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040504210320092209191319 · 2 months

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can i confess something

despite being online when the terms pr/sh/p and ant/ were conceived bc i was in mostly oc circles i had no idea that fandom at large became so polarized until relatively recently and think the whole thing is stupid

i sincerely hope that ka/sh/n implodes those terms permanently bc not only are they not helpful at all they lead to a lot of assumptions over the character and morals of strangers

i noticed bc someone straight up was like “it’s like a philosophical thought problem; is it still okay to ship them if we didn’t know they were cousins for 20+ years?” and other people “uhhh i swear i’m not pr/sh/p but i’m gnna ignore the canon and au they’re not related!!” and i’m just sitting here like

.. do you see how fucking dumb those terms are and how much stock people put in to their media consumption as a reflection of their morals and how that just Doesn’t Work 😭 ?????

like YES i will avoid certain ship content i don’t like; i’ll block accounts that center on characters i don’t want to see; i DO NOT engage with people who like certain media that i think is cringe — but i can do all of these things w/o attacking them which i think is what a lot of people need to learn idk..???

do i think certain people are freaks?? yes!!! duh!! but i feel like esp w/ eng speaking fandom spaces no one minds their own business or truly curates their own space or they think curating their space means controlling who their mutuals follow or engage with

like.

unless it is someone who’s TRULY horrible then it’s not my business?? like i think there’s a difference between your mutual following someone who draws r18 of a ship you don’t like and your mutual following an outed predator or whatever and in that case i’m not picking a fight w/ them i’m just blocking and moving on

i’m getting off track but i HATE the terms pr/sh/p and ant/ bc they’re completely disregard the fact that people can think for themselves and again impose very polarized morals on people who are NUANCED and probably dgaf if i’m gnna be real 💀

idk it reminds me of the person who pissed me tf off bc they were like “brav/rn seems cool but uhm the miIitary??? 🫤🫤🫤” and implied that anyone who watched it was endorsing pro-miIitary propaganda when the show isn’t even about that at all they just want to virtue signal and say i’m smart for not falling for …. nonexistent propaganda ???

in the end it really isn’t that complicated and it isn’t anyone’s job to curate your space for you. block and mute content and accs who post things you dislike. you don’t have to fight about it. maybe stop defining others and yourself based off what you’re shipping or consuming like idk!! the block feature is quick easy put the pr/sh/p ant/ terms away

i just think it’s crazy like i blinked and the etiquette of just blocking or ignoring content you dislike was replaced with

whatever this is

and i’m sorry but i think it’s hilarious that it took something like this to fully expose how pointless those terms and that attitude in general are

#memo #SORRY FOR BEING ON MY HATERISMS BUT LIKE #i personally do not and would not ship ka/sh/n #but i think it’s insane how people are making such an issue over their own morality #whether they’re probIematic or not for having shipped a ship that turns out that way #when it’s like you can just stop shipping it and be disgusted or w/e #w/o bringing stupid pr/sh/pant/ discourse into it #and assuming the worst of everyone around you #like obv there are people who revel in being probIematic but i promise you don’t have to engage with them #and like why would you if you aren’t even approaching them to be productive like y’all just want to fight for what

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dis-gusted · 2 years

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this depressive episode is really kicking my ass. what if i took double my med dose. what if i became vegan. what if i simply moved out of my apartment instead of cleaning it. what if i blocked everyone who likes me. what if i got liposuction. what if i picked up those scissors. what if i never ate again. what if i downed two bottles of wine. what if i never went to sleep. what if i drew blood. what if i don't actually have feelings and just pretend i do for fun. what if i miss the way my skin looked when it was coated in open wounds.

#i just realised i was doing mild sh to a podcast e listens to to sleep #thinking about how that information would probably hurt them a lot #why do i kind of want to do that to them?#jk its because i feel like they don't actually think about me that much and this would make them think about me #an awful petty impulse which i will recognise externalize and repress #i better make sure i have a good excuse for these scratches bc no one is gonna agree to hit me if they think im shing #god im gonna regret this in the morning when i have to hide these #why is it so hard to break skin i want my scars back #also a pet chicken #i want a pet chicken #conari #self harm

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urhoneycombwitch · 5 months

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I know what they call you.

🍯 honey flavour: You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

🐝 the bees: Eddie x shy!Reader, best friends Steve + Robin

wc: 11k

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous.

Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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killuintense · 10 months

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olá!, gostaria de fazer um pedido, onde leon e o leitor estão em um momento íntimo +18 e o leitor acaba esguichando nele 👉👈(se puder, pois o leitor é mais novo que o leon) ♡🧸

❝ delicious ❞

leon kennedy x fem!reader.

summary: Leon didn't let you forget how skilled he was with his fingers.

content: 1.4k words smut, p in v, unprotected sex, age gap, fem squirt, degradation kink, worship, also sweet Leon, little fluff, needy dom Leon.

note: it is the first time that i write about squirts and i found it very fun and interesting to do it! i hope i have described it as accurately as possible, it really is a difficult feeling to explain, haha. anyway, i hope you liked it, sweetheart, thanks for trusting me ♡

It was supposed to be a quiet and cozy evening, you spoiling Leon and relaxing with him in bed while you watched movies and pampered each other. That's what you thought it would be but now you were writhing on the bed with tears in your eyes threatening to come out as Leon rubbed your swollen clit over and over again with his fingers wet with your fluids, while his cock moved lazily inside you, as if he wanted to stimulate you little by little but with the struggle of not wanting to come inside you. He had cum in you seconds before and you joined him, leaving his back completely red from the scratches. And you didn't know if it was because of the distance that had passed during those weeks where he had had to attend to work matters, but he refused to come out of you claiming that he needed to feel you until he got tired.

And he was getting what he wanted, getting rock hard inside you again as the seconds ticked by. Wasn't he content to give you an orgasm so strong it left you in a feverish state, almost fainting? Apparently not, and now the wet sounds were a little more intense, needing to move a little deeper but not ramming you with the force of a few minutes before. "Leon, f-for God's sake stop" your voice sounded broken and shaky, and your eyes were wet and watery, whimpering as best you could when he brought one of his large hands to your sensitive neck, squeezing firmly but not quite suffocating you.

"Sh..." he hissed, licking his lips as his fingers made increasingly frantic movements on your swollen core. He was too self-absorbed watching you squirm and squeezing it so hard that he felt privileged to have your walls smothering his cock with such vigor. He loved how, in desperation of not knowing what to do with so much pleasure, you brought your hands to your tits and squeezed them, mistreating your hard, red nipples from so much groping. "Why are you asking me to stop, fuck" he gave a loud lunge, almost growling, opening you wider "You're moaning like a fucking bitch in heat and you want me to stop, damn it, you punish me" the growl turned to a laugh when he felt you shaking harder than usual.

And is that... you could feel the tip of his cock hit you in that very specific spot with such precision, feeling your juices mixing with his cum still inside you. Fuck, you felt it still hot, dripping and leaking out of you every time he gently pulled out and pushed back in. Leon took his hand off your neck to grab one of your thighs and place it on his shoulder, pulling out completely and back in again; almost feeling addicted to watching his cum dripping out of your pussy and helping the thick sound become more constant.

"Leon!" you sobbed, begging him for mercy "Fuck, stop!" you curved your back throwing your head back, soon you felt your gaze cloud over. It was... different. Different in so many ways that you were scared, almost as if you wanted to stop everything and go to the bathroom to see what the fuck was going on, because that wasn't an orgasm like any other. And, while Leon had made you cum in so many ways you lost count, the tingling sensation and total tightness in your belly was different, as if something more was coming out than just that clear liquid you denoted every time you cum around Leon. Each time Leon came and came harder and harder, more liquid came out of you. "Love, this is different..." your cheeks were hot like never before and totally stained by your tears "It feels weird, please..." your dry mouth and chest rising and falling from your irregular breathing.

"Let it go, princess" he kissed your thigh, biting it gently and sucking without any kindness "Trust me, it will feel good..." he gasped, his pelvis moving harder, moving out and in, his fingers now defiling not only your clitoris but your pussy completely, running his fingers along your lower lips, going up and down. However, that last movement spelled your doom, as he pulled out of you and without much effort, slipped back in, causing a weeping, dripping head to impact your sweet spot.

Your legs trembled, your voice went away for a few seconds and you let yourself go without thinking that you would completely wet the sheets with that deep orgasm that felt like a beating in your whole organism. Everything was spinning around you, making it hard for you to regain consciousness and yet, despite everything, you did not stop feeling that sensation of fullness that having Leon inside you gave you... you'd be lying if you said you hadn't fantasized about having him inside you forever, and at times like that you could almost be sure you recognized every protruding vein on his fucking cock.

It took you a few minutes to come back to yourself, and when you did you lifted your body, propping yourself up as best you could on your elbows, seeing the large wet spot on the sheets. Leon's thighs were wet and so were yours. What the fuck had happened and how did you manage to come so far with your orgasm...?

"Feeling better?" the sweet voice of Leon woke you from your little dream, making you look at him pitifully, stammering apologies not knowing what else to say. You had soaked him completely "I had to stop because I was going to cum so much that it was going to be twice as hard for you to clean yourself afterwards" he confessed, kissing your thigh still on his shoulder as he caressed it. You hadn't realized how scarred he had left it with his wet bites and hickeys, you couldn't even feel your legs in fact. "Don't apologize, love. I'm flattered to have provoked your first squirt in fact" he mentioned with that arrogant but deep tone, typical of him. You hadn't even understood what he meant, because your head was still spinning. You almost felt sorry when it came out, still hard as if all that hadn't been enough. You thought the weirdness of the situation would make the excitement disappear from his body immediately, but he seemed just as hard as before, if not harder.

"Damn..." you threw yourself back on the bed, closing your eyes "I'm all yours, Leon, please do whatever you want. You deserve it" you laughed, still feeling your mouth dry and your cheeks dripping. He seemed to laugh, almost like an excited child about to use his favorite toy.

"You have no idea how hot your pussy makes me, you are delicious. If I wasn't so tired I swear I'd eat you out" a mischievous chuckle broke out, and you chuckled to yourself. You would never have thought that this man ten years older than you would have so much energy in bed, much more than you -just entering the young-adult world- would have. But when it came to your body he seemed to go completely out of control, almost animalistic.

Soon he gathered your wet thighs together and wedged his member between them, beginning to masturbate between them, smothering his red, weeping cock with precum as the wetness of your cum helped him slide better between them "Fuck, fuck, fuck" he moaned, and the thought of him getting so aroused using you as his plaything, you totally pounded by the orgasm, produced your body to heat up again. You had no rest "Always wanting me to use you, to fuck you so hard, don't you?" he gave two more thrusts and strips and strips of dripping, hot cum trickled down to your belly and, most of all, completely stained your thighs. Leon melted into his orgasm and allowed himself to fall on top of you, blessing you with his 70 pounds of muscle and heat crushing you sweetly.

"I'm all dirty and yet you want to kiss me" he laughed along with you when he heard that, kissing your neck as soon as he could and moving with soft caresses from his mouth to your lips, sucking them with devotion.

"This is the part I like the most" he declared, watching you raise an eyebrow; he had literally ground you up and fucked the shit out of you with the previous fuck like an animal and that was his favorite moment. Crazy fucker. But... that was what you liked most about him, after all "Let me know when you're better, love, and I'll run you a warm bath" he left a soft kiss on your cheek and sunk his face into the beginning of your breasts, making you laugh.

Truly Leon Kennedy was a basket case when it came to having you all to himself.

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crxss01 · 11 months

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hiii, can i request a e-42 miles morales where he just wants to be comforted but he’s that miles so obviously he doesn’t want to admit it and puts up a strong facade in front of reader but she knows what’s up. thank you!!

— After Dark

pairing ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ e-42!miles morales x reader

summary ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ you have come to know miles so much that you know when he is stressed and in much need of comforting even when he tries to act tough in front of you.

warnings ✧˖ ° angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, kissing, miles is our baby boy and needs to be held, cuddling, you being a good partner.

m. list, main m.list.

translations ✧࿓☾ bonito: handsome/or pretty boy, (mi) princesa: (my) princess, cariño: dear, amor: love, te amo tanto: i love you so much, mi angelito: my little angel.

a/n . . ◟੭ hey, sweet anon! i felt this request in my heart while writing it, hope you enjoy!

you were awaken in the middle of the night by the creak! of your window as it was forced open, you flopped back down from your sitting position after realizing who the intruder was. your boyfriend, miles morales.

"bonito, what are you doing here?" you asked him, you felt exhausted and when you looked at the clock on your nightstand you noticed you had only slept for an hour.

"sorry for waking you, princesa." he apologized, then sat on the end of your bed just examining your face. he did this often, but now there was something off with him.

"what's wrong?" you sat back up, and moved until you were kneeling on your bed right in front of him, taking his head in between your hands.

"nothing, mami." he shook his head, a small smirk making its way to his face as he looked you up and down.

the covers had come off when you moved towards him and in the process revealing your pijama shorts along with the pijama cami top.

"miles, don't play with me." you warned which wiped the smirk off his face. "tell me what's up with you."

"it's nothing, cariño. don't worry about it." he dismissed once again.

"mhm..." you hummed, then proceeded to get off your bed to kneel on the floor. grabbing his feet, one by one, you took off his jordans. you put them to the side neatly and stood back up, unzipping your boyfriend's jacket while he just observed then you took that off too and since he doesn't like sleeping with a shirt on you took it off of him.

"come on," you said getting in bed once again and grabbing his hands, pulling him up the bed which he obliged to.

he laid under the covers with you, between your legs with his head on your chest as you ran your hand up and down his back trying to bring as much comfort to him as you could.

it was silent for what felt like hours and you couldn't figure out if he was sleeping or not because of how relaxed his breathing had become, but you had your answer when he spoke up again.

"it's my mom,”

you stayed silent, wanting him to continue at whatever pace he would like to.

"she keeps working overnight shifts and i know she is doing all of that to provide for me, but it hurts me so much to see her work herself so hard like that. it makes me feel like a burden to her, because if it wasn't for me she wouldn't have to do that." he took a shaky breath, pausing.

once again you remained silent, not pushing him to continue.

"when she comes home she looks so tired and she doesn't even sleep that much because she immediately starts worrying about how i didn't eat properly and if my clothes are washed or some other stuff and it just makes me feel like shit seeing her like that and all because of me." he finishes.

you waited just in case he had something else to say before you said anything, when he didn't you took his head in your hands making him look up at you. you wanted him to look you in the eye as you spoke.

"miles morales, you're not a burden to your mother." you stated, loud and clear. the thought that your parents might hear you did not go through your head. "she works like that not only because she is raising a child all on her own and has to take care of him because she loves him so much, more than anything in this world. she also works like that so that she can be able to provide for herself. she works like that because she is a strong, beautiful and independent woman who others can not compare to. miles, you're her son, of course she would do all of that and more for you because the love of a mother is something that is unrivaled."

you took a deep breath. "if tia morales had considered you a burden, don't you think that she would've given you up to some child system or whatever? but she hasn't and would never do it, i know she wouldn't. she loves you just like you love her."

miles was looking at you, eyes watery but only one tear came out before he wiped it off, breaking eye contact as he did this. he buried his head on your chest for a moment.

"so if you ever feel like a burden again, just remind yourself that she loves you and that she also needs to do that for herself. okay, amor?" you asked.

miles lifted his head up, nodding.

"no, i want you to say it for me." you told him.

"okay." he said.

"i love you, did you know that?" you smiled down at him.

"yes and i love you too, mi princesa." he smiled back and pulled himself further up on top of you until he was on eye level with you. "te amo tanto," he kissed your forehead. "the love of my life," he kissed your right cheek. "my one and only." he kissed your left cheek. "my happiness." he kissed your nose. "mi angelito." he kissed your mouth.

you smiled into the kiss, and kissed him back before pulling away. "i'll always be here for you." you told him.

"i know." he smiled, full teeth showing which was rare, then kissed you again.

life was perfect when he was with you.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ reblogs are really appreciated!

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hazbinhotelxreader · 4 months

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Carmilla Carmine x female reader ABC smut headcannons

A/n: I did this on another account for Lapis Lazuli, let’s hope this one goes well too lol!

Requested by: no one.

Warnings: smut, gay sex. A lot more but you’ll see in the headcannons(I ain’t gonna list every headcannon)

A- After Care (what their like after sex)

-Sweetest and most caring woman ever after sex. She’ll make sure your hydrated, comfortable, cleaned up and even fed if your hungry after. She’ll even help you take a bath or shower if needed

B- Body Part (what’s their favorite body part of their partner and themselves?)

-For her? She likes her thighs. In sex or out of sex. It doesn’t really matter. She enjoys having you touch and sit on them, grind on them or simply rest on them.

-For you, she enjoys your hands. Also in and out of sex. She loves how both of your hands can intertwine together in public, or how you can caress her and touch her. Also she enjoys your fingers in her so that’s a plus for her

C-Cum (anything to do with it)

-50/50 for her. She enjoys it but she isn’t crazy about it. She’ll eat you out but sometimes doesn’t swallow all the cum. Sometimes she’ll just wipe it onto the bedsheets to get it off of herself. It’s kinda messy for her and sticky if there’s too much, which is uncomfortable.

D-Dominant or Submissive? (Their position in sex)

-She leans on more of the Dominant side. She’s not a controlling top, but she does like taking the reins. Either that or a power bottom, but she’ll let you have full control too.

E-Experience (how experienced are they?)

-She’s pretty experienced. She’s not like angel dust or some succubus who’s really good at it, but she can satisfy you better than a lot of people can.

F/Favorite Pose/position (y’all know what this is)

-Missionary. No doubt. She enjoys seeing you. Whether you’re on top of her or if she’s on top of you. She likes seeing your reactions up close and it’s much easier for her to kiss and pleasure you.

G-Goofy (how serious are they in bed?)

-To her intimacy is not about jokes and goofing off. Yea she’ll tease you here and there and chuckle sometimes at your reactions, but she isn’t going to be that goofy.

H-Hair (how well groomed are they?)

-She’s pretty well groomed. Being a weapon armor Overlord she likes to stay professional, so keeping herself well groomed (even in the areas that aren’t showing) is how she rolls.

I-Intimacy (are they romantic?)

-100%. She’s one of the most romantic girls ever. I feel like if she’s feeling really romantic, she’d get the room cozy and soft and dimly lit with candles and rose petals. Also the bath tub too. Bath tub hot and warm, filled with rose petals and candles around it, and wine for you two to drink to get the mood up.

J-Jack off (masturbation headcannon)

-She isn’t one to jack off. If she were to it would be like at most 5 times a year. She won’t jack off unless she’s really in need of release and you’re not there.

K-Kinks (one or two of their kinks)

-Praising and BDSM. Light BDSM though, like soft handcuffs or belts. Nothing too extreme where your all tied up. She wants you to be comfortable. She loves receiving bondage too, also lightly, she doesn’t want to be all tied up and fully restrained where she can’t even move. She enjoys giving and receiving praise, she won’t be too graphic about it but she’ll go far with that one

L-Location (where would they want to do it?)

-The place she mainly wants to have sex with you at is in your guys room alone. She enjoys having the moment romantic and relaxing. Though she’s up for sex in the bath if you’re up for it.

M-Motivation (what turns them on?)

-You just being sexy or seductive. If you’re in an aroused position, then that will make her aroused. If you’re speaking seductively with a smirk on your face, then she’ll be turned on. Also touching. Like rubbing your hands against her thighs or waist. She also enjoys heated kisses on her mouth or neck, it’ll turn her on.

N-No (where do they draw the line?)

-Any actual pain. She’s okay with light biting and anything pleasurable. But nothing to far. She doesn’t want to hurt you and doesn’t feel comfortable inflicting any pain on you, or herself.

O-Oral (What their like giving/receiving)

-She’s good at it, a woman knows what another woman wants. Her tongue’s incredibly skilled, she could make you cum with just licking your thighs.

-She loves receiving oral. She’ll be holding back all her groans and moans as she’s practically sweating from the stimulation.

P-Pace (Are they Rough and fast? Or slow and sensual?)

-Most of the time slow and sensual. Though if you want rough then she’ll give you rough. She likes slow and sensual for herself though, she rarely asks you for it to be rough.

Q-Quickies (Their opinions, experiences, etc.)

-She’d rather not, but she finds herself using them sometimes. She does it with you sometimes at work if either one of you needs some sort of release. But she’d rather have you in bed with her and take her sweet time.

R-Risk (are they willing to experiment? Risks?)

-Risks are rarely or not ever taken. She cherishes her time with you and wouldn’t risk getting hurt, or getting caught. She’s willing to experiment different positions, styles, or habits though

S-Stamina (How long can they go for?)

-Normally, she can for about 2 or 3 rounds. But she can go for 4 or 5 sometimes if you both are really in the mood and need it.

T-Toys (do they use toys?)

-Sometimes but not often. She’d rather use herself (fingers, mouth, tongue, etc.) rather than be objects, but she’s up for it once in a while

U-Unfair (do they like to tease?)

-yes, she does. Though it’s not harsh or cruel, a few small jokes or words or actions but not to much.

V-Volume (How loud are they?)

-From quiet to medium. She’s not too nosy, she’s loud enough for you to hear though. She will get louder sometimes if you go rougher on her though.

W-Wild card(just a random headcannon for the character)

-She doesn’t show a lot of PDA, but sometimes during meeting with other overlords, when she’s sitting down with you, she’ll trial her fingers up and down your thighs.

X-Xray (what are they like underneath those clothes)

-She’s smooth, and if you already couldn’t tell, she’s pretty thin too. Uhh breast size, not so big either but it’s not like it matters.

Y-Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

-Not very high. She has a pretty low sex drive. She’s usually not in the mood or too busy. This doesn’t mean she doesn’t have desires, it’s just not often.

Z-Zzz (How quickly do they fall asleep?)

-She waits for you to fall asleep, wanting you to feel comfortable and safe in her arms. Though if you go hard on her then she’ll probably pass out before you, especially if you had sex on a busy stressful day.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #carmilla carmine smut #carmilla carmine x fem reader #carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla carmine #carmilla x fem reader #carmilla #human reader #character x reader #hazbin hotel x female reader

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straawberries · 11 months

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hey guys um. im really fucking scared and i dont know what to do other than e beg so! im sorry! if you can please reblog this

hi im delilah im a queer autistic trans girl living in an abusive household right in the middle of a town that wants me dead! i havent been able to get a job because of that, and since my dad plans to kick me out the second i turn 18, im basically guaranteed to be homeless in less than a year! yay! i also have to deal with the fact my dad refuses to buy me anything other than foods he knows make me have meltdowns (cough cough while he is quite literally buying expensive steak dinners and shit) so i would really, REALLY appreciate financial assistance. i only have c*sh*pp ($delilahswagga) but if you can only pay via something else, as long as its something i can get without a bank account, just dm me about it and ill try my hardest. im really fucking desperate here and ive never done this before and im sorry. i dont really have a goal for now, just enough to buy my one meal of the day and be able to afford a month or two of rent whenever i get kicked out so im able to maybe find a job somewhere else

#what do i even tag this with man

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buccini555 · 5 months

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𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬

★ They ended up seeing the marks on your wrists after you ended up hurting yourself after a serious argument between you

★ H e a d c a n o n s !

★ 𝑭𝒕. Manjiro Sano, Sanzu Haruchiyo, Kakucho Hitto, Kokonoi Hajime, Rindou Haitani, Ran Haitani, Takeomi Akashi and Kanji Mochizuki

tw: sh mention

𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐨

"Mm? What was that?" Looking at you carefully, Manjiro looks down at your wrists, he had never even noticed those marks before, as soon as he noticed them, he already knew what they were.

"W-what?" You questioned, lowering the sleeves of your blouse at that same moment, already knowing that Manjiro had just discovered that you were injured.

"...Are those cuts? Did you cut yourself?" Gently taking his hand to your face, making the sleeve of your clothes go down again due to the lightness of the fabric, Manjiro questioned what those marks were.

Nodding your head in affirmation, you gave your answer, making Manjiro stare at you in complete silence for a few brief seconds that felt like an eternity.

"M-mikey...? I'm so sorry." The boy looked away, seeming to get lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

Approaching again, he subtly held your arm, looking over each of those marks. "...It was my fault, wasn't it? Did I make you do it?"

"No! I-it wasn't your fault, I-I..." Immediately, you tried to explain yourself to Manjiro who just shook his head in denial.

"Promise me, swear to me, that you will never hurt yourself again." Holding your hand again, he spoke in a serious tone, Manjiro was shaking and apprehensive, still feeling responsible for having made you do such an act against him.

"... I promise." Hugging the same, you made your promise.

"I don't want to lose the only person I have..." Returning your display of affection, Manjiro hugged you carefully.

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐲𝐨

"Princess... You don't need to hide it from me anymore, I've already seen it." Without you waiting, Haruchiyo spoke as he sat down next to you and held your arm gently, you could see exactly the pain in his eyes as he stared at your arm knowing that he had been injured.

"I'm so sorry..." Holding back the tears in your eyes, you just apologized to the taller one.

"You're not to blame, you're not to blame for this! It was me who caused this..." He tried not to blame himself, but the weight of seeing you suffer made it really affect him with a great guilt for not having simply avoided that discussion.

"It's not your fault, Haru." You wanted to calm him down, but as much as you could, he didn't seem to accept that.

At that moment, Sanzu stared at you in silence, even though he didn't show his feelings with such felicity, he had his moments that he considered a "weakness".

"... I know how you felt because of me, that fight, Damn! I... I never wanted to be an asshole to you, I'm sorry." Trying to control the tears that wanted to be released, Sanzu said almost like an outburst.

"Don't blame yourself, please Haru..." Still trying to comfort Haruchiyo, you made your speech.

"I don't want to see you cutting yourself anymore, okay? Don't ever do that again." Breaking the silence, he said looking away.

"R-right..." You promised indirectly, making him feel better.

"Hey?" Haruchiyo approached you and gave you a kiss, trying not to dwell on the subject too much.

𝐊𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐇𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐨

"Who did this to your arm? Did something happen? Baby?" Kakucho would be extremely worried when he held your arm and saw those newly made marks, as much as he didn't want to accept it, he definitely already had in mind the reality that you had inflicted those injuries on yourself.

"...W-Was it, you?" When he found the courage, he took a breath from the bottom of his lungs and asked his question, even though unfortunately he already knew the answer.

"I'm sorry Kaku, I didn't want to disappoint you." Seeing him worried made your heart sink, but at that point, there was nothing you could do to continue hiding that secret until then.

"No, don't say that." At that moment, Kakucho hugged you without thinking twice, all he wanted was to make you feel comfortable even in the middle of that situation.

"You will never, ever be a disappointment to me, I'm so proud of you." Pulling away from the hug and looking directly into his eyes, the taller man said what he had in mind.

"Look at me." Again approaching, he cupped her face.

"Mm? Kaku?" Looking into his eyes, you wondered what he wanted.

"Never hurt yourself again." In a serious tone, Kakucho continued his speech while looking at his eyes with the same sparkle as always.

"... I promise." Looking away a little embarrassed, you promised.

"No need to promise, my sweetheart, I trust you." Holding your face gently and still looking directly at you, Kakucho would speak with a small, relieved smile.

𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞

"Don't do this to me, sweetie." Kokonoi unexpectedly appeared behind you, fixing his black lined eyes on the newly healed marks on your arms.

Taken by surprise, you tried to hide those injuries with the sleeves of your sweatshirt, but you already knew that everything had simply been discovered. "What do you mean, Koko?"

"I want to say that I know that you're hurting yourself." Approaching you and lifting the fabric that hid the marks, Koko said as he looked away.

At that moment, you only managed to remain completely silent, he knew, there was nothing left to hide, Kokonoi was definitely hurt and you couldn't help but be sure of this fact.

"I-I'm sorry!" Hugging him, you began to apologize with insistent tears slipping from your eyes.

No matter how disappointed he was, Kokonoi would never deny your hug. "Oh? Baby... I'm so sorry. For anything I've done, I'm truly sorry."

Koko looked at you with sadness in her eyes, at the same time worried, he hugged you still in silence, without being able to utter a word.

"I'm sorry Koko... Please." Again, you apologized.

"You're forgiven, baby, don't ever do that again, please." Breaking the silence, Kokonoi made his speech, obviously he would forgive you without thinking twice, despite that, he would start paying more attention to your behavior and would also try to avoid arguments for your well-being.

𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢

"Shit, what was that?" Rindou exclaimed in a low, barely audible tone as he looked away from the apparent injuries on your wrists.

The silence became almost sepulchral when he held your arm, running his fingers lightly over those bruises, Rindou hugged you, feeling your body trembling and your heart racing.

"...Don't do that to us again, it hurts me as much as it hurts you." The taller man expressed himself calmly, pausing in his speech to look for the right words out of fear of hurting you even more.

"...Damn, I-I, I hate seeing you hurt, I'm so sorry." Holding his arm, his voice no longer maintained the same tone, he could no longer deny himself the urge to cry, in doing so, tears secretly rolled down his face, Rindou was being sincere when he said how bad he felt for seeing her so sad.

"I'm sorry, Rin." Making him let go of your arm, you apologized in a few words, he remained silent, but soon ended up pulling you into a hug.

"Promise me, promise me you won't cut yourself again, especially because of someone else like me." The seriousness in his look and intonation was visible, Rindou was sorry for that argument, so he promised himself that he would treat you better.

"I promise!" Hugging him back, making him calm down and feel better, you made your promise.

"I love you so much, I do, nothing like that will ever happen again..." Rindou said with a subtle smile of relief on his face as he gently stroked your hair.

𝐑𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐢

"No, you didn't do that, did you?" Shaking his head, Ran asked you with a worried look as soon as he noticed those newly made marks on your wrists.

"I'm sorry..." Looking away, you knew that at that point there was no longer any way to hide it from Ran.

"I'm the one who's sorry, my princess." Looking somewhere, shame and guilt showed on his face, Ran definitely felt it.

"It wasn't your fault, Ran." You said as soon as you realized how affected he became in that instant.

"Yes it was, we both know, but it doesn't matter now." The taller one held you gently in gis arms, kissing your forehead, Ran said with a trembling voice worried about what he had caused.

You spend some time hugging in silence, all Ran wanted at that moment was to comfort you and show you that he was right there by your side to take care of you even if he sometimes ended up behaving inappropriately.

"I'm here and I don't want you to hurt yourself again." Breaking the silence, the taller one spoke calmly, still with a trembling voice.

"I am not going." In a low tone, you said, hugging him tighter and calming him down.

"Will you promise me, my beauty?" Hugging you even more eagerly, Ran made you promise never to get hurt again.

“I-I promise…” You made your promise without thinking too much.

Ran pulled away from you and kissed your forehead, becoming more at ease with his promise, he would rather trust you. "That's better, my love."

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢

"What the fuck happened to your arm?" Takeomi was never so serious, seeing those marks on his arm really made him bitterly regret all the harm he caused you.

You remained silent, just hoping Takeomi would ignore those fresh scars.

"...You, were you the one who did this?" The older questioned again, Takeomi approached you and lifted the sleeve of your blouse, leaving the marks even more visible, that time, you actually realized that he was sincerely worried.

"Don't fight with me again, Takeomi, p-please." Worried about what Takeomi might do, you just started apologizing.

"Fight with you? Of course, not!"

Unexpectedly, Akashi hugged you, in that same hug, you could feel the apprehension in his behavior.

"Promise me you'll never get hurt again by an asshole like me." Pulling away and holding you by the shoulders, Takeomi spoke.

"I promise." Embracing the same, you made your promise.

Takeomi couldn't help but return the hug and did so. "I'll take better care of you, I'll..."

𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐌𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐢

"What are you hiding from me?" He had already seen the marks on your arm, but honestly Kanji had no idea how to deal with that subject without ending up hurting you.

"N-nothing, Mochi." Apprehensively, you spoke, trying to separate yourself from that question, even though you knew he already knew about your injuries.

"... Don't lie to me." In a serious tone, he said.

"Don't fight with me, please!" Bracing yourself for the worst possible reaction, all you could do at that moment was apologize.

"Baby? I would never fight you over that, I just don't want you to do it again." Even though you still felt like he was being insensitive in some way, Kanji spoke trying to get you to just trust him.

"I'm sorry." Lowering your head and looking away, you said in a shaky voice, still trying to keep those marks away from Mochi's eyes.

"Look at me, please, look." Holding your face, he made you look back at him.

"Hm?" Seeing that he wouldn't fight with you kept you surprised and relieved at the same time.

"Promise me you'll never get hurt again because of me, I promise I'll never be stupid to you again." Still maintaining a serious tone and a steady gaze, Kanji spoke.

You were silent for a brief moment, but you wanted to promise that. "I-I promise."

Kanji smiled in relief and hugged you, leaving that subject aside, even so, he would change his behavior to never see you hurt again.

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ipseitydelrey · 4 months

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hi!!! i love your writing!!!! idk if you’ve done this yet but maybe…. a nsfw alphabet with hotch 🤭🤭

I BEG

omg yesss

nsfw alphabet ☆ aaron hotchner

ship aaron hotchner x afab!reader

warnings smut (duh), mention of sex toys, implied unprotected sex (practice safe sex please!), size difference kink, thigh fucking, mention of degradation and spanking, masturbation, office sex, oral (mostly f receiving), rough sex, quickies, shower sex, phone sex, teasing, mentions of haley (rip queen)

a/n i need him; also sorry this took so long !!

A = aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

it’s like a half-half thing; sometimes he’ll run the shower for you, get you some water, etcetera — or he’ll just lay in bed with you and hold you. either way, you’re not complaining.

B = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and of yours)

aaron hasn’t really thought about a particular body part of his that he likes more than others, but he does sometimes favour his hands. a size difference kink might come into play with this preference, but he just likes stroking your cheek or thigh, or maybe just holding your hand.

as for you, it’s no contest that he loves your thighs the most. it’s obvious to you, but he honestly also hasn’t thought about his preference for your body parts too. but during sex, you notice how his hands tend to trail down to your thighs, or he would pay extra attention to them when he’s eating you out.

C = cum (anything to do with cum)

buried in you; that’s how he likes to finish. he loves cumming in you and filling you up to the brim, it’s a mouth-watering visual for him.

D = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

with other partners (mostly haley), he’s definitely vanilla; like definitely, no degradation/dirty talk either. however, with you, he’s been thinking about discussing trying more spicy things in the bedroom — namely things like degradation and spanking.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

ahem, haley. most of his experience with sex is with her, so after she died and he had time to heal and go back into the dating scene, he experimented a little more with different types of partners; he’s probably more experienced than you, at this point.

F = favourite position (this goes without saying)

prefers missionary for more control and intimacy but if you wanted, he would be more than willing to let you ride him.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

serious both outside and inside the bedroom; he’d definitely take sex much more seriously at the beginning of your relationship. as you both grow much more comfortable with each other, he’ll make small quips of humour during the act.

H = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

just look at his hands — you can tell that he has a lot of body hair without even seeing him naked. definitely has a mouth-watering happy trail.

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

he absolutely does not do one night stands or hookups, so romance is a necessity for him to even think about having sex with someone. expect a lot of “i love you”s during the act and expect to return them.

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

he does it, but not as often as other people might. probably would do it on a case in the hotel/motel if he really misses you :(

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

before you, aaron didn’t really explore the kinky side of sex, so he always remained pretty vanilla in that department. one kink that you noticed he has but he himself would never admit to is a size difference kink.

L = location (favourite places to have sex)

as much as he would love to fuck on the desk in his office…yeah, he prefers to keep it in the bedroom. he has yet to tell you about his office sex idea but knowing you, you’d be onboard for it.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

doesn’t have any specific things that turn him on — except whenever you wear his work shirts. they look loose and a tad too big to be form fitting, but he absolutely loves it and can’t wait to rip it off you.

N = nope (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

as much as he would like to experiment with kinky sex, he really objects to being too dominating; he wants you to still have some level of control so if you want, you can take the helm anytime you so wished. of course, he’d also never want to hurt you, and he might not want to experiment with possible bondage until a while later into your relationship. also, he absolutely does not want to be called any dominating title in bed, like “sir,” “master” and especially “daddy.”

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

aaron’s a giver, through and through. there are times where he does like getting a blowjob, he likes eating you out way more. probably because you tend to bury your hands in his hair and tug a little bit to signal something you like him doing.

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

it does depend on mood and the reason you’re having sex, but typically the pace is slow and deep. this can change since — considering how stressed out he usually is because of his job and workload — some cases would just get to him, or his job gets to be too much. so he would take it out on you by going fast and rough.

Q = quickies (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

doesn’t particularly favour them, but what can he do when he’s on-call 24/7? the only time he likes quickies are when you’re showering together and he just can’t handle how good you look soaking wet. first round in the shower, then the second, third, or even fourth round(s) in the bedroom.

R = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

later in your relationship, he does want to experiment with kinkier sex, but risks are a hard no.

S = sexts (yes? no? pictures?)

aaron wouldn’t be into sexts and nudes so much as he would be into phone sex. considering how often you’re away from each other, and you both have the opportunity to be alone with your phones, he would 100% take it.

T = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he knows the different types of sex toys, but he doesn’t own any and has never used them. but sex toys are definitely on his list of things he would like to test on you during sex. only if you’re up for it (who are you kidding, of course you are).

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

again, depends on the mood, but sometimes he does like to tease you. only sometimes though; usually he just wants to get right to the fucking just in case he gets called in.

V = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

unfortunately, aaron’s the type of guy to mostly be quiet and not outright loud. he also doesn’t moan; he sticks to grunts and groans (they’re still hot to listen to).

W = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

he really wants to try thigh fucking. seeing his cock push and drag through your closed thighs, getting lubed by a combination of your wetness and his precum is a visual that turns him on so much. he has yet to tell you though, but he’s been hinting at it…

X = x-ray (dick size)

girthy, above average, and not one, but THREE prominent veins (good lord…).

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive? how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

not that high, unfortunately; you definitely have a higher sex drive than him, that’s for sure. rarely, he’s one and done, he does tend to aim for two or three rounds if possible. if he’s worked up or stressed out, however, he could probably go all night.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

he tries to keep himself awake until you fall asleep. he wants to make sure you’re comfortable and content with the outcome of the night’s activities before he can relax; you’re a top priority to him.

#✩ ⊹˖ ꒰ aaron ꒱ ୨🎧୧ #★ sei’s lexicons #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fanfiction

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thenightling · 26 days

Text

WTF Armand fans?!?

I just found out there are Vampire Armand fans who insist Armand cannot have altered Louis's memories in the show because "book Armand is all about consent." ...Since when?!??!?? A. In the Interview with the vampire novel he admitted to Louis that he pushed him (psychically) to make Madeine into a vampire, knowing Louis would not have otherwise. Louis makes him promise to never do something like that to him again. B. In The Vampire Lestat novel there is a scene of Armand trying to forcibly drink Lestat's blood and Lestat beats the sh-t out of him for it. C. In The Vampire Armand novel, Armand tells David Talbot (repeatedly) that he wants to "Blood rape" him. (Drink his blood against his will). D. In The Vampire Armand novel, Armand describes a torturous experiment in which he sewed Claudia's head onto an adult body before putting her head back on her original body and leaving her and Madeleine to burn in the sun. This is not really possible with the continuity of the Interview with the vampire novel since it was so close to dawn when Claudia and Madeleine were condemned but if we take it as fact Armand admits to this and there was no consent required. E. In The Vampire Armand novel Armand admits to having a torture chamber and using it. F. Back to Queen of the damned (novel) he stalked Daniel Malloy for a long time and it was not, originally, consensual.

This isn't something that's up for interpretation, kiddies. Armand NOT being about consent is a major character trait for him. How the Hell did you take Monsieur Psychopath and headcanon that he's all about consent?!? Don't pretend you read the books in front of someone who was obsessed with them in the 90s. I still have most of them memorized. Now, it's also very likely the show might have it that Armand did NOT play with Louis's memories but if you're going to try to use the literary Armand as proof of this... honey, you need to revisit those novels without "Oooh, pretty seventeen-year-old, Isn't he cwoot!??" in mind.

#The Vampire Armand #The Vampire Chronicles #Interview with The Vampire #Anne RIce #Anne Rice's Interview with The Vampire

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