#i think its probably very likely that if this was intentional then it was meant as an allegory for the music industry | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pullhisteeth · 1 year

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classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

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ohnoitstbskyen · 2 months

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I know it would probably bring a lot of hate comments but I am begging you to roast the hazbin character designs because I'd love to have someone properly articulate why they don't work so I could send it to people who won't believe me when I tell them. 🫠 Understandable if you don't want to get into it though.

I don't think there's that much there to roast, honestly?

Those designs are clearly an extremely specific stylistic choice, and because that style is consistent throughout the show, it ultimately feels coherent with itself.

There are trade-offs being made. Because Hazbin's design style is SO stylized and so heavy on decoration and detailing, because it puts a lot of emphasis on costuming, it isn't as good at communicating specific character storytelling as a more grounded style could be (it's kind of the same tradeoff that stuff like Genshin Impact makes).

Like, why does Sir Pentious' hat have an eye and a mouth on it that makes its own expressions? Apparently not for very much reason at all, except that Pentious has a bit of an eyes-motif going on in his design and it was one more place to put an extra eye. And that's a valid criticism of his design, but also the entire show is designed like that, so frankly it would be weirder and more out of place if his design alone didn't have that kind of overelaborate decoration going on.

It does create a situation where I have a hard time "reading" the character designs sometimes. For example, Vox, Alastor and Pentious all wear a similar style of suit with upwards-turned shoulders, butterflies and pinstripes. Now, am I meant to read that as Vox imitating Alastor due to his crippling need to replace and outdo him, and Pentious imitating the style of powerful Overlords because he thinks that possessing their level of power will finally give him relief from his paranoia and self-loathing?

Or is it just a design fixation of the creator who keeps putting their characters in suits because that's just what they like? I can't really be sure, because sometimes design elements are used to intentionally tell stories about how characters relate to themselves, their world and one another, but plenty of other times designs look the way they do Because Of Vibes.

But again, that lack of clarity is clearly an intentional trade-off - and the benefit of that trade-off is a design style that is extremely varied, wild, expressive and memorable. Hazbin Hotel seems like a very easy show to draw fanart of, and a very fun show to draw fanart of. Those designs (especially the hyper-expressive faces) are begging to be the subjects of traumatic headcanons, unbearably cotton-candy soft fluff fantasies and weird, taboo, homoerotic power dynamics. Slaps roof of character design, this bad boy can express so much vicarious emotional intensity.

It's very exuberant, very excited about itself and very self-indulgent, it's a style that prioritizes visual impact and visual interest over readability (something which the animators of the show navigate with real skill, props to them) and individual aesthetics over worldbuilding.

And I don't blame anyone for being turned off by that (I certainly was the first time I started seeing those designs going around), but I would struggle to call the show's designs "bad" when they are clearly achieving exactly what they want to achieve.

I have some criticisms, especially re: how the show treats skinny bodies as an unquestioned, desirable default, and employs fatness as a means of alienating and abjecting the audience. That sucks very badly, and is a serious disappointment, and one of the few places where the show feels like it is being cowardly in its design philosophy. But I don't have it in me to do some kind of Hazbin Hotel Sucks And Here's Why takedown, its problems are not unique or extreme enough to warrant it, at least not as I currently understand them.

#tb answers #hazbin hotel #character design

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lovebugism · 7 months

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OMG BUG I READ YOUR FICTOBER EVENT AND GOT SO EXCITED!!!

"I’ve been crocheting this throw blanket for four years and it’s finally finished. Please pretend it’s big enough and cuddle under it with me." I read this prompt and I think it would be amazing with sunshine/dizty reader x steve, its totally ok if you dont feel inspired so don't feel pressured to write it, ok love you, bye!! ♡

ty for requesting lovie :D — you make steve an anniversary present and the big softy almost cries (ditzy!reader, established relationship, fluff, 1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

“Happy anniversary!” you squeal, clutching an ambiguously wrapped gift in your hand.

It’s not actually your anniversary today. You can’t be sure when it is, really. You and Steve were already four months deep before you realized how official things had gotten, without either of you outright making them that way. So you both just decided to celebrate the day you first met, which you thought was pretty fitting. It feels right to acknowledge the day your lives changed forever.

You stand in front of Steve where he sits on the couch and plop the present into his waiting hands. The red glitter from the sparkly hearts gets all over his golden palms. It’s rather sloppily wrapped, like there’s no real shape to whatever you had gotten him.

He thinks it might be a blanket, or maybe a beach towel you liked so much you had to wrap.

Steve holds it up to his ear and shakes it anyway. “Is it a puppy?” he jokes with a crooked grin and sparkling honey eyes.

You pout, a frown pinching your brows. “No. There’s no airholes, Steve— that’d be so dangerous.”

Steve nods. He tries to be as serious as you are, but you’re so damn cute it’s impossible not to smile. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he concurs with a squint.

He tears through the pink wrapping paper with glitter coating his fingers. He’s not surprised to find a blanket inside, but the fact that it’s handmade takes him for a loop.

It’s made of rainbow-colored square patches with different colored hearts on the front of each one. Some look more like blobs and bits of yarn straggle from a few rounded corners, but it’s the prettiest thing Steve’s ever seen. Mostly because he knows it was made by your hands.

He loves it so much he could cry.

“Holy hell, babe,” he scoffs out a laugh as unshed tears burn the backs of his eyes.

Unsure of how to gauge the reaction, you shift your weight on your feet and wring your clammy hands together. “Do you like it?" you wonder with brows furrowed in muted concern.

He drags his eyes away from the fuzzy blanket in his hands and up to you. His honey gaze glitters when it finds your own. “I love it, babe— what the hell? How long did it take you to make this?”

You shrug, innocent and sparkling. “I don’t know… ‘Bout a year, I guess.”

Steve gapes at you, eyes wide and pink mouth softly open. “You’ve been making this since we started dating?” he wonders when the words finally catch up to his reeling brain.

“Yeah…” you waver with a scrunched nose. “Is that weird?”

Too overwhelmed with a billion emotions, Steve just laughs.

He figures he must look insane, getting all emotional like he’s never seen a blanket before. One hasn’t meant this much to him before now. Nothing has, really — ‘cause it wasn’t made completely and utterly by you.

He shrugs and beams at you, wider than you’ve ever seen. “Only if it’s weird that I wanna kiss you stupid right now,” he teases, only half-joking.

“That’s very weird,” you nod, then purse your lips to the side in a futile attempt to hide the smile threatening to take over.

“Get over here, weirdo,” the boy laughs, sitting the blanket beside him and reaching for you.

His palms spread across the backs of your laughs when he’s close enough to touch you — a wide, warm, and all-consuming touch. You brace yourself on his shoulders when you lean in to kiss him, giggling against his smiling mouth when he drags you onto the couch beside him.

He smacks a more intentional kiss to your lips before pulling away from you completely. He keeps one arm around your back while his other reaches for the blanket. He shakes it out to unfold it entirely, then tries to wrap the two of you in it.

The crocheted thing only covers half of you.

Steve’s eyes are light-heartedly wide as they flit to you. “I hate to say it, babe…”

“What?” you waver, made unsure by his feigned seriousness.

“I don’t think we’re both gonna fit underneath it…”

“Yeah, we can!” you argue with a scoff, shifting closer to him. “We just gotta get real close, see?”

It doesn’t fit until you’re halfway sitting on his lap — arms wrapped around his neck, chest pressed to his. It doesn’t change how tiny the blanket is, but he’s certainly not complaining. If Steve had it his way, you’d be this close to him all the time.

“Ah, I see,” the boy nods with a poorly hidden grin. You’re so close, the tip of his nose traces up and down the bridge of yours.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask him in a whisper. Your smile is quieter now, bordering on serious, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in your eye he doesn’t miss. Steve nods again with raised brows, and you continue. “What if I told you that this was all intentional?”

“…Making the blanket three feet too small?”

You nod.

Steve thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Then I’d say that you’re an evil genius. Or a total poet. One of the two, definitely— but both are equally hot.”

“Well, I was lying. It wasn’t intentional,” you confess to a crime he already knew you were innocent of. You light up again a second later, eyes sparkling just like your smile does. “But at least we get to snuggle, though, right?”

Steve laughs, high and boyish. It fills the living room with sun rays and makes your chest feel all warm. It’s like he put sunshine where your heart’s supposed to be.

He just nods and holds you closer. He’d tell you that he hopes he has a lifetime of snuggling with you if he could find the words to say it. You’ve got him tripping head over heels for you that he’d stutter too horribly for you to understand him.

But you get it, though, without him having to say a single word.

‘Cause if you could have a lifetime with him, cuddling under this exact blanket (that you accidentally knit way too small), you’d die the happiest person that’s ever walked the goddamn planet.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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my313 · 2 months

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𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ perv!huening kai

mdni 18+ only!

⋆ pairing: bobarista!kai & bobarista f!reader

⋆ summary: your shy and unbearably handsome new co-worker seemed normal. that is, until you catch him peeking through the back door to watch you change.

⋆ genre/themes/warnings: pervy!kai, no strong dom/sub themes, semi-public masturbation (m), getting caught (?)

⋆ word count: 1.7k

a/n: ITS TIME HE IS FINALLY HEREEEEEE. might do a pt 2 cuz im not very satisfied w this and i need them to fuck JDKDJF 😭 tysm to @boba-beom for helping me brainstorm <333 enjoy :3

kai never meant to keep this habit up.

the first time was an accident. it was the one time you both were doing the closing shift, and like the nice boy he is, he let you get changed out of your work clothes first.

by the time he finished, you still weren’t out to greet him by the counter. kai decided, he’ll just take a slight peep at the back since he needed to discard his apron and hang it up anyway. it’s like the universe set the pieces perfectly in front of him, because the locker room door seemed to creak softly until an opening formed.

there’s been a number of times where he’s tried to make his broad frame smaller, curling behind the wall while watching you take off your shirt, memorising the colours and patterns of your underwear. kai could probably recite it the same way he does the boba shop’s menu – probably even better. it’s no wonder that you’re the first thing on his mind when his fist closes in on his length, and the last when he’s hiccuping your name while spilling for the third time every other night. the guilt only catches up to him when he feels the slimy ooze of his cum sliding down his stomach, wincing at the feeling.

he says this each time, something along the lines of, “i just passed by!” or “the door was open anyway…” to his own conscience. he knows you’re not hearing anything he says to justify why he starts to stay outside the locker room five minutes longer, ten minutes more — why he urges you to change clothes first, and why he keeps signing up for shifts that line up with yours.

at first, you thought kai’s constant efforts of being around you while blushing and barely being able to look at you was a small crush. something that dissipates once you undergo the weekend rushes, but kai continues his advances.

he makes you your favourite bubble tea and watches intently as your lips latch onto the thick straw then suction out the pearls. he helps you arrange boxes of ingredients when you can’t reach the tallest shelf, always hovering behind you and says he’s just “making himself useful.”

what you don’t know is that he’s grown an odd liking to watching your lips plump up against the roundness of the straw, fueling his feverish dreams of having you on your knees and doing the same to his cock. you don’t know that when he offers to ‘make himself useful’, he’s often thinking with his dick. he’s dazed by the delicious view of your skirt riding up, inwardly cheering when he catches a glimpse of where your thigh high socks squeeze the fat of your thigh.

on other days, he goes mad from seeing your shitty tights rip from the smallest movements. he pictures ruining them entirely, your face pressed against the very same lockers where he watches you undress.

the first time the bells started to ring in your head that kai may not be as innocent as you think, you’re just a bit shocked.

you recall the door being slightly ajar, and in hopes that your co-worker was still at front, you slung your bag over and went out, only to be greeted by kai’s blushing face and obvious boner. your eyes met for a brief moment, and while you expected some sort of explanation, kai only flashed an awkward smile like always and walked past you.

“s-see you tomorrow, yn.” he said, as if the huge elephant in the room wasn’t ghosting over your skin as he made his way into the locker room. if you hadn’t looked down, you would have thought you just caught kai in his natural state – flushed pink and too shy for his own good. but that definitely changed your mind.

so, you decided to run a few experiments to test your hypothesis.

the next few weeks consist of essentially testing your potentially perverted co-worker. it should be a harder pill to swallow, finding out kai had been watching your half-naked body for a good ten minutes per day. yet, you find yourself taking pride in the way you make kai act. you don’t bother to check if the door closes fully behind you each time you go change.

kai’s on his first toilet break of the day. he blames you and your choice of outfit. lately, you’ve been coming in in mini skirts and thigh highs, and today, you’re in one of his favourite pleated skirts and another one of your flimsy tights.

he swears you’re doing it on purpose, because on restock day, you’re typically grumpy and wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. but just the other day, you were fishing out the packets of pearls from the delivery, bent over with your cute, strawberry-printed panties immediately drawing out a “g-gonna take a break real quick!” from kai.

as if masturbating to you in the privacy of his bedroom wasn’t enough, he’s developed a sick routine of jerking off in the unkempt staff toilet. kai spends more of his lunch hours with his hands enveloping his cock at the thought of you than actually taking a break.

when it’s time for you to leave, your normal routine ensues. you go into the locker room with kai not-so-discreetly following behind, acting as if he’s double checking if the stock in the back is the right amount.

today though, kai doesn’t know what overcomes him. maybe it was the fact that you wore a matching set; pretty pink lace adorning your skin, holding you in places he wishes he could get his filthy hands on. maybe it’s the fact that you’re half-naked for a good five minutes, distracted on your phone to even proceed switching to a comfy sweatshirt.

within those five minutes, kai’s palming himself over the thick material of his jeans.

in the next two, he’s fumbling over the zipper and hastily unhooking the button. his cock is very obviously staining his briefs, leaking profusely and begging to be freed.

kai is quick to fall prey to his urges; what really does it for him is the way you bend over to pick up something that fell to the floor. he doesn’t notice nor care what it is. it’s tunnel vision from here on out, eyes trained on the plushness of your ass, deliciously cradled by your panties and pushed out for his viewing.

his mind is overtaken by obscenities. everything from smothering his face in your cunt to your knees faltering from how he’s made you cum.

he pictures his leaking tip soiling the crotch of your panties, imagining how he’d rut in and out between your thighs, like some makeshift fleshlight, before pulling your underwear off. his eyebrows scrunch at the thought of your skin covered in streaks of white. he thinks that you’d look up at him with wide eyes that ask for “one more?” even when he’s given you his load over and over, grunts morphing to sensitive whimpers.

kai’s body is on overdrive; eyes threatening to shut as his mind drifts into familiar territory but not wanting to miss the sight in front of him. his teeth are digging into his bottom lip to the point of tasting blood, while his arms are starting to give out from the speed he’s stroking himself at.

when you finally snap out of your phone break, kai takes it as a sign to speed up more than he already is. his hips chase after his tight fist, desperate to finish before you find out about his little secret. his stomach caves from the spike of euphoria until it peaks and he can’t stop himself from shooting out ribbons of his cum, his bottom lip surely taking a cut from how hard his canines have sunk into the skin.

he finally releases his bottom lip and takes a quick breather, cautious about whether you’ve put your clothes on. kai scrambles to rip a tissue roll to wipe the floor when he sees you absentmindedly smiling at your phone and walking towards the door.

he leaps into the staff toilet in a rush, just before you step out of the locker room.

you’re still on your phone when you move to the front of the shop, waiting on kai before taking your leave. glancing up at the toilet door from where you’re seated, you stifle a laugh as you think back on the delectable view you caught a peek at earlier. you shake your head at your co-worker’s antics, finding it a mix of silly, pathetically weird and also… sexy? hot?

kai makes an entrance with his apron snug against his body. you try to hold back a full-blown laugh and settle for a polite smile instead, waving your hand at him. “i’m gonna head out now– oh, wait,” your eyebrows knit together upon seeing the fresh tear on his lip.

you rush to his side, pressing your chest against him as your hands reach out to his face. your thumb rests on his bottom lip but you can feel his cheeks heat up against your other fingers. you know what you’re doing, and kai knows that you do. he’s thanking his self from five minutes ago for putting on this apron, because if not, you’d be stuck feeling his awakening hard on again.

“did you get hurt today? i didn’t see this earlier.” you frown, pressing your thumb against his bottom lip. he winces slightly, trying to pull away. a breath is stuck in his throat, the closeness rendering him to just a couple of meek nods or shakes of his head.

kai finally manages to get you back in your space. he shakes his head, “o-oh.. yeah! just– just cut my lip while eating earlier..?”

“be careful next time, yeah?” you chuckle, playfully bumping into him with your hip. “that face is our best seller!”

he laughs nervously, “that’s all you..!”

you’re leaning towards him again, coy with your hands folded behind your back. just enough to have him hitching his breath and anticipating more, but not so much to touch him.

you smile mischievously, hinting at what you just saw earlier. “both of us then? we put on a good show, hm?”

he gulps, “uh– no, you’re definitely much better.”

“i dunno,” you tease, finger tapping your lip almost mockingly as if pondering. “you’re a quick thinker.”

oh shit. you knew.

#from.313 #313.hardhours #313.hyuka #huening kai x reader #huening kai drabble #huening kai x you #txt scenarios #txt x reader #txt imagines #huening kai hard thoughts #huening kai hard hours #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #huening kai smut #txt smut

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xan-from-space · 2 months

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Damn, the Ember Island Players were actually kind of radical, weren't they? The more I think about it, the more it feels like the only way it makes sense in-universe is if being Fire Nation propaganda wasn't the point of their play at all. Aside from a barely tacked on ending where Ozai kills Aang, the play is remarkably sympathetic to the Avatar and a bunch of enemies of the Fire Nation, even framing them as being heroes. Even at points in the story where theyre literally killing Fire Nation soldiers, the narrative still seems to be on their side; they're the underdogs, the relatable ones. Its true that the Fire Nation values strength, but still, you'd expect that in a propaganda play they would be portrayed as at least a little bit more sympathetic... And sure, to some extent the gaang's characters could be seen as defamatory caricutures (the slander on Iroh specifically was probably intentional), but that also might be due to the Players getting a lot of their information from the cabbage man, someone who actively hates the gaang and only ever really sees the worst of them. (And notably, that also means that the Players had worked with an Earth Kingdom merchant to produce the play.)

Mocking the gaang is also just clearly not the point of the play or what people are there for. Sokka's actor says that he's constantly being approached by fans; people genuinely love these characters. The gaang have built entire dedicated fanbases in the Fire Nation because of this play. Honestly, the fact that they're on a remote island is probably the only reason they're able to perform the play the way it is. I imagine it would get shut down pretty quickly on the mainland. Considering all the propaganda in the Fire Nation that we've seen so far, I wouldn't be surprised if the ending was only written that way because it's illegal to write a story where the Fire Lord doesnt win. The play reads less like propaganda and more like 'we're doing the bare minimum to get this story past the censors.'

I'm really curious about what it's like behind the scenes for the Ember Island Players. Are their shows just simple, shlocky entertainment, or could they also be deliberate political commentary? With no recording technology, a play is easier to slip under the radar than something like a book: it's impermanent, stays in one theatre, and performances can be easily tweaked if, say, Fire Nation royalty happens to come by. It's interesting to me that Ursa seemed to like them, while young Zuko had a disdain for them, saying they 'butchered' the story of Love Amongst the Dragons; in all likelihood the version of the story Zuko grew up with in the palace was heavily propaganda-filtered itself. Although, to be fair, they're arguably just not very good playwrights. When it comes to the characterization, I do think some of it only seems bad because we know what the actual characters are like, but a lot of it is just bad writing clearly meant for cheap entertainment. For example, they sexualize Katara quite a bit (and there's other, better analysis out there I've seen that examines how they fetishize her as a Water Tribe girl). And, of course, all of the characters are reduced to shallow and stereotypical comedy.

Still, I think they're worth commending for doing their research and telling a story about enemies of the state that's both sympathetic and surprisingly accurate to actual events, if not the characters' personalities, amidst the Fire Nation's rampant propaganda and misinformation. From the little amount of information about them we can extract from the show, they seem like honestly very interesting people. They're walking this tightrope line between being very close to the heart of the Fire Nation but also separate from it; between being cheap, inconsequential entertainment and being a source of actual news for Ember Island citizens; between telling the underdog story about a ragtag group of children and still trying to make it look like Fire Nation propaganda. I'm not trying to make any big argument on whether they were 'actually good people' or whatever, I just want to know more about them. I kind of wish we could see their production of Love Amongst the Dragons now...maybe I'll write something about them someday

#I wrote this in a haze after randomly catching the episode while my sister was watching it #I'm so fascinated by the inner lives of these people. What does it look like to write and produce these plays?#What does their day-to-day look like? How do the actors feel about their characters?#Actually if anyone has any fanfic recommendations in this vein please tell me #atla #avatar the last airbender #ember island players #the ember island players #atla analysis #zuko #uncle iroh #katara #ursa atla #cabbage man #cabbage merchant #fire nation

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makeitmingi · 9 months

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And They Called It Puppy Love

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy

Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Girlfriend!Reader, Boyfriend!Yunho

Summary: Despite your worries and concerns about your relationship, your golden retriever boyfriend Yunho never lets you stray too far. He's always right behind you, making sure he's always there for you with whatever you need. No, it's not just puppy love.

Word count: 4.2K

[A/N: Reader is a little insecure in this...]

The moment you class ended and you stepped out of the lecture hall, your phone rang. You looked down at the screen to see the caller ID, a small smile making its way to your face.

'Yuyu 🐾'

"How coincidental is it that you're calling just as I am stepping out of my lecture hall?" You laughed as you pressed the phone to your ear. Not wanting to have the conversation with other people around, you found a more quiet place to talk.

"Not a coincidence at all when I know your class schedule. How has your morning been? Sorry I didn't get to send you to uni today, I had to rush in for an early meeting at the office."

You could practically hear the disappointed pout in his voice but were touched by his intentions.

"No need to apologise, Yuyu. I wouldn't want you to be late because of me. Morning has been okay. How about you?" You asked.

"Same old same old. I can't wait to see you later today, tiny."

"Me too. It's been a long week and it would be nice to just relax with you." You sighed happily just at the thought. Even though you didn't live with Yunho, you did stay over at his place every Friday.

"Mmm, I'll leave you to go have your lunch. Make sure you eat a lot, tiny. Studying is important but eating and taking care of your health is more important!"

"I will, Yuyu. Have a nice day. I'll see you later." You giggled. Yunho was someone that took food and eating very seriously. He loved food and was a huge foodie. You remember being shocked by the amount of food he could eat. But being a foodie boyfriend also meant that he always made sure you were fed.

"Yes, you will. I love you, tiny."

"I love you too." You hummed and hung up. After that, you went to find your friends at one of the cafeterias on campus. You greeted them as you sat down.

"I guess I saw it coming. He started acting different and stuff." One of your friends lamented. She had just gone through a break up, ending a short but seemingly sweet relationship of 6 months.

"He probably just had puppy love." Another one pointed out.

"Puppy love?" You tilted your head.

"Mhmm. You know like just those crushes you used to get as a kid. They do everything to make you happy and impress you then once the puppy love dies, so does your relationship." She explained.

"That's probably why your relationship only lasted for 6 months." One added, making your other friends nod in agreement.

"Oh... I get it." You nodded your head, eating a bite of your food. That was when all the heads at the table turned to you. You blinked in confusion.

"(y/n), you've been in a relationship with Yunho for 8 months... Does he still act the same way as he did when you first started dating?" They asked. You thought about it for a while, thinking back to the moment when you and Yunho started dating.

"He's not as shy as he used to be? Other than that, he's still the same Jeong Yunho. He hasn't changed much in the last 8 months that we've been together." You shrugged.

"Ah, it's different with him. He's one of those golden retriever boyfriends. They're active with everyone they meet." One scoffed.

"Literal puppy love?" One teased.

"He chased you for a while, (y/n). There's nothing to worry about." One of them must have noticed the grim expression on your face and squeezed your shoulder.

Despite her comforting words of encouragement, you stared at your wallpaper of you and Yunho, slight worry settling in your heart. What if Yunho's puppy love for you just died down one day?

"We're kidding, (y/n). Really." The one who started this assured.

"Look at you and Yunho. You're couple goals, you both set the standard so high." They tried convincing you.

You wanted to correct them. You didn't set the bar high, Yunho did. They knew the lengths that Yunho went to, to do things that made you happy. Now that you think about it, you didn't do much for him. The excuse was that Yunho didn't let you do much because he was always one step ahead of you.

The only thing you did was cook for him because he wasn't very good at cooking.

"My love language is food!"

That was one of the first things Yunho told you, he loved it when you cooked for him. Other than that, Yunho mainly did a lot of things for you. He never really let you or liked you doing things for him.

Throughout the rest of the day, you tried to push aside that unnerving feeling that settled in your stomach and distract yourself with your classes.

'I got pork cutlet for lunch! San brought us to a new place. We'll come here next time! - Yuyu 🐾'

*Yuyu 🐾 sent 1 photo attachment*

Every time your phone lit up and you saw Yunho's smiling face or a message from him, it just reminded you of it again. You knew you were just overthinking now. With a sigh, you put your phone into your bag and focused on your notes.

"Hmm..." Yunho frowned with a tilt of his head as he stared intently a this phone screen.

"What's wrong, Yunho?" San, who was sitting across him and noticed the look on his face, asked. Yeosang, who was focused on his food also looked up.

"She read my text but didn't reply again..." Yunho said, looking at the 5th message that you left him on read.

"Maybe she's busy, hyung. She is in class after all." Jongho pointed out with his chopstick.

"No... If she's busy and can't reply, she will just not open the message. She only reads it if she knows she can reply." Yunho explained, he knew you and your habits well enough.

"Well, did she seem different when you called her earlier? Or was she acting weird, out of the ordinary?" Seonghwa asked. Yunho didn't answer, thinking about the phone call conversation that he had with you. The conversation wasn't long but you didn't sound upset or different to him.

"No. She was fine. We even talked about our plans for tonight and she seemed excited." Yunho blinked.

"Is that important?" He followed up with a question.

"You know the whole thing with relationships passing the 'honeymoon phase'... When the initial puppy love goes away, relationship dynamics change." Wooyoung shrugged.

"Yah, Wooyoung ah. Don't put such thoughts in his head. I'm sure that's not happening, Yunho." Hongjoong scolded Wooyoung and assured Yunho.

"No... It's okay. My relationship with (y/n) is definitely still going strong. We love each other a lot." Yunho said confidently.

"I can atest to that. All the phone calls and texting between the two of them... yuck." Jongho cringed.

"It's called love, Jongho. When you fall in love, you'll be the same too." San slung his arm around the younger's neck. Jongho gave the older a flat look, jabbing his side until San let go of him.

"I'm sure (y/n) still loves you and appreciates everything you do for her." Mingi patted Yunho's shoulder. They did think that Yunho was always doing too much but at the same time, that was how Yunho showed you he loved you, through acts of service.

"Maybe I'll get her some flowers later when I pick her up from university, to cheer her up if she's upset." Yunho decided.

"Or maybe she's not upset and just busy with university classes." Yeosang said with a shrug.

"Whether she is upset or not, I can still buy her flowers. I don't need a reason to buy my girlfriend flowers." Yunho said, already making a mental note to drop by the florist later.

"You're such a good boyfriend, Yuyu ah." Wooyoung leaned his head on his hand with a sweet smile, making Yunho blush.

"Only (y/n) calls him yuyu now." Mingi nudged the smaller male.

"Why? It's cute, I like it." Wooyoung protested.

"Exactly because (y/n) is cute when calling him that, that's why he only lets her call him that. And she lets him call her 'tiny' in return." Hongjoong reasoned.

"Ah, stop." Yunho covered his cheeks with a shake of his head, having enough of his friends teasing him. 'Yuyu' and 'tiny' are exclusive nicknames that you and Yunho have for each other. It sounded normal when you two used them but hearing others say it made Yunho feel shy.

"Okay, let's stop teasing Yunho. We need to finish up our food and get back to work." Seonghwa said. Yunho let out a sigh of relief, grateful to Seonghwa for stepping in.

But the thought lingered in Yunho's head, was he overbearing and driving you away? Were you starting to lose feelings for him?

Finally, university was done for the day and the week. You let out a tired sigh as you walked towards the campus exit. It was time to enjoy the weekend.

"Tiny!" Yunho jogged over to you before you could reach the exit. You couldn't help but smile as you saw his face.

"Yuyu." You greeted him back as he hugged you tightly, leaning over your small frame. You giggled and wrapped your arms around him.

"You've worked hard. Good job." He patted your back.

"Thank you. You too." You replied. When he pulled away, he held out a bouquet of flowers to you. People passing by stared at the two of you, thinking Yunho was handsome and sweet for giving you flowers. You softened, not expecting flowers from him.

"What's this for? I didn't forget a special day, did I?" You asked with a giggle as you received the bouquet. There was a card but you decided to read that later.

"I just felt like buying you flowers." He smiled, stroking your cheek.

"Well, they're lovely. It's a nice surprise. Thank you, Yuyu." You tiptoed to kiss his cheek. He blushed but the bright smile never left his face.

"Let's go." He held your hand. The two of you walked to where Yunho's car was parked. He opened the door for you to slide into the passenger seat.

"I'll put your bag in the back." He offered.

"Thanks. I'll hold onto these." You grinned, holding the bouquet in your lap. Yunho chuckled but nodded, putting your binder and bag into the backseat before running to the driver's side.

"Oh yeah, I got you this too. But I think the ice has melted." He scratched his head in embarrassment as he pointed to the cups in the cup holder. It was your favourite mixed fruit soda from a cafe you and Yunho frequent. They were the only one that had your favourite fruit combination.

"You drove all the way to get it?"

"I thought you might like it. I know you've been having a tiring week." Yunho turned to you.

"Thank you, Yuyu. Really. But seeing you and being with you is more than enough to make me feel better." You smiled up at him. Yunho cupped your cheek and gave you a sweet kiss.

"So where are we going now?" You asked.

"Would you like to order in or cook? If we're cooking, we can go get ingredients. My fridge is empty." Yunho informed.

"Let's cook then." You said. Yunho began driving. He had this habit, one hand would be on the wheel and the other hand would be on you either holding your hand or on your thigh.

It was nothing suggestive, purely innocent. Yunho just wanted to always be in contact with you.

"What would you like to eat tonight?" You asked as Yunho pulled into the parking space of the grocery store. He tapped his chin, thinking about his food craving. Yunho liked a lot of foods but he tried to think of easy food so you wouldn't be too tired after cooking.

"What about kimchi fried rice?" He suggested. Your face fell at the simple suggestion. Yunho always liked you cooking different dishes for him. Why was he suggesting a dish even he could make?

"I can cook something else..." You mumbled.

"Sure. Why don't you decide, tiny? I'll eat anything you cook." He kissed the back of your hand.

"Alright." You walked with him, thinking about dishes. Yunho excitedly ran to get a cart from the side. You were about to start walking in first when he called out to you.

"Wait for me, tiny!" He caught up, laughing. He grasped your hand and you smiled softly, walking beside him.

You decided to cook some of Yunho's favourite dishes, crispy pork belly, fresh kimchi (geotjori), garlic rice and marinated strawberries for dessert.

"From the ingredients, I'm excited to see what you cook." Yunho smiled, helping you reach over the counter to receive the meat from the butcher. If he got the hint or realised that you were just cooking his favourites, he never gave it away. You continued pushing the cart while Yunho momentarily stepped away.

"I need my essentials. Plus, we need movie snacks, right?" He dropped the ramen packs and snacks into the cart. You laughed as you looked what he got.

"You forgot your turtle chips." You pointed out.

"Oh, right! Thanks, tiny." He ran back to the chip aisle. You went to the fresh fruit section to grab whatever else you needed.

"Strawberries?!" His eyes lit up at the sight of you putting the punnets into the cart.

"I'll make the marinated strawberries you like." You smiled.

"Then we need ice cream! Be right back!" And he ran off just like that, making you laugh. Yunho always got so excited when food was the topic of discussion.

"Let me do it." He helped you load the items onto the conveyor belt for the cashier. Even after everything was bagged up, Yunho did most of the heavy lifting. He only let you carry the eggs.

When you arrived at Yunho's home, he immediately ran to get you your home slippers. He even slid them onto your feet for you.

"Thanks, Yuyu." You shuffled to his kitchen and put the groceries away. You've been over so many times that you just knew where everything was. Yunho's house wasn't big but it was comfortable for the two of you.

"Let me clean up a little. Be right back." He grabbed a trash bag and went to his study where he usually worked and gamed. You started on dinner since the pork needed a while to bake.

"Tiny, you forgot your apron." Yunho smiled softly, grabbing the apron off the hook.

"Arms up." He said as he carefully slipped the fabric over your head and reached around you to tie is securely. But he didn't let go, letting his arms stay around your waist.

"What's wrong?" You tilted your head as you looked up at him.

"Nothing. I just like looking at you... Can I kiss you?" He asked. You burst out laughing.

"You don't have to ask." You scoffed. Yunho grinned and leaned down to give you a kiss. He didn't pull away entirely, moving just so he could lean down to bury his face into the crook of your neck. You laughed as his hair tickled your skin. His arms tightened around your waist slightly.

"Yuyu, you have to let me go if you want dinner." You chuckled.

"I'd rather starve then." He protested.

"Why don't you help me?" You offered. At the thought of helping you, Yunho nodded excitedly. Suddenly, he ran back into his study and came back out with an item.

"I've been waiting for this. I finally get to use the new apron I bought. See?" He unwrapped it to show you proudly.

"It's very nice, Yuyu."

"Isn't it?! I bought it to match you." He beamed, slipping it over his head. But before he could tie it, you stepped forward to tie it for him, just like he always does with you.

"Tell me what to do chef!" He saluted. Although Yunho wasn't the best cook, he tried his best. And just being with him made everything feel fun. It wasn't tiring or lonely, it felt like time stood still and it was just you and him existing together in your own world.

"Hmmm..." Yunho watched you tasted the strawberries and the marinade that they were going to sit in. He didn't even know that he was staring at you with a smile on his face.

"Wae?" You blinked when you noticed him staring at you. He shook his head with a hum.

"Want a taste?" You held out a strawberry piece on a spoon. Yunho gladly leaned in to take a bite with you cupping your hand at the bottom to catch any drips.

"How is it?" You looked at him expectantly.

"Amazing." Yunho gave a thumbs up. Everything you made, Yunho thought was amazing.

"They'll taste better after they sit for a while. Could you wrap the bowl up for me, please?" You requested. He took the bowl and covered it with plastic wrap to put into his fridge.

Yunho loved these moments with you, just you and him in your own space. The little noises you made or random humming as you moved about, the way you would scrunch your nose when you were disatisfied with the taste, the way your lips would curl to the side when you were thinking.

"Careful, Yuyu." You cautioned as you took the sizzling pork out. And placed it on a trivet.

"You be careful, tiny. That oil is scary." Yunho said back to you but kind of dodged at the end of the counter, the splattering oil freaking him out a little.

"Do you want to help me cut it?" You asked, taking out the tongs and the knife.

"But I don't want to do it wrong." Yunho pouted.

"There's no wrong way, Yunho. Don't worry, we're the only ones eating it anyway." You chuckled. Yunho took the knife and tongs from you but you stood beside him to guide him.

"Tell me if I'm doing a bad job, okay?" He mumbled as he held the pork down with the tongs and began to slice with the knife.

"You're doing great, Yuyu." You smiled. Yunho was literally perfect, there was no way that he would do a bad job of anything, that's why you tried to at least get to half his level. After cutting the meat, he helped you put them on the serving dish.

"Can I have a kiss as a reward for doing a good job?" He asked. You rolled your eyes but of course you complied, never getting tired of his kisses and affection.

"Let's eat." You scooped the rice into two bowls while Yunho placed the geotjori and accompaniments on the table.

"Wow, tiny. You've out done yourself yet again. You never fail to amaze me with what you do." He reached out to hold your hand.

"W-What are you talking about?" You scoffed shyly.

You and Yunho started eating. Honestly, only after meeting Yunho, then you knew why parents felt full just by watching their children eat. Watching Yunho eat and enjoy food made you feel full.

"So good." Yunho smiled with his full cheeks of food. You laughed, reaching out to wipe the sauce that got on his lip.

"I'm glad you like it." You ate a bite of your food.

"Like it? I love it. I love anything you cook." He melted. You shot him a weird look but you couldn't help the smile on your face. Yunho always knew what to say and how to act around you, he just knew you well. You loved the way he never shied away from expressing his happiness and love.

"Don't forget, there's still dessert later." You reminded.

"There's no way I would forget. Don't worry, I'll finish everything. There's no such thing as waste here." Yunho said proudly. He took some geotjori and placed it onto your rice.

"You're so worried whether I have enough to eat that you're not eating." Yunho pouted.

"I am~" You whined. Yunho held a bite out to you, wanting to feed you. Your pursed your lips shut, knowing he was doing this to deliberately tease you.

"Come on, be good tiny. Ah~" He cooed.

"Yunho... Stop..." You felt your cheeks heat up as he continued to make baby sounds

"Ah~" He coaxed. You knew that he wasn't going to give up so you opened your mouth to take a bite, chewing begrudgingly. Yunho burst out laughing at the stink eye you were shooting him.

"Aigoo, my tiny eats so well." Yunho pinched your cheek, shaking your head slightly as he cooed at you. You squinted your eyes at him while he patted your head. He still had that big grin on his face while you finished up your dinner.

While Yunho did the dishes, you took a quick shower and finished up the dessert, putting the ice cream and strawberries into bowls for you and Yunho.

"This is the best." Yunho said, taking a bite. The both of you sat on the couch, with you tucked under Yunho's arm securely. There was a movie playing but you and Yunho weren't paying attention.

"Thank you for cooking, baby. I don't know how I survived before meeting you 8 months ago." Yunho kissed the top of your head.

8 months ago... "They do everything to make you happy and impress you then once the puppy love dies, so does your relationship." Your friend's words rang in your ears.

"Tiny?" Yunho noticed how stiff you got. But you spaced out, so deep in your thoughts as tears flooded your vision.

"Tiny!" Yunho saw the first tear spill and put his bowl aside.

"(y/n), what's wrong?!" He panicked, turning you around to face him entirely. He took your bowl from your hands to put it on the coffee table and practically carried you onto his lap, letting your legs drape over his own thighs. As he hands came up to cup your cheeks, he searched your eyes worriedly.

"You're scaring me, tiny..." Yunho whispered. But you just couldn't stop the tears from continuously falling down your cheeks as soft sobs escaped you.

"Hug me?" You croaked. He didn't even hesitate, holding you against his chest.

"Shh, tiny..." Yunho stroked the back of your head as you cried .

"Please don't leave me... I promise I'll try harder." You cried, bunching the materials of his shirt in your fists, as if he was going to walk away from you right this instance.

"Leave you? Baby, why would I leave you?!" Yunho held your shoulders, he couldn't hide the shock he felt from your words.

"I'm worried you'd get sick of me after we've been together for a while." You sniffled.

"Wait, the boys were talking about this earlier. 'Honeymoon phase' and 'puppy love'. Is that what you're worried about?" Yunho clarified. You nodded in your head in confirmation. Yunho could held but soften, leaning forward to give you a lingering kiss.

"Tiny, you don't have to worri about that. With me, the only puppy love you're getting is me being a literal golden retriever and following you everywhere." Yunho rubbed your cheek with his thumb.

"It's just... you do everything for me. And I barely do anything for you. Won't you get tired of doing that?"

"I do those things for you because I want to do them. It's one of the ways I show you I love you. Plus, you cook for me and in my book, that surpasses everything else." Yunho scoffed.

"Honestly, I was worried I was being overbearing. And that I should give you more space." He confessed.

"Yuyu... never. You're never overbearing. I love you and appreciate everything you do for me. I don't want space, I don't want to be anymore further from you than I already am." You held his hand.

"I'm glad to hear that. Because I feel the same." Yunho lifted you up in his arms.

"Yunho!" You squealed, wrapping your arms around his neck. He walked into his room and put you on his bed, crawling into the space beside you. He held you close, his much larger frame enveloping your smaller one as your limbs tangled themselves together. Leaning down, he nuzzled his nose against your cheek.

"You're never too much. I'll gladly do anything for you like froth your milk for your lattes in the morning." Yunho chuckled.

"You just like playing with my automated frother..." You rolled your eyes.

You remembered when you showed Yunho the electric whisk. He was so excited and that ended up with you have so much milk foam in your coffee.

"True." He grinned.

"But i'm seriously, I'll always be right there beside you, okay? I'll come whenever you call, whenever you need me. I'm there." He stared into your eyes, brushing your hair away from your face.

"Me too." You placed your hand on his cheek as he smiled sweetly. He chuckled, peppering your face in kisses, making you scrunch your nose.

"You're stuck with me. I'm not gonna let you go so easily." He hugged you to emphasise his point.

"I'm very okay with that." You giggled.

"Good. Because you don't have a choice." He laughed.

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kisses4kaia · 1 year

Note

Charlie walker x reader smut where he’s very subby and unexpirienced

thank you 🧎🏻‍♀️

a/n; omgomg absolutely r u kidding me rn ? fem reader. obvi 17+ and intended for mature audiences .

movie night 💿 - c, walker ,,

it's crazy what an innocent movie night at kirby's can end up as.

you and charlie sat in opposite corners of the spacious living room, watching stab III (per charlie's insistence). it had just started and you were already bored. the movie wasn't bad, per se, you had just seen it so many times before.

and well, you had always found charlie walker more interesting.

you'd always thought of him as attractive, having spent many a night with your fingers deep inside of you, imagining they were his, imagining what he would sound like, whimpering for you and your touch.

you knew he felt the same, if not, similar, about you. from the way he insisted on walking up the stairs after you (iykyk), to the untrackable count of times you've caught him eyeing you up and down, as though he was praying he would be gifted by the gods with x-ray vision.

but every time you got too close, he'd shut it down with a friendly remark. every. damn. time.

"that's actually really nice of you, thanks y/n,"

"haha, you don't mean that. funny, though."

"i think you look pretty nice, too,"

it drove you crazy, just how oblivious he was to your advances. the way the tv screen lit up his blown pupils, fascinated as he watched one of his favorite movies for probably the 1,000th time, made you bite your lip to contain the anything-but-holy thoughts ravaging your mind.

you were tired of sitting around, doing nothing about this ever-growing crush.

whilst everybody had their eyes glued to the screen, watching some girl get chased through her home, you pulled out your small iphone and clicked on charlie's contact. you had to do something he couldn't ignore, something he couldn't look over.

you clicked on the option to attach a photo to the text message. you scrolled through your camera roll until you found it.

the photo was of you, in your bedroom, in your mirror, seemingly trying on lacy, dark purple, lingerie. there was no shot he was taking this with friendly intentions.

you to charlieee <33 : *(1) attachment*

you waited a few moments before texting him again

you to charlieee <33 : oops, wrong person . sry. 😊

you watched as he reached for his back pocket at the sound of a notification.

and how his face, once painted with curiosity, twisted into shock, sights forced on the device. you had to bite back a smirk as he looked up at you.

you pretended that you were watching the movie and gave no attention to the boy whose pants were getting tighter by the second.

he cleared his throat before settling back on the couch, typing out a reply.

charlie to y/n🤩 : it's okay haha

charlie to y/n🤩 : do you mind me asking who that was meant for?

you to charlieee <33 : why does that matter 2 u?

charlie to y/n🤩 : i just want to know if you're seeing someone, or if it was for jill or kirby, yk?

charlie to y/n🤩 : not that i care if you're seeing someone!! that's really one of my business, forget i said anything

you to charlieee <33 : lmao but char, its ok if u do

charlie to y/n🤩 : what do you mean by that?

you to charlieee <33 : follow me and find out ;)

you casually got up and exited the living room, successfully not turning any heads. you found the guest bathroom and entered.

it was actually very nice, the lights were bright and luminescent, and the shower, sink, and toilet were spotless.

you waited a few minutes, sitting on the sink counter, before the door opened, revealing the one and only.

"what took you so long?" you teased flashing a smile. "i was debating whether or not i actually wanted this, well i do want this, very much so, but i was just-" he was rambling.

"well, you're here now, aren't you, charlie?" you slightly whispered before pulling him towards you by his shirt, settling in between your legs.

he was stiff as a board, he didn't know what he could do. you noticed this and grabbed his hands from his sides and placed them lowly on your waist.

you placed your arms around his neck very lazily. "you want this?" you looked into his eyes, which were dazed and hazy, seemingly drowning in dopamine.

he nodded. "mhm, yeah," he was breathless, becoming so impatient, needing to feel your lips on his.

you chuckled softly to yourself before finally giving the boy what he wanted. the kiss started out slow but heated up quickly as you started to tangle your fingers in his hair.

you swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and his mouth fell open easily, allowing it in.

charlie gripped your hips tightly. "easy, tiger. i'm not going anywhere," you pulled away slightly to say. this did not make him let up. there were surely going to be bruises in the place of his hands by tomorrow.

you began kissing down his jaw and neck, exploring and searching for a sweet spot. he whimpered particularly needily at one area on his collarbone and you attacked it.

he began running his hands up and down your sides, underneath your shirt. you translated his wandering hands and helped throw your top off. he tried, truly, to keep his eyes on your face and not on your chest but how could he? <33

"so, so, so beautiful," he whispered, leaning down slightly to knead your covered breasts. "too many clothes, baby. take 'em off for me, hm?" you more told him than asked.

like the good boy he wanted to be for you, charlie was quick to remove every garment on his body, save for his boxers.

you pulled your miniskirt off and were left in a laced, pale pinky-shade of matching bra and panties.

he took a small step back and stared at you intensely, like he wanted to say something. "spit it out, char." you almost scolded him.

"i-it's just, um, i've n-never done anything like this... before..." he looked down as though it was a shameful thing.

you smiled at his tenderness. "c'mere, love," you quietly uttered before pulling him in between your legs once again. you felt his hard length pressed against your middle but ignored the euphoria to focus on what mattered.

"look at me, char. that does not make me want you any less, it's actually kinda cute. listen, i'll guide you through it, if you wish to continue, that is. if you don't, we can get dressed and leave like nothing happened. what do you want to do, baby?" you reassured him as he stared into your eyes thoughtfully.

"i wanna keep going," he breathed out. "good," you hummed, drawing his lips to yours again. you hopped off of the counter, forcing your lips apart by the sheer height difference between you two.

you pushed him against the bathroom door and lowered yourself onto your knees in front of him. "w-what are you doing?!" he panicked slightly. "i'm gonna take real good care of you, m'kay, love? now, be a good boy for me and relax," you purred, rubbing your hands up and down his thighs.

the pet name turned his stomach and made him slip a small whimper. he unfroze his muscles and relaxed, per your request.

you kept your doe eyes on the flushed boy's face as your pulled his boxers down, making his dick spring out, hitting his stomach.

you tore your eyes from his face and focused your attention on his member.

he was big, huge. his slit crying with precum and veins ran up and down the length of it. your wide eyes softened when you heard a needy whine coming from the man above you.

you decided he's waited long enough, so you ran your tongue along the underside of his cock. the moan/groan he let out, made you smile, and lock eyes with charlie once again.

"fuck, feels good," he said through half-lidded eyes as you began to suck on his angry, red, tip.

"so vulgar. bad boy," you teased with a grin. the sight of you beneath him, on your knees, a smile bigger than the whole sky plastered across your face as his dick leaned against your chin, could've caused him to release a load on your pretty face right there.

but he didn't. he wanted, needed, to be your good, good, boy <3.

"mmm, no. i'm good, i'm so good, only for you. just for you, mommy," the name merely slipped out, he swore, but it caused you to moan whilst his dick was down your throat, causing a very pleasurable vibration around his cock, causing him to involuntarily cum down your throat.

"sh-shit, 'm sorry," he was quick to apologize for cumming so quickly as you pull your jaw off of him. "say that again," you demanded with a scratchy voice, but needier undertones were detected. "w-what, i'm sorry?"

"no, before that,"

"m-mommy?" charlie squeaked.

"fuck."

from the cold tiles biting at the skin of your knees to shimmying off your panties and sitting back down on the counter, you knew you needed him, all of him. right here, right now.

this time, you didn't have to pull him toward you, he naturally gravitated to the comfort of the in-between of your plush thighs. "wanna fuck me? huh?" you asked, grabbing his cock and sliding the tip up and down your folds.

"more than anything, mommy," he whimpered, dreamily. "fuck, baby," you whined as you guided him inside of you.

the stretch was almost impossible. you both moan in synchrony. the tightness of your walls was far better than charlie could've ever imagined when he pumped his fist up and down his length on lonely nights.

"oh my god, momma. i've dreamed and dreamed about this," he whispered in your ear after you gave him the go-ahead to move. his thrusts started out slow and tame but sped up quickly.

the hold he had on your thighs was mighty as he chased his high. "gimme your hand," you managed to speak through the ecstasy. "w-why?" he slowed down, only slightly.

"just- just give it to me," you gasped as his tip pushed against your g-spot. he lifted his left hand and put it in your right.

you shaped it into a 'thumbs up' stance and moved in down onto your clit. "draw circles," you told him. he picked it up quickly and continued fucking you.

your nailed fingers tugged and pulled at his hair, making him into a moaning, whimpering, mess. "shit, fuck! i can't go for much longer. can i please do it inside? please, please, please, mommy?" he begged and you nodded. "i'm on the pill, doll. go ahead, fill me up." you couldn't say no to his beautiful, fucked out, face.

a few more sloppy thrusts into your cunt and soon, he had you loaded. he stared down at his cock going in and out of you, lubed by his sperm, and he could've came again at the sight.

it wasn't too long after that you felt your own earth-shattering release, clinging onto the broad shoulders of the man above you. it rippled through you like an ocean current.

you stayed intertwined with each other for a few more moments, catching your breath, before charlie spoke.

"if my calculations are correct, roman bridgers should be getting revealed as ghostface right now."

#charlie walker #rory culkin #scream 4 #charlie walker smut #kai's got mail <3📑#nonnieees💗#scream 4 smut #scream #smut #subby boys have my heart and my pussy !#kaia writes charlie

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inamindfarfaraway · 4 months

Text

The Exorcists’ Masks of Virtue

The vast majority of Exorcists in Hazbin Hotel have a notable design element that other angels don’t: their masks are missing an eye. Specifically, the right eye.

I believe this is a reference to the Bible, Matthew 5:29. Jesus says, “If your right eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.”

He’s being hyperbolic. Mr Free Healthcare was not pro-mutilation. What he means is that you have to be willing to make sacrifices to prevent sin. The context of the eye metaphor is him condemning adultery and warning that even something as easy, casual and small as a look full of lustful intent can lead to further, worse sin if you don’t notice your sin, hold yourself accountable for it and do the work to not let it influence your decisions. This will probably be hard. It could be very, very painful. Changing your perspective can feel as horrible as plucking out your eye, so many people can’t bring themselves to do it. But although it won’t feel that way in the moment, it’s healthier for our general wellbeing in the long run to abandon traits and behaviours that damage ourselves and/or others.

(You may notice that Jesus’s teaching that you can have sinned, redeem yourself by giving up sin and thus escape damnation is the founding principle of the Hazbin Hotel. You may also notice that it contradicts everything the Exorcists believe.)

The Exorcists seem to follow this idea of painfully excising badness for the sake of the greater good devoutly to the point of placing it above teachings like ‘Thou shalt not kill’, with their job being to remove sin, in the form of sinners, to protect Heaven. Hence the missing right eyes. They’re a declaration of moral righteousness and inability to stumble.

But the truth is that the Exorcists all have their right eyes. Their flawlessness is a facade. Underneath, they are untouched, think themselves morally untouchable and, as shown by their horror and outrage when even one of them is killed, would much rather be physically untouchable too. This perfectly represents their complete unwillingness to acknowledge their own faults, let alone improve. They are never the ones who sacrifice. They force the sinners to sacrifice and don’t compensate it with any salvation. They metaphorically rip out the sinners’ eyes, but still condemn their entire bodies as inherently, permanently sinful. So they’ll just have to do another Extermination to get the other eyes! And another one to cut off their right hands! And so on until there’s nothing left.

The only exception to the rule is Vaggie, both in appearance and character. Her mask has the left eye crossed out instead. Even before her expulsion, she’s set apart to the audience as an Exorcist who has the capacity to, shall we say, see a different side of things. Her mask having its ‘sinful’ right eye reflects her understanding that the Exorcist worldview is wrong.

When she almost kills a demon child, her hateful vision clears. She discards the part of herself that’s an unquestioning, merciless agent of death, terror and grief… and as punishment for what Lute perceives as treacherous weakness, gets her eye plucked out.

Of course Lute leaves her with only the ‘sinful’ eye. It brands Vaggie forever as the inversion, a perversion, of what the Exorcists are meant to be.

You know, all this talk of eye removal in the Bible reminds of another line - ‘an eye for an eye’. Adam directly quotes it in “Hell is Forever”. He uses it to frame the Exterminations as Old Testament-style punitive justice; the sinners did harm and so they receive it. But putting aside the debate about how ethical the concept of revenge is, the entire point of taking an eye for an eye is that it’s proportional. The punishment fits the crime. If someone cuts your eye out, you shouldn’t murder their whole family in front of them and then slowly disembowel them to death. That would be the sin of wrath. You should just make them pay without excessive pain or collateral damage. This is the fairest form of revenge.

The Exorcists don’t do that! The Exterminations aren’t proportional to the wrongs of all they hurt, nor was Vaggie’s brutal punishment equivalent to her extremely mild insubordination. Lute literally takes Vaggie’s eye, and more, after Vaggie does nothing to her! That’s the opposite of the phrase! Adam and his soldiers are wrathful and cruel, deriving satisfaction from others’ suffering. But they just can’t stop going on and on about how disgustingly evil the sinners are, in total hypocrisy… despite some of the sinners being far better people than the genocidal Exorcists are… it’s like they’re obsessed with specks of dust in the sinners’ eyes when they have massive logs stuck in their own. Oh hey, that’s in the Bible too!

#both emotionally and symbolically i am rooting for vaggie or charlie to take out one of lute’s eyes #i was like ‘cool vaggie’s missing the opposite eye to her former mask!’#and then i went back and saw that her mask was also different #and then i went down a rabbit hole of biblical mentions of bad things happening to eyes #i know god and jesus (and the holy spirit) probably won’t appear in the show #at least not in person #but i do cherish the mental image of adam and his genocidal army hanging out #when jesus christ bursts in with a whip #and gets all ‘you have made my father’s house into a den of thieves’ on them but an order of magnitude more intense #because HE SAID LOVE ONE ANOTHER #WHERE IS THE LOVE #HE SPECIFICALLY REQUESTED IT #i’m not christian! i’m a hardcore atheist!#religion is just as fictious to me as egyptian mythology #however i am also autistic and have major special interests in mythology and folklore #so here i am fervently writing analysis of the sermon on the mount #hazbin hotel #hazbin vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie #vaggie #hazbin hotel exorcists #hazbin exorcists #hazbin hotel analysis #hazbin analysis

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gallusrostromegalus · 8 months

Note

So how much are you willing to talk about Ulquiorra?

I will talk so much about him. There are so many things wrong with that man, but to make a brief list of his most notable features:

He's dumb as hell.

I say that with tremendous sympathetic affection. Ulquiorra barely thinks. It's easy for him to do nothing and go nowhere. He eats chocolate in the middle of the night in the dark. When he gets access to a garden, he often just stands around in it. He's often waiting for things to happen.

He just LOOKS smart compared to nearly everyone else in the fic because he doesn't have much to say, so he's not constantly opening his mouth to jam his foot down it.

Consequently, Ulquiorra starts off having little to no initiative of his own. Stuff just happens to him. Some of that is because he is colossally depressed, but he's depressed because the idea that he has control over his circumstances has straight up not occured to him.

The first person he meets that shows him that "You can just do whatever you want, forever" and the boundless joy it is to be a creature of free will is, unfortunately, Aizen. And Aizen left off the key corollary "-EVERYONE is allowed to do whatever they want, forever. We are all equal in God's dead, empty eye sockets."

So Ulquiorra wanders around trying out this "doing stuff" thing without any concept of ethics.

I realize I am infantilizing this character, but I am doing so in a twilight zone "hey, wouldn't it be fucked up to watch a fully anatomically functional person who is able to speak and blow stuff up with his mind go through the emotional development steps of a toddler?", because I think that's a fun high-concept premise to explore with him. Yeah, what if a toddler could speak articulately and also destroy you? How would he act? How does he feel, learning to have feelings?

It'd probably suck for him and everyone around him, and make him very easy to manipulate, for one thing.

So I don't think Ulquiorra is evil, because evil takes intent. He is dangerous to be in the general proximity of, though

Like a horse

lose

in a hospital!

I love that sketch as much as the next person but if an IRL horse got loose in a hospital it would be bedlam, but the horse would be mostly confused and probably willing to follow around the first person who looked like they knew what they were doing.

You know, like how Ulquiorra follows Aizen around because that's the first guy he's met who THINKS he knows what he's doing, and is good at convincing others he knows what he's doing!

So Ulquiorra's entire first character arc is being exposed to more and more people and realizing he does have control over his life, and that he can take actions, and that those actions have consequences.

Like being emotionally devastated by a teenage girl because he was an asshole to her and she's willing to scream at him about it.

Hm.

Consequences hurt.

He lives through the Las Noches arc, and decides to follow his own star!

He follows it right through a portal that was not meant for him and now he's sort of trapped in somewhere he's really, really, really, really, REALLY not supposed to be.

But it's a beautiful place

And nobody is forcing him to do anything.

And for a long time, he just stands out in the garden, waiting for something.

But then

Ulquiorra experiences a novel pair of emotions that he's recently learned from his new...

Orihime is too mad at him for him to call her a friend.

-but he did learn the names and therefore the experience of two new emotions from her: boredom, and it's natural remedy: curiosity.

So Ulquiorra's second character arc is him learning how to be himself without anyone telling him who he is and what he ought to be.

He's travelling up Maslow's hierarchy with the inscrutable but unstoppable instinctual drive of a salmon returning to its spawning ground.

This has lead to an important discovery on my part: Ulquiorra is terrific for comedy because he is the ULTIMATE straight man to everyone else's nonsense, because he's immune to nearly all nonsense.

He doesn't have societal taboos to be hung up on, nor any sense of what is "normal", so the sole thing he geta hung up on is a lack of internal consistency in others, meaning he can slip between straight man to the absurdist at the drop of a single scathing observation. Yet, he retains a sort of understated dignity that compels people to try to earn his respect.

Hence, I'm having fun turning him loose on the most absurd, internally inconsistent and frankly, insane batch of characters in the series:

The Royal Guard.

#AEIWAM #An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy #bleach #bleach fanfic #ulquiorra cifer #Ulquiorra #mild spoilers

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stagefoureddiediaz · 1 month

Text

Costume Meta 7x05

Hello, Hey, how we all doing??

Ready for another super long meta post??

There is so much to talk about this week - admittedly mostly Buck and Eddie related, but there is also plenty going on for Hen and Karen as well.

No Bobby this week as we only see him in uniform, and only the one costume for Athena as well. I also want to say that I am not doing any of the costumes from the Madney wedding that we saw at the end of the epsiode - I want to give them the space they deserve and I will probably write a separate pre episode meta for those costumes specifically! All I will say is Maddie looks stunning, Buck in white - hello! and Eddie in a just a collar making him look like a pink priest - hilarious!

The rest is under the cut as always 😎

Let's start with some of the guest characters.

Alien Hand syndrome man continues to prove the check means bad things theme, which makes me happier than you can ever know!!

Then we have Deidra in her very bright pink coat. If you read my promo meta for this episode you will have read a fairly sizeable section at the end on my thinking about the use of pink in this season (going to make a separate post during this hiatus so its all in one place). All of the times we see it in this episode, play into (and I guess prove) my thinking. Deidra is acting with good intentions and while I don't think she's naive or innocent in the strictest sense of the word, she is perhaps continually being naive in thinking that not revealing Mara's past is the right way to go (don't come at me about child protection etc I am fully aware of what the real world laws state, but this story arc really highlights the fact that in trying to protect children who are at risk and in the system, they can also cause ongoing harm if things are not taken on a case by case basis - its a whole other essay that I am not getting into here).

Then we have Mara herself who is never without pink - namely her pink blanket. The pink plays into the theme of innocence especially with Mara and while she may not be innocent of the act of maiming Denny, her innocence goes much deeper. Its meant as a very clear signpost of the innocence of childhood - that pink blanket and her clinging onto it is a symbol of her clinging onto her childhood, despite the fact that she has gone through a terrible loss and trauma. she is still a child and the show is clearly going to play into the idea that as she settles into the Wilson home and is able to work through the trauma, her need to cling onto her childhood in this way will diminish and we'll see her slowly become less attached to the blanket. We already have signs of progress with the colour journey her tops have been on - lavender, pink and then the turquoise one at the end. Lavender is also a colour associated with childishness or lethargy, pink the colour of innocence, and childhood. While turquoise is a colour of calmness and clarity. its signalling HenRen's breakthrough with Mara and that she's growing and beginning to feel secure.

Hen and Karen

Hen and Karen go on a real colour journey this week - I'm doing them together (along with Denny) because they very much work in tandem clothing wise (and also because I was running out of pictures again - whats new there!)

So first up we have Karen in this beautiful dip dye ombre dress in purple, pink and mauve. it also has this drip staining pattern which has deliberately been created during the dying process. The lavender at the top of the dress is representative of hope and serenity, this is Karen in a great place - about to expand her family and fulfil a dream. The pink as I've said is all about innocence and naivety - more innocence in this case - both the new baby being innocent and Hen and Karens innocent hopes for their future. The dark mauve at the bottom of the skirt - eating into the pink is such a choice - gathering storm clouds, foreshadowing the turmoil about to come - taking away the innocent hope. mauve can be standoffish and withdrawn, and in this context those are great descriptors for Mara and her struggles that Hen and Karen will need to help her work through.

Hen's in cyan blue trousers - which is a colour associated with clarity and balance. whilst the cream, black and blue jacket with stars on is the beginning point for a theme that runs through the Wilsons arc this week - black is a power colour, associated with many things, but for Hen and Karen in this arc it is very much about protection and strength. Here for hen it is mostly about protection - protecting this new baby they are about to take in. The cream is warmth and tranquility.

Hen is wearing check - foreshadowing the upcoming struggles with Mara. Karens bronze and black Jacquard trousers are a symbol of strength - bronze as a colour means strength and support, it's also a symbol of faithfulness. It's telling us that Karen will take the lead on supporting Mara and being strong for her.

We see a lot of white on Karen in this episode, white, like pink is a colour of innocence, but it is more associated with purity and balance. It is also a colour of neutral refelction. By this I mean that it amplifies other colours by providing a neutral background - allowing other colours to shine. I find this a really interesting thing when connected with Karen - it amplifies her strength and supportive nature when the Wilsons meet Mara.

Hen adn Karen in bed are in dusty versions of blue and pink - Karen innocently tries to touch Mara and that is when the screaming starts. Putting Hen in blue is about relaying her trustworthiness and sets her up as a soothing and calming presence for Mara - hence the sleeping on the floor of her room!

At the hospital, We see Denny in red - he was wearing it when Mara woke the house up and its an indicator of what is about to befall them (in the same way Bobbys red in the cruise ship disaster adn Athenas red in relation to Harry, or Bucks back in s5 when Eddie broke down).

We again have Karen in white amplifying the other colour she is wearing, which in this instance is this buff/brown oversized sleeveless coat in teddy fleece. The brown is stability, dependability and responsibility - playing into the fact this episode really highlights Karen's position in the family as this stable rock which Hen and Denny lean on when they need support. Karen's unswerving and solid personality is once more being shown off. Its really a key thing for them to show as it feels like a set up for Mara and how she is going to bond and rely on Karen and that dependability as she unpacks her trauma.

The orange jumper is a really interesting choice. I do love the loose threads on the design of it - paying into the idea that Hen and Karen are at a loose end and unsure what to do going forward. But, the orange itself is generally an open minded colour, its energetic and its also a colour of transformation. These are all things we know are true of Hen and Karen and it hints at the fact that they will fin a way forward. Once again we have Karen in white amplifying Hen's orange and the energy and idea of transformation the colour brings.

Denim jacket and white tee. I love the distressed nature of this denim jacket and the way it plays into both scenes we see it in - playing into the distress Hen feels over finding out what Mara has gone through and how it explains why she has become non verbal and incredibly protective over her pink blanket.

Again the white of amplification and purity. Hen has pure intentions and the white amplifies Karens black when they are at dispatch listening to the 911 call.

We also have the Karen necklace back - once more showing this ism't about Hen - its about Karen and their family.

Black on Karen for this scene is such a choice. Black is a power colour, it means strength and protection. Here it is showing Karens determination, as she gains understanding, to protect Mara and support her through her trauma - it is representative of Karen choosing to use the power she has been given through gaining information. The gold highlights hint at success.

I love these lavender pyjamas on Karen - lavender is a soothing and sleep inducing colour (along with its scent which is possibly where the association came from for the colour) along with a Japanese print of mountains and trees, which plays into the idea of serenity and peacefulness.

Hen in contrast is wearing fairly bright and bold black and green. The green is all about that growth and learning once more, the growth of Hen and Karen, learning more about the issues Mara faces and seeking a solution, but also the growth of their family. The black is a reflection of power - much in the same way Karen wearing black when they heard the 911 call Mara made, here it is Hen, representing the protection that Hen and Karen are offering Mara.

Athena in green - again with the mesh open weave knit - this may be a theme for her this season - potentially something to do with feeling caged or caging someone/something - especially children as both scenes we've seen it so far have been to do with young people and the law in some respect - ending up in the system - Harry through is crime and Mara through her parents death.

Chim

This dark bottle green with a fawn brown (what I think is a polo) shirt underneath is Chimneys only non uniform costume this week . This kind of dark green, is as always a signal of growth, but its also a colour of harmony, and right now - everything in Chim's world is harmonious.

Maddie

I don't thinkI've said it yet, but I am so happy to have Alayna back dressing Jennifer - I feel like we're really back on track with Maddie's costuming after last season where they somehow managed to make Maddie look terrible. The costuming overall last year was fine - not as good as Alayna's work, but it was for the most part good - except for Maddie where it was all over the place!

Anyway - Maddie in black here is very much about focussing the attention on Hen and Karen - like with CHimney's muted green, in tandem they are making the viewers eye focus on Hen and Karen - especially Karen - who is the brightest in the room.

Maddie wearing this sage green colour when Buck comes out to her is sheer perfection from my perspective - we, once more have the green of growth and renewal, the green of learning - Maddie learning more about her brother - this new thing that he is realising about himself and choosing to share with her (even if inadvertently). But this green is also sage green - sage as in the play on sage advice - which we see Maddie give him. Buck needs that good advice - he needs to hear that its ok, that he can take the time to figure himself out and that its ok that he's only just uncovered this aspect of himself and that it doesn't invalidate him being an ally up to this point!

Ok not going to lie - I got a little carried away from here on out - so sorry in advance for the rambling mess you're about to read!

Marisol

I'm doing Marisol in a weird order - because I wanted to talk about her date night outfit in tandem with Eddies - because its relevant. So we start of with virgin Mary Marisol! Honestly this outfit is just perfection from the costume department - they saw the brief and went to town and I love it. Its so good to see what they can do when they get to play!

One of the things I really love about this costume is the blue that they chose. Because that blue - that is Bucks blue! the virgin Mary blue is usually a much brighter royal blue. It really helps to place Marisol in parallel to Buck and we get the play on t he fact that Eddie seeing Marisol in this way changes everything for him, whilst later on, whilst Buck is in the same blue, he reassures him that nothing will change between them.

Look, I'm not going to lie, when I saw Marisol in blue and yellow for this scene I laughed because Blue and yellow (as I've gone on a million times about) means queer coding so to blatantly put Marisol in it - in a washed out form, and very much connecting her to Catholicism - genius move. It marks her out as a roadblock, but also puts her into the role of beard (unknowingly on her part) because Eddie is still in the midst of his repression, even if it is beginning to unravel now.

The black top with spaghetti straps is clearly a theme they're going with on Marisol, as are the ditsy prints. The yellow high waisted trousers are interesting because of the specific shade of yellow. Yes the whole communication theme still applies here -and we see it in action, but this shade of yellow is sallow and sickly (one of the reasons its called sickly yellow is because its the colour of a lot of medications!!) - this relationship and its restart are ill and that automatically means its going to struggle to survive.

It plays into the more negative meanings around the colour - uncertainty and idleness and cowardice. For me the cowardice aspect is an interesting one in relation to Eddie - he has behaved cowardly up to this point - hiding out and not having the conversations that need to be had, and even in this scene it is Marisol who takes the lead.

It's really giving us an indication of things Eddie needs to work on in regards to himself - and once more it comes down to communication. Communication has always been Eddies major flaw - that he isn't good at it, unless really really pushed into it - essentially under duress. The other thing with communication is that it plays really well into the catholic guilt aspect - this idea that growing up catholic has taught him to repress part of who he is - to go along with what is expected of him, but that it also taught him not to ask for what he needs, to not communicate. We see it in this episode with his inability to say no to Marisol (the whole hiding out at Bucks so he doesn't have to have sex speaks volumes) even down to suggesting there's a third type of guy - who just needs a minute. Because, while that might be true to a certain extent, the fact that he says this off the back of her expressing her distress and upset about how all guys are one of two things, speaks volumes - its not him saying this because that's how he actually feels, its partly him saying it because he is pushed into a position where he doesn't want to be the bad guy. its really not a good place to be restarting a relationship from.

We also have the ditsy print of doom in play again - like I've said before, ditsy print on Eddies girlfriends - never a good sign - its really playing into this idea of Eddie jumping in headfirst with gay abandon (pun intended) and then regretting his life choices. Shannon wore ditsy print a fair amount - especially in the I think I'm pregnant' and 'we should get a divorce' scenes. Ana wore ditsy print A LOT - she was wearing it when Eddie had his panic attack in the shop and at other key moments that marked the death knell for their relationship. And so this appearance of ditsy print here marks the same - the relationship is not long for this world

OK date night Marisol. The way this outfit played out more or less as I expected, She was very much an 'innocent' bystander in this scene (whilst also creating one corner of a triangle with Buck and Eddie) , and the ditsy print very much played into this. Like I said in my promo meta, both Shannon and Ana were costumed in ditsy print as well as in lots of pink!!!

The other aspect of this outfit that is making me laugh is the fact that the skirt is giving me 1980's/early 1990's teen vibes (not to out myself as old but trust me I had some just like this back then and I wouldn't be caught dead in it now as a grown woman!!) and the baby pink handbag looks like something an 8 year old would have to play dress up with - its all very childish and immature - naive one could say, and while it didn't play out quite how I was expecting, her being a novice nun, sure explains a lot of why she comes over as pretty immature.

The other aspect of this childish style we're seeing on her plays into Eddies narrative of looking for magic and trying to recreate what he had with Shannon. He's attracted to Marisol because she is immature and childish - it reminds him of what he had with Shannon when he was young, and when you're trying to recapture that, its easy to fall into the trap of thinking someone behaving in a naive manner is you finding what you'd been looking for. Eddies journey, along side his catholic guilt, is about learning that he cannot recapture or recreate that magic he had when he was young - that the love of youth - in all its innocence is not something that is sustainable or actually what he wants in the present.

Then we have Eddie in white. I spoke in the promo meta about how the white set him and Marisol as opposites and that remains true - very true on more than one level. What I especially love about it and something I could not have predicted is how it plays into the novice nun aspect of their story this episode - truly this show is a comedy! Because nuns wear black and white this is an obvious play on that, but it is also a play on the fact that Marisol is still a practicing catholic, whilst Eddie is very much not. The other aspect of this white is that of Eddies two non uniform costumes, it is the first one and we get this black and white play on religion - the black and white of nuns and priests - the black and white of being religious or not. Eddie never questions if he wants to become a practicing catholic again - he is lapsed and that is how he intends to stay.

Eddie in uniform, with his green trainers, blue towel and water bottle. the blue towel and bottle play into the buck and Eddie blue green theming we see with them. But what is interesting is though is that Eddie is fulfilling all the colour theming on his own - he is both blue and green - to me this is about Eddies own struggles within himself as well as foreshadowing the Eddie Marisol break up down the line (green shoes suggest a road needs to be to walked before we get there) - it hints at Eddies internal struggles and implies that its will ultimately end in a break up a bit further down the line.

I also think it's only when in Uniform that Eddie can admit to his catholic guilt. Because we all know when Eddie is struggling with some form of emotional turmoil, he wears a black singlet - and he could've been wearing the same here, it would've been totally fitting with the situation - he is going through something emotionally and struggling with it.

But he's in his uniform. Part of it is to have him on a different level to Buck - they are both struggling with something in this scene. When we have previously had Buck and Eddie scenes like this one at work, the one dressed in uniform, tends to be the one offering advice to the one not in uniform. That isn't the case here. Part of it comes back to Buck not actually needing advice, but needing to reveal something about himself - to confess. Eddie is the one who needs advice.

This is a flipping of the traditional narrative for these scenes and is proof that even though Eddie might later tell Buck that nothing is going to change between them, that it has in fact already changed, it is just that neither of them are fully cognisant of that change at this moment in time. It is a key indicator to use the audience that this has happened before but that things are not going to play out the same way this time.

Put it this way - Eddie has form for doing something extreme with his relationships with women in the aftermath of Buck doing something dumb - its one of the manifestations of his repression. This time its asking Marisol to move in with him in the immediate aftermath of Buck going full green monster over Tommy.

Last time it was in the aftermath of Buck begins and then doubling down with Ana after the shooting when Buck had hooked up with Taylor and before that in the aftermath of Shannon's death and Buck suing the department he went and joined a fight club - but he has form. Its completely in character for him to pull this sort of a move. I know he says he's going with his gut but I argue he is in fact ignoring his gut - or at the very least confused about what his gut is telling him, because that would mean actually looking at why his gut reaction to Buck doing something dumb makes him do something dumb in turn connected to these women in his life.

Eddie in black - this is the same shirt as the white one - just the reverse colour - which is important. This shirt has several layered meanings to it. its about the reversal of what Eddie wants - from him being bubbly and excited about Marisol moving in, to the dread of her having moved in and wanting her to move out - his feelings go from white to black - light to dark - happy to unhappy and it all sums up the relaity of that relationship - while it was new and unserious, it was fun and light, when things got real - it becomes dark and oppressive.

I'll go into more detail about this shirt when I get to Bucks costume for this scene - because they are connected!

The other thing about this outfit is that the green trousers have been replaced with jeans. Now I see a couple of reasons for the wardrobe department doing this. Firstly is that it plays into the 'nothings is going to change between us' of it all. Its a visual indicator that in fact things have changed (along with Buck wearing a brighter shirt than we normally get in these buddie heart to hearts that take place in Bucks loft but more on that later) the Buck being bi and going on a date with Tommy of it all aside, this is the first time we've actively seen Eddie hiding out at Bucks to avoid his girlfriend - this was a barrier that had existed between them previously that has now been broken down. Then there is the fact that Eddie does go home to Marisol - and he couldn't be wearing green at that point because she was wearing blue and Eddie in green would've meant break up time - only the Marisol as a plot device arc isn't yet over (it will be soon I promise - all the costume signs are there!) so that couldn't happen.

Tommy

This dark olive green shirt that is almost brown. The brown undertones hint at the stability he represents while the green is hinting at his military past and once more paralleling him with Eddie. One of the things about green as a colour is that its not only a symbol of growth and renewal, but its also a colour of learning, and in an episode titled 'You don't know me' it feels like all the green is very much about education - learning about other people - and the growth that results from it. It feels especially important here for Tommy and Buck - that is after all what going on a date it all about - learning about one another and seeing if you're compatible.

The other fun thing about this green shirt is though that the green plays into the blue green colour theory when it comes to Buck and Eddie and their partners and the end of relationships. This one before its had chance to begin.

For Coffee we have a grey Henley and a blue zip front hoodie with a grey striped undertone to it (I am pretty sure this is actually a hoodie we've seen on Chimney but I can't remember when and I don't think it would be the very same one as pretty sure Lou would not be fitting into Kenneths clothes ever, but Chimney has definelty worn the same style!!). Again Henley's are an Eddie thing, so we once more have the parallel with Eddie being drawn.

The interesting thing here is that the grey blue is the same colour combo Buck wore on their first date attempt - the costume department played a lot with flipping colour in this episode, so to have it done here as well is really fun - the fact there is more grey than blue is also interesting. It's a neutral colour, it is seen as a colour of stability, but is also a colour of uncertainty. It really plays into that theme of uncertainty running through the Buck and Tommy arc. The blue hoodie is actually pretty important because we've had one of Buck and Tommy wearing something dark blue in every scene they've had together - usually the one on the back foot. Tommy in this scene is relatively neutral in terms of position for most of this scene - they are equals - but he is put onto the back foot by Buck asking him to be his date to Maddie and Chim's wedding.

Buck

Where to start with our beloved bi disaster!

I obviously spoke a fair amount about the date night shirt in my promo meta. The navy blue knit bowling shirt with these silver/grey close together pinstripes running down the front playing into the Buck wearing vertical stripes theme we've has running with him for at least the last 2 seasons.

What I said about false starts and this date absolutely played out - in the same way the sperm donation shirt represented a false start on that donation, this shirt also represents a false start on Bucks dating life as a bi man. The white trainers are also carrying on the theme of Bucks Journey towards happiness

What I find most interesting about this outfit though isn't colour theory related. its all about the fit of the clothes. Because these are ill fitting on Buck - not something we see from him very often - in fact I think the only time we see him in anything close to ill fitting to this extent is back in season 1 when he was figuring out who he was and if being a firefighter was the right for him and exploring relationships and what he was trying to find in that arena. The trousers are the most ill fitting of it all, but I'll come to the trousers later on as they are part o a wider Buck costume theme we have going on!

The shirt is a little roomie, but not overly so, it just stands out more because we're so used to his shirts fighting for their life, here this one is baggy and really helps to sell the idea of defeat, but also that h was trying on this new part of himself for size and that it doesn't quite fit. It's the only time this episode we see his clothes not fit him in this way and its a really small but expressive part of costuming that I love to see.

Then we have this blue broadcloth jacket over a white tee and with these plum/brown coloured trousers - they're a bit blink and you'll miss them so its hard to be sure what type of trouser they are, but I think they are essentially smart joggers - jersey material but trousers!

We all know that Buck in white means trouble, I'm putting him outing himself to his sister as the bad thing - along with the fact that the date didn't work out.

I'm really fascinated by the fact that we really seem to be leaning into navy blue and Buck being bi. Navy has always been a colour we've seen a lot of on Buck in general, but there is something about the fact we've seen him (or Tommy) wearing it in every single scene that is about his bisexuality. I'm talking from the kiss scene onwards, not anything before that as Buck wasn't aware of his bisexuality before the kiss. I can't wait to see if it continues!

The green shirt jacket is an interesting one. it obviously helps to play into the buck and Eddie blue green theory, but it does in a smaller way play into the blue green theming we see around Buck and Eddie and their relationships - specifically around issues arising. Both Buck and Eddie wear green when they break up with their significant others and while there is no break up here, there is a break of sorts. This was Buck about to try and tell his Best friend that he was actually out on a date with Tommy and that he's bi

symbol of growth - Buck went in with a goal - to tell Eddie he was on a date with Tommy, but changed tack when he saw Eddie needed to go through something - this is Buck growing as a person - not making something about him.

The other thing about this outfit is that its basically the same as the one Eddie wore at the airfield (even down to the badding of the trousers) - just in reverse - Eddie black trousers, black jacket, green top, and here Buck is black trousers, black top and green jacket - I find this fascinating as a metaphor for where the two of them are on their respective journeys.

Buck is now bi and out (he's told his sister) and has been on a date with a guy (regardless how successful it was - he cannot put it back into the box) - his growth is externalised and therefore expressed through the wearing of a green jacket. We get a lot of storytelling through the various Jackets Buck wears (we've seen him in over 35 at this point!)

While Eddie - who we could say was being taken on a date by Tommy - even if he didn't know it (because who flies someone to Vegas to a sold out fight if its not a date??) wearing a much brighter green that we've seen on him before now (pretty much all of his greens are more army green with a couple of exceptions - much darker greens akin to Bucks jacket in the below picture) - still in the army green wheelhouse, but much bolder. Eddie's queer status is still very much internalised - hence it being underneath the black jacket.

Buck coming out to Eddie from a costume perspective was a glorious parallel that I have already mentioned in the promo meta (I've run out of pictures so you'll have to go watch the scene yourself if you want to see what I mean). Its actually a bit deeper that I appreciated in that promo meta, but that is in part because at the time of writing the meta I wasn't 100% sure it was a coming out scene and I didn't get to see the way it was shot and how that also played into the paralleling.

Costume wise - I already spoke above about Eddies black shirt and how it is reversing him in the episode. But what I didn't mention is that fact that it parallels in colour terms, what he was wearing when Buck informed the firefam that Connor and Kameron were pregnant. Eddie wore a black marl henley - black with flecks of dark grey running through it, and Buck here is wearing a slightly darker blue version of the same top he wore in that same scene. He is standing in the same place at the counter of his kitchen, or sitting very close to the same position and we get similar camera angles. As a whole the parallel is very loud - Buck was happy and proud of something he had done and wanted to share it with his friends - wanted their approval. He was feeling good about himself and confident in his decision.

The biggest thing about the blue - this shade specifically is the way it play into the blue theme we saw last season with Buck - the theme that started in the 5x18 finale at Hen and Karens vow renewal, when he was free of Taylor and moving forward and essentially restarting his search for happiness. We saw it weave a thread through the entirety of season 6, being worn at key moments that played into that theme - after Lev died, at various points in the sperm donation arc, and a key points in the aftermath of his death and rebirth.

The successfully helping create life aspect of this is so interesting. It on a low key level plays into the you don’t find it you make it manifesto that’s been at the heart of bucks arc since s2. the whole year if yes was supposed to be about this very thing - about Buck creating the life he wants for himself - the sperm donation isn’t about the baby it’s about Buck and about him figuring out what he’s missing (which comes back to not only Thomas and Mitchell, but also Lev).

The other thing that ties into this theme is that Eddie isn't really changing but Buck is. Whenever we have a scene at the loft between Buck and Eddie Bucks costume and colour varies, but Eddies stays more or less the same. Bucks colour Palette for these scenes goes - dark grey in the you want to go for the title scene, then we have the grey blue on the balcony and now this much lighter blue. This is highlighting Bucks progression while Eddie who remains in his black shirt and that progression - while Eddie essentially remains steadfast - is key - it’s showing us that while buck is still doing dumb things, he is learning - he is listening to whatever Eddie is telling him - that he’s accepting Eddie’s absolution of his sins more and more - growing and understanding.

It’s building on his long running arc - his fear of being left behind, of not being important enough for people to stick around for - and showing us he’s increasingly understanding that that fear is unfounded - that he’s found his personal- the one who will stay and who is steadfast in that. That’s why we see Eddie unchanging in his black shirt green cargos while buck gets lighter - more unburdened by that fear.

Before you think all is lost on the Eddie front though, we are seeing change - the army green trousers are gone and have been replaced with jeans - perhaps, in the same way Bucks growth into his bisexuality began with his beginning to wear jeans again, Eddies own growth into his own queer identity also begins with jeans - moving him away from Eddie the soldier - fighting for others - being a rock for others and now into a position where he can do his own growing.

In the sperm donation arc, Buck was finally able to donate and was wearing that super pale mint green polo. we don't see the same with the outcome here at this point in the story (although the beige/mint green jacket from the bachelor party is making me👀👀👀 at this moment in time!) - we get this cream open weave linen shirt with black and terracotta and golden brown vertical stripes.

I love that they went with a shirt that has such an open weave - playing into the whole concept of Buck being open and embracing this newly revealed part of him that he's discovered. But what I love most about this shirt is the way it ties back into the Buck learning to accept himself and find his happiness.

Because this shirt is so similar to the one from 6x01 - when he decides he doesn't need a new couch, what he needs is to be ok on his own and with himself.

lets talk Buck and his trousers because the trousers are a whole thing this season and I am truly in love with the long game the wardrobe department have been playing on this one. They know that we have all been out here raising eyebrows at Bucks trousers for the past few seasons as they've gotten shorter and shorter and ill fitting. I know I've made comments in previous costume metas about the fact they must be doing something intentional with them being so short in the leg - that them doing this is giving the appearance of a child who is still in short trousers and isn't fully grown - hasn't moved on to wearing full length trousers yet.

Well it would seem I was right and thats exactly what they were doing, putting him in short trousers to show that he wasn't his fully formed self - that he was growing and learning and figuring things out. because - I've gone back through my spreadsheet and checked his trousers out for all of his scenes and there are only a handful where he has trousers on that are well fitted and the correct length. One of them is at the start of season 6 - at the end of the episode where he moves his armchair instead of getting a new couch - the one time in season 6 we see him most at peace with himself

I remarked in the 7x04 meta that we only saw Buck in his too short trousers in the one scene at the airfield, and from then on, he was was in jeans. Now the jeans are a mimicking thing - Buck hasn't worn stone wash jeans since Eddie appeared on the scene back at the start of season 2, so for him to start wearing them again as soon as he becomes jealous of Eddie and Tommy - and Tommy is wearing jeans - was pretty telling in its own right. It's Buck trying to get Eddies attention (not Tommys - Eddies) because, we do not see Eddie in jeans in 7x04 - but we do see Tommy in them - and in Bucks head he is loosing Eddies attention to a guy wearing stone wash jeans - so if he wears stonewash jeans then maybe he'll get Eddies attention back.

That obviously didn't work out how Buck thought it would, but it did lead to him figuring a new part of himself out.

We can see how his trousers are all now sitting at the correct length, I grabbed this still of the black ones, and you can see in the full length still from the date those are as well (even if they're too big more generally) but the others are all sitting at the correct length as well.

We also see the jeans back for his scene with Tommy - I truly am fascinated by the choice to put him back in stonewash jeans aafter so long as a theming choice for his bisexuality, I really am enjoying this more relaxed looking Buck from a costuming perspective - the journey we've been on with his costumes is great - the increasingly formal style thats just a little too small and tight we've seen over the seasons now slowly relaxing once more into something much more comfortable and well fitted - showing just how far he has truly come.

And thats me out for another week! Sorry it turned into another epic - it would seem `i cant stop myself! Not sure if this has come out longer than last weeks, I think it might've, but I can't be bothered to check! Thank you as always for reading this monster and I hope you enjoyed this deep dive into the costumes for 7x05. I'm off now to hyperfixate on Bucks bathroom door and get myself though this mini hiatus!

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