#it's an oxymoron in and of itself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpebbles · 1 month ago

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𝒃𝒆𝒕 𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒂, 𝒒𝒉⁴³ - 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝑤𝑜

<< previous part next part >>

You been wastin' time on the other side If you're satisfied, touché Now you say you hate all the empty space And if you could go back, you'd stay

a/n : finally I am here with part two, as everyone knows lmao I have been so busy studying but found time to write this so enjoy! As per, not proofread and semi-nsfw/mentions of sex.

always love hearing your thoughts on this series/au so don't hold back, tell me what you want to see more of - although i do have an arc planned out for this series :)

wc : 1,4k

His voice was soft, delicate as his warm breath ghosted over your lips. His head dipping into towards your lips to hover above them, whispering gently but his hands pressed firm against your hips, fingers digging in to bruise the skin under your thin dress - an oxymoron in and of itself.

“Kiss me,” He asked and you did.

Lips crashing together with reckless force, melding together, his hands roaming as he pressed into you. You gasped out a surprised giggle as his force caused you to stumble backwards. Catching you with his hand which had snaked around your back, Quinn dipped you further back as he pulled you into a deeper kiss.

You pressed your hands onto his chest and let him hold you there as you licked into his mouth like a woman starved. It was messy, hasty and passionate kisses in the dark - the sound of ruffling fabric, wet kisses and the huff of each other's chests.

Quinn moved onto your neck, sucking on the just fading hickeys, you let out a few fierce pants as he did so, filling your lungs again and then fumbling around behind you for the light switch to the apartment.

“Baby,” he breathed out, detaching from your neck with a wet pop, and looking up at you with glistening lashes barely visible in the dark.

“The light, Quinn, the light.”

His hands ran up your back, bringing you up closer to his chest, forcing your hands to circle around his neck and letting out a hushed sigh that echoed around the silent apartment.

“We don’t need light for sex.”

You tipped back your head to laugh gently, wobbling on your tall stilettos, “You brought me back here to fuck?”

He smiled, fingers grazing under your jaw, eyes fixated on your red painted lips, “What else would we be doing?”

Quinn’s hands, which hovered now on the tops of your thighs, just below the hem of your dress, began to move slowly upwards, bunching up the silky fabric into his palms.

“I thought you wanted- ah,” Quinn’s thumb traced up the inside of your upper thigh, grazing over sensitive skin, “wanted an early night. We left early, it’s rude.”

As Quinn dropped to his knees before you, pressing a kiss over where his thumb had just skimmed, he whispered, “Well fucking you in a teammate’s house would’ve been even ruder, don’t you think baby?”

“Oh fuck,” You said, voice high and breathy as his mouth moved upwards - to where his roving hands had exposed your pretty lace underwear, to where he was pulling it down your upper thighs gently.

They dropped to the ground almost silently, but your blood roared in your ears and you looked down at where Quinn was. On both knees before you, face just centimeters from your sensitive, warm and already wet, exposed skin, he was looking up at you, eyes wide as saucers.

You repeated, “Oh fuck.”

You were sore the next morning, your legs and thighs ached from muscle strain and you could swear that your cervix was bruised with how hard last night had gone. The dull ache between your legs pulsed and you were putting off the thought of having to pull on a pair of jeans and drive back home. Quinn’s bed was so comfy too. He had left you there to pick up some breakfast, leaving you tucked up in the navy sheets, with a blanket to counteract the cold weather which had chilled the apartment overnight.

Your clothes were folded on his chest of drawers alongside your rumpled dress from last night.

“Off, off” You almost commanded, tugging at the straps on your dress.

Quinn smiled, securing them onto your shoulders with his palms which spanned the expanse of your shoulders easily, “Bedroom first.”

“Okay,” You sighed, tottering forwards towards him, the first round making you more unsteady on the high heels than you were before.

You remembered how he’d picked you up in the kitchen, carrying you bridal style into the bedroom and then dumping you on the bed, leaving you a giggling mess as he crawled on top of you.

You remembered how you’d tried to tug the dress off, but he’d simply tugged the hem further upwards because,

“You look so pretty in this, so pretty. I like you just like this, want to fuck you just like this”

The dress would have to be dry cleaned, your slick and his cum covering it in wet patches and white streaks. Last night was utter debauchery. Even when the dress and bra came off, underwear left discarded in the kitchen still, the heels stayed.

You’d locked your heels together behind him as he fucked up into you. Twice.

Once they’d finally come off, they’d been dropped off the other end of the bed but were now placed carefully by the door.

The sex was good. You couldn’t deny it. It had been a couple months of constant, mind blowing sex.

But… more too.

You’d watch movies together before you had to take off to go back to the states. He’d call you after a long day, speak in delicate, warm and hushed tones over the crackle of a phone. You’d watch his games, texting him to ask if he was okay after a bad hit. You’d gotten sick once and he’d shown up, soup in hand and ready to clean up your trashed apartment. He’d gotten lonely in Vancouver, feeling the separation between him and his brothers and you’d turned up, ready to take him out for a walk around the city and laugh over street food and inside jokes.

You went on what could only be described as dates. Or elaborate foreplay.

Lavish meals in fancy restaurants where he asked you to wear your best new dress and then paid every single time. Sometimes ending up in bed together and sometimes not. After a hard-worked for promotion at work, he’d taken you out then to celebrate, congratulating you with an expensive evening out and a beautiful necklace that definitely had cost a fortune.

Maybe he got off on treating you like his girlfriend or an expensive escort. You weren’t sure if you cared. Last night - case in point.

Lying, looking up at the ceiling, you heard the distant click of the front door open and shut - Quinn was back. A moment elapsed. You sat up in the bed, bringing the thin sheets up to cover your bare chest. There was a soft knock at the door, before Quinn popped his head in through the gap in the door, holding up a paper bag triumphantly.

“Breakfast in bed?” He smiled.

You nodded, smiling and biting the inside of your mouth to stop a full blown grin from breaking out; you shuffled back to rest against the headboard as Quinn approached, and still in his jeans, climbed back into the bed with you.

Breakfast was silent. But in the way that didn’t make your skin crawl. A satisfied post-sex devouring of a croissant, and Quinn’s warm body pressed against your side.

That morning you went to practice with Quinn. Sat up in the stands, shivering as you drew Quinn’s hoodie sleeves down to cover your finger tips and watched him skate around, command his team, wink up at you occasionally. There was another woman there, a girlfriend of one of the team but you two didn’t interact, although she smiled sweetly at you when you met her gaze.

You waited outside the locker room as Quinn got changed after, players filing out, one by one.

One of the players matched your gaze as he left, then wandered your way, extending a hand as if to shake - you took it hesitantly.

“You must be Quinn’s girlfriend,” He said.

“Oh no, I’m-” You started.

He smiled, “He talks a lot about you, I’ve never seen him like that with any other girl. He’s very lucky to have found you.”

You flowed with it.

“I’m the lucky one, really.”

The man grinned, nodding, “Well don’t fuck it up okay, either of you.”

Almost in shock, you watched as he walked away - nothing more leaving your mouth except for a partially dropped jaw. When Quinn finally made it out, you didn’t mention it. He talks a lot about you. You thought about it every day for the next two weeks. You must be his girlfriend - like there was no other explanation for what you were to each other.

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whosjunglejim4322 · 2 years ago

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Reconcile- E.M (S)

Smut!, fluff because uhm how could I not, angst! cause you guys are pent up from stress and this is basically a make up sex fic teehee, mentions of weed, brief arguing, Y’all just desperate and gross, Eddie fucks you till you cry and talks you through it like the slut he is, he cums inside of you, makes sure to fuck all that attitude away, PUSSY EATING, very graphic descriptions of passionate n nasty intercourse

You hadn’t foreseen this happening.

Sure, you and Ed’s have gotten into little disputes before. Petty, insignificant quarrels about whether or not the other person actually took out the garbage or who would pay next date night. Two years is still short to some, for you and Eddie it felt like forever and yesterday all in the same universe. Heavenly, and mundane.

But this is a different beast all together. This morning makes day two that you two have had this weird, suffocating energy between both of you. The antagonist of this situation, is undoubtedly the conversation that was had at Steve’s weekend hangout.

A few hits from a joint, a shot or two of tequila and goofy sentences being passed around between two best friends. You and Robin being the spectators, content in your own little bubble, puffing on a spliff of your own. Heavy, fluffy blankets kept you warm, gave you weight to lean on when your head began to feel like it might float away.

The Christmas lights and the hum of the deep freezer in the corner of Steve’s basement almost distracted you completely in your haze, until it didn’t. Until Chrissy Cunningham came up. Until it was an innocent giggling fit about whether or not Chrissy ever had a crush on Eddie, the oxymoron in and of itself.

“Imagine that ever happening,” Steve chuckled, lightheartedly, taking a sip of his Diet Pepsi. “can’t say I can’t see it. She wanted you for sure, dude.”

Your ears twitched. Eyes thinning into inquisitive slits. Nothing about Steve’s tone was meant to be rude, or disrespectful, but the nature of the comment itself felt awkward and uncomfortable underneath your skin.

You almost turned your attention back to the Walkman blasting David Bowie. Almost.

“I saw her the other day, she came in for an oil change. Honestly, I never would’ve even thought she wanted me,” Eddie takes another rip of his bong. “But then she asked me if I do at home visits. Said she wanted to catch up with me.”

Maybe your reptilian brain overreacted. Or, maybe it didn’t. Honestly, you don’t blame yourself completely for the way you reacted after that statement. Nothing else he said after that mattered. All you could hear was your heartbeat in your own ears. Loud, thunderous

“I told her I wouldn’t do that, obviously.”

White noise.

And not only were you intoxicated, but you were already burnt out from work and school, touch starved from not having any time with your boyfriend as of late. A period of your current reality that you know will pass as all things do in life; but it was too much. This hangout was supposed to be somewhat intimate, something for you to both do together. A simplicity that normally wouldn’t even have to be mentioned. You and Eddie exist on the same axis.

The blanket became too heavy and the smoke in the room threatened to choke you further. You all but threw the fluffy cover off of you and stormed out. You heard Robin call after you, and Eddie. A pair of voices that meshed together like the drum line in a song that is so in sync with the guitar chorus that you can barely decipher it. The steps spin, but you manage to stay upright.

Cold November air chilled your face, your neck. You too a deep breath in while marching to the van parked just a few feet away on the newly slabbed pavement of Steve’s home. His parents are at their lake house so often that Steve claims their Hawkins residence as his own.

Predictably, a heavy thump of boots followed closely behind you. The scrape of worn soles and the squeak of an old leather jacket. A billow of smoke follows him, clings onto him like jasmine and rosemary to the freshly bathed. Your back felt like the warning signs at a crossroad. He felt helpless.

“Baby, hey,” he sounded breathless, desperate and confused. He’s never seen you so upset that you’d just walk out unprompted. “stop walking god dammit, please.”

You stopped reluctantly, the tears of frustration in your waterline blurring your vision of the violet, cloudless skyline. A wide, warm palm touched your shoulder and the heat seared you even through your hoodie. You flinched away instinctively, sore in your limbs from your own concoction of emotions. When you met his eyes, they were wide. Like a deer staring down the barrel of a gun in its own home.

Your face must have been something to see. A scowl, a mirror of sadness reflected in his umber eyes. Angry. He’d never seen you look at him that way. It felt like having his intestines twisted between two cold hands.

“You didn’t tell me that happened.”

You stated it plainly, but spitefully in nature. Your voice cracked and it made a brewing tear spill over your waterline and down the plump of your cheek. He had the overwhelming urge to comfort you, but knew he couldn’t. Knew you would likely flinch away like you did five seconds ago and he didn’t think he would physically be able to bear you trying to get away from him again.

He didn’t exactly know what was making you so upset. The conversation wasn’t anything he wouldn’t have said in front of you, which is why all of it was said in front of you. Perhaps his own intoxication made it hard to fully understand the velocity of his words, what they meant and how they could’ve been interpreted from your point of view.

“I didn’t think it was important.” His thick brows scrunched and deepened the wrinkle between them. You looked like your eyes might bulge out of your head.

You nearly choked on your own spit, the words to your reply getting caught square in the middle of your throat; and so you said nothing. You stepped forward, and then past him. And he realized too late that you were walking away from him.

“I’m gonna ask Steve to take me home.”

He was too stunned to speak. To react. To stop you, to plead for you to tell him what he did wrong. Or at least how to fix it. He felt himself crumble on the inside, like his bones were made of ash.

When he got back to the trailer that night, you weren’t there. And that’s when it all really set in. That he fucked up. For the past two weeks you’ve been here with him, playing house while Wayne caught a gig further up north. He thought, he thought that when you said home, maybe you meant here. With him.

He called that night, almost ten times. You answered on the eighth.

“I’m at my apartment Ed’s, I’m fine. I don’t want to argue, or talk. I just need to be by myself right now.”

He felt paralyzed by the pang in his chest. More so, he felt angry. Genuinely angry, and not just at himself, but selfishly, at you.

“Fine, glad you’re safe.”

He nearly broke the fucking landline.

Your eyes have to adjust to the brightness of your living room. Well, your bedroom, slash living room, slash kitchen. A studio in Hawkins is relatively affordable, but they aren’t lying when they say it’s a studio. The events from yesterday scream in your head instantly, along with the pounding of your pulse. Your bed is almost unfamiliar at this point, the blankets not worn enough, the sheets the scent of fresh dryer sheets instead of you and Eddie’s shared scent.

The beeping of your answering machine pulls you back down to reality, though not one you want to participate in currently. Unfortunately, you have no other choice.

They’re all from Eddie of course, and now that you’re not high you feel those wounds from the night before coming back, sticking you in the chest, ribs, liver. Along with the pain, you feel guilty. For your less than mature reaction. Though you know you can’t blame yourself, not having ever been in that situation. You’re human and reacted as so. But he’s your Eddie.

You listen to the last message, sent twenty five minutes ago.

“I’m coming over in thirty minutes, I don’t care if you don’t want to see me. We are going to talk this out. I love you.”

You huff in frustration, though you can’t say you aren’t relieved. Relieved that he’s coming, that he’s not giving up over some quarrel about Chrissy Cunningham. You have a tendency to think the entire world is caving in around you upon one minor inconvenience. This disruption in your daily routine feels like Armageddon.

You have time to brush your teeth and rinse the remaining paste off of your mouth before your front door opens. If you didn’t recognize his footsteps so well, it might be off putting to have someone just waltz into your home.

The bathroom door is open, so he spots you immediately, slipping off his worn in boots and placing them beside the door. He takes his leather jacket off and puts it over the stool that sits at your kitchen island. It makes your face hot, still. The ease in which you two have melded into each others lives. Even if you’re angry at him.

“I don’t know what to say, Ed’s.” It’s a lie. You walk past him to the kitchen and open the fridge, hiding from his gaze as you pretend to search for something. He clears his throat and you reluctantly close the refrigerator door, staring at the floor and backing yourself against the sink.

“I just - you’ve never left. Without telling me. Or talking to me. And, fuck I-“ he’s stammering already, taking steady breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think I had to tell you about an insignificant interaction with Chrissy Cunningham.”

You scoff, although it’s more of a giggle. And he looks at you like you’ve just lost your mind. Rare, for Eddie Munson to think someone else has lost their mind.

“Well you and Steve sure seemed to enjoy talking about it. You both were pretty giddy discussing whether or not Chrissy wanted to, or, sorry -“ you’re being defensive. Rude. You can’t help it. “wants to fuck you. Why would I want to hear about that? Why would I want to hear you guys talk about whether or not you both can see you and Chrissy together? Does that not sound incredibly fucked up, Ed’s?”

So much for not talking. Now it’s spilling out like a cracked flower vase. Your chest is heaving rapidly, face and body hot with anger. Your arms are crossed across your chest, a protection against whatever it is he might say, despite the fact that you’re the one who’s being rhetorical.

He shoves his ringed fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp and pulling lightly at the roots as he closes his eyes, contemplating. Seeing things through your eyes, attempting to. He winces.

“That’s not what we were trying to say,” he bites his cheek. “I mean I know it doesn’t matter what we were trying to say, the conversation shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t take it back. For fucks sake.”

He’s murmuring to himself, rubbing his rough palms over his tired face. He’s wearing one of your favorite tee shirts of his to steal. Iron Maiden. The sleeves are short enough to reveal the splattering of ink that crawls up his biceps. When his muscles move underneath his skin, the ink moves with them. It’s captured your attention suddenly, and now you’re raking your eyes over his entire figure.

Familiar black sweats cling onto his lower half. They fit perfectly on his lithe waist, loose on the rest. Except for his ass. He has a really cute ass. And these sweats specifically accentuate the shape before billowing down his thighs.

“Baby? You with me?”

The low timbre of his voice shakes you from your reverie. You’ve simmered off, the anger replaced with a different heat. It’s been too long since the two of you have just been together, this fight might be the most communication you’ve had in the past week due to your jobs, and school. Or the worries of the world, the overwhelming need to sleep when you aren’t working, to work when you aren’t sleeping.

You’ve forgotten about each other. Briefly, but not inevitably. Never that. You feel like you may collapse.

“I’m- yeah I’m with you.”

You let out a sigh, uncrossing your arms. You look and sound as defeated as you feel. He can’t pretend to not have noticed your silky, thin sleeping gown, but he is just a man. And your nipples are hard underneath the garment and he has never not thought you’re one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. You haven’t worn it in a while, preferring his clothes to sleep in since you’ve been staying with him. He missed seeing you like this.

He steps closer. Tentatively, afraid you might run away from him. You sense his hesitancy and a piece of your heart breaks, the piece where he lives. You meet his eyes, silently inviting him, glancing from his mouth then back up to his softening gaze. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He says, earnestly. His hands threaten to tremble when you reach out and grab them, heavy in your own. He hovers above you the closer he gets, your limbs connecting in a symbiotic way. One you feel the others skin, you can’t get away from it. Not until you’re pressed together, belly to belly, your chin tilted upward.

“You - ugh.” You can’t get words out anymore. They dissolve in your larynx and your head falls, the need to cry or scream or kiss him an overwhelming choice.

“I know baby, I know. I’m sorry.” He pats down your hair, rough thumbs caressing the softness of your cheeks. He pulls your face upwards again, staring down at you with regret, adoration, hunger.

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have just left.”

He leans closer, till you smell the coffee on his breath and the hazelnut creamer alike. Your noses bump and rub against the other, his thick eyelashes fanning across his own cheekbones - casting a fluttery shadow.

“It’s okay now. We’re okay now.” He says it softly, just between the little space left between you two. “Let me take care of it. Please.” He closes the gap.

Some people assume it’s not supposed to feel as good as it does, kissing someone who’s lips you’ve mapped out like an atlas. That couldn’t be further from the truth, because kissing Eddie feels like being consumed.

And not just metaphorically, because it’s evident in the nips to your bottom lip, the sucking of your tongue whenever he feels it lick his teeth; that your small period of separation, and longer period of not having indulged each other, has weighed heavily on him as well. He’s starving.

You’re overtaken within seconds by the veracity of his mouth, your fingers taking purchase in the curls at his crown. Smacks and kisses and wet noises fill the small space, and the center of your stomach swells with a simmering heat. A reminder of how neglectful you both have been. Your nipples harden against him, as his dick twitches between his legs.

You feel nervous. Tentative. Excited.

His hands implore you like a new discovery, grasping at your back, and then down the sensitive slopes of your sides and over the plushness of your hips. Through the silky nightgown the sensation is riveting, enough to drive a person insane. You arch against him, and a whimper escapes your mouth into his throat.

“Mmm, mhm.” He groans.

“Eddie,” it’s a cry, wanton sound that makes him rut himself against you instinctively. Anything to relieve you. Anything to relieve himself. “baby.”

He smiles against your mouth, pecking it a few times before departing only for a second to see your kiss bitten lips, his and your spit coating your mouth. Your blown out pupils. He mirrors your appearance, like a wild creature.

“Never again,” his index fingers knuckle strokes the inside of your thigh, and you shudder, holding onto his broad shoulders for an anchor. You separate your legs without thinking. “we will never go through this again. I’m gonna make sure of it.”

Three knuckles stroke your pubic mound, then down your covered slit where dampness threatens to leak. Your fingernails grip his shirt, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in anticipation. He’s so warm, so palpable. You want him to bury himself inside of you.

He’s in front of you, and then he’s not. You blink, and hair tickles your thighs like you’re frolicking through an overgrown field. Strong, rough hands lift the delicate silk of your nightie until it’s being bunched between ringed fingers above your navel. He’s on his knees, devout for you.

You gasp when his tongue broadens against your center. Your panties are just enough barrier to make you wanna cry out in desperation, while also offering enough sensation to not dare stop for even a moment to pull them off. You’re at his mercy. Or is he at yours? Neither of you know anymore, and it’s not important.

Not when he gets a taste of you. Not when he peers up at you between lust sodden lashes and sees you looking down at him like you’re about to crumble. Your knees shake and he bunches the nightie in one fist instead of two, placing his free hand on the back of your thighs to steady you while he soaks your underwear with the spit from his tongue.

The shape of your slit and the plump lips around it begins to show its phantom form through the material from the soaking. He sucks, prods with the tip of his wet muscle.

“Ed’s, fuck.” Your voice is so weak. His cock weeps in his sweats, dribbling with copious amounts of precum. It’s torturous to not touch himself but he’s too focused on watching you, pleasing you. You hums against your mound, mocking you.

He pulls the elastic to the side, not patient enough to take them off all the way. You get to see his face for a split second, cherry red cheeks and a messy halo of hair and stubble on his chin. And then, you feel it.

His nose keeps your lips separated, his tongue already splayed against the soft, sensitive flesh between them. You’re slick and sticky and coating the lower half of his face, though you have trouble grasping onto the helms of reality when he’s licking your pussy like this. He shakes his head from side to side, tongue still flat until he’s spreading your thighs farther, so that he can lick your honey from the source.

“Hold it.” He mumbles, struggling to hand the falling material of your night gown to your shaking hands, though you get the memo when it threatens to cover his head completely. You use one hand to hold it, and the other to tug at his hair.

You can barely hear anything another than the sloppy wetness of his mouth working on you, and the sound of your own heartbeat, but you’re sure you’re whining. You can feel the rawness of your throat as you let your head fall back and cry to the ceiling, feeling the need to tear up.

You grip the roots of his locks, rocking against his mouth like you’ve got no other choice. He hums, encouraged by every squeak and moan that comes out of you, by every drip of your cunt and tensing of your muscles.

He doesn’t care that your thighs are squeezing around his head, or that you can barely hold yourself together. You’re using his face like second nature and his cock weeps in his pants. He feels himself throbbing in tandem with the pulsing of your hole around his tongue.

Then he pulls your lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the pink bud that resides underneath your hood, suckling and coating it with enough spit to drip onto the floor.

“Oh god,” you pant “m’gonna cum. Please don’t stop please please please.”

You’re throttled, and not just by the pleasure but by how fast you’re descending into your own madness. You can’t hear much of anything, see anything but the back of your own eyelids - and your boyfriend is using half of his strength to keep your body upwards as you threaten to wilt.

He doesn’t stop, per your request but to your ultimate demise. You feel yourself leaking as your clit throbs from the aftershocks of a powerful - much needed and thoroughly missed, orgasm.

You think you might pass out, but he feels the trembling in your body and despite his need to keep going until you’re completely done for, all but comatose- he stops.

Through your clouded and hazy senses, your hands tug at his face, his head, his neck. Lazily you attempt to pull him up from his knees, and it’s not your strength that does it, it’s his own. But he lets you believe you pulled him to your mouth, before he even has the chance to wipe your essence off. Not that he cares to.

Your tongues collide in a messy exploration, he’s rough and saccharine and sweet all at once. Your paw at him like you’ve never felt him before, like he didn’t just have his mouth on your most private of parts.

“I need you in me.” You slur the words between open mouthed kisses. He’s pressed so flush against you that you can feel his dick throbbing, and you’re not sure if the wetness is your own or his. Perhaps both.

You’re hungry for it. He’s still starving, and your fingers clumsily pull the waistband of his sweats down until they’re pooled at his ankles. You wrap your hand around the thick member, angrily red at the tip, veins bulging from either side. The thatch of curly hair at his base is covered by his shirt but you don’t have the energy to remove it- to do anything other than ogle at the blood rushing through him, the feel of his pulse through his manhood. He throws his head back for a split second, taking a deep breath.

You turn around, facing the sink and resting your cheek against the cool metal of the edge. You offer yourself to him like this, an invitation in the form of a leaking cunt and buckling knees. His hands, rough and wide pull this godforsaken nightgown up and over the swell of your ass, knuckles grazing the back of your thighs in the process.

You want to look at him but you’re far too flustered, ironically. It’s completely idiotic to still be embarrassed at your own need for your own boyfriend - but someone as beautiful as Eddie doesn’t come around very often. Getting to do this feels like retribution.

“You’re so pretty,” he groans, out of breath. He crudely spits on his cock, you can hear the slick sounds of his precum mixing with his saliva as he strokes himself a few times, one hand on your left hip while he guides his mauve tip to your slit.

“I’m gonna fuck all that attitude away baby.”

The stretch is jarring and unexpected, but the sounds you both make as he sticks himself passed your gummy entrance isn’t. You grip the counter, and he leans his weight over you so that he can mouth at your shoulders while he pushes himself in to the hilt- kissing your cervix before his cock moved around it.

“Yeah?” He taunts, hair tickling your back and lips smearing kisses against your nape. “You’re so goddamn wet, this is all you needed huh?”

He’s genuine within the ruggedness of his voice. Within seconds he’s pulling himself out and shoving himself back in with something fierce driving him. He’s unforgiving in his pace once he gets into a comfortable stance, kicking his sweats off of his ankles and planting his feet behind you.

It’s a symphony of sticky, wet sounds, and grunts with compositions of skin against skin in your small kitchen. It’s been so long since you’ve felt him, since he’s felt you. He’s not just fucking you from the back, he’s mounting you - panting lewdly in your ear while his hands snake themselves around your shoulders.

You cry out, nothing coherent leaving your mouth. Your poor cunt was still contracting from the orgasm he gave you with his mouth when shoved himself inside of you, and now that little spongey spot is being brutally massaged over and over again with each stroke.

“That’s - s-so - good.” Your words are staccato, followed by petulant whines. You’re thankful for his hit breath on your neck, the groans leaving him, the weight of his body behind you. He’s close while still delivering a delicious punishment - a fucking that’s meant to make you forget about anything that’s happened this past week.

“Awe baby, it feels good hmm? You - fucking hell-“

His balls tighten and he knows he’s gonna cum soon, he’s too caught up in how you’re squeezing around him, throbbing from the inside out with your admiration for him. You try to reach back and touch him, but he holds your arms in front of you, a sort of embrace and restraint all in one.

“need to cum baby, need to show you how much I love you. Need to fill you - oh baby - need to fill you all the way. That’s it - there you go there you go, I know.”

He kisses your cheek where a tear falls down, your knees beginning to tremble again in tandem with his own. He ruts and ruts and ruts, your cream coating his cock, your warmth swallowing him whole.

He pulls out, and you think you might start weeping, till he turns you around by your waist and licks the inside of your parted lips. He hiked your leg up around his lithe waist, bends his knees and maneuvers his hips forward so that he can slide back into you.

Now that he can see your face, and you can see his, you both feel cathartic.

You hang onto his shoulders, clawing at his curls and he holds your face, damp lips centimeters away from your own while your foreheads rest against each other. You look down to watch him disappear inside of you, and you marvel at it. Your juices and the sounds they make, how pretty his dick looks coated in your release and his own pre ejaculate.

“M’so fucking deep,” he’s shaking now, sweat beading down his neck. His bottom lip quivers and you begin to realize how this must feel for him as well. How badly you both needed the other. “it feels so fucking good, so good so good so good.”

He’s babbling and you pull his mouth to yours again, suckling on his tongue. With some foreign strength, you use your voice.

“Please cum, I love you Eddie. I want you to cum for me please please, I can’t take it. Cum for me cum for me cum for me I love you.”

He thinks he might cry, he’s so fucking deep when you wrap your arms around him, when your hips are connected so closely that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other one ends - when the sweet lullaby that is your voice serenades him, begs him to let go.

“Oh god, oh fuck I’m - fuuuuck.”

He tightens, stuttering inside of you while small gasps of pleasure leave him like hiccups. You inhale the scent of his hair, feel the rise and fall of his breath from between his shoulder blades. You’re both twitching, barely standing. A mess, and certainly a sight to see.

He stays like that for a few moments, just enough for all of his cum to dribble out from the tip and into you. When he pulls out, the sound is audible and crude, and he swears to himself he will clean the mess on your kitchen floor.

You don’t know who kisses who first.

Both of you go for the others neck, cheeks, forehead. Gently, with enough love to fill an entire universe itself. It’s a juxtaposition to the way you just had each other. It’s love. Pure, unadulterated, sickeningly sweet to the melancholy.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he kisses your eyelids, then your nose, out of breath. “and I’m gonna make breakfast in the morning. We are never letting this happen again.”

You scratch his scalp.

“Which part? Cause-“ he rolls his eyes, smiling boyishly. Enough to show his dimples, flash his teeth.

“You know which part, I’ll give you whatever you want. But I’m never going this long without being around you. Not ever.”

He’s devout, sincere in a way that is irrevocable. You don’t argue, don’t wince, don’t make a face. You nod, suckling his bottom lip.

You listen.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson au #joseph quinn x reader #Eddie Munson Drabble #Eddie Munson imagine

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sha-brytols · 7 days ago

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I'm curious, since you've talked about how you enjoy the themes of Inquisition but not the execution, how would you rewrite the main story?

honestly i think just by virtue of making it more self-aware you would immediately fix like 75% of it's biggest issues. i mean the game already has sooooo much going for it in theory just by having it revolve around religion and faith and the way politics are inherently linked to both of those. i would love if the game actually dealt more with the implications of the inquisition being a theocratic military power that has to negotiate the fact that it's a) not officially part of the chantry anymore but still perpetuating the chantry's agenda and b) that there is literally no way it can ever hope to actually exist as a politically neutral force in the world. i think it would be very very easy to take the plot of inquisition and reframe it in such a way that the inquisition itself is the antagonist. not the inquisitor, not the advisors, but the very concept of a theocratic military force is inherently antithetical to the ideals you're trying to uphold. you cannot be both a force for peace and order and also a paramilitary organization with no oversight or accountability.

you know how dragon age origins is only kind of about the blight. like the blight is absolutely the big event that is driving all the major plot beats, but the game isn't really about fighting the archdemon. it's about the civil war that is going on in ferelden at the same time that happens to be creating the conditions under which the blight is allowed to fester. that's kind of what i think most people were expecting out of inquisition. a game that, in the most shallow and literal reading of it's premise, would technically be about closing the breach and killing the big bad guy, but would really be about the chantry schism that created the vacuum for someone to exploit in the first place. like the pieces were all There. we had the mage/templar war, we had that philosophical confrontation regarding the """true""" nature of spirits/demons and how much of it is perception, we had tevinter as a major player on the scene and a foil for the chantry's ideology and the way that gets taken advantage of. it was all there. but inquisition never really went for any of it. it introduced all this stuff and then the game just sort of. walks away? takes it completely at face value even despite those Liddol hints to a bigger picture.

and i know they kind of tried to fix this with the inclusion of trespasser and credit where it's due, trespasser DID address a LOOOOT of inquisition's most glaring shortcomings. it just. did it two years later in a short dlc. i want an actual version of the full game that goes into the actual meat of the chantry and all of its good and all of its bad. and i kind of? feel like? there WAS a version of that game somewhere in the blueprints? i mean i genuinely do not think it's possible to just accidentally stumble into all these hyper-specific plot beats right LOL like no matter how stupid you think bioware is you'd have to believe they're REALLY. REALLY. REALLY. REEEEEEAAALLLY stupid in order to believe that they never intended on any of that going anywhere. so it's not that i think the story is irredeemable, i think that like. somehow and for some reason a crucial element of its dna was removed, thus neutering its primary theme entirely and creating this hilarious oxymoron of a story that doesn't seem to realize its own irony

also i would make blackwall and cassandra bisexual.

#ask #anon

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communistkenobi · 7 months ago

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idk how I feel about Bourdieu generally, but he makes the argument in On The State that the state legitimizes itself by presenting itself as “the viewpoint that produces all other viewpoints,” that it structures how we think about and understand what gets counted as “just a particular point of view” or “just an opinion,” and through this production it ceases to be seen as a viewpoint itself, which is to say, it ceases to be viewed as biased or partial by the public, and is therefore “outside the social space.” He means this specifically in the context of state reproduction, that the state is doing this to reproduce and perpetuate itself by building a public consensus that agrees that the state is legitimate (and thus unbiased). He's engaging with Weber’s idea of the rational logic of the modern state, that rationality is understood as objective, above mere opinion, and that to be legitimate is to exist outside of the domain of opinion (ie, the social).

and talking with a lot of particularly nihilistic liberals, this framing feels pretty instructive - the state doesn’t actually exist within the social realm, it’s basically just a fact of nature, like a lion or a forest, and the primary problem that arises within the state is when it takes on the characteristics of the social space by suddenly appearing partial and biased. The real crime of Trump and other “populist” right-wing politicians is that they are dragging down the state to the low space of the social realm and doing with it biased and partial things - the lion is now in the circus, and so it must be released back into its proper dignified place in nature. “fake news” and “alternative facts” are rendered oxymorons that endlessly drives liberals insane - how can facts be fake? How can the head of the state lie? Misinformation becomes the whole terrain of battle, of trying to maintain the boundary between fact and mere opinion, and through this battle the state will be cleansed of the social realm.

and ironically this is a disengagement with empiricism entirely, an irrational commitment to the rational, to the state. because at no point is there any actual reckoning with the state as an institution that emerged out of history and struggle, as something that is co-constitutive with the social realm, as an authority that decides what is impartial and unbiased, as an authority that can be challenged, it’s just an animal that does things, existing forever in time, and sometimes evil people make it do things that go against its beautiful, unbiased and impartial nature

#book club #< for the bourdieu citation. It’s pretty fun so far!

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yr-hen-ogledd · 3 months ago

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Hail ye! A dead knight of dead Caliban In sleepless dream strides forth Her guns ever-telling, ever-ending A wake in blood and bone, iron-trodden

Judith, grave-borne, tomb-shielded Dead, killing, unforgiven

Turns out there's more than one way to make lady space marines!

I still haven't found a way to photograph very big miniatures (oxymoron?) like this in a way that I'm totally happy with, but hopefully you get the idea. I am very happy with the model itself!

The early medieval-style banner is a particular milestone for me, being the first (and I guess, 2nd, because it's double-sided) time I've managed to paint a decent-looking face on a 2d surface! I took the opportunity to make the dreadnought pilot female because I've sort of committed to the idea of having all my Dark Angels wear helmets. Helmetless heads on marines are often a good way to express your chapter's identity, but I think an important aspect of the Dark Angels (at least post-heresy) is that their identity is on a need-to-know basis. Therefore, helmets for everybody! It made a lot of sense to me though that this walking, fighting reliquary should carry some sort of tribute to its pilot, so Judith gets a portrait.

PS before anybody gets confused, her skin is green mainly because I didn't want to upset my nice disciplined colour palette, but I also like the idea of green skin being associated with death & rebirth as in the case of the Egyptian Osiris.

That's enough words for today! Hope you all are doing well and that your skin is a regular human colour.

#dark angels #space marines #redemptor #dreadnought #warhammer 40000 #40k #adeptus astartes #2025

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just-honey-dewd · 20 days ago

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THE GENIUS VS THE MASTERMIND

Thinking about the recent Link Click MOD…. The second song had the album cover(?) referring to Lu Guang as a genius. Which made me spiral into critical thinking. So this post will be covering Lu Guang's relationship to the term "genius," the way it differentiates from "mastermind," and then how Liu Xiao makes for a good character foil for Lu Guang.

I’ve never thought that far enough to consider Lu Guang one because genius as a term reeks of an exceptionalism mindset that I don't really subscribe to. But coming off of that trailer with more consideration for the term, it paints a picture on my head of the kind of exceptionalism mindset Lu Guang has always been subjected to: whether it'd be for his mind, his appearance, or his vast knowledge of things.

I find it fascinating from a writing standpoint how Lu Guang can technically be considered a genius in his specialised field: the intrinsic understanding of timelines. For the context of his world, and with the limited base of reference we have of other time-based power users, Lu Guang might be in uncharted territory, and the nature of his abilities make him a cut above the populace. There are several interpretations of the word genius from many people, but I quite take to looking at the word's etymology itself for reference.

It originated in Rome and was defined as "tutelary or moral spirit" who guides and governs an individual through life.

The Latin version of the word meant "guardian deity or spirit which watches over each person from birth; spirit; incarnation; wit, talent." The noun is related to the Latin verbs "gignere" (to beget, to give birth to) and "generare" (to beget, to generate, to procreate). A person's "genius" dictated their unique personality and disposition, so it used to be that the term "genius" was used to define a spirit that inspired the talent in a person, rather than the talent itself.

It's not hard to consider Lu Guang as a moral spirit or guide for those closest to him. And it's also representative to me that he is not only a guardian deity to Cheng Xiaoshi and Qiao Ling -- but also a spirit that possesses and guides himself when he dives back in time. So, yes, I've now taken a liking to describing him as a genius.

Which is where I get onto the other mystery man of the show...

The man of mystery, Liu Xiao— the mastermind.

It’s an oxymoron to me how he’s advertised as being behind the shadows, and spotlighted for how enigmatic he is. The most we know of him from now [2/06/2024] is that the environments around him go out of their way to tell you he's not to be trusted, that he's a red flag, and that he seemingly has a fascination with Lu Guang. Shout out to the PV trailer for showing off his haunting aura.

There's a lot of parallels he has to Lu Guang: both are adept at planning ahead, they are manipulators that haunt the narrative and each others' worlds, and they always know more than they let on. It's not even that other characters don't know they're mysterious -- but they recognise their distant and secretive dispositions.

I find it fascinating looking back at how easily Lu Guang never paid a glance at Liu Xiao in that previous iteration of the timeline, yet regarded Liu Xiao with familiarity in the Yingdu episodes.

So it could be suggested that in previous iterations, they would eventually meet Liu Xiao, but it was never in Bridon. Another thing to consider is that Lu Guang might've never noticed that Liu Xiao was at the airport, instead of ignoring him on purpose.

PV shows us this: Lu Guang seems unaware of Liu Xiao at the airport, but Liu Xiao is either aware of both Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang, aware of Cheng Xiaoshi (for his objective in Bridon), or aware of Lu Guang (perhaps as a long term threat to his objective).

While Yingdu arc shows us this:

[Lu Guang's heartbeat quickens]

LIU XIAO: You're not just tailing Cheng Xiaoshi now. I want you to keep an eye on Lu Guang. XIA FEI: You mean... LIU XIAO: What's the matter? Didn't you say you only get paid to do the job? LIU XIAO: Relax, I don't have any bad intentions. LIU XIAO, OFF-SCREEN: I'm getting curious.

This scene seems to indicate that Lu Guang's behaviour is enough of a variable for Liu Xiao to want to take him into account. But crucially, Lu Guang hadn't been on his radar. Which... makes little sense if he had been aware of the duo/Cheng Xiaoshi in previous timelines.

It's also kind of a headache if this is the same Liu Xiao seen later playing tetris with a high score that's dated at 12/09/2024

A lot of the time, the fun aspects of interrogating Liu Xiao's character comes down to trying to analyse what he doesn't already know: what isn't an absolute truth, and if he knows these truths.

I think a fun interpretation to me is that Liu Xiao has the broad strokes figured out, and -- through an unknown combination of means -- can predict the outcome of events, anticipate the intervention of third parties, and can quickly single out points of interest, pawns, and those he considers prey. But he's not omniscient in the same way Lu Guang is.

I think in a technical sense, Lu Guang has the vantage point of foresight and memory as the time seer, but Liu Xiao has the persistence and agility of a spider. Go to this post for a deeper analysis on Liu Xiao's PV.

In identifying the oppositional natures of Lu Guang and Liu Xiao, it can be read through through verses from the song "Train Trial," specifically lines like:

"The lights are down (oh?) I brought the darkness (wow)"

The character 光 in Lu Guang (陆光) means 'light.' And his corresponding verses:

"Give me a pair of eyes, where I can see all the joy and sadness Give me a pair of hands that I can cover the unpredictable darkness"

"Even if you want to get rid of my ropes, a hundred years won't be enough for you."

"Above me, the clock's hand turns"

"High places are cold, but it can't affect me"

If nothing else, we know that Lu Guang and Liu Xiao's objectives impede each other's. It's hard to say what Liu Xiao as a person truly believes in, but from all his appearances in and out of the show, what little can be gathered is that he has some deep connection to Cheng Weimin, has no true allies he won't betray for his objective, and consistently monitors Lu Guang.

UPDATED NOTES:

The interview with Li Haoling adds some extra information that might click with or disrupt my current notes:

Liu Xiao studied in Yingdu because it's in close proximity of Bahati: a school linked to supernatural abilities

Liu Xiao's interest in Cheng Weimin's case, as well as his own ability to "hear people's heartbeats," is tied to the concept that supernatural abilities can be taken away

Liu Xiao's objectives in Yingdu were to use Vein to locate Wang Qing to obtain Cheng Weimin's book, and to have Xia Fei monitor Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang due to Lu Guang's unusual heartbeat

Anyways, the point I've reached is Lu Guang is a rank below Liu Xiao probably due to limited political influence and power to influence the future the way he desires to -- even in spite of his vantage point. Quite like the knight and bishop chess pieces. Liu Xiao is deserving of his reputation of being several steps ahead of the game.

A genius isn't guaranteed to win against a sweet-talking manipulator who has determined the terms and conditions of his game longer than when the genius first learns it.

#i'm so tired thinking about liu xiao. he's such a headache #they have never even shared a conversation in the show. but they might as well engage in telepathy with how #loud their brains must be #the reason i did not put any lu guang centric images on his section is because i wasn't studying his character this time #and cuz of image limits #when you discuss two characters who seem to know the most about everything. it turns out that requires going back through #footage to review their careful reactions to everything...#link click #lu guang #liu xiao #sgdlr #shiguang dailiren #shiguang daili ren #时光代理人 #time agents #shi guang daili ren #bridon arc #yingdu chapter #cheng xiaoshi #analysis #chess piece analysis #link click meta #if anyone makes a fic about liu xiao cursing lu guang to turn into a cat every night. my life is yours.

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