eccentricallygothic

[eccentricallygothic]

okay i know its a different culture and sons of anarchy is a great show (in the middle of s3 rn) but the casual infidelity and sexism (except for maybe gemma but she is more of a comfort and anchor for the men rather than the 'matriarch' she is named as) is so disturbing and triggering. especially the one sided cheating because it pisses me off and takes me out of the moment. no wonder i can never watch this show in one go ugh. the way they chose to write stahl leaves a funny taste in my mouth along with taras transformation from s1-s3. its almost like they dont really know how to write a good female character. maybe i am just prejudiced because of the cheating and patriarchy idk but it feels like a woman can only be good if shes willing to put up with all that shit and basically treat those grown ass men like a forgiving mother does a child

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okay i know heathcliff is supposed to look a certain way but he's so lloyd hansen coded if lloyd was in a hopeless love. he's all i imagine when i read the book

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“... I'm forty-two now, so it's fifteen years of life and my back hurts a lot more.”

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bald bucky/seb can tear me apart thanks

[eccentricallygothic]

| Sore Loser |

Warning(s): Dacryphilia, El Classico rivalry, Madridista!Reader, mean bf!Pedri, m!dom, f!sub, pet names, hate sex, unprotected p-in-v, dick riding, allusions to blow job, slapping and spanking, body writing, pinching, taunting, licking, mind break. 18+

. . . 

The crimson hue in your blurry eyes makes them burn as they glare into the smug hazels of your lover’s. Everything is on fire and the weight of the world and its contents is crashing down on you. You are suffocating and the clamped up position of your sex does nothing to aid the round and tight ball of pure suffocated tension in your chest. 

The sting of pure humiliation seeps into the joints of your thighs, the base of your stomach, the ghastly tint of your tear stained cheeks and the tips of your fingers that curl around the strong shoulders of your lover. You're repulsed; hateful. Your hands long to even smack the smirk and taunting lulls right out of that dirty mouth of his. 

But what do you actually do?

You ride, that's what. 

Matter of fact, that's the only thing you're capable of doing in the present moment which holds you in a fucked and half-brainless state. 

“Such a pretty girl, vida… The prettiest crier I've ever seen” Pedri, your forbidden lover but your only and most precious, cooes in that voice of his that is so full of hubris it makes you sick to your fucked guts even in this state. “Go ahead,” he lovingly soothes the inflamed prints of his strong hands that burn on your blushing ass as you repeatedly stomp it down on his strong and muscular thighs, the milky secretions of your sex tainting the colour of his dark blue shorts over and over. “Amor knows you want it” you hate it when he uses such endearments in moments like these when he knows how much you cannot stand him and his teasing on victory nights.

He tuts and tsks and an involuntary sob wrenches itself free from your hoarse throat. Yes, hoarse. Because that is the rule. On victory nights you welcome him home on your knees in your club’s jersey, the thick digits of the score written on your forehead and the Madrid flag and symbols painted on your embarrassed cheeks. He strokes the score of his triumph on your forehead with his thumb as he unloads his remaining stress down your throat while the insides of his hand warm up your pretty face and the backs of them soothe it. 

You sob again in frustration because you try to stop but your body has developed a numb mind of its own where the only thing you can do is hold for support the shoulders of the very man you cannot bear to stand at the moment as you sink down on the veiny girth of his cock over and over. His proud chuckle shakes you to the very base of your spine because it makes you vibrate where your bodies are connected. Your thighs tremble and so do your arms. 

But the deep, heavenly burn in your pussy hurts way too good. 

“Tsk… your kind would do anything to dirty this jersey, huh?” His words nearly echo in your empty head as he clicks his tongue and holds his jersey up to examine it. Your tears have mixed with the white paint on your cheeks and dripped down onto the red and blue of his shirt in thick, cracked and chalky drops. “That's fine, I guess. You'll clean it up for your amor like a good little girl, won't you, cariño?” You do not burden yourself with any demonstrations of pride such as shaking your head or growling denials through your mouth that is drooling his cum. 

He snickers and raises one amused brow, relaxed back onto the couch as he makes you do all the work.

Pedri is not one to enjoy your tears. Your rival clubs are in fact the only source of disagreement between the two of you. But on victory nights; the nights when he walks into the apartment buzzing with the adrenaline of triumph and pride, the man revels in the sight of your tears and savours every white-yellow-red drop that spoils the fabric of his kit. 

And he absolutely hates you going quiet. Oh, no. The struggling and cursing and verbal denials are what keep him hard even after a post-game orgasm. He has won the game, what is a pouty little girl?

So his hands snake through the pearly silk of your jersey and his masculine fingers creep up your balmy skin, the difference in temperature between his digits and your tender flesh causing goosebumps to chase his touch that soon cages your sensitive and erect breasts in it. 

“What was that? Huh? Did you say something, vida?” You glare at him as you gurgle on his cum in an effort to let out a moan when the tips of his trimmed nails close down onto your nipples and pinch them until he has you squealing like a little mouse in big trouble. “I am sorry, it's a little hard to understand you over the sound of sore loser” and his free hand pinches one of the petals of your pussy at the same moment so your back arches and you are forced to succumb to him just how your club had to tonight. 

A black drop of sweat blurs the score that is presented on your forehead in big bold numbers and it trickles down the side of your head and mixes into the teary mess of the Madrid flag painting, the desperate shaking of your head only helping it traverse down faster as you shakily nod your head without stopping, the barrage of your orgasm only increasing the sounds of your gagged shouts. The last moment placement of one of his big hands over the mound of your pussy so his thumb can tickle your clit silly only aids his cause.

“YES! YES! GOD, YES! I WOULD LOVE TO! OF COURSE I WOULD–” and your chest crushes into a series of yet another squeal-sobs as you finally collapse atop him and shudder out broken ‘no’s because you just cannot do it anymore. 

And so Pedri throws an arm around your back and pulls you closer before his tired yet much stronger hips fuck his cock up your trembling cavern, the sharp tip of his long tongue swaying past his lips to lick away at your tears.

. . . 

It is going to be a long night indeed. 

MASTERLIST

My brain took that first goal and RAN with it. Ps, this forbidden love kink of mine is gonna get me in big trouble one day lmfaooo

[eccentricallygothic]

How does it feel to be the only person on this website that has done the Lord’s work by writing Thomas Magnum smut thank you Queen🙌🏻

this ask right here is why i created this blog in the first place. thank you so much. i just love my daddies. especially the underrated ones (⁠づ⁠￣⁠ ⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠づ

[eccentricallygothic]

just watched a nightmare on elm street 2 and am i crazy or does the jesse (mark patton) guy look a lot like a blonde carl grimes (chandler riggs?) like, they even kinda sound the same

[eccentricallygothic]

barca dunks on reah madryt yet again but the RM tag is just about bellingham.

ugh. RM tumblr is dead.

[eccentricallygothic]

CHRIS EVANS out & about with the team of SACRIFICE in Greece

[eccentricallygothic]

When Bf!Pedri comes back a winner from a Classico and you are a Madridista… 

Warning(s): Painal, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, humiliation, spanking, mirror sex, body writing, kinda hate sex but not really because it's an established thing, football rivalry. MDNI. 

Pedri eats you out and worships your pussy if Madrid wins, and he fucks your ass and then some if Barcelona does. 

Meaning it goes his way if he comes home a victor.

That is the deal.

The room is engulfed in silence and the menace in the air seems to cut at the tears sitting on your eyes. Your gasps and hisses are lost on you due to how loud and heavy your heart thumps in your ears. Your fingertips are cold against the edge of the table that they remain curled around and your knuckles have turned white from the force you're putting into your grip.

When another one of Pedri's spanks bring you to a state of temporary coherence, you hear his cold chuckle as well as the humiliating smacking of his balls against your blushing ass that is gaping around his rock-like girth. 

“I know, baby, I know” the white jersey that he makes you wear especially for the occasion scalds into your skin when he brushes your hair out of the way and smooths the pearly fabric down to make the name of one of his rivals even clearer to his lust-ridden, proud view. “It hurts to lose” his taunting coo burns into your cheeks and you clench your jaw in loathsomeness despite the unmeasurable love you hold for your cruel defiler.

You try to lower your head to avoid your view so he grabs your hair and pulls at it to make sure you are upright enough to see yourself in the full size mirror that he has placed before the table. The pathetic score with which your club lost to his is written on your forehead with a big, black, and bold marker. 

“Look at how pretty you look bent over with your Madridista ass spread around my cock” the mat of his thick hair sticks to his forehead as the ends hang over his intimidating eyes that are so dark they appear almost wholly black. He is still wearing his kit, he never takes it off on nights such as this. One of his hands hold your tear stained face up towards the mirror and the other keeps one of your knees pushed over the table to make his destroying of your ass even deeper.

Now you understand why he gave you a cool snort and careless once over before reassuring you that it was okay when you revealed yourself to be a Madridista on your very first date. It had been surprising for you, because you had almost imagine him dumping you out of disgust. But he had told you it was okay. That you could love him and your club at the same time and the world would still be the same, if the two of you were good for each other. 

And oh, the two of you were more than good for each other. 

In a once in a lifetime kind of way.

Which is why this deal was a fun and mutual decision between the two of you. 

“You pretend to be mad and embarrassed, but I can feel your tiny little pussy trying to greedily clamp down onto me everytime I graze by, tsk.” And now you are reminded of why it had come to be in the first place.

Because your lover that belonged to the enemy had not spoken one word false. You are a mess of burning wanton between your legs, your hips try to reach out to him with no regard to the stinging of your poor pucker each time his snap against yours. And you bite your lip before sucking down on it in sick anticipation of when he will lay you down under him and make you look at his face as he would take you over and over again until his name and face will be all that you know.

You cannot wait.

. . .

MASTERLIST 

[eccentricallygothic]

iñigo hottie I love u but please play like shit xx

[eccentricallygothic]

Mood

[eccentricallygothic]

how do you go from being rma's ucl rivals to this?

[eccentricallygothic]

not raphinha cooking bayern up 😭

[eccentricallygothic]

when your man's (pedri) club is gonna be playing your favourite german club tonight and you don't know what to do

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me reblogging posts about last night's rma win now like i wasn't ripping out my hair when the game was on 💅🏻

[eccentricallygothic]

champ and bofi 🩷

‘a normal champions league night at the bernabeu 💫🤍’ - rodry