can i borrow your bed: nsfw, pure smut, eddie munson x reader
part i
part ii
part iii (or, more accurately: part 2.5)
freaks, creeps, and weirdos: slow burn romance, nsfw chapters marked as such, reader is a hawkins lab escapee struggling to fit in, eddie munson x reader
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight (slightly nsfw)
chapter nine (nsfw)
chapter ten (nsfw)
chapter eleven
chapter twelve
chapter thirteen
chapter fourteen
chapter fifteen
chapter sixteen
chapter seventeen (coming soon)
deal with the devil: reader is a cheerleader who decides to date eddie to piss off her parents, in exchange for helping him graduate. the catch? no falling in love. nsfw chapters marked as such, but all chapters have suggestive language. fake dating, enemies to friends to lovers, don't fall in love.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three (nsfw)
chapter four (nsfw)
chapter five (sfw with nsfw themes)
chapter six (nsfw)
chapter seven (coming soon)
stranger things guys x older women series: nsfw, short, one-shot fics with billy, eddie, and steve x older women bc they deserve it.
part one: eddie x older!metal!reader
part two: steve x older!secretary!reader
part three: billy x ??? (series on hold)
stand there and watch/come out and play: nsfw, perv!eddie and perv!steve sneak into reader's room. but she makes them pay for being creeps.
part one
part two
one-shot fics:
eddie x metal!reader, meetcute in the cafeteria, sfw
virgin!eddie x experienced!reader, eddie's first time, nsfw
eye contact: eddie x cheerleader!reader, hate-fucking, mutual pining, confession of feelings, nsfw
what best friends are for: perv!eddie x perv!steve x innocent!reader. a bit of manipulation, sharing is caring. nsfw
eddie munson x cheerleader!reader. based on a funny post. reader lets eddie smash bc he's polite to her stuffed animals and it's nice post-breakup sex. nsfw.
modern!enjolras x reader. reader is a uni student who makes her tutor enjolras jealous. nsfw.
insomniac hour: small blurb about eddie being a late night dj and you listening to the station when you can't sleep.
all mine: older!jealous!eddie x afab reader. 20-30yr age difference. eddie gets jealous when you bring a younger guy home. nsfw
me: idk how i feel about men in lingerie, i don't think i enjoy it but i don't think i hate it either.
luke evans: hi remember me the celeb you had a crush on when you were a teenager well i'm in the broadway revival of rocky horror and guess who i'm playing?
going off my antidepressant is insane bc what do you mean i want to cry bc my boyfriend went home 12 hours ago and i'm going to see him tomorrow but i miss him now
Victor Frankenstein x f!reader | cw: fingering | wc: 1.3k
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
Your pious upbringing constantly informs how often guilt weighs on your heart for the most seemingly insignificant trespass: a cross word to your sister. A rebellious huff toward your mother.
An ungrateful spirit toward your father, for the match he’s made you to a man old enough to be your grandfather. You should be thankful. His fortune will secure your family’s place in society for the next generation or so, at least.
You could even confess to your cold heart toward your betrothed. Despite his age, there is warmth in his eyes. He’s intelligent. Not kind, really, but he tolerates you. He’s not cruel. He has made his wishes known to your father: he intends for you to provide him with an heir as soon as the marriage vows are voiced.
So you have come to confession to tame your wicked heart. You must be sinful; that is the only explanation for your callousness in the light of God’s blessings.
You suppose you could forgive yourself for your misdeeds if you it was all done in the name of love. If your very soul burned to mingle with another - to share a beautiful life, adoring one another, raising children - perhaps then, guilt would not weigh on you so.
But true love has never found you.
So you sit in this confessional to rid yourself of your sins. The chief among them is lust, not for your intended, but for someone else entirely.
Your uncle decided to sponsor the scientific endeavors of Baron Frankenstein, a scientist. Because of their newly formed partnership, your uncle brought him to dinner last week.
Victor Frankenstein wasn’t a tall man, but his magnetism ignited a spark, first in your intellect. You had the most stimulating conversation about the human body, but your mother quickly scolded you, bringing the illuminating moment to an abrupt end.
You stumbled upon Baron Frankenstein in the night, quite by accident. Both of you were dressed inappropriately for an encounter, and that is how you came to be in this predicament, confessing your lustful thoughts.
“A thought itself cannot be wicked,” the priest advises, to your relief. “Thoughts come unbidden to our sinful minds. We must be sure not to act upon them.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Have you acted upon your lustful notions?”
“No, of course not, Father. I am chaste, truly,” you quickly reply.
“Are you certain, my child?” He presses. “Have you allowed your thoughts to linger on this man? Indulged in any…scenarios involving him?”
Oh no. Must you really confess this?
“I…I confess, Father…I believe my lustful thoughts have turned to sin, yes.”
“How so, my child?”
Your breath trembles as you remember the softness of his raven curls, the dark allure of his eyes. “It is as you said. My thoughts…linger.”
“You imagine this man.” Something in his voice seems to taunt you.
“Yes.”
“How do you imagine him?” Something in his voice almost seems familiar.
Naked. You imagine him naked, in your bed, beside you, on top of you. Inside you. You long for his breath on your neck, his hands caressing your flesh, taunting you, touching you, teaching you.
“You must clear your conscience, my child,” he encourages you to continue talking. “Confess your lust.”
“I confess,” you exhale shakily, distracted from your task as thoughts flood your mind.
“You have longed for this man intimately. Confess.”
“Yes.”
“You crave him in unholy ways.”
The Father’s insistence shakes you, but you gasp out a choked, “yes.”
“You have committed unholy acts. Sinful, lustful acts, while thinking of this man.”
Shame flares up the sides of your neck, swallowing you whole even as you remember slipping your fingers between your legs at night, feeling wetness gathered there, soaking your undergarments.
“Say his name,” the voice insists. “Confess the name you chant to yourself when you are alone.”
“Victor,” you pant, overcome with desire instead of forgiveness or remorse. “Victor, I say, ‘Victor.’”
The father dismisses you abruptly, absolving you and nonchalantly advising your penance.
꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂
You rush from the church, tears burning your eyes, shame twisting in your gust, desire heating your skin. You came here to be rid of this lust, but it has consumed you, even in the holiest of places.
You fear yourself truly wretched, and more desperate than ever to see Victor again, hoping that even laying eyes on him will grant you a moment’s relief from your torment.
You climb hastily into your carriage, longing for a moment alone, to catch your breath and steady your reeling thoughts.
"Forgive my intrusion."
You yelp in surprise as a figure helps himself into your carriage and draws the curtain.
It can't be.
"Baron Frankenstein," you gasp, your chest heaving as the object of your lust materializes before you like the devil incarnate.
"You may call me Victor if you wish." His mouth curls temptingly as he wraps twice on the carriage with his knuckles to indicate the journey's beginning. "I have been sent to fetch you home."
"You have been?" Your head shakes disbelievingly. "My father has sent you?"
"Your uncle," Victor corrects, leaning forward as if ready to divulge a great secret. "Tell me. Were you confessing?"
Oh god, if only he knew.
"Not very well, I'm afraid," you admit, surprised by your own candor, but hardly able to hide your emotionally disheveled state.
Dark eyes rake over your body, slowly, with intention. "How could such a pious, pure creature have anything to confess?"
Your head drops, if only to give you a moment's reprieve from the intensity of his gaze.
"I've many things to confess, I fear." Your eyes meet his once more. "So very many sinful thoughts."
He wets his lips, boldly leaving his side of the carriage to join you on your side, removing one glove, a finger at a time. "Were you absolved?" His voice darkens, breath ghosting your cheek as he invades your space and your senses.
"I fear I can never be," you whisper, the rise and fall of your chest drawing his molten gaze down to the smooth, sensual outline of your breasts.
"But you are the purest creature I have ever known." His gloved hand sweeps along your cheek, the backs of his knuckles a whisper of seduction.
"No." You screw your eyes shut, determined. "I am wicked."
His breath, hot and heavy against your throat, lures you into something of a trance. "Confess to me."
Your eyes go wide as you realize you recognize his voice. "You are-"
"Yes," he confirms your silent speculation, arm slipping around your waist to gather you closer. "Confess your lust."
"Victor," you whisper. His bare hand has slipped beneath the hem of your heavy skirts with each taunt, caressing higher with each confession.
"You have longed for me intimately. Confess.”
“Yes.”
His hand grips your thigh. He squeezes before running his palm higher still, to the center of you.
“You crave me in unholy ways."
You whimper, but he shushes you, winding his fingers carefully around and under your remaining clothing until he finds the weeping, wet core of you, hot and warm and willing.
His lips chase after yours and you turn to meet his lustful kiss. But you only feel the wet pulse of his tongue for an indulgent moment before his fingertips slide along your folds.
"Is this where you touch yourself when you are alone, chanting my name?"
You shudder, somehow humiliated and exhilarated equally. His thumb swipes over your most sensitive bud and you moan out - a private, intimate cry.
"Say my name," he coaxes, "while I rid you of this lust."
With the dexterity of a surgeon, his fingers expertly slip into the hot core of you, rhythmically pulsing, fingering away what little innocence you pride yourself in possessing.
"Say it. Say it," he chants.
Your body rocks to meet the heavy thrusting of his hand. "Victor...Victor," falls from your lips over and over, like a prayer. Pleasure surges through your body, divine and so heavenly, you feel certain this cannot be sin.
victor frankenstein has a breastfeeding kink, a mommy kink, and probably a breeding kink but only if he gets to be the baby
him and his damn milk for your viewing pleasure
this post has been made in a sexual yet derogatory way towards victor frankenstein, he would like these things not in a sexy way but in a horrible little way bc he is a horrible little man and every instance of violence against him thrills and has thrilled me ever since i first read the book, however i and other tumblr users could fix him via a concerning amount of sex
hot take? idk. victor’s fascination with the figurine of the pregnant woman not only hints at the oedipal tension tied to his mother and the image of milk, but also anticipates his desire to create life without a woman’s involvement. the figurine becomes a symbol of the natural, maternal power he tries to control and surpass. in attempting to usurp the role of the mother, victor’s ambition reveals a deep misogyny, his belief that intellect can replace the body, and creation can exist without love or nurture.
i love this take op. i'd like to add something, not to contradict you or to suggest that the take i'm adding is better or anything, but it's something i've wanted to explore and you've given me a good avenue.
so i follow a creator who i believe did a lot of academic work on frankenstein. they're queer, and their take on the book was that victor's actions were in part informed by repressed homosexuality and an attraction towards henry clerval. which i wasn't too sure about (but hey this person did deep academic work on the novel i just enjoyed once on my own then once for a literature class, so who am i to contradict them), until seeing this.
bc that could add a whole dimension to victor, you know? and here i'm talking mostly about book!victor. just bc movie!victor is blatantly attracted to elizabeth. what if...
victor has a closeness with his mother bc she doesn't demand masculinity of him (which i think speaks to movie!victor as well given the film being kind of gdt's open letter against toxic machismo fathers)
mother dies, her dying wish is that victor marry elizabeth, who up to this point has been his good friend and cousin, alongside henry
victor is pained by this because he's actually gay and into henry, but feels pressure from this moment forward, compounded by grief (and the difficulty of grieving as a man in this time), results in exactly what op is talking about: victor saying, "see, i can procreate without a woman, so i don't have to marry a woman, so i don't have to address these strange feelings of disgust and horror i feel towards the prospect of sleeping with and having a romantic relationship with elizabeth, and can spend more time with henry doing guys-being-dudes things :)"
i love guillermo del toro so much because having a grown man incessantly drink milk to represent his mommy issues has to be one of the funniest ways of doing that ever.
