... so sometimes he'll take multiples in the form of soft, little pecks with his forehead pressed to yours.
And I think… he’s hesitant to show you his apartment, too. It’s fine and all but really evident of the fact that he’s been living by himself for a while now. His couch is a loveseat. There’s one sink in the bathroom. His bed is not king sized but full sized… and when you still want to lay next to him on the first night you come over, your face squished to his chest, legs tangled up, it’s a big deal! Makes him go all soft inside to wrap the blanket around you just that little bit tighter, or scoot around so you can have the softer spot on the mattress.
Just all these little moments pile up. When you lean into him while watching a movie, his fingers just barely stroking across your shoulder. When you offer him bites of your food, and he offers you bites of his... and when you sit on his lap and ask for more and he holds your hands in his and it's just... the most tender moment ever.
Yeah. He's gentle. :((
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God tho, Kiri too. The whole thing.
You invite him over to your place after a date and he’s… declining in order to give you space. You shiver in the morning breeze and he’s giving you his hoodie. You greet him and it’s just this long hug, more of a huddle than anything; his arms wrapped around you, his ear attuned to your greeting, your chin on his chest when you look up, and his kisses more like butterflies.
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baomien · 5 months ago
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SCREAAAAMMMMM
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shamevillain · 8 months ago
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Take Me Out — Part Three
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader — Assassin AU
Summary: You and Bucky are both professionally trained assassins. Both contracted to kill the other. Both completely unaware.
Rating: NSFW
Warnings: Violence. Mention of blood/injury. Use of weapons/guns. Description of needles. Description of death. Character death. Explicit content (18+ only). Oral sex. Over-stimulation (if you squint).
Part Two
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Offering some semblance of a calm smile — you hope — you pour a hefty glass of wine for Bucky before slipping back into your seat across from him. Your body is vibrating with awareness and your palms dampen in anticipation, but you know you have to play it cool. Now alerted to Bucky’s possible intentions, you’re hyper-aware of his behavior. Every movement and nuance is suspicious; each word he speaks and even the rhythmic way he blinks his cerulean eyes is just off. This man is about to kill you. Or attempt to, anyway...you don’t intend to give him the chance.
Your dinner sits heavily in your stomach as Bucky drones on opposite you, the delicious pelmeni now a doughy brick pressing uncomfortably against your ribs. You swallow thickly, hoping to tame the unexpected nausea clawing its way up your tightening throat. Spewing your meal all over the polished surface of Bucky’s massive oak table isn’t the most ideal way to thank your host. Nothing Bucky says even registers in your mind as you’re too busy trying to figure out what gave you away. Did you say something to tip him off? Act suspiciously?
“More wine?” Bucky’s voice jolts you from your musings.
Unable to find your voice, you merely reject his offer with a small smile and a dismissive hand. Your body is already thrumming with the beginnings of intoxication and with the added shock of Bucky’s endeavor to hide a weapon, you’re having a hard enough time keeping your focus as it is. Distracted as you are, it hasn’t escaped you that Bucky is yet to touch the tainted glass of wine you had poured earlier. Instead, he leans back comfortably in his chair and continues rambling casually in an attempt to avoid any silences.
You tune in just in time to hear Bucky conclude a story about a woman from his gym who had taken to stalking him. He clears his throat and the sound brings you fully back to reality. It dawns on you that all you’re doing is staring at the poor man as he awaits a response. Knowing you need to throw Bucky off a bit and camouflage your odd behavior, you aim straight for his Achilles’ heel: flattery.  
“Can’t say I blame her,” you rasp, hating the way your throat strangles the words on their way out. “Someone as handsome as you? I’d probably follow you home, too.”
“You think I’m handsome?” Bucky retorts with a smirk.
Apparently the wine has done a number on him as well, effectively diluting his usual aversion to compliments and flirting. It’s an unexpected response, but fortunately you’re quick on your feet in any situation.
“Oh, for sure. A real lady killer.”
You can hardly believe your own ears as the words leap unbidden from your lips. Of all the things you could have said to redirect the growing tension, you’ve decided to taunt the man who might be planning to end your life. 
Regardless, your jesting has provided you with the first crack in Bucky’s calm façade. With all the training he’s had, you really expected him to have better control. You’re surprised such an insignificant comment has provoked an observable reaction from the man. But the way Bucky’s nostrils flare and the vein running the length of his alluring throat pulses more distinctly gives him away. He knows. He knows you know. 
Game on.
“Where’s your bathroom, Buck?” you sigh, batting your eyelashes.
Barely listening to Bucky’s directions, you rise carefully, willing your body not to reveal the tension tightening your muscles or the raging adrenaline causing your knees to wobble slightly. Adopting your best bedroom eyes, you offer Bucky a saucy wink and make the utmost effort to attempt a sultry sashay out of his line of sight.
Once concealed in the safety of the well-lit restroom, you take a few deep, stabilizing breaths. You wonder if Bucky had felt the weapons hidden beneath your dress when he groped you earlier, but you suppose it no longer matters; he apparently knows why you’re here...as far as you can tell . All you know is that your original plan to make the most of your evening is off the table. Bucky knows your intentions and is fully prepared to defend himself — to the death, no doubt. If only you’d accepted his invitation to go out to dinner...you could have poisoned him without him knowing and been done with it. You’d probably have been home and in bed before it got late, too.
Lifting the hem of your loose-fitting dress, you ensure your gun is locked and loaded before testing the security of the knife tethered to your opposite leg. Reassured that you’re more or less ready for battle, you feel a little less anxious about the state of your situation. You depress the silver button atop the toilet’s cistern and hope Bucky believes that you’re actually using the bathroom and not in here scheming. As an added touch, you even run the water in the sink for a long moment. With a final calming exhalation, you kick the heels off of your feet and twist the handle before you. You ease the heavy door open with a resounding creak. 
So much for sneaking back out there…
The moment you step out of the bathroom, you know the entire atmosphere has changed. You can feel it, even from a distance. Something electric crackles through the air and the house is full of an energy that exhilarates you. Your sweaty feet move silently along the wood planks as you trek stealthily down the shadowed hall. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention and apprehension trickles icily down your spine. Something isn’t right.
Instinct has you reaching under your dress once more, unholstering the Beretta hidden there. The warm weight of the steel in your clammy palm is soothing. Continuing towards the candle-lit dining room, it immediately becomes evident why you felt so unsettled. Bucky is gone.
Losing sight of a mark is about the worst mistake you can make as an assassin, especially when the target is most definitely aware of your objective. That’s basic knowledge. Assassin’s 101. You chide yourself with a muttered curse and adopt a combative stance. Peeking into the sitting room you occupied earlier, you notice the fire is no longer burning. The extinguished logs now only smolder, barely illuminating the room beyond the stone hearth. You seek out the large couch in the room and set towards it, practically diving behind it to hide. At least you’ve remembered enough of your training to conceal yourself.
Deafened by the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, you attempt to steady your breathing so you can listen to your surroundings. It’s too dark to see much, so you’ll have to utilize your other senses to relocate Bucky. He could be anywhere by now, assuming he’s still in the house. If he’d seen you coming out of the bathroom and secreting yourself in here, he definitely has the upper hand. Hell, even if he doesn’t know where you’re hiding, he’s still completely at an advantage. 
From just outside the shadowy room you occupy, you hear the sound of creaking floorboards. You chuckle to yourself, grateful that Bucky clearly isn't familiar enough with his own house to avoid the squeaky spots that give him away. Shifting to your hands and knees, you crawl silently towards the doorway, being sure to keep your gun at the ready.
“Honey, you okay?” Bucky calls, his velvety voice feigning concern.
Sliding into the doorway, you glance to the left and find the long hallway empty. In the other direction, you spot an illuminated, open doorway. The moment your eyes land on the gaping doorway, Bucky’s looming form appears and his gaze hones in on you immediately as he drapes himself fetchingly against the doorframe. 
Hesitation isn’t an option so you lift your hand quickly while squeezing the finger curled around the trigger of the miniature gun. An ear-splitting crack rips through the silence of the house and the speeding bullet you send in Bucky’s direction shreds the polished wood paneling directly beside his head. Shrapnel sprays in all directions, chunks of splintered wood turning into projectiles and pelting the side of Bucky’s genuinely shocked face. The bullet’s impact vibrates a massive, gold-rimmed mirror off the wall and the glass shatters with an echoing boom as he tosses himself sideways into the room he’d just emerged from.
Bucky is absolutely astounded. When you had excused yourself to the bathroom, he’d slipped into the downstairs bedroom, hoping to entice you to join him. He had planned to seduce you and maybe indulge in you just a little before striking. In no way had he expected you to come back with a fucking gun. Something is definitely up and now he’s wondering just how exactly you’ve managed to figure out that he intends to kill you. Better yet, he wonders why you were so readily prepared to defend yourself and appropriately armed to do so.
Chanting another string of curses under your breath, you make use of Bucky’s current lack of visibility and sprint across the hallway into a different room. Your ears still ring in the aftermath of your shot, so you can barely make out the tirade of expletives filtering in from across the house. Bucky sounds positively pissed, which is certainly going to work in your favor. People make mistakes when they’re angry. It’s what you’re counting on to get you out of this house alive.
It’s impossible to get a visual from your new position and that means you’re running out of options. You can’t kill what you can’t see. That really leaves you with one course of action: lure Bucky out into the open.
“Hey, Buck...you wanna talk about this?” you holler, receiving nothing but silence as an answer. “C’mon, let’s be adults about it!”
If not for the dire situation you find yourself in, you may have laughed at the distant, angry spluttering Bucky offers in response. There’s a loud bang, a scrape, and a whole lot of scuffling before his raspy, disgruntled voice finally reaches you.
“Adults?! You just shot at me!” he practically screams.
“I shot near you!”
“It. Could. Have. Ricocheted,” Bucky counters, whining like an angry, petulant child.
He’s clearly perturbed by your attempts to defend your violent actions, however it’s not as though Bucky is any better. The fact that such grumpy, pitiful words are coming from a grown man — a killer, no less — absolutely tickles you, and this time you do laugh.
Still giggling, you dare to poke your head out into the hall. You have to stretch quite far into the open to get a good look at the doorway that Bucky hides beyond, though you see no sign of him. Not until a tiny silver glint catches your eyes. Hovering just above the floor, you spot a large hand, in it a sizable chunk of the shattered mirror.
Your gazes connect in the reflection for the briefest of seconds before Bucky is on the move. He rolls to his stomach, both hands gripped tightly around the butt of his own pistol. Three staccato shots ring out, each one whizzing past and missing you by a fraction of an inch. It’s not a coincidence, it’s a warning; Bucky is far too proficient to miss a clear target from this distance and you both know it.
In response, you swiftly unsheathe the lightweight blade strapped to your thigh, giving it a toss to adjust your grip. Bucky doesn’t have the opportunity to dodge the twirling knife as you launch it with alarming speed and force in his direction. The dull thump and accompanying roar of pain confirms your accuracy and success. You stay in the open long enough to watch Bucky yank the blade from his broad shoulder and toss it to the floor with a metallic clatter.
When he rises to his full height to brush dirt and debris from his once perfect clothing, you mirror the action. A crimson blotch blooms just below his collarbone, steadily growing and spreading down his crisp, white shirt. His face is tight with rage and dotted with several small, oozing cuts. Somehow the deadly weapon dangling at his side doesn’t scare you, but the single step he takes in your direction sends you hightailing it towards the staircase.
You take the steps two at a time, racing to the second floor of the house. Bucky knows the layout better than you, but you’re stealthy and fast. In a way, you’re still evenly matched. Bucky’s pounding steps scale the stairs gradually. Slowly. Purposefully.
He’s giving himself away and though it makes no sense, you aren’t going to question his lapse in judgement. Bucky is smarter than that and it makes you wonder if he’s just trying to make this easy for you. As if you aren’t experienced enough to go toe-to-toe with him, not skilled enough to best him. The very notion pisses you off and sets you in motion.
Assuming Bucky is clueless as to which room you’ve shrouded yourself in, you inch closer and closer to the doorway, ready for him the moment he steps near enough. The distance between you lessens and you’re prepared to make your move. What you don’t expect is for him to be as close as he is when you twirl out of the room, gun drawn. Bucky reacts with impressive reflexes, his fist colliding painfully with your wrist and sending your weapon skittering down the hall, well out of reach.
It occurs to you then that Bucky’s ignorance had been intentional. A trick. He knew exactly where your mind would go: you’d be offended and annoyed at him for underestimating you and that’s where you’d slip up. Because people make mistakes when they’re angry. A grunt explodes from your lungs when Bucky’s heavy weight knocks you to the ground where he lands on top of you. 
“Hey, how’s it goin’?!” Bucky hisses sarcastically in your face.
As you try to wiggle out from under his massive body, Bucky easily wrestles you into submission and slams your wrists against the floor above your head. You unleash a furious growl, fruitlessly attempting to free your arms from the single hand that holds you in place. With his other hand, Bucky delves into his pocket, then produces the knife he’d snatched off the table earlier. He’s picked it up by the blade so he twirls it skillfully, the light glinting off the razored edge as he prepares to bury it in the center of your chest.
Impressed with his determination to defend himself, you redouble your efforts in kind, in the interest of proving to yourself that you’re equally matched. Fighting back, you kick and squirm until Bucky’s grip slips and you’re free; your hands flailing so wildly that he accidentally cracks his knuckles across your mouth in an attempt to stop your blows. The impact shocks you into a briefly immobile state, the blood blossoming from your split lip probably matching the drying wound you spot on Bucky’s own mouth.
Something about the lack of fear in your eyes makes it click in Bucky’s mind. You aren’t scared because you’re too busy being worried. Not because you think he’s trying to kill you, but because you think you may not be able to kill him. It all makes sense then; that’s why you’re really here, why you’re decked out like a little soldier, why you aren’t terrified that he’s armed and after you. You merely think he’s protecting himself, all the while he’s just trying to kill you too.
You taste the metallic tang of blood and the coppery flavor incites a whole new wave of rage within you. Bringing a knee up, you crash your leg violently into Bucky’s crotch. As expected, he rolls off of you, cupping himself and rewarding you with a distressed moan of pain. You leave him there, a pathetic, writhing mess while your feet slap loudly in the direction of the staircase. Just before you reach it, another shot blasts from behind you, shattering the window at the top of the staircase.
Showered in a spray of glass, you trot down the stairs, your toes slipping and crunching over the sharp bits of the broken window. You can feel the moisture of the tiny cuts covering the bottom of your feet, though you ignore the slight stinging that comes with it. 
As you pass the front door, you briefly consider making a run for it, but that’s just not like you. You have to stay and see this through. Besides, if you leave this house with Bucky still alive, it’s only a matter of time before he comes for you. You’ll spend every second looking over your shoulder, waiting for him to retaliate until ultimately one of you dies. You simply can’t take that chance.
Heading for the kitchen, you rack your brain for a new plan of action. You glance at the block holding an array of knives, but with Bucky in possession of a gun, a handheld weapon is of no use. With no other options, you wrench every dial on the stove and begin to fill the room with the acrid scent of butane.
Bucky’s footfalls rattle the house, heavy and ungainly. You pace back and forth for a moment, trying to decide how to play this. Before Bucky appears in the kitchen, you’ve hopped up on the counter and perched yourself right on the edge, calmly waiting for him.
“This is hands down the worst date I’ve ever been on,” he laments, his tall form leaning tiredly against the wall.
“Does that mean you won’t be calling me for a second one?” you tease.
Bucky doesn’t respond, instead his eyes scan your form, taking in your rumpled appearance and your bleeding face. You do the same, respectively, observing the cuts decorating his face and the darkening spot of blood on his ruined shirt. He raises his gun then, pointing it directly at you and forcing your eyes to meet his. 
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“And why not?” Bucky questions impatiently.
Nodding your head over your shoulder in the direction of the stove, you bring his attention to the crooked knobs. You point out that the igniters are engaged and have been steadily leaking a flow of gas into the room. All it takes is a single spark for the entire house to go up in flames.
“You shoot that gun and we both die,” you warn. 
“At least we’d both get what we came here for,” Bucky hisses.
Though you question the meaning of Bucky’s words, you can’t even think straight on account of how suddenly your head swims. Your legs stiffen with inexplicable tremors and you brace your hands flat on the counter beside your thighs. The feeling passes after a moment, though your lungs still feel heavy and it’s laborious to breathe. You attribute it all to a combination of adrenaline and exhaustion. Bucky watches you, a strange heat burning in his eyes; a heat spawned from the way you struggle, not even aware of what’s happening to you. Misreading the hunger you find in Bucky’s eyes, you make a last ditch effort to fulfill your mission.
“I came here for a little more than that actually,” you purr.
Your words draw Bucky in, several hesitant steps bringing him a bit closer. You smile flirtatiously, licking your lips for good measure. 
“I hope we can still save this date,” you admit. “Otherwise this lingerie was a total waste.”
The uncertainty is blatant in Bucky’s body language. He’s trying to figure you out, trying to figure out why you’ve done a complete turnaround. But as predicted, sex is always an effective tool and not even Bucky is immune. Though dubious, Bucky closes the distance between you with several long strides. Lifting an arm, he wedges the barrel of his gun forcefully under your jaw. 
He sees the way your breathing increases, your lips part on a sigh, and your pupils blow wide; your arousal in the face of imminent danger turns him on in kind. His own arousal aside, Bucky is surprised you’re so calm now. Even more surprising, however, is how cognizant you remain. You won’t be for much longer, though. And he’s going to have some fun in the meantime.
With his free hand, he sweeps his thumb over your split and swollen lip, the rough pad of his finger catching on the crusty, dried blood. Bucky offers an apologetic smile when you wince slightly at the pressure he applies to your smarting lip. He leans in then, placing a slow and tentative kiss on your mouth. Trusting you enough to drop his weapon onto the countertop, he wastes no time getting his hands on you. 
Bucky’s touch begins at the tops of your thighs and you immediately know what he’s doing when his wide palms sweep along the surface of your legs. His fingers grope the empty holsters through the thin material of your dress before delving into either pocket. He finds them empty though, as you’ve already taken the syringe out and it currently sits beneath your moist palm, safe from Bucky’s searching.
“Not hiding any other weapons under here are you, honey?” he growls.
His words are accompanied by a heat crawling up under your dress, his hands bunching and shifting the material. Eyes locked on yours, he watches; waiting for a reaction, waiting to see if you’re going to turn on him. Instead, you move lithely, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck where your fingers massage gently up into his scalp. You draw him in, stretching upwards to whisper in his ear.
“That depends on your definition of a weapon.”
With that, you turn your head, capturing Bucky’s lips in a forceful kiss. Using your bare and bloodied feet, you dig them into the backs of his legs and urge him closer between your parted thighs. He pushes your dress higher and higher, nearly revealing your clothed center, his fingers digging brutishly into the soft flesh of your thighs in a surprising show of restraint. The kiss grows more passionate, more sloppy, more wet. 
Bucky goes at you urgently until the flesh between your legs grows more wet as well. It’s ill-advised for sure, but what harm will it do to allow yourself just a taste of what he’s offering? The man knows why you’re here so there’s not much for you to lose now. When you reach for the belt fastened around his hips, Bucky stops you. You glance up and raise an eyebrow, wondering why he’s decided to impede your groping hands.
“Let me taste you,” he rasps.
The statement raises in pitch, sounding more like a question and the desperation behind his words nearly sets you aflame. Your head nods of its own volition and Bucky springs into action. Spreading your thighs wide, he flips the fabric of your dress over your torso. His palm presses gently against your chest, imploring you to fall back against the chilled granite surface you sit upon. Making sure to keep the syringe hidden beneath your palm, you gladly obey. 
Bucky bends at the waist, a rush of air leaving him as he observes your lace-clad center. With only the top of his head visible, you can’t help but sigh when he presses warm lips to the waistband of your panties. His mouth trails faintly along the skin there, the ghost of his touch a promise of what’s to come.
“Can already smell you, honey,” he pants against your flesh.
One of your thighs is lifted over Bucky’s broad shoulder and his hot breath breezes along your dampness. You nearly squeal when he presses his tongue flat against you, dragging along your center through the thin fabric of your underwear. The stimulation through the gusset of your panties is deadly and you’re not sure how you’ll survive the direct contact of Bucky’s exploring tongue.
Not wanting to give you the chance to change your mind or turn the tables on him, Bucky swirls his tongue over your clit for only a moment before he hooks a finger around the saliva-soaked cloth hiding you from him. His knuckle brushes teasingly up and down your slick folds and Bucky glances up to watch the way your face twists in pleasure. 
Leaning in, he spits directly on your swollen flesh and sweeps the tip of his tongue through the layer of saliva. You moan with need, your hips raising and twisting responsively. Bucky places a gentle hand to your pelvis, silently requesting that you remain still as his tongue laves your tingling slit. 
God, how he wants to tease and torture you, drawing this out until you’re in tears and begging for him. But you taste too delicious and he wants to ruin you so badly. He devours you like a man starved; treating you as if you’re his last meal and he dare not waste a single drop of what you’ve so kindly offered. The tip of his tongue dances expertly as he swirls and drags the muscle along the length of your core, pausing only to suck lightly at your aching bud.
The sounds Bucky draws from you are needy and desperate and perfect. Your gasps and moans fill his ears and wordlessly plead with him to give you more. He’s more than happy to deliver. A shocked cry rips from you when he stiffens his tongue and shoves it wetly into your clenching core. The blatant pleasure you display beneath his ministrations has Bucky painfully hard and his mouth works at a frenzied pace to bring you over the edge. 
You’re careful not to shatter the glass syringe beneath your palm as you hold tightly to the edge of the granite countertop; the fingers of your empty hand threaded haphazardly in the short hairs on the crown of his head as you try to escape his relentless stimulation, but Bucky is having none of that. One hand grips your wrist harshly to pin it against your heaving stomach and the other easily holds your pelvis in place.
Your thighs clamp tightly on either side of his head as your body is fraught with tension, the oncoming climax warning you of its arrival in the tingling of your toes and the quivering of your legs. Bucky is not to be impeded by your clenching limbs, merely continuing his sinful assault and paying no mind to the frantic way you call his name. Tears stream from your eyes as your body begins to shake. The rough scrape of Bucky’s scruffy facial hair is your ultimate undoing. Your hips lift at the course contact, bucking into his chin. When he latches onto your clit and hums his approval, your vision blacks out and your lungs seize around the scream that wants to escape you.
Muscles locked and mouth parted on a silent sob, you can do nothing but hold on and ride it out. Bucky’s lips move more gently now, working you through your intense release. When you finally relax and sag in his hold, Bucky’s hands shift and begin to massage your thighs. Just when you think he’s going to take mercy on you, his tongue makes contact with your sensitive flesh once more. He licks at you tenderly and methodically, savoring the taste of you and cleansing you of the moisture that drips from you. Each sweep of his tongue prompts you to twitch and whimper, but you’re too weak to fight him off.
Once pleased with his handiwork, Bucky rises to his full height and towers over you. You wrench your eyes open just in time to watch him swipe the back of his hand across his glistening lips. His tongue peeks out to get one last taste and he smiles down at you. You suck in a deep breath in an attempt to gather yourself and muster the energy to move. When you shift onto your elbows, Bucky reaches out to assist you and lift you back into a seated position.
A soft chuckle leaves his parted mouth and the warm air is tinged with your essence. He reaches up to swipe the lingering streak of moisture that trails down your cheek and your eyes flutter shut at the tender gesture. Bucky fits himself snugly between your still-parted thighs and presses his hardened length into your bare flesh. You can’t help the little moan that you let out and Bucky tips his head to capture the sounds with his own mouth.
You nip sharply at Bucky’s plush, pink lips tasting yourself in the process and he rewards you with a satisfied groan. A deeper, more feral sound vibrates in his chest when you dig your fingers into his hair and wrench his head backwards, forcing him to look at you. You smile cheekily and Bucky returns the gesture not knowing it’ll be the last thing he does. He parts from you to fumble with his belt buckle and the moment his eyes drop, you attack.
“Sweet dreams, honey,” you whisper, words dripping with saccharine.
Violently, you stab the thin needle into Bucky’s neck and depress the plunger. He tries to back up and pull away from the fire burning along his throat and across his shoulder as the poison floods his bloodstream, but you hold him in place with your legs twined around him. In all the excitement of your kill, you hadn't registered the return of the weak and dizzy feeling from earlier. Not until you realize how badly your hands shake around the emptied syringe. 
The sound of Bucky’s breathy chuckle filters through the buzzing in your ears and the sound is so surprising, you can’t be sure whether or not you’ve imagined it. His laugh had been very real. This is his favorite part: the realization, the helplessness. The victory is dampened slightly by his own predicament, but he still enjoys the confusion that clouds your eyes.
Your head spins, your mouth is uncomfortably dry, your heart beats in slow motion. Though soft and tinkling, the sound of the syringe hitting the floor seems to echo over and over. Bucky’s hands wind around your hips and he wobbles unsteadily, though he manages to press his hot lips to the shell of your ear.
“You should have just let me take you out, darling,” he slurs drunkenly.
Bucky loses all facilities then, his knees giving out with a roll of his eyes as his body tips backwards. With his hands still gripping your body, he takes you down along with him, dragging you towards and then over the edge of the counter as you both tumble to the floor. You land clumsily atop Bucky’s chest, which heaves erratically beneath your perspiration-coated cheek.
Everything is fading with alarming quickness and in your panic, you attempt to push your body up and away from Bucky’s. Unfortunately, you don’t possess the strength; you shake, teeter, and eventually collapse atop the now motionless man. Paralysis takes over, making your body completely useless, however, your mind is still crystal clear.
You’re fully conscious and aware that your body is shutting down. Your end is creeping closer and closer by the second and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Even with all your training and planning and prepping, you managed to overlook the most predictable outcome. The oldest trick in the book. So obvious, in fact, that you never even considered the possibility that Bucky would be the one to use the unimaginative strategy. Sure, you had planned to do it too, but you’re amazed that something so simple is what’s taking you out.
Well played, Barnes.
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signipotens · 3 months ago
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I’m so glad that The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent has given me, a horrendous mess of a Nic Cage fan, exactly what I’ve always wanted:
Nic Cage passionately making out with Nic Cage
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tbos-main · 4 months ago
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the march of ravens
the march of ravens is the most well-known song in burnos and is a song of death. there's a folk variation played with lutes and bagpipes that's made to sound more upbeat (upbeat in pace, not mood, as traditionally it's a very slow melody) but the classic version features a single lyre and nothing else, though burnosians now incorporate drums and flutes when they can and royal funerals have an entire orchestra. the focus is more on the melody, but it's got a handful of lyrics that are sung similarly to a hymn. there's a lot of ululation and it's actually very difficult to sing properly, hence why a folk version has sort of emerged (the traditional, slow version would be performed during a funeral while the folk version tends to emerge in the tavern afterwards).
it is an incredibly morbid song, as 'ravens' here refers not to wisers, but to the raven meadow, aka their version of the afterlife. this song is played during funeral rites to represent the march of a soul into the meadow.
the kuserian lyrics are: menam al damtu ne maya is al sha ne guna, menam al genaia gleerine ne cuna, ona fim uga, ona.
the stoelic lyrics are: cain damtu ne stad ag kroi ne imir, cain schlan gleerine ne rinde, ano fim bran, ano
the march of ravens is ONLY sung in either kuserian or stoelic depending on obvious factors just bc of how old the song is; it stems from the burnosian empire so never had an original version translated into the common tongue (english). obviously due to the differences in syllables between each translation, the vocal delivery of the march of ravens can vary considerably, but the tune is always the same and is incredibly familiar to everyone in burnos (basically the burnosian equivalent of hearing a G note). the english translation is: when the blood is still and the heart is gone, when the parting glass is done, go on with ravens, go on. (the parting glass is a custom going back to the saxon times and it's the last drink you offer a guest before they leave. it's also the name of a popular funeral song in scotland and ireland so i really liked that link).
so there's two reasons for the march of ravens being relevant enough to warrant its own post. the first is that it's used as an incredibly obvious foreshadowing factor. the march of ravens starts with three clear, almost unattractive sounding plucks of a lyre that goes against the elegant delivery of the rest of the song. this is because abrun, the god of death and the raven meadow, has three arms. it's lead to three being an unlucky number not because of abrun himself, but literally because of the connotations of the march of ravens. that's how famous this song is; it's led to people creating entirely new omens. so sometimes in tbos, a noise will sound in three bursts, like three knocks on a door or three shots of an arrow, and it almost always foreshadows death. in an even more obvious usage, at one point a musician witnessing the slaughter of her house uses her last moments to literally play the march of ravens. it's a really brutal scene, very violinist-on-the-titanic-using-their-last-moments-for-music-because-they-know-they-can't-save-themselves, and it's just pure bloodshed with this really slow, eerie song overlaying it.
the other reason behind this post is that 'the march of ravens' is the current title of the second book, because as a cover, it fits with the first book (the blood of serpents -> the march of ravens) and it sounds very much like the wisers going to war, which is basically what happens in book 2. and as an in-universe reference, it's got allllll of those /\/\ connotations so i think it's very neat <3 (and also the scene where that musician plays it during all that bloodshed is MASSIVE to the plot like it's integral to where the events go from there so naming the book after it seems fitting)
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cosmic-navel-gazin · 4 months ago
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Compassionate aliens, Crime lords and Cat cafés
 There’s this one scene in Hard to be a God... this one small, easily overlooked little scene... I’ll never forget about it for as long as I live.
It’s not like it’s THE most important scene plotwise, or that it sets up this big reveal later on, or anything like that. I just... I love it tremendously, I kiss its forehead tenderly and tuck it in every night, so I wanted to write down some thoughts on it.
 @razielim​ I’m gonna talk about the beginning of Chapter 3, I go beast mode on this one and I can’t even tell anymore if it’s too spoilery for you so I’m hiding this under the ‘keep reading’ for your sake, you can try and dip in if you want
Let me just set the stage first in case someone is reading and has no idea what I’m talking about:
In the novel Hard to be a God, our main character Don Rumata (real name Anton), is a man from a future spacefaring utopian Earth. He is one of several people who have been sent as undercover operatives of the Institute of Experimental History, to an alien planet similar to Earth during the middle ages. He's been living there incognito for the last 5 years, masquerading as one of the feudal lords of a medieval-europe-like nation. Ethical dilemmas ensue on the moral responsibility to do good and how these earthlings should intervene in the development of alien civilizations and It's *chef's kiss* muah! it’s good shit. It might very well be my favourite take on the "Who Watches the Watchers" type of story, but that’s its own 1.000+ page essay, not what I wanna focus on right now.
Okay so, It's the very beginning of Chapter 3, and it starts with our boy Rumata daydreaming about kidnapping this Waga the Wheel character, a man infamously known as the uncontested head of all the local criminal forces, and bring him to Earth for observation. The goal? Well, Rumata hopes that this radical change in environment could lead the old man to hopefully turn over a new leaf. Without his complex web of murderers and thugs under his guidance, and really no need for it on the peaceful post-scarcity idyllic Earth, what would this “spider” do there? Maybe... maybe he could dedicate himself to the noble art of cat caretaking!
Yes! This is real! Here it is for your viewing pleasure:
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I just, I'm not exactly sure I can explain why I love this passage so much. I want to try and do it justice without just going: 
Come look at this! Can you believe it? The alien man, Don "i could fix him" Rumata, wants to kidnap the ruthless cold-blooded criminal mastermind and take him to his home planet so the aforementioned monster can focus on playing with cat instead of doing evil!!!
It's more than that, although, that is amazing in and of itself...
Like, this isn’t the only neat instance of daydreaming about kidnapping people and taking them to Earth either (I love the other ones too). And I also don’t just love it because it shows that my boy believes in The Healing Therapeutic Power of Cat.
I mean all those things help, but I think this stuck with me because in addition to all of that, it’s such a good early nugget that encapsulates the growing schism in Rumata’s psyche in an unexpected endearing yet sad way.
So, first of all I feel it’s important to really look at the person this daydreaming scenario is referring to, because of what it masterfully says about our main character without pulling attention to it. 
So, in the previous chapter Rumata explains how much contempt he feels towards this Waga lad, saying that he 
“inspired an extreme disgust in him but was occasionally immensely useful—literally irreplaceable”
, someone who interested him “as a scientific specimen”,
  “a most curious exhibit in his collection of medieval monsters”.
In this chapter, while the hypothetical kidnapping bit starts out as just a curious thought experiment, he then starts saying things like:
 “You know, the old man might sicken. He’d probably even waste away.”,
and
 “After all, it can’t be the case that he doesn’t have a single small, harmless hobby—which only gets in his way here, but there could become the meaning of his life. I think he likes cats. ”
 And I’m over here just- god damn it if this isn’t a great showcase of our boy trying to hold on to his humanist ideals and identity while simultaneously growing hateful by having to interact some of the most detestable of people. He can’t help but care about this old man’s well-being. while simultaneously despising him. And he can’t help feeling that especially because he has always been accutely aware of how environmental factors influence people: that had Waga and the people around him in general been born on Earth instead, that they would’ve turned out quite different.
On Rumata struggling in balancing his love and hatred we get another shift in personality in the scene that comes right after the hypothetical kidnapping. It’s great too because it adds, I want to say, the last piece of the magnificent triad that makes up the growing fragmented psyche of our boy. We’ve seen in these segments:
 the level-headed historian;
the compassionate humanist;
and now we’re going to get the haughty noble bastard.
So after the meeting with Waga and thinking about kidnapping him, Rumata suddenly realises that his coin purse has disappeared. He’s there, in the middle of the street in distress, fiddling around in his pockets, when two lads start poking fun at him:
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I mean, it’s right there: 
“ The employee of the Institute couldn’t care less, but the noble Don Rumata of Estor went berserk. For a second he lost control of himself.”
 He then realizes in horror that he would’ve cut them down into pieces if they hadn’t cleared out, that: 
“They would have been lying here like pig carcasses, and I’d be standing here with a sword in my hand and wouldn’t have known what to do. Some god! Turning into a savage …”
This is the very next page after the whole cat thing I mean....arghhh it pisses me off it’s so good! You are never left with just one of these personas for too long a stretch of time (it helps build the growing feeling of uneasiness the book’s going for too). One is always coming right after the other in a very organic way, so much so that it makes the authors look like professional court jesters (affectionate), juggling all these disparate personalities without breaking a sweat. There are moments later on when you start to feel like you can't even tell where one begins and the other ends, as they become more and more dilluted. The historian, the humanist and the noble bastard, are all on the cockpit, fighting for control of the mecha man-god who wants to intervene but doesn't know how and is afraid of what happens when he does.
Honestly it's something I want to focus on more when I do a second reading: this rythm to Rumata’s train of thought and how his mind is always being pulled in different directions.
I see you *points at the Strugatsky brothers*. I see you planting the seeds for all the great rants and mental breakdowns coming later in the book. I see them slowly blooming beautifully later on when Rumata starts to grow more and more self-aware and desperate at the conflicting emotions taking hold of him, and the deep self-hatred pours out because he realizes he’s grown to truly hate the people he came there to help. All of that the result of having been put in the impossible position of trying to be tolerant of the intolerant, forgiving of the unforgivable, and just overall trying to act and right some wrongs without imposing force/his own will.
Just... the wonderful evolution from the cat rehab thing for Waga to this quote I’m going to link to here... it breaks my poor heart.
So in summary, here’s the conclusions I arrived at on thinking about the beginning of Chapter 3:
it’s great as just an alien who dreams about kidnapping a crimelord and have him play with cats instead of engaging in crime and murder;
it’s great because it advocates for the therapeutic power of cat, something I wholeheartedly believe in;
it’s great for the main character’s characterization and inner conflict;
it’s especially great for those last two things when you look at the scenes that came before and after, and how they work together to allude to the larger dillemmas at play;
it just makes the tragedy hit harder later on man...
I was going to say that, in my most humble opinion, these books (at least Roadside Picnic and Hard to be a God, which are the two I’ve read), are just as much about the big philosophical ideas as the little tender moments, and that together they make the book greater than the sum of its parts because even the smaller funny little scenes aren’t distractions disconnected from the main story, they all have winks and nudges of what the larger thread is about.
And I don’t know man, I guess I totally get what Ursula K. le Guin said about Roadside Picnic, and i think it fits this book too:
“ Most of the characters are tough people leading degrading, discouraging lives, presented without sentimentality and without cynicism. Humanity is not flattered, but it’s not cheapened. The authors’ touch is tender, aware of vulnerability.“
And last but not least, here! Have a complimentary crazy straw you crazy bastard, for somehow making it to the end of this rant. It will make its way to you in 24h or less!
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I’ll be real this cat scene lives rent free in my head as does my HTBAG AU where Waga is kidnapped and taken to Earth, possibly Japan, where he opens his little cat café. This whole rant was just an excuse to disguise that as an intellectual exercise.
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thewritewolf · 8 months ago
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I posted 3,471 times in 2021 (Yeaaah maybe I should tone down the queue some more)
118 posts created (3%)
3353 posts reblogged (97%)
For every post I created, I reblogged 28.4 posts.
I added 1,924 tags in 2021
#queue - 1268 posts
#miraculous ladybug - 104 posts
#my writing - 102 posts
#ml fanfiction - 102 posts
#chouette - 86 posts (@ladyblargh Eyyyy!)
#adrien agreste - 61 posts
#marinette dupain-cheng - 59 posts
#adrienette - 53 posts
#ladrien - 51 posts
#chat noir - 38 posts
Longest Tag: 114 characters
#man i want to make a fallout 4 joke here but i get the feeling there isn't much overlap in the ml and f4 audiences
My Top Posts in 2021
#5
After the End Chapter 1: Rain
Summary: Ladybug and Chat Noir are triumphant! The big bad Hawkmoth goes down to roaring applause! People are crying in the streets, feeling emotions without fear for the first time in years! Everyone got everything they could have wanted...
...But the story doesn't stop just because the storyteller stops talking. So what happens when victory leaves unanswered questions and loose threads? Can they really let their guard down after so long spent struggling? What happens after the end?
51 notes • Posted 2021-05-02 00:40:39 GMT
#4
Adventure to the Heart Chapter 1: AU
Summary: When the miracle box is discovered by Alya, Marinette's lies to cover it up. But one thing leads to another and now her little lie has turned into a major quest. With Adrien joining their party, there's no backing out now.Who knows? It could be that this quest is just what the two of them needed to get closer than ever...
55 notes • Posted 2021-04-01 22:19:10 GMT
#3
Starting off the New Year right with some quality reading material! @sweetsweetsweetie
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62 notes • Posted 2021-01-01 16:29:07 GMT
#2
No, Really
Summary: Adrien can no longer deny it - he is in love with Marinette! The only problem is, she has made it absolutely clear that she is definitely not interested in him. But when he discovers that Marinette might be harboring feelings for Chat Noir, Adrien decides that there is only one way to get together with her: Reveal his identity.
Trouble is? She doesn't believe him.
87 notes • Posted 2021-03-17 02:59:27 GMT
#1
Night of Memories
Summary: Years have gone by. On patrol, Ladybug and Chat Noir reminiscence on times long passed. Its a night like any other, except for one thing - Chat Noir has a question for his lady.
178 notes • Posted 2021-10-19 20:22:39 GMT
Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →
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flysafepapi · a year ago
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Move
Finally, more of my Arthur and Vincent series. It’s been a while.
All of these are standalone parts, so they can be read alone, but if you want to read the rest they’re right here.
Uh, I guess the warnings for this one are: vague medical settings that aren’t described at all except for one nurse, the mention of a bit of blood from a super minor accident, and vincent and arthur being Dads™️
tagging: @the-makingsofgreatness , @mia-grace21912 , @ogohh , @darkwaterrose (if you’re not on this list and you want to be, or if you are and you don’t want to be, let me know)
I don’t have a gif for this one, so. Here we go.
“Vin? No, no, no. Hey, open your eyes. Come on, stay with me, don’t check out on me now. You’ve been through worse, so I need you to keep your eyes open.”
It’d been a normal morning. He’d woken up before Arthur, like he always does, and stared at the dim light coming through the thin curtains before he braved the biting chill beyond the warm blankets and went downstairs to start breakfast, groaning at the pain in his back as he goes. He’s only halfway through making the first pan of bacon and eggs when he hears footsteps thudding overhead and barely twenty seconds later, three small bodies come running down the stairs and bursting into the kitchen. Teddy stops abruptly beside the table, causing Billy to almost smack into him and knock them both to the ground. Rosie laughs at them and goes around the opposite side of the table, climbing up onto a stool and waiting.
“Can I have pancakes?”
Vincent shoots her a look when she starts rocking back and forth on the stool and she stops, looking sheepish.
“I know I raised you with some manners, Rose Shelby.”
“Please can I have pancakes?”
“Of course you can. These are almost done, go and wake your father.”
Across the table, Teddy and Billy are whispering about something.
“And what might you two be planning?”
He narrows his eyes suspiciously when they give him matching sunny smiles and say they’re not doing anything, but drops it when Rosie skips back into the room, Arthur a few steps behind her.
“Smells great.”
“You can make the coffee.”
“Mm.” Arthur’s always been slow to wake in the mornings, especially on a weekend, and Vincent barely falters when Arthur just slumps over against him. It’s a regular enough occurrence, so he just keeps on cooking. “You’re warm. And it’s early. Why are we awake so early?”
“I told you that I was taking the kids to get new clothes. Teddy and Billy are practically bursting through the old ones, and Rosie just wanted to come along for the trip. She’s probably going to try and talk me into stopping for pastries.”
“And you will, because you never can say no to any of them.”
“Can’t seem to say it to you either. So are you coming with us, or will we see you later?” Like always, Rosie has left her plate more than half full, so Vincent just sits down and eats what she’s left behind instead of cooking his own portion. He never liked waste, really, especially when it came to food. It’s been years since he’s ever had to worry about never having enough of anything, but the habits are still ingrained in him.
“I’ll come too. Tommy’s got some business up there, wants me to check up on some things.”
“Nothing dangerous?”
Arthur shrugs. “Nothing worse than normal. But even if it was, I’ll have you with me won’t I? No one else I’d rather have watching my back.”
“Now you’re just trying to sweet talk me.”
“Is it working?”
Taking a drink of his coffee, he rolls his eyes goodnaturedly and gets up to go tell the kids to get ready. By some miracle, all three of them and Arthur are ready to go within half an hour, and he gets Rosie, Billy and Teddy situated in the back of the car with minimal complaints about who gets to sit where.
“Are you holding hands?”
Billy sounds scandalised and Vincent would laugh if Billy wasn’t standing up in the car so he could look at their intertwined fingers sitting on the gap of the seat between them.
“William Shelby I swear to all that is holy if you don’t sit down right now-“
“Sorry! But are you?”
“Sit down!”
“That’s gross!”
“You might change your mind when you’re older. When you find someone to marry or settle down with.”
Billy wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Nuh-uh. I’m never going to get married. Girls are gross!”
“Hey!”
Rosie swats Billy on the arm, indignant, and Billy backtracks quickly, saying that he meant girls that weren’t family, which must placate her because she nods firmly and then goes back to reading the book resting in her lap.
The rest of the drive is relatively uneventful, they only have to stop for the kids to use the bathroom once, which is honestly an improvement.
“Where are we going first?”
“Clothes. Then we can get food for the three terrors in the back. They won’t pay any attention to those things you have to check up on if they’ve got food to distract them.”
“Alright. Where am I going?”
Vincent directs him down the winding streets to the same little tailor that he’d gotten the boys last clothes from, years ago because he’d thought to buy clothes in bigger sizes so they wouldn’t have to replace the clothes for a while. Until now.
There’s nothing off about the few people milling around the small shop, browsing through the racks of clothes. The man that owned the place, short and rather filled out in the middle, recognised him as soon as he stepped through the door.
“Ah, Mister Shelby. I have that order you wanted, it’s all ready in the back for you. If you don’t mind, I just have a few others before you.”
Vincent waved a hand, looking around, “Of course. Take all the time you need, I can wait.”
The shopkeeper nods, vigorously, and Vincent frowns at his back when he scurries off behind the counter to ring the woman there up. Shrugging, he steps over to the coats and runs his fingers along the sleeve of one, some wool blend that feels soft against his fingers. He’d been meaning to get a new coat for a while, the old one so worn that it’s practically falling apart.
“What do you think, should I get this one or the blue?”
Rosie looks at the coat and then looks at him, tapping her chin thoughtfully like she did sometimes. “Hmm. Blue, I think.”
“Yeah, the blue?”
“Yeah. Papa says it matches your eyes. You’ve got very pretty eyes, dad.”
She grins brightly and Vincent smiles back at her, reaches out to take the coat down from the hanger and fold it over his arm to pay for it when his order of the boy’s clothes is ready to do. All of a sudden it feels like his nose has started to run. Then Rosie starts to scream, and between one blink and the next the entire world goes dark, vision tunneling inwards before he even gets his hand to his nose. He comes to, which is probably a generous term to describe the way he barely opens his eyes and groans, with the sound of Rosie still screaming echoing in his ears. Alright, he thinks. This isn’t the first time he’s ever been hurt. This is, however, the first time he’s ever been hurt like this where their kids could see, which is a complication. He can hear Arthur ordering Teddy to take Billy out to the car, and gives Teddy a tight smile as he does as he’s told, unsurprised to see no tears on his face like his siblings. His Teddy has never been one to react like other people would. He’s not sure how long he was out for, but apparently long enough for an ambulance to be called, because they’re already loading him onto the stretcher.
“Arthur!”
“You’re going to be alright, trust me, I’m going to get the kids and we’ll meet you at the hospital. Okay? Five minutes and we’ll be there.”
When he doesn’t let go of Arthur’s shoulder, the ambulance attendant clears her throat and tells him that he needs to let go. Every minute they take is one wasted. He does let go, but he doesn’t want to. There’s a strange sort of dread, knowing that whatever is wrong with him isn’t because of something that someone else has done, that the problem is something that���s happening inside his own body, and he hates it.
“How old are you, Mister Shelby? And when was the last time you went for a checkup?”
“42. And last year, in June. What’s wrong with me?”
The nurse smiles at him, trying to put him at ease but she clears her throat and drops the smile when he only stares back at her.
“Nothing that we can see, but the doctor still needs to come in to do some examinations.”
“This is ridiculous. I got a nosebleed and I fainted, probably just hit my head a little, just let me go home. I’ve got kids to look after.”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Vincent rolls his eyes when Arthur steps into the room, all the kids huddling together behind him. They look worried.
“I’m not sick.”
“Then what’s the harm in letting them look? Maybe they’ll pick up something you didn’t notice.”
“I doubt it.”
Rosie frowns at the nurse suspiciously when she flips the thin white sheets back so she can get to wherever she’s going to jab and prod at Vincent next.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to be checking to make sure there’s normal responses to sensation. Would you like to help me?”
Arthur and Vincent share a look when Rosie nods hard, followed by Billy and Teddy, all three of them eager to help the nurse. Or, more likely, to jab at their father with the few short pins the nurse has on her little tray. He’s not surprised. It’s easy enough to tune out the nurse and her helpers checking to make sure that his limbs are working as they should, at least until someone jostles his shoulder, and he looks up into Arthur’s worried eyes. “What?”
“Vin-“
“Mister Shelby, move your foot.”
“What?”
“Your foot. Either one. Both of them if you’d like. Move your foot.”
There’s something unnatural about feeling his foot move, remembering the feeling of it even though he’d never actively thought about it before, and seeing nothing moving beneath the sheet.
“Vin, move your foot.”
“I am. I mean- I am, I- I can’t.”
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rikalovesrice · a year ago
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Douxie x Reader #4 - Comfort (Part 1)
Reader Recap : Lives in older sister’s shadow, rarely ever acknowledged by her parents or people at school. Has a host of insecurities because of it. Part-time pizza delivery girl on a scooter. A partner in crime when hunting for monsters in the late hours of night with Douxie, Archie, and Zoe. You and Douxie have become close friends. 
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You didn’t know where you going and you didn’t care. All you knew is that you had to get as far away from your house and the people inside of it as you could without leaving Arcadia. 
You floored it on your scooter, fueled by the frustration and hurt pumping through your veins. Eventually you rolled into town and parked the scooter in the park, dismounting and leaning back against the seat, holding yourself. There was a dull sort of ache in your head and you could feel the pressure of tears forming but refusing to fall. It brought you to the ground and you curled in on yourself, rocking forward onto the balls of your feet. It was times like this, when being swept aside became too much, that you questioned your very existence. Why you even bothered sometimes. If your parents even knew they had another child. If you really were just a speck of dirt on your older sister’s pristine image.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed there all balled up beside your scooter, taking deep breathes and crying softly into your arms. You had just noticed a bizarre, prickling rasp in your ear when -
“(Name)!!”
There as a flash of blue and you instinctively ducked, rolling forward and roughly onto your side as some kind of misty, shadowy form took the brunt of a blast of blue. The creature screeched and quickly recovered from the attack. It was about the size of a squirrel and it twitched and jerked about like a glitch. White, ghastly, hollow eyes pulsed against a shape of black and gray smoke, like distorted full moons. You backed away on your elbows, terrified when not one, not two, but what looked like a hundred more of the things manifested from the night, rising like a wave from behind your scooter.
You braced yourself as the creatures descended upon you, squeezing your eyes shut, when a hand clamped around your shoulder and pulled you snug against a familiar bundle of black. 
“Douxie...!” you gasped, looked up at his face creased with concentration. You flinched at the force of the shadowy creatures slamming into the shield of magic Douxie had conjured, his left arm extended, charm bracelet alight with symbols. When they’d dispersed, Douxie lowered the shield and helped you to your feet, checking you over.
“Are you alright?” he asked, patting your shoulders and arms. “What are you doing here? I thought you had something with your family tonight.”
“What...What are those things?” you huffed, wondering how you’d manage to forget what Arcadia’s like after midnight. The flurry of writhing shadows regrouped in the air, a frightening show against the street lights, and were circling back. Douxie moved in front of you, watching them closely with charm bracelet at the ready.
“Hollowsprites,” Douxie said lowly. “Nasty things. Haven’t seen this many since Morgana returned. Drawn to darkness. They feed upon strong negative emotions and feelings. Fear. Anger. Sadness.” His voice lost some edge and his head turned slightly back towards you. “Pain and suffering...”
Sensing a lapse in attention, the hollowsprites spiraled downward, only to be intercepted by a bright flash of pink and a burst of fire. Archie and Zoe were hurrying onto the scene, Archie perching himself around Douxie’s shoulders.
“(Name)! Change your mind about tonight?” Archie asked, glancing back at you.
“So this is where they all went,” Zoe said, pink electricity sparking between her fingers. “Thought you were gonna have all the fun, did you, Doux?”
“Ugh, you’re welcome for finding them,” Douxie retorted. Then he grinned, his charm bracelet flickering as he clenched his fist. “Go on, Zoe. I’ve worn them down for you!”
“Yeah cause more hollowsprites showing up is wearing them down.” 
“Provoking is more like it,” Archie added. “Dramatically emoting?”
“Whose side are you on?” Douxie whined.
“Uh, sorry, Arch,” you say. “I think I was one...er, emoting.”
Archie turned in the air to face you, his white eyebrows creased. “That so? Are you alright, (Name)?” 
Douxie let his guard down even more, slightly lowering his charm bracelet and equally concerned as he looked back at you. 
“Okay not to be insensitive but can we do this later cause we’ve kinda got a situation here!” Zoe lashed the angry hollowsprites with sparks of magic. “Sit tight, (Name). Come on you two!”
“Thought you wanted all the fun, Zoe!”
“Douxie, I swear -”
Continuing their banter, Douxie, Zoe, and Archie got to work blasting and zapping and burning the hollowsprites into submission. The pain in your heart was suspended for the moment as you were fixated on the action in front of you. Several hollowsprites lunged at you, but they ended up barreling into another one of Douxie’s shields. 
“(Name), whatever negative emotions are inside of you, they want to consume them,” he said, looking back at you. “They want to use your emotions to make them stronger and corrupt you. But you can resist them. Don’t let them win!” Douxie shoved the magical shield forward with a loud grunt, the magic bursting and causing the hollowsprites to scatter furiously. 
Corruption. That was a concept that hadn’t occurred to you. But now that you thought about it, it made sense. There were plenty of times the hurt threatened to melt into bitter hatred, to the point where you considered being a nasty person yourself in retaliation. Everything was constantly being taken away from you. Everything. But...There were things within you that your family could never touch. Things no one could touch or take, not if you had any say in it. And right now...It seems you did. 
No one would steal the peace of a bookstore. The warmth of a cafe. Jamming out in a record store. The thrill of cruising on a scooter under a starlit sky. The wonder of literal magic, the kind you thought only existed in movies. A talking cat with glasses and a pair of wings. Headphones over a head of pink hair. Black clothes and golden eyes and that breathtaking smile of his.
The place where you belonged.
The friends you now cherished.
The love you had found.
The pain of understanding now what life could be. What it should have been.
You were constantly aware of the exhaustion of choosing love. Choosing to have grace. Choosing to be strong and steadfast. Choosing to be different. But as tiring as it was, you never once regretted it. And that belonged to you, too. 
The decision, your resolve, to try and be better.
You planted your feet, grounding yourself as the hollowsprites once again took aim at you. As they dove down, Douxie almost conjured another shield but you stepped firmly in front of him.
“Stay away from my emotions you freaks!” you yelled at the mass of writhing shadows. “They’re mine! My feelings are mine!” Almost immediately, the hollowsprites recoiled as if stung, screeching and squealing in confusion.
“That’s it!” Douxie said with a broad smile, summoning rings of magic to attack the creatures further. Archie flew between the rings, setting Douxie’s magic ablaze to amplify his spells. Soon blue flames were raining down like falling leaves from hollowsprites being burned alive.
“Big mistake messing with my friend!” Zoe said, engulfing herself in pink electricity. With two taps of her toes on the ground, she bolted forward, powerful streams of lightning trailing behind her and frying any hollowsprite in her path. The ravenous behavior of the creatures dissolved into frustrated disorientation, members of the shadowy cluster zipping around aimlessly.
You noticed that the hollowsprites weren’t actually dying. Rather the number of hollowsprites began to dwindle as members of the swarm shot off into the night like dark firecrackers. 
Eventually all the hollowsprites fled, an eerie silence filling the town in their wake. All three of your magical friends loosened in exhaustion, Douxie actually dropping to the ground to sit.
“None of them were destroyed,” you commented, looking up into the night where the creatures had vanished.
“Yea, well...As long as negative emotions exist, hollowsprites can’t be destroyed,” Zoe said. “Just shooed away, really.”
You frowned. “I’m sorry...”
“Don’t be,” Douxie said. “We’ve been seeing more and more of them lately anyway.”
“You see, hollowsprites are also drawn to...‘disturbances’ in the realms, so to speak,” Archie said. “We suspect something must be amiss...”
“There’s that, too, yes. But I suppose they targeted you because your emotions were so strong...” 
You locked eyes with Douxie, a moment passing between you both. His eyes were soft with concern. For some reason, looking to those eyes, you felt really vulnerable.
Zoe cleared her throat. “Erm, Archie? Why don’t we make sure the rest of the town is clear of those things?”
“Pardon...?” Archie said. “But- Oh. Oh...Y-yes! Good idea, Zoe!”
Zoe gave you a quick hug. “I’ll text you later. You better answer me! Make sure she gets home safe, Doux.” 
You felt a blush on your cheeks. They were leaving you alone with him? 
“Uh, hold on-” But Zoe and Archie were already hurrying away. You leaned back against the seat of your scooter, fumbling with your fingers and saying nothing. And suddenly extremely aware of Douxie’s presence. You actually jumped a little when he said your name.
“(Name)...Um...” Douxie scratched the back of his neck. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to...But if you don’t mind me asking what happened...?”
Of course you didn’t mind. Douxie was a safe space where the monsters couldn’t reach you. Your place of respite. But even though the tears came easily then, it didn’t mean you weren’t embarrassed.
“They all forgot,” you said, your voice already thick with tears. “They forgot about the dinner I had planned to um...celebrate my dad’s promotion.” With an empty laugh, you wiped your face with your palm. “I mean, I don’t know what I was expecting. I just...”
Douxie got up off the ground, stepping closer to you. “(Name)...”
“I just wanted to do something nice for my dad. For my family. But I’m dumb and I actually thought they’d care. Mom and dad just went out to eat and my sister just stayed in her room and the food was getting cold and -”
As soon as his arms wrapped around you, you sobbed into his sweatshirt. You were vaguely aware that you were probably getting tears and snot and dribble all over your crush but you couldn’t stop crying for a solid three minutes. Douxie just held you the whole time, hand squeezing your shoulder and thumb stroking your back. 
"I’m emoting all over you...,” you whimpered, having settled down into soft sniffling and hiccups.
“Oh stop it,” Douxie said. Then he hugged you tighter. “I’m so sorry they treat you like this. You know you can always come to me...Zoe, and Archie, right? I... We’ll never sweep you aside.”
You almost came undone again. Not wanting to soak Douxie’s sweatshirt further, you moved back and pressed your forehead against his collarbone, still staying as close as you could to his warmth. To his eyes like the sun and moon, glowing with compassion, soft with understanding. To his smile that always made you smile. To his gentle hands. Those streaks of blue hair. The comforting shadow of his presence. His magic, bright and beautiful like he was. 
It terrified you.
“Yeah...” You pulled away to look up at him, still holding his arms. “Yeah, I know you won’t. I...I believe you. I’ll try....”
Douxie gazed at you for a moment before smiling softy, wiping a tear away with his finger. 
“Good,” he said. Then he smooshed your face between his hands, forcing your cheeks and lips to pucker.
“H-hey!!”
He released you, laughing. “Shall I walk you home?”
Blushing wildly and rubbing your face, you managed a smile.
“That’d be nice.”
~
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~
There wasn’t any hurry. It was probably two in the morning now but would your family notice your absence? Negative.
You guided your scooter along as Douxie strolled beside you, the two of you chatting about any and everything. Douxie went off a bit talking about how he didn’t understand people who ate fondant and how much of a jerk Shakespeare was. It was the cutest thing. Then you started going on and on about how pretty the moon was tonight and how crescent moons were your favorite. For a second, Douxie might’ve been staring at you, but, no, duh, you definitely imagined it.
“Well uh...This is me.” You took one look at your front door and sighed. “Sadly.”
“Hey.” Douxie placed a hand on your arm. “Remember what I said. Anytime. A phone call, a text-”
“A raven?”
He snickered. “Especially a raven. But seriously...Just say the word.”
Under the moonlight, Douxie was otherworldly. So gorgeous your heart threatened to swell to bursting. How was it that your paths could possibly have crossed? It escaped you, and you had no hope of catching it.
“Okay,” you said softly.
“Okay,” Douxie repeated. “Goodnight, (Name).”
“Goodnight, Douxie.”
Neither of you moved.
“Ah, go on, then,” Douxie said kindly, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’ll stay until you’re inside.”
“O-oh. Okay, thanks.” You parked your scooter next to your sister’s car. Just as your hand touched the doorknob, you were overwhelmed with the urge to just tell him. Heart racing, you tried to say his name, starting to turn back around.
“Uh..Uh D-Doux-”
“(Name).”
You paused. “Y-yeah?”
Douxie smiled warmly. “I’m glad that I met you. I’m glad we’re friends.”
It was sweetness followed by a stab. 
“Me, too,” you said, meaning it with your whole aching heart. “You...” A shaky breath. “You guys mean the world to me.”
Before he could say anything else, you hurried inside, up the stairs in the dark, and into your room, not caring if you woke anyone up. You curled up on your bed, face in your forearms. 
You were happy. So, so happy. 
And so utterly crushed.
Just outside, still in front of your house, Douxie’s eyes fixated on your bedroom window. Then he turned and started back towards the town, wondering how he could ease the pain in your life and thinking about the look on your face, the glow in your eyes, as you enthused over the moonlight.
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ficsforeren · 9 months ago
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WE ARE IN THE MOOD FOR JEALOUS SEX NOT ANGST🤞🏽
well, i've finished writing chapter 14 and as much as i would love to insert a jealous sex scene in this chapter, it doesn't fit well with the story 😭
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smudgy-boy · a year ago
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i keep mistakenly referring to my date sim mc as my “reader” and i think that shows the impact Pyre has had on me..... anyway Supergiant Games make a date sim already.. we know you want to
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alandofhoneyedfruits · a year ago
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uh HI i forgot this blog existed lmao oops
it’s pretty much dead and probably will be dead unless FF suddenly comes back for me (i lost a lot of interest when i lost my 100+ level account in that whole...thing that happened)
BUT if for whatever reason you want to stay in contact w/ me you can hit me up on @owillofthewisps (mostly the witcher but also me screaming about things/general chaos) or @flintstrikes (anime mostly)
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officecyborg · a year ago
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lesbian life hack: go to a barber and learn your clipper number so you know what guard will absolutely fuck up your hair when you do it at home
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hansoulo · a year ago
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hi i would v much like to know what you’d think would change in aiags if isabella were a little older and had memories w/juliana pls
OOOOH ok i’ve never really thought about this before but it’d actually be super interesting?? like say she was around 3-4 when juliana died, right.
i imagine things would be a little more tense when it came to the reader becoming a part of Isabella’s life, bc like she’s old enough to sort of understand what happened and possibly be more upset/uneasy, since she knows that like,, you’re not my mom sdjdkjsfdjf
obviously in AIAGS she didn’t have any memories of anything besides carrillo and then reader after about a year, but we know that carrillo has pictures of juliana in the house and has told isabella about her as she grew up, so it’s not like they’re trying to keep the past a secret lmao. she definitely grows up like aware of her situation so overall i don’t think it would change anything significant in the long run, but it might lead to some conflict when it came to parenting Isabella before she really understood/warmed up to the reader. toddlers b ice cold man they’re ruthless sometimes 💀
ask me anything
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luveline · 22 days ago
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𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
summary You ask your best friend Eddie to give you your first kiss. Eddie's not really in the habit of saying no to you. [4k]
warnings fem!reader, fluff, first kiss, eddie being totally sweet on his best friend, wrist kisses, sharing a bed, eddie reads to you, you hurt your arm and eddie is overprotective/doting etc, unspoken mutual pining, requested here
𓆩❤︎𓆪
"This is way heavier than you implied," you say, words followed by a startled, pained gasp as you lose your grip on the amp and it almost pops your wrist from the socket trying to keep it up. 
"Shit," he says. 
Eddie quickly shoves the bigger amp he'd been carrying into the back of the van and makes to help you, his fingers pushing into your stomach as he lugs it up into his arms.
"I'm sorry," he says, and for once you think his apology might be genuine. "I forget how heavy they feel at the end of the night." 
Your arms ache. You definitely pulled something you didn't mean to, a sharp pinching pain climbing from your wrist to the crook of your elbow. "Eddie, I think I hurt myself." 
He shoves the last amp into the van and doesn't bother closing the door, turning back to you with a concerned grimace. "Yeah? Your wrist?" 
He holds his hand out and you extend your arm, wincing. He's tentative, taking your wrist in one hand while the other grasps your upper arm loosely. 
"What's it feel like?" 
"Like I twisted my ankle, but in my wrist." 
He laughs under his breath at your explanation, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes as he looks you over. "The word you're looking for is 'sprained,'" he informs you jovially. 
There's no physical evidence of any injury, not that either of you had expected that, and he has no real reason to be touching you. His thumb smooths over the flat of your wrist.
"How bad is it? Amputation?" you ask, suddenly all drama. You put on a tearful frown and pinch your eyebrows together. 
Eddie – who's used to this, who encourages this – nods gravely. "You'll likely never use it again." 
"Good heavens, doc. Is there really nothing you can do?" you implore, leaning away from him with your uninjured hand thrown to your forehead. 
"Nothing… unless you're willing to undergo the most invasive, painful, gruesome operation any one girl has ever undergone." 
"Anything." 
"Close your eyes." 
You close them, always willing to play these fanciful make-believe's with him. He's charming, it's funny, but you can't say you expect the hot press of his lips against your pulse. If it had been a smacking, playful thing with too much spit you would have laughed about it, but it hadn't been. It's gentle. It's sweet. 
He pulls away. You open your eyes to find him lingering, staring at your wrist. A split-second. 
"Fixed, right?" he asks smugly. 
You take your arm back and curl it towards your chest, twinging with pain. "Definitely. Good as new." 
Eddie slams the back doors shut and stretches with a groan, cool night air kissing the shining sliver of abdomen that emerges. He's always sweaty after a gig. You know you should find it gross. 
You should. 
"Alright, get in the van, sweet thing. It's way past your bedtime." 
You laugh and climb into the passenger side, skirt riding up and tights featuring a brand new ladder thanks to some idiot who'd almost broken your leg. You point it out to Eddie as he starts the engine, "Did you see this? S'my last good pair of tights."
He tugs at the ladder and you squeal, pulling your thigh up and over the other so he can't reach it.
"There, they're punk now. Do it on purpose and you're cool," he says sagely. 
"Are you staying?" he asks, the question so familiar it doesn't need a proper end. 
"Thanks for that." 
There's lost minutes of a comfortable silence. You watch the roads change as you draw nearer and nearer to home.
"If you shower first." 
He sighs like this is very tortuous of you to ask but agrees. "Yeah, whatever. Always get what you want," he mutters, taking a rough turn that has you gripping your seat. "My bad." 
"Learn to drive!" you demand, laughing. 
"You learn to drive! Then you wouldn't need a ride every night!" 
"Baby," you say earnestly. "Rides to your shows." 
He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. You turn to him, perplexed by his uncharacteristic silence. Usually he has something quick to say, an uppity comeback, too witty for his own good and twice as fast. 
"What? Wait, don't tell me, you're having a total epiphany right now on why I'm the best friend you've ever had." You nod to yourself, leaning back in your seat with your chin held high. "It's easy. I'm extremely dedicated, I'm sharp as a whip. I'm funny, I'm confident-" 
"Humble." 
"I'm humble. And obviously very pretty."
He hums to himself. "I kind of hate when you joke about stuff like that." 
You blink and drop your chin. "What?" you ask. Weaker than you mean to, your chest feels that heavy weight of an unexpected argument, but Eddie doesn't look angry. 
"Because- 'cos I know you don't mean it." He draws his eyes from the road, a familiar stretch of black top leading into Forest Hills, and gives you a well-meaning grimace. 
"Sorry, I-" 
He clears his throat. "No, don't be. I guess I wished you actually believed that shit. Do you know how many people would come to all of my shows? Listen to the same ten songs, drink the same shitty beer and then help me pack up at the end of the night?" He sounds back to normal. Punchy, a hair's width from incensed. "Nobody but you." 
"I'm your best friend," you say firmly. "Of course I'm gonna do all that." 
"Right." He laughs and scrapes a hand through his dishevelled hair. 
You pull into the parking spot and climb out of the van. You slip like you always do, giggling to yourself as Eddie comes around to roll his eyes at you and shut the door. 
"We'll leave it for tonight," he says after he's retrieved Sweetheart, his prized guitar, traipsing up the steps to the front door. "Don't want you straining your poor wrist any further." 
You kind of agree. "Or you could do it all by yourself and I'll watch." 
"Maybe tomorrow. Are you hungry?" 
You ignore his question and waltz straight into his bedroom, throwing yourself down on his rumpled sheets with a harrumph. He puts Sweetheart back into her rightful place and presses a kiss to his fingers. You can't help thinking of the kiss he'd given you, bringing your wrist to your chest where he can't see. It feels the same as it had before, but different. It still aches. 
Eddie throws himself down next to you and climbs up over your back, a hand on your shoulder. "Is it still hurting?" 
You squeeze it. "Not really." 
"Let me see? If it's swollen I could get you some ice. Or, like, a bag of frozen peas. Not that I think we'd have anything that green in the freezer," he corrects himself.
"I don't think they have to be peas to work." 
"What if that's where you're wrong? What if we totally need the power of the peas?" 
You turn on your back so he can see your wrist. Hovering above you, all his smells and sounds are amplified. The gentle hum as he looks over your arm. The smell of sweat under deodorant, cigarette smoke and something funkier. Then, mixed in with everything, cedar. 
When his kind attention on your wrist becomes too much you wrinkle your nose and make a big show of moving away from him. "God, you stink." 
"You're fucking horrible," he says, putting your arm down carefully. "I'm gonna shower. Find your pajamas." 
"Did you wash them?" you ask as he climbs off of the bed. 
"Nope." 
You grumble about dirty clothes and search for the pajamas you'd left here last time. Eddie disappears into the cramped bathroom and you can hear every sound he makes, the clipping of bottle caps, even his footsteps moving from the cabinet under the sink and into the shower. 
Water sloughs heavily against the glass partition and you try not to listen, try not to think about him and what he's doing and where his hands are. 
When he comes in he's in a towel and nothing else. You squeak and pull his covers up past your eyes. "Christ, Eds." 
"What? It's my room. I forgot to take clothes in with me." 
"You're sullying my eyes." 
"Like you've never seen it before." 
You scowl. "I've never seen you naked." 
"Can you come out? You're being ridiculous." 
You hear him go into the bathroom and let the sheets fall from your face, blinking at the sudden brightness. Yellow lamp light bounces of the poster-covered walls, shiny as egg yolk. 
He's left the bathroom door open. You peer out into the hallway and then stop yourself, feeling guilty. You don't actually want to see him naked. You're curious. 
"Fine," he says as he trudges back in, plaid pants low on his hips. He shrugs into a t-shirt and it sticks to his damp torso, leaving his dark happy trail on show for the second time tonight. "You've never seen me naked. It's not like you've never seen any guy naked." 
You feel a tepid mixture of embarrassment and defensiveness. "Who says I've seen a guy naked?" 
His eyes are owlishly large, dark lashes not far from kissing his eyebrows as they pinch together. "What?" 
You don't repeat yourself. 
"You fucked Jerry Mandoza." 
"Did not," you say, startled. 
"I gave you condoms." 
You resist the urge to glare at him. "And you can have them back, if you like. They've been in my nightstand for a year." 
"I thought you liked him." 
"I did. I just wasn't… ready." 
He holds his hands up in surrender. "That's fine, babe. Swear. But, you never told me. Why didn't you tell me?" 
He sits heavily at the end of the bed and takes the towel from around his neck, scrubbing ruthlessly at his wet curls. 
"That's exactly why your hair gets so frizzy," you chide lightly, climbing on knees to his side. You ease the towel from his hands and are much kinder than he'd been, drying the skin before his hairline and behind his ears and then moving onto his pretty curls. 
"He didn't do anything creepy, did he?" Eddie asks. He smells like toothpaste. 
You laugh as you wring excess water from his hair as carefully as you can. "No. He was actually really sweet. Said all the right things. He was a gentleman," you drawl  dropping the towel back to his shoulders. 
"But?" 
You sit back and smile at him. "I don't know. He leaned in for a kiss and I just… I got so nervous about it. He closed his eyes and I didn't think, I turned my cheek. He didn't call me for another date. Can't say I blame him." 
You're not sure why you never told Eddie that story before. He tilts his head to one side and squints. "Why were you nervous? He was in marching band." 
You snort. "It wasn't about him. I guess I was worried my first kiss would be awful." 
He rubs the back of his neck with his towel. "First kiss, huh?" he asks. 
"Right." 
He pulls the towel away, holds it in his lap. You notice his rings are missing, likely still in the bathroom. "I mean, I think you did the right thing. If you weren't ready it can't hurt to wait. And first kisses, they can really suck. Mine, with fucking- fucking Darren Harmon, that sucked. He spit in my mouth so much I think I tasted his dinner from the night before." 
You laugh in shock and disgust. "That's gross." 
"Tell me about it." 
"Why did he spit?" 
Eddie brings his legs up onto the bed and his tone is gentle. "Well, when you kiss someone, there's like-" He raises his hands and drops them, lost for the right words. "You know, tongue." 
"Is it weird?" 
"Sure. Of course it is. But it's really fucking fun, too. Or it can be, if the spit is kept to a minimum." He purses his lips, eyebrows raised. "Actually, spit can be kinda nice if you like the person you're kissing. It's hard to explain." 
You spread your legs to fall into a W-shape, hands braced on your knees. "Sorry, I'm not trying to harass you for details." 
"You're my best friend. I'll tell you anything you want." 
You smile at your legs. 
Eddie reaches over to put his hand atop yours. He's leaning toward you, hair falling in his face as he catches your eye. "It's fine. Keep your first kiss for someone you actually like, babe. You'll like it better." 
He squeezes your fingers and leaves the room. You can hear him filling a glass of water and turning off all the lights he's left on. 
"Did you want anything else?" he asks, offering the glass. 
"No, I'm just gonna brush my teeth really quick."
"Take your time." 
You take a little bit more than you need to, staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror until your heart is pounding, thoughts coming a thousand a second. Lately, Eddie's touches – his hand around your wrist, his thigh over your thigh, even the thud of his rubber toed converse tapping yours – have become individual events in time. Even when you can't remember the conversation, you can remember his skin on yours. You look at photos from gigs and instead of thinking, Oh, that's the night we made fun of Gareth's new haircut, a truly momentous occasion, you think, That's the night Eddie tugged me by the belt loop. That's when he brushed an eyelash off of my cheek. That's when he leaned in so close I thought he was gonna kiss me. 
Even now, the conversation about kisses is fading though you desperately want to remember what he'd said. The sound of his voice slips away. The heat of his fingers curled around yours remains. 
You wash your hands twice and don't feel any better. 
As if destiny or some higher power feels the need to taunt you, you slide into bed with an amicable handful of inches between your thigh and Eddie's and he totally ignores the gap, sidling up to you with a smile. 
"You'll like this," he says, spreading the paperback in his hands open on your thigh. "'A pockmark of matter that can dissolve any light that threatens to eradicate, to nullify, to quantify. An indelible darkness, spreading from one universe to the other, the pristine pages of a tome sullied by a piercing fountain of ink,'" he reads to you, his voice smooth and unhurried. "Guess what she's talking about?" 
"Dark matter?" 
"What? Keep your astronomy to yourself, dork. She's talking about the Puppet's heart. How sick is that?" 
You grin. It is pretty sick. 
Eddie's smile grows with yours, though his lips part when he notices something on your face. "You have-" He brings his thumb to your mouth and brushes it roughly, tugging the soft pillow of your upper lip up. 
You turn your face. "Jeez. Keep your hands to yourself, Munson." 
"Sorry," he says, not sounding very sorry. 
"You wanna read some more of your book to me?" you ask. "My eyes are tired." 
You lay down flat with one of his pillows smushed under your head and Eddie reads, sitting with his back to the headboard. "'You turn the page and find the ink has eaten into the next page, and the next. The damage is expansive, Dolly says, lifting her chin. But not limitless. Eventually, a page will turn. Eventually, the page beneath remains plain.'" 
"I thought Dolly and the Puppet loved each other," you murmur, watching his finger slide up the back of the book. 
He gives you a knowing smile. "They did." 
"Not anymore?" 
"I don't know. He's not the same anymore. He really is evil," Eddie says. "'The Puppet becomes a man of flesh and bone before her, nothing like she had remembered and yet the same. His voice, slick as oil, becomes a malfeasance of sound where before it had been her most treasured melody. And if the tome were sullied to begin with? The Puppet asks. If the darkness subsisted where I only lay my hand?" 
"They speak in riddles," you complain. 
Eddie shushes you. "'Don't act as though you didn't bring about this war, Dolly says, her voice harsh as tree bark. The Puppet draws ever closer, his wicked grin softened. A puppet once more. I did it for you, he says.'" 
You gasp so loudly it makes your throat burn. "He did not!" you whisper-shout.
Eddie chuckles, hand dropping to your shoulder. "He didn't." 
"Keep reading!" 
"'Dolly refuses to acknowledge his pleading tenor. You did not, she shouts. You created this conflict to become what you wanted to become.
"'Someone you could love. The Puppet places a frozen hand over her cheek. She hits at his chest with the brunt of her palms, hands growing limp as he murmurs. Someone you could kiss.'" 
You miss the rest of his reading, eyes slamming shut as if you'd been stuck. You catch small parts. An attempted reunion, a sword tipped in biting silver from the coldest recess of the moon. A short fight, a retreat. 
"Are you sleeping?" Eddie whispers. 
You swallow. "Almost," you whisper back. 
Eddie tosses the paperback onto his desk and pulls the covers over your shoulders and curls toward you. "You should get some rest, sweetheart. It's been a long day."
You nod and turn to him, refusing to open your eyes. "Goodnight," you say, rubbing your cheek against the brushed cotton of his pillowcase. 
"Goodnight."
Long minutes of silence. You can feel his warmth beside you like a heating pad under the sheets. You know his hand lies an inch away, if that, his fingers lax. You could stroke the length of his pinky with yours. 
As if he knows, as if he can read your mind, a fingertip reaches out to tap yours. "Are you okay?" he asks. 
You open one tired eye and lift your face enough to open the other. He looks beautiful. Hair half-dried and flat to his cheek. You reach out to push it from his face slowly. If you were any braver you'd tuck it behind his ear, scratch his scalp lightly with your nails. 
"Is it your arm?" he asks. 
You drop your hand. "'M just thinking." 
"I can't help with that," he jokes, turning his gaze to the ceiling. 
You laugh under your breath but even to yourself it sounds odd. 
"Do you think you'd ever kiss me?" you utter eventually. 
He doesn't answer for a while. Your heart races fast enough that it's all you can hear, like the wind rushing in your ears. 
"Is that what you want?" 
"I want my first kiss to be a good one." 
"And you think it would be, with me?" 
"You said to keep it for someone I actually like." 
He takes your wrist into a kind hand. Calluses slide over your skin. "I meant someone you have the hots for, babe."
Dangerous territory. Wary to admit anything else, you try to take his rejection with grace. "It's okay if you don't want to. Was just… wondering," you murmur. 
He strokes your wrist. "I'll kiss you if you want me to." 
"No, I-" You laugh, all nerves and too much blood. "I don't want a pity kiss, Eddie." 
"Who said anything about pity?" he says, voice quiet as yours had been and harbouring much less panic. 
He pulls your arm like he's encouraging you toward him and you hiss. His grip slackens. "Sorry, I should've-" 
"It aches, that's all," you say.
Understanding lightens his eyes. Honey melting into a woody brown. "Shit," he mutters, lowering his head. "I'm sorry." He presses his lips to your wrist in a small kiss. "If it's hurting you should've said."
The words come out hot. 
"It…" you drift off as he gives you another kiss. Another. 
Close-lipped, Eddie dots pecks down your arm until he reaches the crook of your elbow. He slows and stays. You take the initiative and drop your hand into his hair, stroking behind his ear like you wanted to, like you've wanted to for a while, and shiver as the tip of his nose ghosts against sensitive skin. 
He draws away, pulls up, his face much closer than you can remember it ever having been before. You try to breathe normally but the look on his face prompts breathlessness, his eyes steady, bordering impassive. His lips hint a soft bemusement. 
He raises his chin. "This okay?" 
"This," you repeat, fingers curling into his hair. 
Eddie moves in, bringing a hand to your face to guide you to one side. His lips bump into yours and you let your eyes close, overwhelmed by this new feeling. There's a tenderness to how he holds you still, worse when he pulls you in, his kiss hot and soft as water. 
He slides his fingertips under your sleeve, palm hot to the breadth of your upper arm. His grip tightens incrementally and you try not to pull his hair in response, your knee hitting his thighs as your body seeks him out. 
His lips part against yours and you both suck in a breath before he's kissing again. You try your best to follow his lead, though quickly find yourself a laughing mess as he wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you close. 
"What's funny?" he asks. 
You honestly don't know. It's a giddy feeling to be this close, more so when he smiles back and tries to start up another round of sweet kisses, his lips pressing to yours insistently. He caresses the length of your back until you sigh, your open mouth an invitation that he sinks into. 
You scrunch the hem of his shirt in your hand when he sucks on your top lip, nonplussed.
Eddie pulls away. Your eyes open in tandem. 
You're noticeably out of breath and he isn't unaffected, his chest rising and falling almost as quickly as yours. "So," he says, inhale a struggle though he tries to hide it, "how was that? A good one?" 
"I don't know. I don't have anything to compare it to." 
"No?" he asks, already leaning in for another. 
You weave your hand into his hair and he rubs his hand down your arm until your aching wrist throbs under his fingertips, callused by metal strings and somehow impossibly soft.
"I'm sorry about your arm," he murmurs. 
You hope your hum against his lips conveys your forgiveness. 
When you've been kissed to the point of dizziness you break it to hide in the space under his chin, breathing in his new smells, his skin, his hair. The remnants of soap; a sharp citrus, mandora awash in something heady.
He pushes his arm under your chest and wraps you up. You hug him back, languid in his hold as he starts to rub your back. Broad, sweeping lines. Your shirt pulls up and he smooths it back down. 
"Don't get ahead of yourself," you joke lightly, quickly chased by a big yawn. 
"If you're tired, you can sleep," he assures you. 
"It was a good kiss." 
"Tell me all about it in the morning, okay? Sleep, pretty girl." 
You're feeling more and more tired with each passing second. Fatigue hangs heavy and his wandering hands make it worse. 
"'Nother kiss in the morning?" you ask, burrowing your face into his shoulder. 
He takes a little while to answer, turning his lips down into your temple. "Y'always get what you want, don't you?" 
With Eddie? Just about. 
𓆩❤︎𓆪
thank you for reading! | my masterlist
if you enjoyed, please think about reblogging! I promise its a big help ♡
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princesssmimi · 17 days ago
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ok based on this gif i reblogged — pervert!bestfriend!eddie + innocent!reader below <33
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minors dni i will scream so loud
also i wanted him to wear the bandana + green jacket outfit from s4 bc i like it a lot ok ! also this is like ? kind of dark ? if you squint ? read with caution idk eddies a real perv with dark thoughts #imacreepimaweirdo
‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧
eddie loved your bedroom.
now, it was clearly not to his tastes— but it was so distinctly you. it was always the perfect temperature, no matter the weather outside. it was always clean and tidy, no empty beer bottles hanging around or smoke lingering in the air much alike his own room. your girly interior was always blanketed in a warm glow from your bedside lamp and the candles you had lit. everything was so delicate and pretty, and he stuck out like a sore thumb — but he’ll get into that more later.
eddie munson had a thing for turning up unannounced. truthfully, it was because he was hoping to catch you changing or better, fresh out the shower. often when he’d be climbing the wooden grid littered with flowers along side your house that he used as a ladder up to your room, he’d fantasise. his cock would bloat in his jeans as he imagines what it would be like to show up to your window, hiding himself as he realises you’re just exiting your shower— hair dripping, towel long discarded, steam still emanating off your hot, damp, naked body. he’d let the fantasy play out, imagining you become aroused in the safety and privacy (so you think) of your room and straddle a pillow, grinding into it as he watches— hopefully thinking about him. but perhaps that was a step too far— from what he had gathered he wasn’t even too convinced you knew how to get yourself off, or that it was even an option.
besides this, he really did like hanging out. you were best friends after all, an unlikely pair — and perhaps he did take great advantage over the fact you were so accepting towards him and gentle in nature, not bothered by your differences. he simply preferred your company the most — and eddie had lots of good friends, whether it be from band or his hellfire club minions. you were just his best friend. his best friend who he was totally besotted with.
 
 on this day, when he popped up at your window hopefully he was met with the serene sight of you laying on your stomach on your pink bed. the bed was made as usual, pillows and seemingly unnecessary decorative cushions stacked high— stuffed animals of all variety practically taking up half of the bed. you were wearing the tiniest white pyjamas he’d even seen, and from this angle he could even see how your ass was practically swallowing the material, tits pushed together as you leant on your elbows invested in a book.
he enjoyed the sight for a second longer before wrapping his knuckles twice on the window, glancing around incase someone might be watching him— a neighbour perhaps. he looked back at you to see you smiling fondly at him, calm as ever. you were never alarmed when he’d turn up, always welcoming him in with no skittishness or fast movement, only adding to how dreamlike it felt being in your room. perhaps he made you feel safe, and that thought warmed his heart (and crotch.)
you gestured with your hands to simply lift the window, mouthing a happy “its open!” and he did so, palms turning white against the glass as he pushed it up, panting a little as he stumbled through the window, adjusting the khaki coloured jacket and tightening the black bandana wrapped around his head.
“hi.” you smiled softly, turning back to your book, skipping back a few words having lost where you were, tracing your manicured finger along the lines to find an appropriate sentence to backtrack to. your voice was quiet, sleepy almost and he assumed that could be the case— white antique bedside clock reading 9:01PM, the sky outside bruised with a inky violet tint to further provide evidence and to his knowledge, you went to bed at 10 each night.
“what are you reeeeading?” he sung, dimpled smile on his face as he swaggered over to the bed and leant over you, placing two hands beside you to peer over your head at the book, which caused you to flip the book over to show him the front cover. he didn’t really have much interest, the purple front cover showing a couple wrapped in loose yet revealing fabrics embracing eachother on a beach. “you wanna read to me again?” he pushed himself off his hands, laying himself horizontally on the end of your bed, having a direct view up your covered ass if he turned his head to the left.
“oh i can’t read this out loud.” you giggled, eyes still on your book as you were distracted— still trying to find the spot you were at before eddie emerged.
“oh c’mon, why not?” he complained, tickling the back of your leg making you squirm and kick him.
“theres lots of…kissing scenes. it gets very heated and i can’t bring myself to say all of that out loud.” you brought your voice down, almost as if you were scared of being caught talking about reading such books. a grin spread wider on his face as he turned his head, eyes on your ass as he replied. though you weren’t looking at him he feigned a shocked expression, hand coming up to clutch his chest.
“kissing scenes? now that is just scandalous.” he shook his head, curls rustling on your soft bed sheets.
“i know.” you replied in the same tone, not quite grasping that he was being sarcastic. he huffed a laugh to himself and faced the ceiling again, deep brown eyes taking in the glittering chandelier.
“y’mind if i hang here for a while? things were getting pretty boring over on my side of the tracks. i was trying to plan for a new campaign but i have zero creative flow. decided i needed t’hang out in an overwhelmingly pink bedroom for a while to shock my system back awake.” he smirked, picking up a stray teddy bear you had kicked aside and fiddling with it continuing to lay on his back.
“of course eddie. you’re always welcome here.” you turned your head round to send him a smile and he turned his head again your way, taking in your beauty for a second as he smiled back.
“thats very kind, sweetheart. you can go back to reading your book now— i’m just gonna chill out, don’t worry about me.”
so you enjoyed eachothers presence for a while in comfortable silence— the only sound being of the odd pitter patter of rain on the window, indiana prone to the odd unreliable shower this time of year, and the turning of pages from your book.
one thing eddie loved more than your room, was being in it. never in a million years would you expect to see someone like him in the bedroom of someone like you. there was pink everywhere he turned, plushies at every corner— and him, slap bang in the centre of it all, all spikes and hard edges. he always was branded a freak, and he never cared too much for being branded as different his whole life but this was one of those times where he’d fucking revel in it. he wasn’t sure why at first, often entertaining the idea that the caveman side to his brain just was exhilarated by colour contrast— but on further examination and acceptance of his pervert ways he came to the conclusion it was because it aroused the fantasy to be an intruder.
many nights he spent fucking his fist thinking about what would happen if your parents barged in to find their sweet little girl spread open by the hawkins newspaper’s current muse for satanic panic, he thought about stealing your used panties and jerking his cock raw until he was spilling his hot seed into the pink cotton, now soiled for life by his deviance. he wanted to take your first orgasm, have you corrupted until the innocent girl he knew was unrecognisable, crying and begging to be fucked by him again. he wanted to climb into your room at night and find you sleeping naked, only to slide in beside you and rub your sleepy body up against his. he wanted to be gross, and he couldn’t even hate himself for it anymore because it felt too good.
it had probably been 20 minutes of comfortable silence as he laid there in deep thought, listening to you quietly turn pages. as expected, these dirty thoughts had consumed his brain and being so close to you with a direct view of your ass, legs parted just enough for him to see the slit of your pussy prominent through the white material, fabric folded up into it slightly— he felt his dick getting harder with each passing second.
the thing about being horny, is that it kind of clouds your judgement. makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do. your book had reached an incredibly steamy scene, the two characters kissing and rubbing on eachother in a way you didn’t know could make you feel the way you would. you were so invested, pretty much having forgot eddie was even there to begin with. as you read, you felt your core grow tight, shorts feeling a little damper and you body heat rising. without even realising, your legs parted a little further, and if you squint — you were squirming, absentmindedly rubbing your covered pussy on the bed like a little kitten in heat.
you turned the page with trembling fingers, and eddie simply watched in curiosity. he already had a palm laying over his crotch, rubbing himself guiltily staring at your ass as you read— but it appeared his fantasy was coming alive before his very eyes as he watched you squirm heatedly, parting your legs just that little further to reveal a small but obvious wet patch in your shorts.
eddies eyebrows pretty much shot into his hairline. there was no way he got this lucky right? he must’ve fallen asleep laying there for so long and was having some kind of torturous wet dream. he stared, watching you— feeling the body heat seep off you from where you were as the damp spot grew. it was real, right in front of him. somehow, the heavens had opened and the stars had aligned that night and he had been gifted with his very own horny angel. if he didn’t atleast try his luck, he’d regret it forever. now or never, he thought. let’s just test the waters.
he moved slowly, calculatedly. his eyes were big and blown out as they flickered between his hand and you as he edged it towards you— not wanting to make any sudden movements and break you out of your trance. he laid his hand on the back of your thigh gently and you jolted slightly making him bite back a wince, seemingly having reminded you of his presence. however, you clearly thought you were being subtle enough — and quite liked how his hand felt there in your heated moment and decided not to say anything, continuing to read your steamy book, feeling more flushed than ever.
he relaxed a little, massaging the back of your thigh slowly, thumb rubbing circles into your soft skin— and just like that it seemed your legs spread just a little wider. he grinned like a wolf, tongue coming to rest on his lower lip for a moment as he felt himself become fully hard— the pulsing in his jeans feeling neglected. he held his breath, moving his hand slowly towards your ass and you didn’t stop him. you didn’t really know what was happening to you, but you knew you liked it.
he moved onto the soft doughy flesh of your ass and he felt your body relax more into the bed with a sigh.
“eds, why you doing that?” you mumbled. your voice sounded weak, strained. poor little sheep, doesn’t even know what she’s getting herself into. all she knows is that she likes it.
“i like your pyjamas. you — uh— m’ gonna be honest, you look so fucking pretty.” he comment breathily with a sheepish chuckle, gripping the soft fabric between his fingers for a moment. he saw your head bob with a nod.
“oh, okay.”
“‘that alright? me touchin’ you?” he stroked his hand over your ass again.
“yes, makes me feel… strange. a good strange. i quite like it.” you whispered shyly, not daring to turn round and meet his eye. his smile only widened, teeth bared like a predator sneaking up on its prey.
“yeah. like a massage right? you just keep reading your book, i’ll have my fun back here.” he waved you off casually— like this was totally normal between best friends. you seemed to pause like you wanted to say something, but instead turned the page.
he was now groping your ass with both hands, he couldn’t believe his luck. how far could he get away with taking this? he was hard as a rock and it was becoming increasingly clear that you had desires of your own — just unsure what to do with them. and boy oh boy was he the perfect teacher for you, he just had to ease you in…slowly.
he was beginning to pity you, really. squirming on your bed, soaking through your shorts at just a romantic book and a pair of hands on your ass. he couldn’t call it pathetic, knowing all the deprived shit he had thought about— better yet gotten himself off thinking about— but it was enough to bite back a chuckle at how easily excited you clearly were. he liked to think of himself as someone who was sent to help you and relieve you of this ache, and that’s just what he was going to do. he pushed your thighs open a little wider, beginning to thumb at the puffy covered lips between your legs, feeling the damp material on the pad of his thumb.
“eddie! now why are you doing that?” you gasped, but the moan threatening to spill from the back of your throat betrayed you as you pushed back ever so slightly into his thumb.
“does it feel nice? best friends do this kinda thing all the time, you know. pretty normal to just… help eachother out like this.” he continued, pushing his thumb through your fabric covered folds up to your clit making your legs jerk, a whimper forced out your throat. his voice was oddly calm and collected, despite how much adrenaline was pumping through his veins. “oh yeah?” he laughed quietly at your reaction.
“yes.” you tell him, arching your back a little into his touch. you didn’t question anything else. you trusted him, and often what he said you’d just accept as bible.
“good. you can keep reading, i know that helps.” he was using two fingers to rub you now, sat up on an elbow to get a better look. whilst his fingers ground into your mound, his thumb snuck up, caressing the slit up to your ass, rubbing lightly over your asshole.
before long, you were panting— and he was convinced he could probably make you cum just from this. but he wanted to get his moneys worth, not sure if you’d ever let him do something like this again. he wanted to see how far he could push his luck. he pushed himself up slowly, kneeling between your spread legs and placed two hands on both ass cheeks, chuckling quietly as he jiggled them, chin to his chest as he admired the recoil.
“why’d you stop?” you asked rather abruptly, voice whiny and yet meek — a hint of guilt, knowing you shouldn’t necessarily be letting him do this to you whilst your parents are downstairs.
“talk about eager, you really like being touched by your best friend huh.” he snickered, ring clad fingers looping into your shorts, tugging them down little by little— revealing your peachy ass. “ah, fuck me. perfect little thing aren’t you?” he muttered.
“what you were doing before felt really good.” he sensed the sulky-ness in your tone as you rested your cheek on your hands defeatedly, pout on your face. he shook his head with an adoring smile at this, cock practically leaking at how badly you wanted him.
“yeah, yeah. i’m gonna help you out— but you gotta help me too you know. that’s how this works.” he yanked your shorts completely off now. he collapsed back, as if satisfied with his undressing work— sitting on his feet. his eyes were glued down, now checking out your pretty pussy glistening under the dim lights. he winced, making a little o shape with his mouth as he furrowed his brows, enamoured by delicious it looked. taking two thumbs, he placed them either side and spread you— relishing in the way a distinctly ‘wet’ sound hit the air from this. “you ever get this soaked before? jesus.” he raised his brows and you shrugged, eyes closed enjoying his touch. “mm. anyway—” he pushed himself back onto his knees, starting to undo his belt buckle.
“uh, can you pick your least favourite stuffed animal for me?” he request and you opened your eyes, half lidded and distracted, reaching out for a big brown bear and handing it back to him. “yeah. yeah, this’ll do.” he took it with his free hand.
once his belt buckle was undone and his jacket was thrown somewhere off your bed he took your hips in his hands and easily hoisted them up— shoving the bear beneath you, ass now elevated slightly and your pussy spread on the brown fur— already leaking a little onto it. poor bear!
now let’s get one thing straight, eddie was a perv— but he wasn’t a bad man. he wasn’t going to fuck you today, no no. that would hurt way too much, and honestly take too much time to get you ready for that— he needed to get off, and if he didn’t start jerking his dick soon he was pretty sure his balls were gonna explode. he just needed his pretty little muse to lay there and be good, and if you could still look him in the eye afterwards then maybe he’d be happy to go further. like mentioned before, being horny really fucking clouds your judgement.
now he got you positioned how he wanted you, he pulled out his cock, not even bothering to pull his jeans all the way down — just undoing his buttons and pulling them down just enough to free himself. he spat into his hand and shuddered as he tugged his cock a few times, taking in the sight below him as he kneeled between your spread legs. at this moment, you chose to crane your neck round, eyes widening at the obscene sight behind you.
his deep brown eyes locked on yours, slowly spreading his saliva along the shaft. something about the sight had you gushing onto the bear, shifting your hips again and your eyes fluttered, nearly rolling back as the fur passed up over your clit. you ground down experimentally on it, mouth falling open as your feet hooked round the back of his legs where he was kneeling.
“fucking jesus.” he huffed, watching you grind on your teddy bear, pussy smushed against it— audibly opening and closing making him jerk himself faster. “keep doing that. you sweet, sweet girl. keep doing that.” he leant forward, hand pressing onto your back, letting it take some of his weight as he hunched over you. you were moaning now, thrusting hard into your bear soaking the fur.
“eddie, feels too good. i’ve never— i haven’t ever —” you cried, ass now slapping against his lower thighs with each time you ground back.
“i know. it’s okay, i know. we’re just helping eachother out, yeah? being such a good girl, just like i thought you’d be— my god.” he groaned, his own cheeks heating up at how close he was. he couldn’t blame himself, he had wanted this for so long and it was truly better than what he’d imagined he’d get the first time he made a move on you.
“do you…” you went to ask, but cut yourself off with a moan, book discarded as you buried your head into your cushions.
“do i what, baby? do i what?”
“do you still think— still think i’m a good girl even after this?”
if he wasn’t so focused on not busting just yet to savour the moment, his heart would have warmed at the sweet question. luckily for him, his mouth works on overtime and spoke before he could think.
“you’re always my good girl. i know you like being my good girl. i know you do.” he babbled, rubbing a messy circle on your back with his thumb as his other hand continued working himself. he removed it for a second to lift his shirt up his stomach, feeling hot and bothered as ever.
“i like being called that.” you whined, the most vocal you’d ever been— usual shy persona being discarded more and more with each passing moment. it’s crazy what lust will make you do.
“yeah? want you to let go then. when you — fuck— when you feel your tummy getting all tight just let it happen, ‘kay?” he had to slow down his ministrations, holding back. you replied with an obedient ‘mhm’ and before you knew it you were clenching around nothing, riding hard against the pillow and muffling your loud moans into the cushions— praying to every god that your parents couldn’t hear your bed frame creaking.
“that’s it — oh wow— jesus fucking christ. jesus fucking christ that’s it. good girl.” he groaned, his own voice whiny as he let himself go, sticky white seed releasing onto your bare ass and back as your movements slowed, panting and trying to recover. he pretty much covered you in his load as you laid there motionless, comprehending all that had just happened.
munson caught his breath, cracking his eyes open to stare at the scene he had created below him. damn, if only he had his polaroid with him — he thought. next time.
‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧
sorry this is kinda ooc, he was pretty much horny from start to finish so he didn’t have much time to be his goofy charming self :///
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