i feel like anakin would fuck you so hard he would MAKE you go dumb. THENNN he would continue to pick on you "baby gone dumb?" "is daddy fucking you too hard princess, making you drool everywhere" stuff like that!
- anon !!!
🦆 - can i be this goofy dude?
Oh no, it's a fact. He loves to get you cockdrunk. It's his favorite activity. Anakin prefers to fuck you from behind— that way, he'll have you drooling over the pillows and pushing your hips back pathetic and in no time. It's thrilling to see you become a mindless puddle, just moaning and looking at him with teary eyes.
Anakin rubs your thigh as he continues to fuck you, reaching for your shoulder for leverage, pushing his hips and listening to the loud squelching of your sopping walls struggling to keep up with his relentless thrusts.
You could even try to complain, but your words make no sense. Anakin laughs— he has you where he wants.
"Poor baby, so tired and needy... does that feel good?" He mocks you, slapping your ass playfully. "It does? Good. It should. If I knew daddy's cock would get you this fucking stupid, I would've fucked you ages ago."
(The duck anon is taken, sorry love.)
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Heya everybody! Time to check in.
How's your body feel? Do you need to move, stretch, stop clenching, or change positions? Have you fed and hydrated yourself? Taken care of your bathroom needs? Cleaned up, showered, or changed your clothes as you're able? Taken any applicable medications?
How does your mind feel? Are you stuck? Do you need to change activities, talk (or stop talking) to a particular person, or listen to a different playlist? Have you done something to nurture peace in your heart? Have you seen the sky and breathed some fresh air (even through a door or window)?
I love you, and I hope you have a better day tomorrow!
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Y'all need to be fucking nicer to men/masc queers
I was talking to an old friend/short lived boyfriend from highschool and the topic of sexualities came up. He identified as bisexual throughout highschool but told me that recently he doesn't know what he was and just preferred to remain 'unlabeled' until he figured it out. I told him to his face "thats valid man and being unlabeled doesn't make you any less queer than when you were labeled"
God you should've seen his fucking face, he looked so happy and also like he was about to goddamn cry. He told me that no one ever told him that. That he tried to join queer spaces but they said he didn't fit in cause he wasn't 'gay' enough. Told me that I was the first person to ever confidently tell him he was queer and that he didn't need to change himself to 'fit in'.
I gave my friend one of my mini pride flags I had lying around and the dopey grin he had on his face while waving that thing around for the rest of the night made me smile too. When he finally went home he thanked me for the flag and for reassuring him when he felt insecure for 'not being gay enough'.
I want y'all to know that whole time he telling me about people not accepting him for "not looking queer" made me fucking pissed. Oh, because he's not petite, feminine, and white he can't be queer? Because he doesn't look like a fashionable and conventionally pretty gay on you'd find on your TikTok homepage he can't be queer?
THIS ISN'T EVEN THE FIRST TIME I'VE HAD THIS CONVERSATION WITH A FRIEND BEFORE
In highschool I had ANOTHER friend who had this same problem but in a different font. He liked cute things, he liked flowing fabrics and skirts, he even liked being called princess! But because he was fat and not conventionally attractive he felt like he couldn't be queer. Because from what he saw, queer people don't look like him.
If you're one of those people who would gatekeep ANYONE who doesn't fit into your Pinterest board ideal version of queer from the LGBTQ+ community, you can fuck right off because anyone who would just shut of someone out of our community for something so petty and dumb and ignorant doesn't deserve the keys to the fucking door in the first place.
Start treating people who don't fit into your saturated and commercialized view of queer with more respect and kindness before I start biting off your fucking arms
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@steddielovemonth Day 25: Love is… Asking, “Do you want a blanket?” (Prompt by @thefreakandthehair)
wc: 952 | Rated: T | cw: Hospital setting, mild descriptions of injuries and general hospital stuff, physical pain, one mention of blood
Tags: Post-s4, Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Hospital
'Hospital Blankets'
“Steve? Hey, Steve?”
Steve is pulled out of a restless slumber by Eddie’s stage whispering. A twinge in his back fully rouses him as he remembers exactly where he is – in Hawkins General, bent up like a pretzel on what is quite possibly the world’s hardest chair, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and his underwear. He blinks harshly, his vision blurry as he looks in the direction of the chattering, dark-headed form lying in the bed in front of him.
“Huh?” he grunts, his voice thick with sleep as he becomes very much aware of the overall pain radiating over his whole body.
His throat burns too, even from a single word. He instinctively reaches a hand up to the reddened scar there – already a formed habit – only to scratch himself with his patient wristband.
“Do you want a blanket?” Eddie continues, his weakened voice indicating he is barely conscious, let alone aware of Steve’s discomfort.
Steve arches his back this time but it causes his chewed-up sides to ache, the bandages stiffening and contorting. Their tacky borders pinching at the already tight skin and scar tissue.
He gives up and slumps back in the chair, clutching the armrests for dear life as a twang shoots directly up his spine to his head. He runs a hand through his hair, impossible to keep from flopping in his face considering all he can do is give himself a goddamn sponge bath these days.
He should have just listened to Robin (and more than a few disgruntled nurses) when they begged him to stay in his own room.
But his room feels empty. Big and dark, just like his family home but a little more white and clinical smelling. It gives him nightmares. If he manages to settle enough to sleep that is…
It’s kinda hard when your friends are scattered throughout the bowels of the local hospital, all in varying states of distress meanwhile, outside the world has half caved in.
“Steeeve,” Eddie whines this time as he repeats, “Do you want a blanket?”
He half dry-sobs his query and Steve has no choice but to shimmy upright – thankfully, the slippery cover of his stupid seat helps him up this time.
Blanket… he finally considers and finds himself stifling a shiver.
He didn’t think to bring a blanket with him as he was much too focused on getting out of bed and down the hall to Eddie’s room. A room that is much colder than his own, which the occupant clearly knows.
Eddie’s fist is balled up in his blankets, offering them up as he raises his shaky arm.
“No,” Steve says softly, shaking his head and waving him away.
Eddie needs it more.
With a herculean effort, Steve moves the chair a few inches closer to the bed, hoping it isn’t scraping the floor or tangling up any of the wires and tubes hooked up to beeping machines – god knows where they each begin and end. His sides all but seize up as he sits back down and forces himself to correct his posture.
“But you’re cold,” Eddie frowns, his voice impossibly small.
“I’m fine,” Steve protests.
Eddie’s weak hand punches at his banket in a haphazard swish motion.
“Get into bed with me…” he mumbles, closing his eyes, “Rest with me, sweetheart.”
His head lolls to the side and Steve huffs out a laugh. Eddie is certainly on one hell of a cocktail of meds, mixed with the overall exhaustion that must come from almost dying. Steve can barely keep his own eyes open and he wasn’t anywhere near as close to it.
His heart thuds in his chest as thoughts of Eddie’s almost lifeless body rush back to his sleepy brain.
Dustin’s sobs… Robin scrambling to tear up clothes and sheets from the Upside Down version of the Munson’s trailer to make bandages… Nancy forcing everyone to focus as she devised a game plan, stopping every few moments to shoot down undead bats…
Steve screws his eyes shut and stands, bracing his arms on the sides of the chair before swiftly moving them to the bed for purchase.
At least Eddie’s right side is a little less banged up – but only just enough, Steve thinks as he hikes back the three warm layers of blankets enough to sit himself down on the bed. He swings his legs up next, clenching his jaw as every muscle in his body aches and pains from what transpired however many days ago.
The bed is a tight fit, but Steve doesn’t mind. The mattress is perhaps a fraction more comfortable than the chair, but he soon warms as he settles down and rights the blankets, smoothing them out for good measure and double-checking he hasn’t disturbed Eddie too much.
His body warms almost instantly as he rests his head beside Eddie’s on his pillow, positioned close enough that he can feel frizzed dark curls tickling his cheek. Eddie’s wispier than he expected and smells of the generic hospital soap – but at least the dried and caked-up blood is gone.
“That’s good…” Eddie coos, turning his head to face Steve, those tickling tendrils now replaced with a soft woosh of his breathing.
He can see the scar on Eddie’s cheek now. The bandage patch has been removed, exposing raw stitches today. Steve sighs, relieved by the smallest of steps forward.
Eddie can’t do much more than reach his hand out. And Steve takes it, interlacing their fingers despite the heart monitor clipped onto Eddie’s right index finger.
“Blanket’s... warm…” he mutters, nodding as he feels slumber tugging at him once again.
Eddie hums in agreeance and lightly squeezes his hand.
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