#but usually its with mountain dew

[did-you-fall-for-a-shooting-star]

Have to stay up the next two nights so I decided to do it tonight too and I got a coffee with espresso in it anD HOLY FUCK MY HEART IS DOING FUN Y THINGS. I FUCKED UP I FUCKED UP I FUCKED UP

Anywys now im just laying g on my bed waiting for that to go away so I can actually do something with my time

[thecapricunt1616]

Cinnamon - (c.b. one-shot)

Snippet (more BTC): “Can I- take your panties off…p-please?” He asked shyly “wanna make y’feel good - wanna taste your pussy I miss it s’much - tastes so good baby please lemme taste you” he said and his whiney husky voice mixed with his breathlessness from being shoved into the fabric of your dripping cunt made you clench around nothing. 

♡ One Shot Inspo: Cinnamon invokes lust and is considered an aphrodisiac. It can be used in love spells as well as for sex magic. Burn cinnamon to stimulate your spiritual powers and increase your psychic ability and awareness.

♡ Summary: Carmy hasn't had pussy in 2 weeks....he nearly died (he's a drama queen, but you love it) So, being the loving amazing GF you are you Mountain Dewed it up down left right (oh!!) switched it up like Nintendo - and did it so well you put his ass to sleep. (I listened to Espresso the whole time writing this its literally all I could think about hahahah)

♡ W/C: 4,140

♡ Posted Date: 05/12/2024

♡ A/N: HEYYYY!!! Okay okay so MORE STAGEFRIGHT because the amazing wonderful talented goddess level writer @l4long-winded sent in ♡THIS♡ big brain beautiful ask, and let me tell you I had some THOUGHTS!!! I have such a worship kink so .... yeah this was v fun to write. I hope you love reading as much as I loved writing. My dear please send in a request whenever you want!! Requests are open per usual :D

♡ Warnings for BTC: Kinda Sub!Carmy, Smut, Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, No use of Y/N, No use of physical descriptors, Black!Fem!Reader friendly (i'm pretty sure pls tell me if smth needs editing!), Kinda Virgin!Carmy, Not edited (we die like men)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

It had been quite literally a fortnight since Carmy had been able to fuck you. It was all he’d thought about, well - when his brain wasn’t busy going a million miles an hour about the restaurant, which is exactly what had taken up so much of his time lately. He’d usually be grateful for this kind of work, the kind of work that he’s going in at 3:15 and not getting home until 11:30 pm or midnight when you were already fast asleep. 

He was exhausted, emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually - but sexually?! He wasn’t sure he had ever been so wound up before. His nightly sessions of jerking his cock in the shower, biting his hand to keep as quiet as he could while he thought of the view of you when he came in that night. One leg hoisted up, nightgown ridden up over your ass. The one you knew he loved, and some of his favorite panties. 

You called them your lazy girl panties because you told him you only wore them when you weren’t expecting anyone else to see them, but that very fact meant drooled over them. The slight discoloration from being so old, the little threads hanging off the leg holes and waistband. The tiny hole right in the waistband that he loved to thumb with while cuddling in bed. 

 Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty six hours. Twenty thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes. 

That had been how long he had gone without being inside of you. He didn’t know his dick could get depressed, but his dick was fucking depressed. Getting off felt like a chore. When he’d jack off, he took an extra 15 minutes yanking on the thing because he could barely cum anymore, even though his balls were aching like he needed to. 

Every time he got home, he’d stand in the doorway, just watching you. You would be peacefully asleep, chest lightly rising and falling, your beautiful body covered by some loose sleep thing. A loose sleep thing that he fantasized about ripping off into shreds. 

Tonight though - he could cry. You were up - you were fucking awake. Through his own selfish desires he didn’t even realize it was abnormal, the only thing he could think about was the blood rushing to his cock at the mere idea you could possibly potentially be in the mood. “Baby?!” He nearly tripped over his own two feet rushing to your shared bedroom. 

You were sat up on the bed, book on your thighs - a loose nightgown that accentuated your curves and hugged your peaked nipples uncovered by any bra. He could bust in his pants and all you were doing was reading. Reading what? He could care less honestly because his cock was starting to hurt. 

You sat up, putting your legs over the side of the bed to get up and greet him “Bear! How was work love? I wanted to stay up so that we could - what’re you…” you trail off confused as he slinks to his knees before you, between your thighs and lifting up your leg, putting the top of your foot to his lips. 

“In…22 minutes” he starts between kissing up your bare ankle and calf “it..will have been..15..days..” he stopped at your thighs, his cheek smushed against the flesh, he looked like he could both cry and that he was coming home. “Since I touched you. Please. Please baby - can I make you feel good? Mm?” He mumbled into your skin. “Please princess? I’m dyin’ here. I’m fuckin- I literally cut my hand t’day thinkin’ bout you. I fuckin need you” he kissed over each little tiny inch of your flesh. He was��worshiping you. 

The idea sent waves of warmth flooding your core. “Yeah baby?” You took his hand, seeing a bandage over his knuckle and kissing it gently. 

The feeling of your lips to his skin made him whimper “please- please please please” he begged, sitting back on his feet and looking up at you through his bangs, pushing his hair back quickly before his hand found your calf once again, rubbing little strokes into it “please?” He asked softly, his big blue eyes blown wide with lust. 

You gently cup his cheek “and who’s fault is it?” You were teasing now. But you knew the bastard loved a challenge, and you also had been horny and your fingers were nothing compared to Carmys. 

“Mine. It’s mine. My stupid fuckin job angel I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, how can I make it up? What can I do pretty? Mm? I’ll do whatever you want” he begged you and kissed over your knees and calves, pressing short little pecks to the skin. You grabbed his greasy curls at the root, raking through a few of the knots gently before pulling him to look at you and he moaned gently at the sudden firmness 

“Do you know I’ve been fingering myself to fall asleep. All alone - for all those days you said. My poor hand” you held it up and he brought it to his lips on instinct, kissing the pads of your fingers before opening his mouth expectantly. “Good Bear” you purr and his eyes flutter shut as you stuck in your middle and ring fingers, slipping them over his tongue. He moaned at the contact, not holding back. 

You smiled a bit, tugging his jaw open and he looks up at you, cheeks flushed and drool beginning to drip down his chin. “You’re pretty” you said softly and he swirls his tongue around your fingers before sucking on them gently, not breaking your gaze. Your stomach flips with excitement, your panties becoming uncomfortably wet but you weren’t going to let that show. He deserved to beg. 

“Do you deserve to be sucking on my fingers though?” You pull them away suddenly and he gasps a bit a the unexpected emptiness of his mouth, a pathetic little pout appearing on his lips. 

“No” he said softly and you grab his cheeks, smushing them gently “but I can make you feel soooo good - you deserve it” he told you and you pat his cheek gently with your hand, your wet fingers leaving a glistening streak on his cheek. 

“I know I do. Are you gonna eat me out? Like a good boy?” You laid back on your elbows, spreading your thigh and resting one of your feet on the edge of the bed, showing your panties that had grown a large wet spot during your conversation. He watches every move you make, his eyes focusing on the wet spot you sighed softly, deciding to take pity on him. “You can sniff my panties, you little freak” you giggle and he looked up at you like a kid on Christmas 

He wasted no time shoving his nose right in the wetness, inhaling your sweet yummy scent and groaning “thank you” he mumbled into the curve of your ass, his hot breath against the skin causing your clit to twitch and goosebumps to appear on your skin. You feel him taking another deep breath and nuzzling his nose back and forth to get deeper like a dog and you couldn’t help but giggle, raking through the knots in his curls as he stuck out his tongue and caught the fabric of your panties with his teeth, sucking the juices out of the fabric and moaning hotly. 

His hands were everywhere, rubbing over your calves, your thighs, your stomach, pushing your nightgown over your tits and rolling a peaked nipple between his fingers. You bit your lip, head falling back slightly and grinding your hips into his face, using his nose to get yourself off. “Go ahead Bear take off your jeans, you’ve been good t’night and I know you’re probably hurting” you told him 

He sighed into you gratefully “y’too nice t’me” he kissed over your clothed pussy a few times as he unbuckled his belt with shaking hands, the anticipation was killing him. 

“No me being nice would be telling you that you could touch yourself. And no dripping on my carpet” you told him as he pushed his boxers and jeans enough to let his cock free that was indeed dripping already. His boxers were creamy and wet with pre, he had been pathetically grinding against the boxspring as he sucked your panties like it was his life source. 

“Shit-“  he said, wrapping a fist around his weeping tip as he continued tonguing and nosing at the fabric between your legs. “Can I- c-can I please?” He begged pathetically, that softness to his voice you loved so much. A sweet whiney grunt leaves his lips as you pull his hair, forcing him to look at you. 

“What have we talked about? Use your words.” You said firmly. 

“Can I- take your panties off…p-please?” He asked shyly “wanna make y’feel good - wanna taste your pussy I miss it s’much - tastes so good baby please lemme taste you” he said and his whiney husky voice mixed with his breathlessness from being shoved into the fabric of your dripping cunt made you clench around nothing. 

“I wanna cum twice before you even think about touching yourself. Also take your shirt off you’re way overdressed for my taste.” You dropped his hair and he nods obediently, standing and shoving off his jeans and tugging his shirt off by the neck in that stupid jockish way that had you wanting to shove him down back first on the mattress and ride him until his balls were empty. 

Instead you kept your cool, crossing your arms over and slipping your nightgown over your head before taking off your panties, flicking them at him playfully to which he balled them up and pressed them to his nose, inhaling deeply. This caused you to laugh as you adjusted your pillow to lay back, spreading your thighs and gathering some of your wetness from your hole, dragging it up to your clit and rubbing little circles into it. 

“Mmm are you gonna keep sniffing those like a pervy-puppy or are you gonna come make good on your promise. I’m surprised this poor hand hasn’t fallen off” you teased and he dropped the panties where he was standing, coming and crawling on the bed, laying in front of you and hoisting your thighs over each of his shoulders 

“Mmm” he hummed, his eyes fluttering shut and leaning in, resting his cheek on your thigh and inhaling. “Smell so fuckin’ good” he mumbled “mouth is literally watering” he kissed your inner thighs sweetly, ravishing the skin in gentle affection. “God I missed this fuckin missed this s’much. Every morning this pretty fuckin pussy is just beggin me” he kissed your mound gently, dipping his tongue out and moaning at the taste of sweat and lotion on your skin, lapping it up like a life source. 

“Yeah? I think you’re the beggar” you mused, jaw falling slack as he licks a stripe up your heat, moaning pathetically at your taste. His eyes rolled back slightly before fluttering shut in pure bliss “mmm so pretty baby” you coo and he smiled slightly, his cheeks a blushy pink that matched the tops of his ears. He nuzzled into you, nose rubbing over your clit in the way that made you gasp, your toes curling lightly “good boy” you praised, voice breathy and light 

“Taste so good” he mumbled into your cunt, squeezing your thighs gently with his tattooed fingers. He moaned into you, watching you with wide lustful eyes. 

“Those pretty eyes” you said softly, gently brushing his warm cheekbone with your knuckle and he hums into you gently. He sucked your folds between his lips, pulling away slightly and rubbing your thighs up and down with his calloused palms, squeezing gently. You moaned hotly and couldn’t contain the cry that followed when he finally stuck his middle finger in your dripping hole, hips bucking to try and get more of him. 

“So soft, so so soft” he mumbled into your clit before kissing it gently and taking the now swollen throbbing bud in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it quickly. His fingers twist and curl as he pumps them in and out at a languid pace. You felt that familiar jolt of pleasure as the pad of his finger brushed your g spot. 

“Augh- ah- yes bear” you mewled, “right there- there” you grab his wrist and squeeze it and in response he curled his fingers the same way and you dug your feet into his shoulder blades in pure extacy, causing him to grunt into you and curl and uncurl his fingers in a rhythm that had your eyes screwing shut and loud strings of curses and moans tearing from your chest as you came undone over his fingers, dripping down his wrist already. But with how long it had been since you had him this way, that was to be expected. 

“Good - good bear good bear” you mumble praise as your orgasm washes over you he works you through it, resuming pumping his fingers - your dripping arousal being able to be put to use as lube. The schlick,schlick,schlick sound of his fingers is what you come back to, your mind fuzzy and swimming through a warm sea of pleasure, sweet jumbled moans and whimpers coming from your lips. 

“God you sound so fuckin’ pretty baby I love you so fuckin much m’so sorry m’so sorry I haven’t been around as much” he mumbled into you and you shake your head 

“S’okay shhh- shh just keep doin’ what you’re doin’” you push his head back down, watching as his eyes flutter up to look at you and he sweetly offers his other hand for you to hold, your heart melting at the gesture. “Such a sweet boy” you coo, taking his hand and lacing your fingers together. He smiled a bit in response nuzzling his nose against your clit, his lips making cute little smacking noises against your cunt. 

“You’re so messy” you giggle a bit, seeing as the tip and bridge of his nose were wet with your slick, as was his chin and entire mouth area. “Your face is so wet baby” you told him and he looked up at you 

“Mmm m’neck is wet too” he paused to say before resuming and you gently caress his cheek, the only sounds filling the room being the wet drill of his fingers and the smacking of his lips, like he was trying to devour a popsicle before it melted. 

You felt your second orgasm quickly approaching, your walls fluttering around his fingers, he curled up into that spot and that was your undoing once more, your hips pushing back into the mattress and spine arching off the bed towards the ceiling slightly as your orgasm crashed over you with no mercy to be had. 

“Jesus- fuck!” You cried out and he held your thighs open for you so you wouldn’t crush him by mistake, your hands shaking as you went to wipe the tears that had gathered in your eyes that were screwed shut from the intensity and Carmy stops you, carefully wiping your cheeks with his dry hand and removing his other carefully, wiping it dry on the sheets he always changed for you afterwards and cupping your face while you came down. 

“You did so good baby, so so good” he kissed your forehead gently, rubbing your hair and caressing your back with loving strokes. When you were finally coherent enough once again, although you were exhausted - you realized Carmy was still rock hard, pitching a full tent in his boxers that were wet with pre as he coaxed you through your orgasm. 

“That’s gotta hurt” you told pull the fabric, causing his cock to come down with it and when you release it it springs back up to full standing causing you to giggle a bit 

“Mm does but m’back. I can’t go t’night babe. I was gonna go take care of it in the shower don’worry” he yawned, rubbing over his face you furrowed your brow, slightly offended. 

“What? Is my pussy not good enough?” You teased 

He looked at you quickly “wha- no - I mean- I mean yes? No- no your pussy is good your pussy is- is perfect I fuckin’ love y’pussy but I can’t go tonight baby my back fuckin’ hurts” he explained 

“I can ride you you know” you said and his big blue eyes widened a bit. You’d been together for 6- no 7 months, and it was true you’d never ridden him, not yet anyway. 

Carmen was a missionary man, not in the boring way, in the way that he’d get home from work and fuck your brains out while going on and on about his frustrations from the day. 

People wouldn’t usually call it dirty talk, but something it turned you on more then anything that between calling you perfect and beautiful and made for him that he was just casually going on about his shitty day like his balls weren’t essentially spanking your ass with how hard he needed it. 

“Uh- oh-o-okay. Yeah. Sure- I. Mmhmm” he said and fixed his pillow, adjusting his hips for you “hop on I guess” he said shyly and you laughed at his sudden switch in attitude. 

“Have you never been ridden you poor thing?” You asked and his cheeks went cherry red as well as the tips of his ears and bridge of his nose as you straddled him easily, resting your hands on his abs for leverage. 

“No.” He muttered. “I- I just…I dunno it never..came up” he swallowed thickly, averting your gaze nervously. 

“Hey.” You said “eyes” you told him and his eyes met yours immediately, “I’m honored to be the first person, yeah? I’ve told you a billion times bear - I love you. I love being able to show you new ways to feel good, it makes me so excited” you held his hips gently and he wrapped his hands around your wrists, needing to be touching you somehow. 

“It just…it doesn’t make me seem like…like a bitch does it?” He mumbled shyly, insecurity lacing his voice. You tucked your hands under his warm back, laying yourself over him fully, embracing him and resting your forehead on his. 

“You know how I feel about that word, and no it doesn’t make you seem less manly baby. If anything, it’s super sexy and it’s so sweet that you felt brave enough to tell me. Thank you for telling me. I’ve heard for the guy it feels really good cause all you gotta do is lay there, you wanna try sweetheart?” You ask softly, kissing the bridge of his nose gently and a small smile forming on your lips when you tasted yourself on your lips upon pulling away. 

“Yes please” he said softly, eyes fluttered shut as you cover his face in little butterfly kisses. 

“That’s my brave bear” you place a kiss to the base of his throat and he smiles a bit, cheeks going redder by the second. It was adorable how shy he got when you showed him affection like this, you knew he adored it more then anything - but he’d never be brave enough to ask for it - at least not yet.  

You sit up, “can I touch you baby?” You confirm, rubbing your hands down his stomach and his abs tighten at the contact. In response he nods, swallowing thickly and goosebumps rising over his skin. His cock twitches as you grab the waistband of his boxers “so sweet and responsive” you said softly, tugging them down easily as he lifted his hips for you slightly. 

“Jesus” you mutter at the sight of it, the tip weeping and pink crying to be touched. “Poor thing, you’ve been neglected- has Carmy been abusing you in the shower huh?” You said in the direction of his cock with a playful voice of concern. 

“Jesus fuckin Christ-“ he chuckled, covering his face with his arm a big goofy smile on his face. “You are gonna kill me” 

You smiled big, leaning down and licking a stripe up his length and he whimpers softly, abs and stomach clenching at the contact, a large bead of pre gushing from his slit that you catch with your tongue. He shivers adorably, groaning at the feeling of you licking over his sensitive tip. “If y’keep fuckin doin’ that ‘m gonna cum” he breathes, the vein in his neck present seeing as he was holding himself back, his balls drawing up and releasing in a rhythm. 

“Jesus baby i dunno if you’ll last that long we’ll have to do this again so you can get the full experience mm?” You grab his shaft, lining you two up and slipping it through your soaked folds, he let out a breathy moan, back arching slightly and you let out a sweet ‘mmm’ when his tip bumps your clit. 

“Please please please can I be inside you please” he begged pathetically, voice whiny and shaking - he was going to be coming undone very soon you could tell, which is why he was desperate to be inside of you before he was too soft to do so. 

“I dunno can I see those pretty eyes?” You asked, he was still hiding behind his arm, likely still feeling embarrassed this was his first time but you weren’t going to allow that. He shyly removed his arm, looking up at you and swallowing nervously. 

“H-hey” he said softly and you smile softly 

“There’s my bear” you leaned in, kissing him lovingly as you sink down on him fully, his jaw goes slack so you settle for kissing his chin and cheeks and nose “Feel good?” You giggle into his skin and he lets out a pathetic little ‘uh-huh’ 

“H-holy oh god” he groaned when you simply roll your hips, getting yourself off with the friction of the curly patch of brunette curls at the base of his cock. You sat up, using his chest as leverage to find a good rhythm bouncing on him and he nearly growls, a sound you’d never heard him make. 

“Ooo am I releasing the bear?” You teased and he chuckled a bit 

“Shut up- fuck Jesus oh god” his head falls back on the pillow “i-i-shit” he rambled and you giggle a bit, causing him to whine at the feeling of your walls clenching around him as you continued to ride his cock with all the tricks you could remember. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever fucked you so quiet before” you tease, sure your hips and thighs were burning from how quick you’d built up to moving, but his eyes were practically rolling back and the whimpers you were drawing out of him were nothing short of heavenly. He was shaking for Christ sakes. “Are you gonna cum? Mm? Y’gonna fill me up baby?” You asked him, rubbing his chest gently 

He finally opened his eyes, looking up at you with those big blue eyes, blown out fully with lust, pants falling from his lips and his dirty blonde curls stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Mm-mmhmm” he moaned out, grabbing your hips to have something to hold and the action making him realize he could help you move. His jaw dropped slightly at the realization and he looked up at you for approval. 

You smiled and nod a bit “you can help honey- that’s really nice of you” you said and he helped push and pull you off his cock, he looked down, mesmerized by the view of his cock burying inside of you, he pushed you down with more force and you moaned, “just like that baby, you want it harder huh?” You ask and he nods quickly so you rolled your hips a bit harder. 

He bit his lip, nose scrunching up cutely. He was holding back. “Bear- I know it feels good but you can cum, you need to sleep” you cup his cheek gently and he looked up at you like a sad puppy 

“It feels s’good baby” he whined and you nod, stroking his cheek gently. 

“I know honey. We can do it again t’morrow night yeah?” You kiss his forehead and with that he releases into you with something resembling a cry covered with a grunt, of course he had to cover it. He pulled you into a deep messy kiss, wrapping his arms around your back, rubbing gently and reaching down to squeeze your ass, feeling cum dripping out of you down over his balls. He smiled a bit, pulling away to ask “Mmm can we sleep like this?”

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 17

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 17/? 19k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Finally alone, tensions come to a head and feelings erupt.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Chapter CW: smut (18+ nsfw), emotional first time, heated conversations, hurt/comfort, love confessions, heavy petting, dry humping, body worship, unintentional edging, nipple play, cock stroking, piv sex (protected), aftercare

✏︎ For reference, here is a bingo score card map of Teach's apartment

✏︎ Special thank you to @the-unforgivenn @munson-blurbs @rip-quizilla @ladylilylost for holding my hand behind the scenes and rekindling my light with your own on a daily basis.

It was nothing like you had imagined. 

In your countless daydreams involving Eddie’s van, it was always things like the breeze gusting through a cracked window, or the bones of his knuckles as they stretched between yours that drew your focus. The details were always fuzzy. Staring into the open passenger door, they were coming into full view now under the yellow interior light. Cigarette butts crowded the ashtray beneath the radio. A nest of candy wrappers cradled naked tapes in the center console. McDonalds bags littered the seat that would soon be yours. Eddie crinkled them into hasty balls beneath his fists, arcing them over his shoulder to clatter against a cymbal somewhere in the back. 

“Sorry, I uh, wasn’t expecting company,” he said with a shameful shake of his curls. Bracing the seat cushion, he reached toward the floor before chucking two empty Mountain Dew cans into the rear abyss. French fry crumbs clattered to the weather mat with a brush of his hand against the plaid fabric. Coyly glancing from under his lashes, he sat back in his own seat and gave the space a final look. “Ok, should—should be good now.”

Like an open maw of caramel leather, it could have swallowed you. Securing your thumb under the strap of your bag, your boots left the salty pavement and found the ledge, lifting you out of the darkness and into the dim chaos. With a gracious smile, you slid into your place beside him. The seat was a comfortable cradle at your back; spacious and sturdy. Sliding your bag between your knees and feet, it found a home on top of the fry crumbs and other mysteries you decided not to entertain. 

You sat there for a beat as the details enveloped you; the scent of old cigarettes and leather, the stale hint of fast food, the exhaust on the cold night air wafting in through the open door. It squealed on its hinges when you shut it, sealing you behind its jaws as the light above you faded to black. 

Then it was just you and him. Just you and him in the dark leather cavern with nothing but the light from the dashboard and the soft floodlights making a halo of his frizz. Nothing but the engine rumbling idly, and the rush of your pulse in your ears. Nothing but short bursts of breath, and eyes that roamed with cautious amazement. 

It was strange for Eddie to see you here. You, in the passenger’s seat of his van. Out of your usual context. Surreal, like a dream he’d woken into. 

“Thank you,” you muttered into the silence, “for the ride.”

Eddie blinked hard, snapping from his trance. “Yeah—yeah. Sure thing.” Chains rattled against the zipper of his sleeve as he shifted the gear to reverse. Reflexively, his right hand braced your headrest, peering over his shoulder as he slowly backed out. “So uh, where are we going?”

His scent sucked the words off your tongue — the acrid remnants of grease on his fingers, the warm musk of his leather-clad wrist. Tearing your eyes away from his tendons flexing inches from your face, you eked out a response. “Oh—just make a left onto Randolph.”

With a nod, he hit the brake, removing his hand to shift forward toward the parking lot exit. Tail lights caught the soft glitter of snow as your small white sedan faded in the ample side-view mirror. There was a view from up here, like the van was swallowing the pavement as it careened out onto the road. Like you were seated in a leather throne, watching traffic below surge like a sea of subjects on the rush hour wave.��

Eddie tapped his hands against the wheel to a nervous rhythm before one of them reached toward the stereo—which might as well have been a button labeled detonate—because the thundering sound could have blasted you both back into 1984.

“SHIT—” he screeched with a manic twist of the volume dial, a stray curl wavering in his ragged breath. “Sorry.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. A wild, cackling thing, as if you were a toy wound up by nerves and the noise had released the crank. It was absurd—surreal—watching traffic lights change from the passenger’s seat in Eddie Munson’s van as Iron Maiden squeaked out the quietest guitar solo you’d ever heard. 

Eddie’s shoulders slacked in relief, hand relaxing against the wheel as he breathed a chuckle. The stoplight painted his cheeks even redder, and your spinning world stilled to a single focus as you gasped for air: his wild eyes, glimmering with soft bewilderment like you were an angel or a ghost he’d picked up along the road. Like he was struggling to believe you were real. Like he was struggling to believe you were here.

And just like that it was quiet again. The van rumbled idly beneath your seat, kicking up a smokescreen of exhaust. His soft lips parted and twitched. Straightening your shoulders and dipping your chin, you prepared to receive any words he had to offer. You even thought a soft smile might encourage their release, but nothing came out. The light turned him green, and with a sharp sigh through his nose he shifted his attention back to the road.

Smoothing your hands across the wool in your lap, you chewed at your own stubborn words as you did your bottom lip. But they were too big to make it out. Too loud, even with the rumble of the engine. Instead you cast your attention over your shoulder with a heavy sigh. Lately it was rare to find yourself out past dark. Even rarer that you looked past your own pained reflection in the glass. Passing below you like a panorama, Christmas lights wrapped stout bushes and glowed under a fresh blanket of snow. Plastic reindeers and light-up Santas crowded lawns amongst nativity scenes. Bright colored bulbs wrapped porches and rooftops. Through these dirty windows, you could almost call it beautiful. 

“Straight?”

You blinked out of your daydream. “Mhm, until Chester, then make a right.”

Eddie gave a single nod, keeping his eyes on the road. Typically by the time he made it past Melvald’s he would be fumbling in the pocket of his coat, pinching a cigarette out of the box and feeling for his lighter on the dash while his knee kept him out of a ditch. Today he had precious cargo. Chin locked dutifully forward, he still couldn’t keep his eyes from staying, from catching the lights as they danced across your holy form. You were watching them intently, lost in some daydream he could only speculate about. It was a vision he could get used to. Secretly he hoped you’d stay distracted, just a moment longer. Long enough to snap a mental polaroid, to shake it and save it for later. Tension splayed his hands on the wheel, and he firmly adjusted his grip with a slow exhale.

Shifting against the leather beneath you, your fingers found the stitching, running nervously along the smooth piping, filing it somewhere deep in your memory. It was good like this. Cruising like a tall ship above the sea of cars as Eddie palmed the wheel. Feeling his presence in the seat next to you; solid and stable like a captain at the helm. It was better than a dream. Absent of clasped palms and open windows, but rich in realness. 

Tin cans rolled hollowly in the back as the van veered right, and you wondered how many other lucky people had been given this place of honor after shows at The Hideout, or parties on the weekend, or long summer nights that bled into day. You could almost picture him pulling up to a gas station; the smoke wafting out of the doors as they opened, the crinkling of Snickers wrappers and cracking of pop cans, the laughter over the roar of the stereo. You were surrounded by remnants of good times past. Closing your eyes, you imagined for a moment that he was taking you somewhere else. Somewhere fun and exciting, somewhere you would surely leave behind remnants of your own.

When the van passed the baseball field and approached the tidy row of lights outside of each apartment door including yours, you wished he would just keep driving. Way out past the farms and forests, straight into the stars. You wouldn’t even look back.

“This lot here,” you gestured as a crushing feeling crept into your chest.

With a solemn nod, Eddie did as he was instructed. He braked and cranked the wheel, drove all the way to the end—to the last apartment on the single-story strip—and pulled into the empty spot in front of it. 

You sat there for a moment, idling as the large headlights illuminated a single red door, the number 8 beside it. Suddenly it was like you were a child again, being dropped off at home after a weekend with Janet. It was the same sinking feeling. With a slow exhale, you worried your lip between your teeth.

Eddie killed the engine. His hand splayed the wheel, brows pinching as his thumb dug into the leather with a heavy sigh. Your eyes connected, and the staring match began. It sucked the moisture from your mouth. All you could taste anymore was your heartbeat. All you could see were those eyes—dark and brimming with a million words behind them, almost loud enough to hear. Let me in, they begged. Please, I’m so close.

The door was right there, glowing and red. All it needed was for you to unlock it. Only you could do that. Words wrestled on your tongue. They grappled with each other, flung each other from the ropes and into the ring. You can come in, one side said. Help me find a mechanic. The angel—or was it the devil—pulled that voice into a headlock, gritted thank you, goodbye in a voice that sounded an awful lot like your mother.

Goodness was a mantle. A weight that kept your shoulders back, your lips pressed tight. In the end it was goodness that moved your hand, grabbed the leather from between your legs and slid the heavy burden onto your lap. It was goodness that placed your fingers on the cold plastic handle and pulled. 

“Wait—”

There was a sparkle in your eyes. It flickered in the darkness as you turned over your shoulder. 

“We need to talk.”

Your fingers left the handle as you settled back into your seat with a sigh. “I know, we do.”

“Like, now.” It was loud and insistent, much more than he intended, but it just leapt out. “I want to talk to you now,” he repeated softer this time, thumb digging into the leather of the steering wheel.

“Okay, yeah. Yeah—no you’re right.” Your stomach did a summersault at the admission.

The knot in Eddie’s gut released slightly. He chewed his lip for a second before continuing. “I mean, we could talk out here I guess but it’s like, twenty degrees out and I’m running low on gas.” 

Your front door glowed in the halo of his headlights. He didn’t have to spell it out. You weren’t going to make him. But it had to be him who was asking, because all your lips had space for were four words, pinning their opposition to the mat, buying just enough time to sneak out. “You can come in.” It was quiet, but clear as you tugged the plastic handle, nodding over your shoulder for him to follow.

Eddie’s eyes grew wide, and in an instant he was throwing off his seatbelt, fumbling his keys into his pocket, and scrambling out the door into the cold.

It was like your fingers were moving through molasses, like they’d never held a key before, less found the right one on your keychain, placed it in the slot, and turned. It didn’t help that he was watching so intently, that you could feel his breath in clouds over your shoulder. Still, despite your churning nerves and roaring conscience, one of the voices—whether it was the angel or the devil, you hadn’t decided—rose up in hope as you turned the handle and pushed in.

It was nothing like he had imagined. 

Then again, he wasn’t really sure what he had imagined, just that there was something—some sign of life—like posters, or paintings, or something that suggested you even lived here. Instead as you flicked on the lights to the narrow hallway, he saw nothing but white walls. He froze for a moment, glancing down at his boots weeping onto your clean white carpet. He was struck by the impulse to remove them, to preserve the cleanliness of such a sterile environment, but when you kept on walking, the impulse was greater to follow. 

In a few strides he was passing a kitchen to his left; plain with a small formica table and chairs. He couldn’t get a glimpse of much else before the hallway emptied into the living room. This space looked slightly more lived in, but barely. There was a crocheted afghan in shades of brown draped over the cream floral couch. A remote and papers on the coffee table. A TV in the center of the room. In the corner by the sliding glass doors were few cardboard boxes labeled with words he couldn’t make out. Even the Christmas tree beside them was bare. It was amazing to him how much nothing there could be in a place somebody lived, how it was even possible. The only piece of furniture that seemed to hold some fragment of personality was the long record cabinet pushed up against the wall to his right. On top there were even a few records leaning between the speakers and the record player. It was hard to make out what they were from the track list on the back, not that he had much time before you turned around.

Eddie Munson was standing in your living room. Right behind the TV. You had to blink a few times to believe it. The dark, broad angles of his shoulders jumped out against the stark wall behind him as if he was a cardboard cutout. Out of place, out of time. He was moving though; stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he chewed his bottom lip. 

You’d really done it now—invited a wolf inside your den. And now you were alone with him. Truly alone. Hidden from the outside world behind a door you’d locked yourself. You could say anything—do anything—you wanted. Fingers moving to the top button of your coat, they froze just as they did when you passed the front closet. As if removing it would render you vulnerable, would encourage him to do the same, encourage him to stay. Goodness drew your fingers from the plastic, tucked them safely inside your pocket.

“Thank you for the ride, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He took a step forward, and a knot began to twist low in your belly. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said last week. About it not being a big deal,” he began with a slow, deep breath. “It was like, really fucking stupid a-and just—god,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “insensitive of me and I’m sorry.”

You could tell he’d really thought about it. By the look in his eyes you were sure it had eaten away at him ever since you’d left him in your classroom. “Thanks, I appreciate the apology.”

His shoulders relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry too, honestly. This whole situation is…” you shook your head, breaking his gaze with a bitter sigh, “a mess. I never—” you sucked your teeth, searching for the words like they were stones on a dark path through the woods. “This is my fault.”

Eddie blinked in disbelief, offering a hollow laugh. “No, it isn’t.”

“No, it is.”

He rolled his eyes, unable to mask his annoyance. “What, like I didn’t ask you out? Ask you to smoke with me? Ask you to kiss me?” The last question lingered in the air between you, hanging for a second before you cut in.

“I should have said no,” you doubled down. “It’s my responsibility—”

“Stop.”

“I never should have put you in this position—”

“STOP.”

“No, it is my fault, Eddie. I’m your—”

“What, you’re my superior?” He strode forward, spitting fire like a volcano. “What like—like I’m some helpless child?”

“No—”

“Then talk to me like I’m an adult, because I am.” He was yelling now. Suddenly it felt like you were shrinking, dwarfed by his imposing silhouette. He must have seen the fear flicker in your eyes because he doubled back, raking his hand through his hair with a ragged sigh. “I’m twenty years old,” he leveled. “I’m twenty years old and still in fucking high school for some reason.”

Folding your arms across your thick coat, your lips twitched but nothing made it out. It was swallowed by the emptiness of the room, by the silence he left you in, by his dark eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t come here to argue, I—” he balled his fist and lowered it with a sharp breath through his nose. “I’ve barely been here five minutes and I’m already fucking everything up.”

Tentatively, your boot met the carpet in front of you, approaching as if he were a wounded animal. “You’re not,” you soothed.

Eddie took a deep breath, eyes smoldering like coal. “I hate this.” 

“Yeah, me too,” you stated quietly.

“I hate that has to be like this. That I’m like this and you’re—” he gestured toward you, hand falling dejectedly as if the next word was too painful to speak, “that I can’t—” he swallowed the wavering threatening his voice, “can’t be with you the way I really want to be.”

The heat in his voice could have melted you—leaked you out of your coat, and your boots, and your blouse until you seeped into the carpet. Until there was nothing left but the puddle he had rendered you. “I know,” you breathed. “So do I—”

“Then why don’t we just—?” He stepped forward, a hunger growing in his eyes like he’d glimpsed his first meal in days. Like he wanted to devour you.

And you wanted it. More than you cared to admit. The heat creeping up your neck didn’t lie, but your feet were far more self-preserving, treading backwards on the carpet. “It’s dangerous.”

He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders with a frustrated sigh. “You know what, how ‘bout I just drop out?”

“Eddie—”

“No, really. As soon as we come back from break.”

You shook your head, pulse pounding in your temples. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Why not? It would solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Your coat was suddenly suffocating, the room closing in like the narrowing space between you as he encroached with another step. “No. I’m supposed to be helping you a-and now I’m just getting in the way.”

Eddie fumed, nostrils flaring. “Getting in the way of what, some stupid piece of paper? I mean what the fuck do I need a diploma for anyway?” He gave a hollow laugh. “W-what you think I’m gonna be like, a doctor or some shit?”

His words were like daggers, aimed at himself but they sank into you. “It’s important to you. I know it is because you would have dropped out a long time ago if it wasn’t. I’m not gonna let you throw that away. Not when you’re this close. Not for me.”

The anger was rising again, building like steam in his chest. “Then what do you want me to do? Stay in school, risk your job?”

You paused for a moment, eyes flicking back and forth over the carpet. “Even if you did drop out, how do you think that would look to this whole town? You suddenly drop out of school and then… what? We just happen to start dating? You don’t think that would raise a few eyebrows? Most of my coworkers know that I’m tutoring you. It’s easy to put two and two together. People talk.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, glaring at the tidy stack of papers on your coffee table, the neatly folded afghan on your couch, suddenly swallowed by the order, the evidence of both of your positions. “Then what should we do?” He felt like he was on trial, like you held a wooden hammer, like he was waiting for it to fall. 

In the end, all you could offer was your honesty, like a hollow whisper. “I don’t know.”

It sunk like an arrow in his chest, shocked him with the depth of its sting. “Why not?” The words just shot out, and the pinch in your brow let him know where they landed. “I’m sorry—I mean of course I know why not—like practically speaking but—” His retort was drying up on his tongue, pounding feebly in his chest. “I just thought that, I mean we both—we both have feelings for each other.” A tangible pain flickered in his eyes. “Don’t we?”

“Yes, but—” The words caught in your throat at the sight of him. Those enormous almond eyes that haunted you whenever you closed yours. The way his lips twitched and trembled and begged you to capture and still them. And those hands, capable of so many things. Under stage lights they were sure and nimble, plucking complex melodies with ease and precision. Under fluorescents they fumbled carelessly, left everything they touched either bent, broken, or beaten. Did you trust them to protect you? Trust them with your career, your reputation, your heart? Did he know what he was truly asking you? When you finally collected the words, they came out low, and quivering. “You could ruin me.”

He wasn’t sure what hurt more, the fear in your eyes or the sting of your mistrust. Eddie took a step forward, placing a hand on his chest in earnest. “I would never do that.”

Anger startled you as it rose up, clawing its way out of the grave you buried it in when you slammed your car door shut outside the pawn shop. “I’ve known you for four months, Eddie.” Your lips formed a hard line, tears threatening behind your eyes as you gestured to the boxes in the corner. “I knew him for five years.” 

Eddie seethed, a fury rising in his chest at the man who’d hurt you, at the whole situation. “I can’t change that,” he snapped. “I wish I could. I wish I could just-just wave my hand and make it all better. I wish—” he breathed a hollow laugh, “that everything was different. That we’d met at some bar and I was some—some… I don’t know, just some guy instead of some fuckup who needs your help with his chemistry homework.” His voice betrayed him, fracturing the last few words. He swallowed, tears welling behind his eyes. After a deep breath, he finished. “I wish I could change a lot of things, but I can’t. All I can do is ask for you to trust me because the only thing I want in this world is a chance to show you how much I love you.”

The words bloomed in your chest, stung behind your eyes, hung like the aftershock of a bomb in the space between you. All your life you had wanted so many things. All of them ended up stored in boxes, sitting in drawers, held in secret daydreams. Remnants collecting dust. Fantasies no one would ever know. Eddie Munson stood there in your living room and told you that he loved you, and never in your whole entire life did you want something as badly as you wanted to believe him. To tell him that you loved him too. To crash into his arms and never leave. But fear held its icy grip, kept you frozen in place. Tears burned behind your eyes but you buried them too. “Those are big words, Eddie,” you whispered. 

Molten feelings churned in his gut, came spewing out before he could stop them. “I’m not illiterate,” he snapped.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I know what this probably looks like to you,” he wavered hotly, nostrils flaring as his mouth became a thin, hard line, though his eyes were welling and wounded. “That—that I’m just some young, reckless guy who has the hots for his—” the last word caught in his throat.

“I don’t think that,” you whispered.

“Then what do you mean?”

The pain in his voice fractured the ice around your heart. “I just...” You breathed a deep sigh, searching for the words in the carpet before meeting his gaze again. “I just need to make sure you mean them, like really mean them, because—” your voice snagged. Through the hot blur, you glanced at your full moving boxes. Your empty Christmas tree. Your empty walls. Empty as the day you left Indianapolis. Empty as the day you moved in. “I can’t do this again.”

The crack in your voice could have shattered him, much less the image of you, shrinking in your stiff wool coat, swallowed by the sparseness of the room. You, trembling like prey, smaller than he’d ever seen you. 

“I mean them,” he uttered hotly. “I can’t do anything about your position, or mine, or your past, or how difficult this is for both of us. But…” he drew a deep breath, treading his words like rocks on a river. “I want you to give me a chance. A chance to be like—like a real person with you. Someone who can take you on a real date a-and—” The rest of it snagged in his throat, eyes welling as he swallowed back tears. He clenched his hand into a fist. Steadying himself with a deep, convicted breath, he continued. “I promise you will never have to worry—at least about how I feel—because I love you. And I mean it.” He let it hang in the air for a moment, straightening his shoulders. “All I’m asking for is a chance to show you.” 

You closed your eyes, tears cascading down your cheeks as you stifled a sob. When you opened them to a blurry room, Eddie was standing there, waiting for you. In your whole life you could count on one hand all the truly bad things you’d ever done. This, by any technical account, would be the worst of them all by a long shot. But when you searched your heart for the right answer, all you could find were fragmented dreams of the wind in your hair, and your feet on the dash, and his hand clasped in yours, and the wild open road, and every soft, quiet want you had ever locked away. When you finally opened your mouth, all you could manage were two words—broken, half-whispered, terrifying, and true. “Show me.” 

Swiftly, like a summer wind, Eddie crossed the room in two quick steps, snatched your face in both his hands, and kissed you. And just like that you were swept away. Stunned and breathless and whole all at once. Crushed between his hands and mouth, hot tears pinching through your lashes to cascade over the rough pads of his thumbs. You blindly grasped for him, fisting the leather of his coat to keep him from evaporating, to keep you from floating away. An exhale shook from both of you—wet and shuddering—as he parted just a fraction, just enough to capture you again. You melted there against his lips, wept like melting snow into his palms, dripping toward the carpet as his thumbs swiped the remnants from your cheeks. It was sniffling and sloppy, messy and real, and here—in the absence of bells, and desks, and lights that made everything wrong—it was the rightest thing that you had ever known.

With both his agent hands, Eddie kissed you for every time he wanted to but couldn’t. A thousand fervent daydreams pressed against your lips. One for every time he saw you in the hall, every time you’d brushed against his arm, every time you’d looked at him with kindness when everyone else saw a freak and a waste of their time. 

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips. A shallow sob escaped through the corners of his mouth and you kissed it away, thumbs soothing over his wet cheeks. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” And you meant every word.

Eddie stilled against the bridge of your nose and sighed, eyes closed, relishing as the words washed over him like a balm. Your breath mingled in soft pants as you rocked against his forehead, swaying to a rhythm only the two of you could hear. As if on cue, you opened your eyes together and were swallowed by two massive brown spheres. 

His thumbs gave your cheeks another swipe before dropping from your face, and yours did the same. You both took a moment to reset yourselves, wiping your eyes and noses on your palms and sleeves, soft chuckles escaping through giddy, disbelieving smiles at one another. His lashes were wet and clinging in a way that made him impossibly more beautiful.

Until now, your touch had belonged to the shadows. A timid trek across the ridges of his knuckles under the cover of a desk. A fenced exploration over the landscape of his ribs in the dark outside The Hideout. Now—in the gentle glow of the lamp beside your couch—you boldly cupped his face with both your hands. 

He was real, all of a sudden. The oval face that shot you smirks in the hallway and haunted your waking dreams, now here in the palms of your hands. Dragging your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks, they dimpled with a smile. Warm and flush in the golden light, softer than you’d ever imagined. Every subtle angle of his face, drawn together to make him—the ridge of his jaw under your fingertips, the phantom brush of stubble as you traced it. With gentle awe, your thumbs grazed over the crinkles in the corners of his dark, roving eyes. Real. Here. Yours. Now.

“I read your assignment,” you softly admitted. 

Eddie’s eyes widened with a gentle puff through his nose. “Oh yeah, how’d I do?” he murmured playfully. “B minus? I mean I didn’t exactly finish so it’s probably more like a—“

You silenced him with your lips. After a breathless, five second eternity, you parted with a heavy smack and looked him dead in the eyes. “A plus.”

Eddie melted between your palms. Trailing your hands down the soft contours of his cheeks, jaw, and neck, they flattened against his chest for a moment as it rose and fell beneath his black hoodie; steady and strong. He glanced down at your hands through gentle lashes, and then back up at you. With a coy flick of your eyes, you slipped up and over his shoulders, fingers diving under the silken liner of his coat. With both palms, you traced the strong angles, guiding the leather off of them until it thudded to the floor.

There was a single beat before he kissed you. Hard. Drawing the air from your lungs and the sense from the rest of you. When his tongue asked for admission there was no hesitation. You let him in, parting your lips to accept his wet heat, swept away by his current—breaking and cresting over and over. Hands hanging limply at your sides, he captured and devoured you, drawing you into his maw with every slip of his tongue against yours.

Your chest lurched forward as he tugged the buttons of your coat, working them from the thick wool eyelets with an urgency that bordered on frustration with the garment’s existence. His lips parted slightly as he glanced down, noses still touching, panting into the fractional distance as the eagerness of his fingers threatened the strength of the thread. Your mantle fell to the floor in a heap, and his hands—greedy and splayed at your waist—pulled you close.

His kiss came in waves, taking you under, again and again. It was the most delicious thing, to drown. To go slack and let the slick heat of his mouth take you under. You were learning to love drowning. Learning to love the darkness and the lack of air, the crushing of his body, the lapping of his mouth—bringing you to surface just enough before plunging back in. It was safe, to drown with him. 

Both hands twisted into his hair, tugging with fervent desperation as need rose up in you like a bubble that had been trapped at the bottom of the ocean, so sudden and consuming. Your teeth dragged along his bottom lip, tugging the plush membrane with a boldness that earned you a groan, a tightening of hands around your waist, a warm, wet tongue which you eagerly accepted. Yours danced against the gummy muscle, tasting everything—the hint of acrid smoke, the wistful sighs that echoed in the cavern of your mouth, the satisfied fulfillment of being truly alone.

His hands were burning through your blouse, splayed open at your waist like he was trying to make contact with every atom, pulling you so close it stifled your breath. There was a whole landscape here, a hill under your soft red cardigan where your back dipped toward your spine. He trekked it with his fingers, up and over, back and forth, feeling the muscle bend to his touch, and the subtle arch in your back when he did.

A feeling prickled through him. Up through his fingers, low in his belly. Desire—so familiar, and yet foreign as it ignited in a way that satisfied this time. There was something else too, rippling through his chest, seating somewhere in his sternum as he dipped his fingers—just the middle and ring—beneath the wool barrier of your skirt. The zipper grazed his knuckles, and he tasted something even sweeter than the strangled moan that ushered past your tongue:

Power.

He did it again. Pressing his fingers into the curve of your spine, splaying beneath the wool and pulling back in a firm grip around the muscle of your lower back, letting his fingers drag firmly over your skin like he was trying to claw through the cotton. 

It burned in a slow, delicious way. Burned in a way that made you dizzy, made your pulse jump from your throat and thrum in that low, forbidden place, beating life into a space that could no longer be ignored. You clenched your thighs together, arching your back at the demand of his touch, dipping your tongue into his sopping mouth as a helpless sigh escaped you. 

He lapped it up eagerly. Again, fingers splaying, clawing, burning. Like a sorcerer weaving a spell through the fabric—drawing you nearer, making you pliant. He met your sighs with approving hums. Bright, like the timbre of his voice, but the color was deeper, thick with a coaxing desire. They slipped down your throat like water in a desert, leaving you thirsty for more. 

There was an animal in you. Eager and starving. Pawing at his chest as his lips slid between yours in a rhythmic cadence. His hand burned at your back, clawing with insistence, warring with the few remaining shreds of his decent will. You obeyed with a cant of your hips, more than was proper, more than was chaste. Your rational mind flickered in for a moment, but the throaty, approving hum it earned you and solid mass of his waist molding and conforming to yours hushed it quickly. 

Eddie nipped at your bottom lip—testing, eager. A tingling rush flooded your core, tugged at your wrists like marionette strings, draped them over his shoulders and around his neck. Do it again, you begged with an arch of your back, pressing your chest to the contours of his. Eddie obliged with a drag of his teeth.

There was an animal in him too. Stirred by rocking of your hips, taunted by your boldness. It was like a waking dream, more unbelievable than any fantasy he’d ever had. You, draped around him like a doll, begging him to play. Boldly, he splayed his hand, starting between your shoulder blades and dragging firmly down your soft cardigan as he traced the length of your spine. You, bending like a string on a guitar, molded by his touch to sing the sweet release of your sigh. It ghosted hotly on his tongue, swirled in the pit of his belly. What other melodies were locked inside, waiting for his hand to be expressed?

Boldly, he breeched the barrier of your skirt, palming past the ridge of rough fabric, down, slowly down, over the mound of your rear. He rested there, grabbing with the full spread of his hand. It was sinful, how taught and plump the muscle was, how he’d watched it move for countless days from his station in the back of your classroom, eyeing how it shifted as you leaned on tired feet, etching words onto the board while he memorized your figure. Eddie tightened his grip, drawing upward, letting the swell of it pinch through his grasp.

Music—in the gasp of your mouth against his, the quick suck of air hushed by his lips, relinquished in a sigh. Guiding you closer, rocking you into him with the strength of his wrist, repeating the motion, reveling in the waves he made with every grapple of his palm.

The ice in you was melting, tingling to life like a limb half asleep, radiating through the pinch of his hands to that dormant place again. He was using both of them now—spreading and massaging as his tongue probed deeper. Your arms relaxed, limp on his sturdy shoulders, eyes closed, letting him do as he pleased—mold you like putty in his palms. Letting him lead you with the dance of his lips. Letting him sway you to his own silent rhythm. Letting him, letting him. 

It was like a waking dream to feel him in this way. To feel the angles of his body rock into yours, timed with the rhythm of his mouth. Such sensual movements coming fromthe man whose heated glances often gave you pause to wonder. It was a fantasy you could get lost in. Words—as they had been since you had met—were too bold, too brash, too loud. But here, you could tell him anything you wanted. So you told him, whispered the deep desires of your heart with a slow grind of your pelvis. He answered with a moan—sticky sweet, rippling across your tongue and down your throat. 

Your arms released slightly from their seat atop his shoulders, unable to mask your delight in the softness of his curls against your wrists and fingers, how the ringlets slipped through them like silk. How desperately you’d longed to touch them. How suddenly evident that was. 

It felt so good to feel him with the wholeness of your hands—free now to wander wherever they pleased. Possessed by the animal stirring inside you, they padded up the ridges of his neck, tangled in the hair at the nape and tugged. 

Eddie groaned into your mouth, surprise and delight ghosting hotly on your tongue. It jolted in the space between your legs, aching alive with every movement of his body, every sigh and sound. It ached for more, curious about what else you could coax out of him. Breaking from his lips, yours traveled south, over and under the ridge of his jaw, delighting in the barely-there brush of sandpaper stubble as you tracked it, the way he tipped his head to expose the pale column of his neck. 

His scent was so present here—concentrated, rich, and sweet all at once, clinging to him in the delicate oils of his skin and hair. It spoke to you in a silent language, one that the animal in you was fluent in. Heady and intoxicating with green lights, and safety, and irrepressible desire. You pressed your lips to his neck, inhaling deeply as his pulse thrummed with life beneath them. It was a chaste and reverent gesture, honoring his life-force with your mouth as you trailed slowly down. 

Eddie sighed at the contact, closing his eyes, presenting his neck to you like a feast. It occurred to him here—in the fuzzy, swirling mush his brain was becoming as the blood rushed south—that he had never been kissed like this before. So reverently and lovingly, as if you painted worship with your lips. 

Tendons rippled as he swallowed, and the animal in you stirred to gather a taste. Starting with kitten licks, innocent flicks of your tongue peppered between kisses against his beating flesh, so salty and musky and sweet. His chest dipped in a sudden exhale against yours. Tightening your grip in his silky curls, you angled him to you, jaw unhinging with a mind of its own before swiping a long, greedy trail up his tendons.

“Ohh—” The sound leapt out of Eddie’s throat, surprising even himself. Not that he would have wanted to catch it. He wanted to let you know, wanted to ensure that you continue.

You tasted the velvet vibration under your tongue. Felt the release of his hands, the warmth at your waist, dipping under your cardigan to feel you as closely as he could. Buried in the shadow of his hair and scent, you continued your trek—licking and kissing while his palms pressed you closer. 

Eddie was turning to putty by the second, all logical thoughts escaping out his rushing ears like steam. The animal was stirring below his belt; stretching and yawning, tingling awake. Suddenly he was clawing at the starchy cotton barrier, digging up the fabric from where it was secured beneath your skirt. 

The air was cool all of a sudden there, tingling from exposure but quickly soothed by a clammy warmth. The animal in you preened, arched into his touch, dizzy from the contact with your skin. It bared its teeth, dragging them slowly along the column of his neck with the next pass of your lips.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned, unsure in his haze whether it was from the rush of your teeth or the bareness of your flesh under his fingers. Finally. Lids twitching as his eyes rolled back in his head, a memory flickered in—a bustling, crowded hallway. You, standing front of his locker clutching books in your arms. Him, ushering you forward. The first time he’d ever touched you here. He had stored the memory away safely, memorized the dip of your waist under his palm, played it over and over until it wore out like an old tape. Your skin was alive under his fingers now—smooth and warm and real and reacting. 

With one hand resting on his shoulder, your other twisted deeper into his hair. Silk between your fingers, nails grazing up the back of his skull. You mumbled nonsense into the wet trail of his neck, nipping and kissing and licking, tasting his swallow as his hand splayed across your skin. There was a whisper of perspiration at his hairline as the room became incredibly hot all of a sudden. 

You were reacting. Arching under his fingers, growing bolder and bolder with every pass of your mouth across that incredibly sensitive spot. It made him dizzy, stupid. Absolutely set his blood on fire. With a slow, upward swipe, his hand climbed the column of your spine—up, up, up—until his fingers grazed the clasp of your bra. Jesus Christ. It was hardly the first time he’d touched a bra, but it was your bra, and you were the one reacting beneath it.

Eddie was reacting too. He could feel himself unfurling in his boxers, rising fully to attention. God damn it, Munson. It’s just a bra for crying out loud. But there was no hope of taming it now, not when your teeth were grazing that sensitive spot that made his entire body flush with heat. It throbbed as your tongue dipped below the collar of his shirt, your hips so dangerously close. He wasn’t exactly ready to give you an anatomy lesson, fearful it scare you with its realness somehow. 

But you were gone, lost in the smoke-acrid scent of his clothing, in the salt of his skin yielding under your tongue, in the hiss of his breath as it left his lungs. Lost in the warmth of his hand sliding down your bare spine. Pressing raw, wet kisses to the humming stretch of his neck, you concluded that you couldn’t feel nearly enough. 

You captured his mouth again, and this time the kiss was open and hungry, sweeping and led by your tongue. Hands breaking from around his shoulders, you trailed over the firm swell of his pecks, down his ribs, around his waist. You pawed down his back with a slow, greedy swipe, admiring the firmness of his muscles under the thick cotton, the way his hips tilted from the pressure as you neared his belt. You did it again, more pressure this time, trekking your pelvis upward across the landscape: stiff denim zipper, steel belt buckle, and—

A hard jab to the hip. 

Eddie gasped into your mouth and drew back in horror, lips gaping and sputtering the beginnings of an apology. “I—um—”

Your eyes flicked down at the tent in his jeans, unable to stop yourself. “It’s—it’s ok, we were just—” 

“Yeah I know, but—” he swallowed, face like a roaring furnace under your gaze. His hand twitched with the impulse to cover himself, but he redirected it behind his neck, wringing it through his hair with an embarrassed laugh. “I got a bit carried away.”

Your eyes shot back up to his and you fought to keep them level. “No, it—it was me. It’s ok, we can stop—”

“I don’t want to,” Eddie blurted out.

Your eyes widened, lips parting as the gravity of his words set in. It was suddenly quiet enough to hear the clock ticking in the corner, the heat rushing through the vents in the floor. 

“I think that’s um,” he sucked his lip, glancing to the side before meeting your gaze again, “kind of the problem.”

The look in his eyes was darkly threatening, brimming with a wild heat. A feeling stirred deep in your core, something like fear but it fluttered and trembled like yearning. 

“We can if you do though—want to stop, I mean.”

It was suddenly so real—Eddie Munson standing in your living room, offering himself to you in this very bad way. You wanted to think you’d be good, but as the words left his kiss-swollen lips, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to know how it felt.

Eddie just stood there, forcing his shoulders back against the fear closing in around his heart as he awaited your possible rejection. He followed your eyes as they slowly scanned his form, flushing under your gaze, suddenly so aware of himself. It was a look he’d never seen on you before, a heat that simmered beneath curious amazement. 

He wanted you to look.

In all your years of discipline, there had always been a series of events in between you and a moment like this. Coffees, dinners, chaste kisses outside the door of your apartment. It was a long time before you let anyone in, and even still, it had only been one man. One whose cues and advances had become familiar. Predictable. Monotonous. Boring.

You wondered what he looked like under there; that forbidden line protruding under denim, attentive and alert, made ready by your touch. An offering to you, if you would have it. You thought about his skin under the bulk of that sweatshirt as his chest rose and fell, how good it would feel pressed to yours in the dark. How you ached to feel him move in that way. How badly you wanted to know. So terribly bad. 

Finally, you whispered the truth. “I don’t want to stop.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, face falling in near disbelief. Suddenly he felt like a dog that caught a car. 

Show me, your voice echoed in his mind as the carpet, and your records, and your tree came into focus. Show me, as the lamp beside your couch painted your features with soft anticipation. Suddenly, a dam broke, flooding him with images of Fs thrown face up on a small desk in front of him. Of folded arms and disapproving glares. Of a corner somewhere with his back to his classmates as they played with blocks and snickered as he sulked in time-out. 

Show me.

The memories coiled in his belly like a serpent, struck him with a fear that if he did, you might be disappointed. But the way you were looking at him—like a virgin on prom night with your wide eyes and fingers tangled in a knot in front of you—made it all subside.

Slowly, he closed in, umber eyes flickering with a blended hue of want and trepidation. His hand came to your cheek, delicate fingers tracing your jaw as if you would disintegrate beneath his touch. When you didn’t, his thumb grew bold enough to swipe across the apple, palm sure enough to cup your face, angling it upward to meet his lips. It was chaste. Reverent. Different, somehow, than any other kiss you’d shared. His exhale mingled with yours as you melted against his mouth, hand snaking around your waist to pull you close. Every angle of you against every angle of him. No gaps. 

And then he showed you. Open mouthed, tongue scooping in a desperate rhythm with yours. The kind of kiss that left you bruised and breathless. You tasted every aching unsaid word between you, cupping his face to capture all of them. Tasted the power of his want, the demand of his tongue dancing against yours. The taste was deep, heady and complex with the knowing where all of this was heading. He showed you with his palms, clawing at the fabric of your blouse, bunching it up to slip his eager hands beneath it. 

He showed you with a roll of his pelvis, hardness pressed against your hip, splitting your mouthes into a shared sigh from the satisfaction of the friction. It rippled through every dormant part of you, blooming deep and low. Heat raced to your cheeks, heart thumping in the cage of your chest. It occurred to you then, how deeply love and fear were intertwined. How tangled fascination was between them. How desperate you were for him to show you. Desperate to feel every inch of him. Desperate to experience it all. You responded with a tilt of your hips, reveling in the feeling of his length as it dragged, in the delicious sin of it all. And his touch transformed you, made that deeply-buried need rise up in you full-force. 

You kissed him deeply. Eyes closed, swaying under the direction of his palms, tongue dancing in time to his rhythm. How good it felt to just be led, how satisfying his leadership tasted. Abandoning all thoughts, listening only to the soft desires of the animal in you. Yes. Good. More, it whispered. You arched your back, grinding your pelvis sinfully along his length, lost in the feeling. 

Eddie was gone. Consumed. Possessed. Directed solely by the need to feel that delicious friction spark and soothe. He braced you, tightly gripping your rear, guiding your movements just how he wanted. Suddenly—as if something snapped in his brain—he was pivoting you in a 180 motion to trade places. Lips breaking only to glance where he was going, he backed you into the wall shared by your kitchen. 

“Mmnh!” The noise was pressed out of you as your back met the solid surface. Eddie descended on you, lips locking with your neck, pelvis pressing you firmly to the wall. His hand wandered down your right leg, hiking it up around his hip for better leverage. And you just let him. Pliant like prey, encouraging his savage nature with your sounds. 

It was a position you had never been in before—skirt pooling at your hip, thigh-high stockings and panties exposed like a scene from a book you’d gotten in trouble for reading back when you were in high school. It was something you’d resigned to fantasy, to dog-eared pages illuminated by a flashlight under your blankets. Suddenly you were on the cover—chin tipped toward the ceiling, head dragging against the plaster as Eddie trailed a dizzying path down your neck. He pressed you into the wall with a grind of his pelvis, dragging his stiffness along your most intimate seam. You groaned, eyes rolling into the back of your head as the last remaining shred of goodness dissolved. What was left spoke only the language of desire. A language that felt native, yet foreign, like one you learned before words. Before rules and desks and pencils and report cards and curfews and diplomas. Before your goodness forced you to forget. 

It almost hurt, in the best way though—his fingers digging into your thigh, the muscles threatening to cramp as you squeezed your heel under his ass to hold your position, sweat tingling the back of your knee. A fair price for how good he felt there. Even under the barrier of the stiff denim, you could feel the way he tapered off, the fat ridge of his cockhead as it rutted over your mound. Firm and insistent.

There was a fire in you—alive and insatiable. Stirred awake with every pass of his hips, by the look on his face when you met his eyes—savage and dark, pinching in pleasure, mouth hanging open like he wanted to devour you. His curls were a curtain between you and the light, a shadow both of you could hide in, swaying in his ragged breath. You snaked a hand over his shoulder, tangled it in his mane and gripped hard at the back of his head.

The sound he made was somewhere between a purr and a whine, thick and desperate as he met flesh below your ear again. It rushed through every cell of your body—dizzying, pulsing through the veins in your hand as you raked your fingers across his scalp. You arched against the wall, straining to present your neck to him. 

It was almost too much. You, in his clutches, writhing under the drag of his teeth, the scent of your skin and clothes, the tingle of your nails against the base of his skull. Eddie’s hand wandered down your thigh, swept up in the current of that doughy flesh and the mound of your cunt with only cotton and denim between you. He broke from your neck to get a look at you—stiff blouse disheveled, wool skirt rumpled, skin sinfully exposed, that heavy-lidded, fucked-out look you wore better than all of it. All by his doing. Your breaths exchanged in silence for a moment as his pelvis kept the pace; slow and undulating. His mouth became a gaping O, brows pinching as he reached the apex of his movement before drawing back again.

There was a scent hanging in the air between you. Warm and heady. Deep and complex. One you recognized surely as your own. It was emanating from under your skirt, from that slick, throbbing place. Heat burned your cheeks as Eddie inhaled deeply through his nose, eyes pinching, mouth parting in recognition.

You. So warm and rich and you. Even through the barriers he could feel a slickness, a non-resistance as he thrusted upward over your mound. It drove him absolutely crazy, made the part of his brain that spoke only the language of friction and pheromones take over, made him tingle and twitch and clench with that tell-tale sign of immanent conclusion. Eddie had to brace the wall, close his eyes, collect himself before he lost all sense of control. 

“Oh Jesusfuck—” he panted, “I—ohgod—mmm-hmm-hmm—” Eddie trailed off with a crazed and slightly nervous chuckle, biting his lip as he mustered every fleeting ounce of self-control to draw back from the edge. His cock protested, weeping furiously at the denial. Blood was racing through him at an alarming rate. Sweat tingled his forehead, his chest, his hand still locked under your knee. The animal in him was chomping at the bit, pleading for him to unlatch his belt, undo his zipper, push aside those white cotton panties and slide home. He stiffened his jaw. Clawing into the wall, he hung his head with a sigh. “I want you,” he gritted. “You want me?”

The words throbbed. Buzzed. Ached. You looked up at him fuzzily and responded without a second thought. “Yes.”

“Here?” he breathed before sobering to his own suggestion. “Fuck—sorry.”

The lewd heat of his question sent a pulse deep and low, a question that the animal in you had no qualms about answering. But the human in you wanted so much more. 

“Forget I asked that, I’m just—hah.” He lowered your leg with a deep sigh. Delicate curls clung to the sides of his neck, tingling from perspiration. He cleared them with a wring of his hand, chest heaving beneath a sauna of clinging cotton. “Just need to cool down.” Suddenly he was tugging up sweatshirt from behind his shoulder blades, pulling it up and over his head. It hit the floor with a thud. His shirt went with it.

He stood there for a moment, filling the silence with his breath as you drank him in; a landscape of smooth, pale skin. You swallowed a rush of feelings coursing through you at the prospect of his bareness. A whole new world to your eyes. Ink mapped the space under his collarbone. Delicate curls dusted the valley between his pecks—subtle hills which plateaued to rows of heaving ribs. You followed the trail of dark hair below his navel until it disappeared beneath his belt. A breathtaking vista. 

His skin drew you in like a magnet. Stepping into the sphere of his radiant heat, you traced the swell of his pecks with your fingertips, flattening your palms against the smooth, warm terrain. His heart pounded beneath them. Living, breathing, and bare. With a coy, tentative finger, you traced a path over the ink beneath his collarbone, offering a soft chuckle at the cartoon zombie there. 

“I think he likes you,” Eddie joked, mentally kicking himself the moment he said it. But your smile only grew.

“That’s good, I think I like him too,” you offered playfully, tracing the lines of its wispy hair as your teeth caught your bottom lip.

“Good, ‘cause uh,” Eddie snaked a hand around your waist, eyes crinkling warmly, “he’s not going anywhere.” His words were so suddenly earnest, trailing to almost a whisper.

You melted, eyes flitting to his with a foreign but effortless sultriness as your fingers walked the ridge of his collarbone down into the valley between his pecks. You raked over the delicate curls dusting the path, nails dragging bluntly against his skin. A wonder to explore.

Eddie’s expression darkened at the gesture, filled with a sudden awareness of his own body, his own solid strength reflected back at him through your eyes. Carding your fingers through the whisper of hair, you flashed him a glance before trailing lower. The sensitive skin of his stomach rippled softly under your touch before you hopped the ridge of his navel, entering new territory. 

Thick, dark hair spread between your fingers—down, down over the swell of his belly, following the trail until it disappeared below his belt. There was a hesitance, a coyness that colored your pause before you tucked them curiously beneath it, feeling soft curls against your knuckles. Eddie swallowed thickly, eyes growing wide with anticipation, flitting to yours like a dare.

A strange, thrilling darkness coursed through your hand, gripped his belt buckle and tugged. You were mesmerized by the flex of his abs, by the buck of his hips in response. His nostrils flared, and a sharp puff ghosted over your arms. The tip of his cock almost grazed your palm, flexing against the black denim, perfectly outlined, flooding you with that darkness again. Pulsing deep and low, it bared its teeth and purred its next command.

You obeyed, dropping your hand to the space between his legs. Eddie’s breath hitched, hands freezing in flexed position at his sides. The denim seam stretched out like a runway beneath your fingertips, bulge heavy and round on either side, hot and humid. It was sinful, the way his balls drew upward under your touch, how clearly you could feel their outline, their weight. It filled you with that irresistible darkness, a badness that swelled as your hand trailed upward. His anatomy was evident even through his jeans—roughly six inches, stiff and thick, veering off to the side to seek space inside the tight cage. The ridge of his tip plumed under your palm, fat and damp as your fingers trailed behind. You swallowed, throbbing at the realness of it all.

Eddie hissed, rapidly disintegrating as he watched your hand trace his cock like it was the most mesmerizing thing you’d ever seen. And it was. Watching him fall apart as your fingertips reset themselves under his package, as they drew slowly across every aching inch. The way he twitched as you neared his leaking tip, the strangled sound trapped behind his bitten lips. You pressed against him firmly, dizzy from how sinful this all was, from the ridge of his tip so evident under the denim, from how badly you ached to feel it raw, feel it sink between your thighs and fill you. A purr rippled in the back of your throat as you offered him another slow stroke, pausing at the tip to draw a slow, firm circle with your thumb.

“Holy fuck—“ he breathed, tipping his head back toward the ceiling as his most sensitive nerve endings wept alive. He was desperate—for you, for your touch, for any friction you could offer. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should stop you. But that voice was distant, tiny, barely a whisper. What was louder was the rush of satisfaction emanating from under your thumb. 

The darkness was growing in you—coiling in your abdomen and stretching through your fingers as you watched his Adam’s apple bob with a thick swallow. Fluid seeped through the denim, and your contact with it flooded you with feelings that made you want to rub harder, faster, to draw other things out of him.

A strangled groan caught in the back of his throat as Eddie tried to tamper down the feelings rising up in him again. The ones that tightened deep within his body, made him twitch and buck his hips to seek your hand. The friction was delicious, overdue, a feeling he was both desperate and fearful to chase. 

“Mmm, yeah?” you purred with a voice you almost didn’t recognize, sliding your thumb right under his heart-ridge where it met his shaft, rubbing up and down in short bursts.

“Yeah,” he choked. It was his favorite spot. The one that sent fireworks straight to his brain, made his brows pinch and knees turn to jelly. He closed his eyes, lost in the feeling, drifting away until the sudden absence of your hand had his eyes snapping open. He whined, flooded with equal parts relief and disappointment.

The rise and fall of his stomach had your body suddenly—violently—crying out for the warmth of his skin against yours. Fumbling with the top button of your cardigan, you slipped it free, working the others until it peeled off of you to join Eddie’s sweatshirt on the floor. Heart hammering with eager anticipation, your fingers met the starch of your blouse.

“Wait—”

You froze over the top button. 

“I wanna do it,” he uttered. 

Hands falling to your sides, you granted him permission with a dip of your chin. 

Slowly, delicately—as if sudden movement would cause you to flee—he feathered the stiff collar with his knuckles, brushing it back to expose the slope of bone beneath it. Tracing the stitching down to the first button, he padded the bone-white plastic, ushering it through the slit with his trembling thumb. 

You swallowed, heart pounding under the intensity of his gaze as the V in your shirt grew deeper. How soft his eyes were—wide and alive but dipping in a way that could only be described as reverent. 

He worked the next button free, exposing a pink satin bow at your sternum, breath fanning the skin beneath it in awe. Like a pearl in the shell of your blouse, nestled between two heaving cups. Unable to help himself, he brushed it with the ridge of his knuckle, smiling as his chocolate eyes lit up.

It was beautiful to watch—the subtle twitching of his cheeks, the angles of his working hands, the curious amazement hiding under his lashes as he exposed you. Such careful movements from a man who could destroy you. 

It was nothing like he had imagined. In his countless daydreams involving him taking your clothes off, he’d failed to capture the subtlety in it. The shy dip in your eyes, the rippling of your heated skin as it met the cool air, the brush of peach fuzz hair under his knuckles as he slowly worked you free. So alive. So real. 

When he was finished, he stepped back and admired his work, checking in with a meeting of your eyes before continuing. With a warm brush of his hand, Eddie slipped the stiff fabric over your shoulder, exposing your bra and the soft, forbidden slopes of it all. You shrugged off the blouse like a shell you’d outgrown, let it fall from around you till it crumpled at your feet. 

You stood there a moment as he drank you in, a sense of power rising in your stillness like a statue at a shrine. With a dip of your eyes, you granted him your divine permission.

Eddie traced the strap with his finger; a shimmering runway of elastic. He’d seen it once before, stored it safely in his memory—black and daring like caution tape, taunting him at a distance as your lips popped from a bottle in The Hideout. Here it was baby pink, rising and falling with the swell of your breath as your lashes dipped shyly toward his roaming hand. He tucked a finger beneath it, impossibly soft skin gliding against his knuckle as he ushered it off of your shoulder. 

Your smile was unstoppable, puffing softly through your nose at such an innocent gesture, the way it made his eyes light up with boyish wonder as the straps yielded to his touch. 

Eddie swallowed thickly, heart racing as his fingers walked along the underwire ridge, across the well-washed pilling satin under your arm and around your back. He located the clasp, eyes dipping down into your cleavage with anticipation as he pinched you free.

The cage fell, straps trailing down your arms until it landed on the ground between you. The chill of the air had you reacting; puckered and alert as you bravely drew back your shoulders.

Eddie’s mouth fell open. 

There was a coyness in your smile that surprised even yourself. A sudden rush of girlishness watching his hungry eyes roam your figure. Not because it was the first time a man had seen you like this, but because it was the first time a man had looked at you like this. Flickering between boy-like awe and man-like heat, you realized that you had never felt more beautiful exposed. 

They weren’t the first pair Eddie had seen. Between all the magazines under his bed and the few real girls that had been desperate or curious enough to show him, he had seen all shapes and sizes. Yours were different. Yours he had memorized from the back of the classroom, dreamt about with his elbow propped against the small desk. Yours had existed as only speculation from stolen glances in the small chair next to yours, as a fantasy just out of reach. 

Jesus.

Christ.

Eddie blinked hard and swallowed. The details were mesmerizing. Holy in their you-ness. The pebbled skin which puckered into hardened peaks, their unique color, the soft flesh around them. Full and round. Rising and falling with shallow, anticipating breaths. Impossibly real. Impossibly you. You, who he adored from far away, trusting him enough to bare yourself up close.

Tracing a featherlight knuckle along the soft underside, Eddie flicked up to your eyes with a heat that could have melted you. All you could muster was a fluttering sigh, and he took his cue. Cupping your breast with his whole hand, he drew his thumb upward across your nipple, watching the peak of it bend to his touch and pop from underneath it. Mesmerized. On the downstroke he captured it against his forefinger, pinching and rolling the sensitive peak. 

A soft hiss escaped you, strangled and desperate to escape. His touch sent a jolt that buzzed through your whole body. All rational thoughts were just noise now, fading away as the angles of his hand came into focus. His hand. There was a roughness to it, a calloused graze that sparked pleasure with every pass. Timid at first, but growing bolder. Through the thickening haze, you watched him watching you—those lust-blown eyes under heavy lids, his features pinched in reverent disbelief. A look he wore unspeakably well.

Eddie swallowed. It was absolutely brain-blanking—the soft, supple skin yielding to his thumb as he cupped that forbidden curve. How your back seemed to arch as though you were a puppet and he held the strings. How your chest—your chest—rose and fell to a rhythm of his making. So much power in a single digit. He extended it in tight circles, studying you, committing every atom to his memory. But watching you slip between his fingers was nothing compared to the look on your face. Your pinching brows, your bitten lip, your begging eyes. A puddle, rendered by his touch.

With sudden animation, both his hands splayed wide, palms clamping over your breasts to grapple in a firm squeeze. Your skin dimpled like dough between his slowly tightening fingers. He did it again, relishing in your fullness, watching with rapt attention the way they yielded to his digits; heavy, soft, and round. Licking his lips, he removed his hands, hovering just above your nipple to rasp a question. “Can I kiss you here?”

“Yes,” you managed, struck with a sudden pang for the fact he even asked. Your answer barely faded out before he descended on you, pressing his pillow lips around your peak, flicking out his wet tongue, taking you into his furnace mouth. You heaved a deep sigh, eyes rolling back into your head. It tingled like a limb that was asleep. You hadn’t known it though, not until he’d kissed you there. It occurred to you—in the thickness of your haze—just how many parts of you had been sleeping. For how long was uncertain, but as you thawed under his touch, the rest of you begged to know what it was like to feel awake.

Eddie lathed his tongue around the peak, pressing his hands to your back to draw you closer, as if he couldn’t possibly be close enough. A hunger had arisen in him, one he’d suppressed on a daily basis since he first laid eyes on you. It coursed through his veins as he latched, surged into his fingertips as he dragged them down your back. His lips locked tight, tongue flicking over that attentive bundle of nerves, sucking it. He was gone, lost in he arch of your back, the heave of your breast against his chin on your sharp inhale, the reward of your moan on your exhale. And just like that, he devoured you. It was sloppy, careless, and yet somehow deeply reverent. The unhinging of his jaw, the way he dragged his whole tongue across your nipple as his bottom lip trailed behind, lathing and sucking again and again until he’d had his fill of one and transitioned to the other.

You’d never had a man consume you in this way; devour you like he was starving. No desire had ever possessed you this badly. But for him, you were a willing feast, and it had never felt so good.

Your nipple left his lips with a pop, eyes darting darkly to yours as he panted through the hanging O his mouth became. This sparked a hunger in you; a fierce desire to taste him again, to feel his bare skin against yours. As if both of you shared the same thought, your bodies collided, slotting at the hips like a puzzle as his arms coiled around your waist. You captured those puffy lips again, delighting in the wet heat behind them. They pressed fervent wishes to yours, ones too bold to utter but distinctive in their taste. His mouth found a rhythm, ferocious and insistent, tongue sliding home against yours, in and out. 

Excitement turned his body to a live-wire at the feeling of your bare curves pressed to his, animated with a sudden urge to rid you of the rest of your clothing, to drag you to the bed and make you his. Images zapped through his brain at lightning speed, raced through his blood with every pump of his pounding heart. Suddenly his lips were at your collarbone, lathing a hot trail up the ridges of your neck as the heat sung through his veins. It came out as a mumble against the skin below your ear. “Bedroom?” 

It was one word. His voice. So heavy and colored with lust that it tingled through your entire body. A million images shot through your head, rippled and throbbed with the want to experience every one. Eddie paused there for the answer, breathing hotly against the skin of your neck, pressing insistently into your hip. It was a sobering word, and yet the weight of it clouded all logic. The clock ticked on in the corner. Your pulse hammered in your ears. The animal in you responded, met his eyes, took his hand, and led him down the hallway through the door on the left.

It was dark in there. Between the glow coming in through the cracked door behind him and the street lamp shining through the slats of your blinds, Eddie could make out the shape of a dresser, a desk, a bookshelf, the rectangular mass of a bed against the wall to the left. And you—a soft silhouette—stopping in the center of the room to look at him. 

There was a small part of you that still could not believe you were about to do this. That Eddie Munson was standing in your bedroom, shirtless and heaving his breath as the faint hallway light made a halo of his frizz. He shut the door behind him, leaving you both in near darkness. There was a pause. A space filled with both your anticipating breaths for just a beat until he descended on you, and then there were no thoughts anymore.

Suddenly it was like you were drunk at a party. Between the wet smacks of his crushing lips, you could almost hear the thud of the bass from the living room, the din of voices bleeding into one outside the door. Every party you had never attended, every bad thing you had always craved to do—flashing behind your eyelids as his kisses intoxicated you.

You surrendered completely. To the fantasy, to desire, to him—parting your lips, receiving his tongue, giving in to the rush of his skin pressed to yours, the waves of him taking you under, his crushing arms around you. In the dark, all hesitance dissolved, all trepidation vanished. His mouth was hot and insistent. His hands, completely in charge. A whine escaped your lips, one that you had never heard before. It was needy and desperate and only stoked the fire in his kiss.

Desire spoke plainly, simply. A language you were learning with each pass of his demonstrating tongue. Soft syllables of “yes” and “good”. Sounds that transcended meaning, reverberated in your chest and throat, distilled down to its essence—love. Pure and true. Rising with each breath. Singing in your veins. You were learning to listen. Learning to forget all you had been taught. Learning to remember. When all was dark and there was nothing left but desire, there was so much to hear, so much to feel, so much to learn, and he was a masterful teacher.

Desire spoke volumes through your fingertips; clawing across the thick muscles of the back of his neck as you collided. It spoke in verses in the breath exchanged between you. Soft stanzas in the rush of skin-on-skin. It moved in daring undulation, a dance laid dormant in your bones, sparked to memory by the soft hair below his navel, by his strong arms around you. 

In the dark, there were only feelings. The tangle of his curls around your fingers, the angle of his jaw between your palms. The friction of your dewey bodies pressed together, nipples dragging against the sparse hair of his hammering chest. The muscles of your hands and mouth burned with desperate heat. Every nerve heightened. Every cell aware. 

Eddie lead the dance with his hips, his tongue, his impatient fingers—free to seek and roam. It was like every fantasy he’d ever had about you was coming to life beneath his palms. In this one he didn’t need to imagine. It could have been any of them—backstage in a dressing room after a sold-out show, at a hotel somewhere along a desert highway, right here in your bedroom just being real people. There was a boldness that came over him, an agency the darkness provided, one where he could be the sort of man he always dreamed he was. One where his hands were sure and stable, never fumbling. One where he impressed you with his prowess, rendered you awestruck and proud. 

Breaking to kiss his neck, you savored the oily sweetness of his skin, the richness of the scent emanating from under his arms—musky and spicy and so indescribably him. You’d caught it a few times in the past when he’d propped his head in his hand on the desk, or stretched toward the sky against the stiff wooden chair. It made you dizzy, filled you with a pang so deep you had to bury yourself in the textbook to sober you human again.

Presently, all rational thoughts were clouded by the tightening of his biceps around you, the tendons rippling under his skin as he swallowed. You flicked out your tongue to taste them, pawing down his smooth back, dragging your nails over his shoulder blades, down, down, down over the dip in his spine, the muscles of his lower back. 

In the dark, only the animals in you remained; ferocious and insatiable. Yours felt like nipping at his jaw, his clawed impatiently at the zipper of your skirt, yanking it down, working it free to pool at your feet. You stepped out of it like an old skin, kicking it toward your dresser. Feeling for the zippers on your boots, you steadied yourself on Eddie’s shoulder, tugging them down with a few clumsy hops before toeing them off. Tossing them into the darkness, they clattered against your dresser before thudding to the floor. The same with your stockings, which landed somewhere by your desk.

Eddie’s kisses became sloppy, erratic, barely a split second before his sweaty palms descended on your rear. They clung to the thin cotton fabric—one at each cheek—and dragged slowly, tightly upward. The burn was delicious, stoking the fire in you as the delicate cotton bunched under his palms to expose you. 

“I have a condom in my wallet,” he mumbled into your neck.

The words struck you dumb, dizzy, rippled up your spine to loll your head backward. He reset his hands, fingertips raking over your naked flesh, clawing into you like dough. All you could respond with was a thick, fuzzy laugh as your cheeks splayed under his touch—back arched, chest sparking against his, brain quickly turning to putty. 

There was no masking his delight as he clawed the cotton fabric, spreading your cheeks like dough under his palms. How pliant you were. Eager. A willing landscape for him to explore. His fingers trekked lower, dipping under your cheek until they brushed a hill of wet cotton. Eddie choked on the sound leaping out of his throat, zapped senseless with need. Snaking his arm around your back, he swiped his fingers slowly over your mound. You were saturated. Soaked through to slick between your thighs. For him. 

The thickness in his breath could have rendered you to ash. You arched your back like a cat in heat; fluttering open, throbbing with emptiness. The sound that came out of you was unrecognizable, rising from that deep, foreign place to purr against his neck. You were learning how much you liked this position—like a ragdoll in his arms, eyes closed as his finger dipped under the seam of your panties, as it slipped against your folds. You loved the way he explored you—heated but tentative. Loved how it made you feel—desired, craved. Loved most of all how it made him react, his breathless cursing, how now two of his fingers were spreading and sliding, parting your folds, exploring your heat. It felt unbelievably good. You spread your legs a little, hoping to encourage one of them inside you. 

But he didn’t. Instead, his hands retreated. Eddie sucked his fingers, eyes pinching as he savored your tang. They left his mouth with a pop. “I need you, now. Like—like right now,” he wavered thickly. Metal jingled, leather snapped against his palm. There was a pop of a button, the sound of a zipper, a sigh of relief that ghosted over your face. He shoved his jeans down around his ass before pausing with an irritated huff. “Fuck, my boots.”

“Let me,” you offered, crouching down until your knees met the carpet. You felt for the laces, padding around his ankle to find the loops, impatiently digging your nails into the tight double knots to work them free. 

It was all he could do just to look at you. You, kneeling before him, fumbling and cursing and so incredibly real. When you finally pried the boots off his ankles, you stood up on your knees, eye-level with his open zipper.

The moonlight bleeding in from behind your curtains made his pale skin glow, accenting the dark trail below his navel. It looked delectable—the swell of his belly before it tapered off to dip below the waistband of his boxers. You pressed your lips to it, nuzzling into the hair before your teeth caught the swell of fat under his navel. It flinched against your lips with his gasp.

You couldn’t help yourself anymore. Your fingers—so trained in good behavior—were suddenly behaving very badly; moving on their own, dipping between his legs to cup his balls. They lurched against your hand, sliding up on either side of the humid cotton. Show me, you begged with your hand as it tracked slowly upward. It felt so bad, in the best way bad could feel. The carpet burning into your kneecaps, the jagged metal zipper grazing the backs of your fingers as you traced upward, the burning stretch of his hardness underneath the cotton, the soaked plume of his tip. So unbelievably bad. Your eyes darkened, and your nose dove into the checkered fabric without a second thought. All remaining fragments of your rational mind were melted by his musk into a fuzzy haze that only understood one thing. It spoke in flutters and wet, aching throbs. Your hand returned beneath his package as you began to track kisses up his clothed, attentive length.

Eddie’s breath hitched, belly ripping in your peripheral as your lips met the ridge of his tip. You pressed a lingering kiss against the soaked cotton. “Fuck,” he hissed, tipping his chin toward the ceiling. He gasped when he felt the warmth of your tongue bleed through the fabric. “Oh—ohhhmyfuckinggod.” 

His whine was almost enough to unravel you. Dragging your fingers coaxingly under the weight of his sack, your tongue got acquainted with his tip, flicking up under the fat, heart-shaped ridge, tasting the slick reward which you lapped through the fabric. It was bad. So terribly bad, yet nothing had ever tasted as satisfying or sounded as sweet as the ragged sighs your bad behavior earned you. 

You purred, giving him a couple generous pecks before your fingers wedged under his waistband. 

Show me, you said as your cool fingers met his molten skin, and Eddie found the strength to open his eyes and look down at you. You, from a thousand aching fantasies kneeling before him with heavy lids and mouth agape as you peeled down the fabric to free him. 

It was a proud thing. Holy in its him-ness. Like a singular painting, the motifs were consistent; a collection of lines and shapes that came together to make him. In the plume of his tip you could almost glimpse echos of the wide, pink bow of his lips, the ball of his nose. It curved attentively upward, bobbing with his breath as you admired it with equal parts reverence and heated curiosity until your hand closed the gap.

There was a breath you both let out together, a silent oh breathed in unison at such intimate contact. Eddie had to bite his lip, close his eyes, tip back his head toward the ceiling as your fingers—the ones he’d ached to touch a thousand times—so intimately explored him. He assumed he was not the first man you’d touched in this way, but the way you were grazing with such delicate wonder gave him pause to consider. 

Desire flooded your entire body, heightened and exhilarated, tingling with curiosity. Fingers trailed over velvet veins, eyes alight as your knuckle swiped upward along the underside, testing its weight and reactivity until it met the dimple of his weeping ridge. A whine left Eddie’s downturned lips; a guttural plea to continue. Obliging, you gripped him, tightening as he bucked into your hand, velvet skin gliding under your firm grasp. “Mmmm,” you purred on an upward stroke, a darkness rousing in you from his complete undoing.

Eddie half-buried his face in his hand, fingers raking across his scalp as your thumb breeched the ridge, padding over his most sensitive spot before circling his slit. “Ohh fuck,” he moaned. “Jesus fuck.”

It wept under your thumb, sticky and gushing another wave of arousal as you squeezed. “You like that?” came a voice you’d never heard before but liked the sound of.

“Ahhhh-hah,” he breathed a crazed laugh as his balls twitched from the friction and the sound of your voice saying that.

His tip was soft and rigid all at once. Slick and inviting to your thumb. You couldn’t stop yourself from rubbing it, from delighting in the way he bucked and melted and breathed under your touch. Your other hand dipped curiously, zipper scraping your knuckles, hair so soft against your palm as you cupped his sack—heavy and actively tightening against his body. 

Eddie’s eyes rolled back into his head, heaving a breath from the pressure mounting inside of him. The animal in him was desperate to chase it—to clench, and spill, and explode—but he wanted to be good for you. Good like he always imagined. He wanted to make your back arch, your toes curl, to drill you till your claws drew down at his back until you howled with your own release.

Mesmerized by his display of pleasure, you pumped your hand, twisting slowly at the top, delighting in the way he rutted into your grip, how effortless his hardness slid within your grasp, the way his breath hissed from behind clenched teeth. 

It felt so good. Ungodly good. Too good. Biting his lip, he sent a silent prayer toward your popcorn ceiling, searching for something—anything—in his bank of horrible memories to bring him back to Earth. But as your thumb settled into the spot that had him seeing stars, a sudden wave of fear crashed over him. “Stop,” he barked, hand clamping tightly on your wrist. “I’m gonna—hah—oh fuck.” Eddie hissed a long breath, drawing himself back from the edge with every last ounce of his will.

“Sorry,” you breathed, releasing your grip. His clammy grasp lingered a second before letting go.

“No, don’t be sorry, fuck, I just—” he released a slow, steadying breath through pursed lips before continuing, “I just don’t wanna totally ruin this. Know what I mean?”

You did, and you imagined it for a second; pumping his cock, feeling his balls twitch against your palm as he exploded to paint your chest white, how it would cream under your fingers as he painted the ceiling with the colors of his voice. It drove you mad with wanting, but the throb between your legs was more demanding. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it—it feels really good. Just… a little too good,” he said, wringing a hand behind his neck. 

With a sensual flick of your eyes, you tugged his jeans and boxers down until he was able to step out of them. Eddie extended a chivalrous hand, and you rose to your feet. Effortlessly, as if they belonged there, your lips found his in the dark, drawing his face between your palms and planting a kiss that lasted a whole breath. His lips parted, tongue seeking yours as his fingers found the waistband of your panties. He looped them through the leg hole with a pointed tug that had you stumbling into him. 

“Mmm?” he mumbled against your mouth.

“Mmhmm,” you sighed. 

He peeled them off of you, leaving a wet trail that clung to your inner thighs as they passed your knees and ankles. Breaking the kiss, you kicked them aside. 

There was a single beat as you both stood naked in the darkness, just breathing as you drank each other in. Bathed in moonlight, stripped away to reveal the truth of what you had been all along: simply a man and a woman. Then, suddenly, as if a trigger snapped in both of you at once, there was a collision. A smashing of lips, a tangle of arms, a slotting of hips as you entwined. 

Your whole body came alive at once, zapping with life as his velvet length pressed to your hip, zinging as his lips tracked down your jaw to seek your neck. It was bliss to come undone, to loll your head back and just give in. To let him lead the dance toward your mattress. To let his hands cup your rear, spread your legs and wedge his thigh between them. To let him do whatever he wanted. The sparse hair of his leg sparked along your delicate flesh. It had you clawing at the muscles of his shoulders, arching your back, grinding your pelvis in a way that would have put the novels you kept in your nightstand to shame.

Eddie propped his foot against your the boxspring of your mattress, kneading his hands against your ass as he made a meal of you. The wet trail you left against his thigh had his brain short-circuiting, leaving nothing but the animal in him to grapple with the living fantasy of you, naked in his arms. He could not possibly touch you enough. There was not enough flesh on his palms, nor nerves in his whole body to feel you in the million ways he wanted to at once. All at once, every fantasy he’d ever had, crashing like a tidal wave as his hands steered your hips in real time. 

It felt better than you’d ever imagined; the rush of his bare skin under your palms as they glided down his back, the estranged pleasure mounting where his thigh met your most intimate seam, the friction of his teeth against your neck. You were drowning in the most delicious way. Drifting toward some place on the horizon that spoke only the language of heavy palms and panting breaths. Letting him carry you there.

You whined when he lowered his leg—quickly replaced by his hand, spreading and exploring, breaking from your neck to watch it happen as his mouth became a silent, hanging O. There was a fire in his blood that was mounting, throbbing in his temples, blinding him with need as his fingers parted slick hair, carded through your folds, slipped against your eager entrance. Every inch of you. The fever broke, and the sliver of his brain that had urged patience snapped silent. Now, a much deeper voice barked. No more waiting. No more wanting. 

Your calves hit the edge of the mattress, sending you tumbling backwards onto the chilly comforter. Eddie was quick to pounce, climbing on top of you, prying your legs open with his. You fluttered eagerly, melting into the heat of his chest as he pinned you to the bed—trapped in the sweetest cage of his arms. 

In the course of your relationship, it was always your position that had wedged itself between you. Yours, behind the big desk. His, behind the small one. Your position—a thing at risk of being lost. A mantle. A standard for you to uphold. This one defied them all. Wrong, by all technical accounts, but in all your life, nothing had ever felt so right as your position beneath him. 

You breathed together for a moment, chests expanding into one another, foreheads pressed together, exploring the bridge of his nose with your own. Thighs splayed open, heart beating rabbit-fast, completely at his mercy. A faint terror whispered in the back of your mind at the prospect of his bareness, at the ways he could ruin you. And yet you ached for ruin all the same.

Eddie’s tip kissed the wet heat of your lips and the animal screamed from the base of his brain to push. But he caught the hitch in your breath, the way your hips flexed backward in response. He bucked reflexively but stilled, biting his lip with a pained huff. “I’m not—I’m not gonna, I just…” 

A soft sense of trust flooded in as Eddie drew a deep breath, dragging himself through your folds. It was a delicious sort of torture, the ache enough to drive you mad. Empty and thrumming with anticipation at the prospect of fullness so near. Drowning in the fantasy of him sinking deep, of feeling him leak from you later. You whined, drawing your fingers down his back as his hips rolled slowly. So dangerously close.

It took all of his strength to hold his position, all his control to keep from sliding in. He liked how it felt; you beneath him, writhing in the cage of his arms. He liked the little sounds you made, how evident your wanting was, how he could feel you almost take him in, how his cock would dip ever so slightly against your entrance like you wanted to. He was stunned by it, delirious from the rush of sensation. ��Hmm—” he winced after a few more agonizing seconds, “fuck, I can’t take it anymore.” Peeling himself from your body, he shifted off the side of the bed with a creak of the mattress and into the darkness. 

You laid there on the comforter, staring dazed at the ceiling as he padded across the room. Lifting your head to glance, it struck you just how real this was, and yet more startling than his naked form making his way across your bedroom was how comfortable you felt with all of it. How at peace you were as his belt buckle jingled from the darkness, as his pants returned to a heap on the floor, as his wallet snapped shut. 

It was suddenly all very real—the cool sheets under his knees as you drew back the comforter, the condom wrapper crinkling between his fingers as he felt for the jagged grooves, the anticipating silence filled with both your breaths. The soft metal split, and he fished the rubber from the package with a trembling finger. Tossing the wrapper into the darkness, he felt for the nub that indicated the tip, the ridge that indicated which direction it should roll. He’d done this enough times to know by now but for some reason it felt like a foreign object; clumsy, slippery in his hands as he grasped himself. Finally, he got it; pinching the nub to roll it down over his flinching tip, he unraveled it until it was flush with him.

You watched his silhouette quietly through the frame of your legs, heart kicking up with a sudden, surprising nervousness as you felt the warmth of his hands on your knees. He resumed his position, settling between your thighs, propped on his elbows. The return of his warmth was a welcome thing; comforting and soothing, familiar and indescribably correct. You both laid there a moment just breathing. Just being. Sobering to the tickle of his bangs against your forehead, the sweat beneath them as you rocked against it, the tang of salt when you captured his lips. 

A sudden wave of nerves coiled through his belly as his tip kissed your entrance again, how it gelled with the rush of desire, the fire licking through his veins. His arms trembled under his own weight, the anticipation, the now-ness of it all. “Ok,” he breathed, “you want me?” 

You swiped down his face, clearing the stray hairs that clung to the sides of his mouth and sweaty temples. It was easy to answer. Easy to admit. “I want you.”

It soothed him like a balm, washed over his trembling shoulders, his hammering chest. Imbued him with an urgency that had him splaying his knees, rocking his hips, and inviting himself in.

There was a pressure at your entrance—a filling of that aching space that had you seeing stars. When he asked for admission there was no hesitation. You welcomed him with open thighs and hands that tracked the muscles of his back as you received him in one slow thrust. Your inhale stuttered at its crest, caught in your throat before hissing from your lips as you ached alive, ached awake. Finally, with no resistance. Only the sparks of ineffable pleasure as the emptiness inside you was filled at last. 

A shudder escaped both of you at once, something closer to a sob. Yours directed toward the ceiling, his ghosting over your neck. You stayed like this a moment—locked, seated, stunned by the pleasure of your joining. 

Eddie hung his head with a groan, curls waterfalling around your face as he rutted impossibly deeper. He could have died here, buried himself and made you his tomb. He was crumbling, coming apart, actively deteriorating from the warmth of your body around him, from the all sensations of you, from the stunned satisfaction flooding through every inch of him. Finally, it cried. Finally, finally. The edge was close, a few pushes away. He could feel the components preparing, desperate for release, begging the rest of him to push, push, push. His whole world was spinning, threatening to collapse in on itself. Dragging himself away from the edge with a deep breath, he reeled in the parts that threatened to unravel at at the way you accepted him. How effortless it was, how tightly you hugged him, both inside and out. How your palms gripped his shoulders, soft inner thighs like a cradle for his hips. He swallowed thickly, blinking hard to open his eyes up to you, beneath him, around him like a home he’d been missing his whole life. Finally, he allowed himself to relax into the feeling, to let his weight fall against your belly. Flush with every angle, gasping into the soft crook of your shoulder.

You drew him impossibly closer, tucking your ankles under his rear, raking your fingers across his scalp as he settled. The fullness was ecstatic, the stretch so deep it was like he was burrowing behind your navel, radiating dull pleasure from the space he occupied. It was a perfect fit. Tailor-made to reach the points that pined for pressure in both of you. So full you felt like you could burst. So full it prickled at the corners of your eyes, exited your downturned mouth in a gasp—a silent prayer, a thank you toward one that was answered. One you had asked for in secret, pressed into the folds of linen napkins, whispered into the ceiling of The Hideout as the stage lights touched your face. You could have stayed like this forever, merged and crystalized. Deliriously, you prayed you would, and yet you ached to feel his love animated. To be battered by it. Bruised by it. Bullied by his fierce, frenetic love. By an energy you had glimpsed in stolen moments, witnessed him harness on stage, tasted in the smoke on his tongue.

Eddie raised his head to look at you, admiring the shading of your features in the near darkness, the bliss painted across your lips, your heavy lids. A waking dream. You tipped your chin, feathering his mouth with yours; sensual, playful, eager. He brushed against your parted lips, twin breaths mingling in soft pants before an urge arrested him. It was loud and all-consuming, shouting from the base of his brain, seizing his hips to draw back and roll forward. It had both of you seeing stars, grunting soft exclamations into the fractional distance between you. The sound and the friction gelled like a gas to feed the fire coursing through him, igniting a fierce urge to move, to show you, to deliver his promise. 

And just like that he was gone. Possessed. Arrested by a driving need that had him hunkering forward, rocking his hips to a rhythm older than either of you could imagine. Familiar, ingrained, and almost involuntary. The pleasure had him drilling down to chase it; open-mouthed, eyes pinched, swept away by the current of his own making. He was dizzy with it. Lost in it. Fisting the sheets as his hips met your thighs with quick, heavy smacks. Desperate and frantic, hurtling toward his edge at a terrifying speed.

A moan was punched out of you—guttural, gasping. One that had your neck craning against the pillow as your chin reached toward your headboard. And you just held on; winding through his hair, dragging drown his back, drowning in feeling. Tight ripples of pleasure radiated from every thrust, stirring something so deep you had forgotten you had buried it—the fear that you would go your whole life and never feel this way. It bubbled up through your sternum, burned at the corners of your eyes, surfaced in strangled sounds at the back of your throat. 

The friction roared like wildfire between you, and a tightening deep in his body warned him with flashing lights that looked red but felt green. A blended hue of pleasure and fear coiled its way through his abdomen, but he was consumed by you—warm and wet and tight around him. Gasping to his rhythm, making music that he’d never heard before. He harmonized with it, quickening his pace with grunts through gritted teeth. His mind was a swirling mess, forearms burning and trembling, sweat dripping down his neck, but none of it even registered in the wake of blinding pleasure. So good. So fucking good. How badly he wanted to show you, to hear those sounds escalate to screams. 

You sobbed a moan, splitting at the seams as time and sense slipped away down the current. Unraveling like a spool of thread rolled down a hill. Becoming blissfully undone after a lifetime of being wound so tight. Pleasure sparked through your channel, tears flickered in the corners of your eyes. It felt as though you might break open. “Eddie,” you whined, clawing into his shoulders as you arched against the mattress.

It swirled between his ears, rushed down his spine to throb in that deep, low place. His name, your voice, this way. There was a kick inside. A switch that flipped. An urge that he was helpless but to follow, unable to control. His heart rate quickened, breath heaving as he spiraled down a tunnel with nothing to brace but the mattress. “Oh fuck, oh god, oh no, OH—”

It was the moment right before the release that was the sweetest. The tingle he could feel radiating from deep inside like a big yawn. He drew a deep breath with a skyward tilt of his chin, and for a few precious seconds there were no thoughts; no guilt, no shame, nothing at all in the midst of his blackout collision with pleasure. Eddie fisted the sheets, lurching forward as he slammed into you. 

Colors. Vibrant and rich. Painting the air between you with each shallow gasp. Escalating in pitch toward a spectacular display. It poured out of him. Every ounce of frustration, every bottled feeling, every unlived fantasy, erupting all at once. He buried it inside you. Hips pressed flush against your thighs, burrowing deeper with every pulse. Wave after white-hot wave. Crashing over him, coursing out of him with open-mouthed gasps. Waves of relief so good it threatened tears. 

It was breathtaking—the hue of each pitch. Sharp inhales through gritted teeth that melted into deep grunts on the exhale. Each twitch ignited inside you—sparks that had your eyes rolling back, had you drawing your knees toward the mattress to take it all. You grappled his shoulders, nails bluntly dragging down his sweat-kissed skin, grazing up the back of his neck as his moans faded to soft whines. So full. 

There was more. Still more. Coming out in dribbles now, petering to heaves with nothing left behind them. The spasms sent sparks inside you, and you fought to savor them—spreading wider, tucking in your ankles under his rear to draw him deeper. Finally, he collapsed, ragged with relief. He stayed like this a moment. Spent. Deflated. Chest expanding into yours as sharp pants dulled to steady breaths. 

Slowly, Eddie raised his head from where he’d hung it, sobering to the clock on your nightstand. It mocked him with glowing red numbers, of which he hazily calculated that only three had passed since he’d put the condom on. A surge of guilt rushed into the vacuum that pleasure left behind. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t—” he winced, hips jerking in the echoes of his climax. 

His words almost didn’t register through the fog of your bliss. “Sorry?” you breathed, blinking back into the room. 

“I—” he flinched again, fisting the pillow beneath you. “I came like, immediately. And you didn’t.”

“Oh—oh no it’s ok,” you soothed, running a hand down his back. “It felt unbelievably good. Like… the best I’ve ever had.”

Eddie heaved a sigh, overtaken by a strange mixture of shame for himself and pity for you. Suddenly he felt like he was back in your classroom, like you were ignoring his spelling mistakes, praising the C he got on his chemistry test. He shifted his weight, becoming increasingly aware of his chest sticking to yours, of the hair clinging to his neck, of the rubber around him straining with his own fluid, tight in the midst of hypersensitivity. 

He was quiet. A tense sort of quiet you’d seen from him before. Slowly, gently, your fingers found his temple, stroking away the sweat, tracking down to cup his jaw, settling just under his ear as your thumb busied itself with his soft cheek. “Eddie,” you whispered. 

It was soothing. Attentive. The kind of touch a hurt child might receive. A touch he’d craved for longer than he cared to admit, yet in this context, it was the last way he wanted to feel. “M’ gonna make it up to you,” he mumbled. Drawing on his quickly waning strength, he peeled himself from your body to sit back on his heels, still inside you. 

It was almost a shock—how chilly you felt in the absence of his weight. How bare and vulnerable. A soft cry escaped you, arms drawing around your body to shield against the cold creeping in.

The sound stirred him, dredged up and compounded the gnawing disappointment in himself. The nagging sense that he was fucking this up too, just like he did everything else. Desperate to hear something more satisfied, his fingers found your clit, drawing tight circles there. But you were still reeling in the pain of his absence, could still feel the shame radiating from him, and it dulled any chance of good feeling. 

“Stop, Eddie—” You grabbed his wrist. Eddie sighed sharply through his nose, stilling his hand. 

It was flooding in now, that hot tingling feeling he’d felt countless times under the fluorescents. How he’d fucked it all up, how he was making it even worse now. He could feel himself start to go soft, the condom becoming loose, sticky and uncomfortable. He drew back his hips to exit, but your knees locked around him.

“No, please—” The tears were close, right there. Stored from moments before in the height of your pleasure, just waiting behind your eyelids. You took his hand and tugged it gently toward you. “I just want you.”

There was a twinge in his chest that burst at your words, at how they wavered and threatened to crack. At how honest they were, how they felt to hear coming from you. Lead by your hand, he gave in—to gravity, to exhaustion, to a weight he’d carried for so long it seemed to be a part of him. Settling on top of you, resting his cheek against your sternum as heart thrummed steadily in his ear. The pain in your voice still echoed there, the thought that he’d caused it, unbearable. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

You shushed him, stroking over his temple, clearing the hairs that clung to his face. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Your lips found the crown of his head, pressing a long kiss there, inhaling the soft scent that filled you with an indescribable warmth. “I love you,” you whispered. “I love you.”

The words reverberated through your chest into his ear, softening the clench in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders. Eddie took a shaky breath through his nose. “I love you so much,” he wavered thickly, “I just—I just want to show you—”

It nearly broke you; the pain behind his words, the sudden realization of where they came from. You shushed him again, thumb soothing over his cheek. “You have.”

A knot released in his chest, undone by your careful fingers, exiting as a shallow sob he’d been harboring for longer than these last few moments. For longer than he could remember. The weight of it shook you, but you still remained. Solid, tangible, real as he collapsed into you, a haven for his tired bones to rest. It was all ebbing now—the adrenaline pounding through his veins since the moment you got in his van, the heightened sensations across every inch of his body, the sudden rush of pleasure, crashing all at once. Softening everywhere. A numbness settled over his limbs, all doubts ushered away by your thumb.

And then it was quiet. Absent of even the hum of the heat through the vents. Engulfed in a protective darkness with nothing but the sound of your own steady breathing—slow and soothing. Chests rising and falling against one another, lulled by a rhythm only the two of you could hear. 

His hand found yours in the dark, trailing across your wrist, sliding up your palm to lace his fingers between yours. The bones of his knuckles filled the empty space with a comforting stretch. Just like he’d done a dozen times in the shadows, like he’d done a thousand times in your daydreams. You squeezed back tightly, and for a still, silent moment, there was no separation. No gap to close between what you had and what you wanted. 

It was good like this. Alone. Together. Stroking his temple, feeling the crinkle of his smile against your palm, the cadence of his breath as it slowed nearly to sleep. Drifting off to some place on the horizon where neither of you had been before. Who knows where it would take you, what perils awaited out over the edge, when the sun eventually rose, when the halls filled once more with the echos of a hundred voices watching. But for now, there was only the soothing sound of your breaths, the rhythmic thrum of your two tired hearts as you drifted there together. 

______

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @carolmunson @keeponquinning @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins @mimsthebannished

There will be a celebration hosted by the lovely @teddiemunson86 and @ladylilylost on their discord server next Sunday, Sept. 1st at 2pm EDT where I will be talking about the chapter and what the future has in store for our forbidden lovebirds! If you're interested in joining, the link to the server is here. I also frequently post snippets and memes in the discussion channels. Hope to see you there!

📝 MASTERLIST ⎮📖 AO3 ⎮☕️ KO-FI

[munson-blurbs]

The Boy is Mine (Bug's Version)

Part of @carolmunson's writing challenge! Thank you for spreading some love and joy in this community, and I hope this fic makes you smile.

Summary: A cozy night in with your sweet boyfriend who is a nuisance in the best way.

Warnings: allusions to smut, allusion to spitting, lewd jokes, basically just fluffy fluffness

WC: 1k

--

Poke.

Poke poke.

Poke poke poke.

Poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke–

“If you don’t stop,” you hiss without looking up from your chemistry notes, “we’re gonna have a problem.” 

Eddie pulls his forefinger back from where it’s pressed against your earlobe, his shit-eating grin morphing into a pitiful pout.

“But it’s date night,” he whines, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You promised me we could curl up and watch Monty Python after an hour, and it’s been…” he glances at the digital watch wrapped around his wrist, “...one hour and three minutes.”

“I’m still trying memorize–”

He snaps the small notebook shut and pulls you closer to him, effectively cutting you off. “And you will–after the movie.” Leaning back against the couch, he lines up his finger to once again prod at you. “C’mon, Sweetheart; we never get the place to ourselves on Friday nights.”

He’s right; his uncle has off on Friday nights and usually prefers to spend his free time relaxing at home, but he’s on a fishing trip this weekend with some of his old army buddies. 

“Okay, okay.” Truthfully, you are in dire need of a break; the formulas and lists of molecular compounds have all become meaningless squiggles right before your eyes. Your back hurts from being hunched over the snack table you’re using in lieu of a desk. Whatever ‘studying’ you do now will likely be unproductive, so you might as well snuggle up next to your boyfriend and enjoy a movie. “But only if I can study after. Some of us would prefer not to spend an entire decade in high school.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs. You’re the only person who’s allowed to crack jokes about him being held back–twice–and you milk it for all it’s worth. “Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true. It’s only been six years. And I’m gonna graduate this time. So, ha.” He sticks out his tongue, making you giggle in turn. “But, fine. You can go back to your smart person mumbo-jumbo once we finish the movie and have sex.”

The last item on his agenda snags your attention as you swing your legs onto the cushion, its stuffing poking out from beneath its worn fabric. “Excuse me?” You cock a brow in disbelief.

“As compensation for the three minutes you spent neglecting me,” he explains with a shrug. “‘S only fair.”

“Sure. You usually only need three minutes anyway.” You lift your foot to dig it into his side, but he grabs it before you can tickle him, playfully bringing it towards his open mouth as though threatening to bite it. 

To be honest, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“Best three minutes of your goddamn life.” His smirk makes a triumphant reappearance as he stands up and pads over to the kitchen. The refrigerator light illuminates him in a bright glow, a juxtaposing halo on the man wearing a shirt with a cartoon devil plastered on the front. “Wayne took all of the beer with him, but we have Mountain Dew, some orange juice that I think is still good…oh, here it is!” He rummages through the top shelf and pulls out the last can of Diet Coke, the one he’d shoved towards the back so no one drank it before you could.

You shoot him a grateful smile that he returns easily. He plucks two mugs off of the wall, both of them gag gifts he’d given to his uncle, pouring Mountain Dew in one with Ask Me About My Nuts spelled out in bolts and screws and your soda in one with a three-dimensional pair of breasts jutting out from the body.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups,” he says sheepishly, likely referring to any container that didn’t allude to body parts. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect.” 

Eddie sets the drinks down on the snack table, careful not to spill on your notebook. “Okay, pretty girl. C’mere.” He places a throw pillow on his lap and pats it, signaling that it’s time for you to assume the prime cuddling position. 

As soon as you rest your head, his hand finds its home on your upper arm. His thumb, calloused but gentle, makes gentle strokes that have both of your hearts beating slowly and in sync.

“Babe?”

“Hmm?”

You roll over so you can see the stubble that’s starting to prickle along his cheeks, jawline, and under his chin. “You forgot about the movie. And the snacks.”

He groans, using his free palm to rub his nose in frustration. It’s one of the cutest habits he has, and part of you always wonders if he does it just to make you smile. 

“‘M too comfy to move,” he grumbles, peering down at you with a guilty expression. 

“Me, too,” you agree. “But…snacks.”

Eddie chuckles, stretching to grab something from his side of the sofa. “We’ve got this,” he says as he procures a half-eaten can of vanilla frosting. “I swear I just opened it last night. And we can just talk until we fall asleep, like we did when we first started dating.”

The memory floods your body with warmth. Even before the two of you became a couple, when you and Eddie were only friends, you would often stay up on the phone until your consciousness gave way. No conversation topic was off-limits; on one night when he’d been more than a bit tipsy, he’d divulged some of his more…private preferences. 

“So she spit in your mouth?”

“Mhm.”

“And you like that?” 

“Abso-fuckin-lutely, Sweetheart.”

Neither of you know where tonight will take you. Maybe you’ll become a familiar tangle of limbs, trading sloppy kisses and murmured sweet nothings. Maybe the sugar from the frosting will rejuvenate one of you enough to actually put the VHS in the player. Maybe you’ll just soak in each other’s softness, letting comfort envelop you until your eyelids become too heavy to keep up.

Wherever you go, you and Eddie will get there together.

--

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

神話 - "Ardent Dragon Rests Upon Resplendent Cliffs"

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

In which the Traveler and Paimon unknowingly come across a mysterious adeptus by the name of Sky Weaver while the two are exploring near the sparsely populated cliffsides of Mt. Mingyuan. Or; In which the long-forgotten tale of the adeptus Sky Weaver is uncovered by Aether from the lips of the various Adepti of the Nation of Liyue and the people who know them.

Prologue | Part 1 | (1.5) | Part 2 | (2.5) | Part 3 | (3.5) | Part 4 | (4.5) | Part 5 | (5.5) | Part 6 | (6.5) | Epilog | Extra 1 | Extra 2

                                                                                                   

🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞

The cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan were a dangerous place for any person to fool around on, but even more so for a child. Yet it made for the perfect place for tuning into nature and taking in the sights of the surrounding terrain, such as a magnificent view of Yilong Wharf, Mt. Lingmeng, river Jademouth, and the distant silhouette of Chiwang Terrace, the ruins of Fort Charybdis and Lumidouce Harbor in Fontaine. The most notable sight that one could witness upon the cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan however, was a breathtaking view of the sky that suffered no light pollution despite the proximity to Yilong Wharf.

Although, for a certain ochre-eyed child, Mt. Mingyuan was the perfect place to sneak off whenever he wanted some distance from his family or to practice his passion for wushu dancing.

Gaming had once again climbed up the mountain, carrying with him the hollow costume lion head that was many sizes too large for him at his current age. The costume head is held over his own to prevent it from collecting stains by being dragged along the damp mud and grass as he walks. Occasionally it tips forward and obstructs his view, causing him to stumble to regain his footing and tip the object back to its original position.

Today was particularly different from other times he had come up the mountain. This time, instead of grinning with excitement and running up the familiar path to reach the grassy plateau-like area he usually practiced at, he frowned with tears collecting on his lower lashes as he glumly dragged his feet along as he walked. Earlier, not even an hour ago, Gaming had gotten into an argument with his father; the older man telling him that his dream was foolish and that he should focus on continuing the family tradition of being a tea farmer.

Now, here he was, curled up around the costume lion head with his back to the trunk of a tree. The dew that rested on the grass beneath him soaked into his shorts but he couldn't bring himself to care. The fur of the costume head was damp with his tears, the wetness causing the faugh fur to clump together in places.

“...Mortal child, it is dangerous to dwell upon this mountain unaccompanied is it not…?”  

A soft but masculine voice just to his left gently called out to him.

Gaming flinches in shock as he whips his head in the direction of the voice. His red teary eyes widened in shock and confusion at the abrupt appearance of another person. Once the ochre-eyed boy really took in this person's features, however, his jaw dropped in awe. 

A man, likely in his late twenties, who had long h/c hair with streaks of misty blue that were braided in certain places and seemed to reach his knees, long, thick lashes that hung over beautiful e/c eyes, and a peculiar blue symbol on his forehead. The man was draped in an elegant four-layered silk robe; the outermost layer being white with a navy blue and desaturated green bamboo leaf pattern. He was possibly the most beautiful person that the aspiring wushu dancer had ever seen before.

An amused chuckle from the mysterious and handsome man pulled the ochre-eyed child. from his thorough observation and reminded him of the question that was asked of him.

“Well, I'm not alone since uncle is with me now.”  

Gaming answers, shyly averting his eyes from the stranger's face with pinkened cheeks at the embarrassment of being caught staring.

The man tensed for a moment –from what the brunette child could tell from the other's body language– at the word uncle, but quickly regained his relaxed but regal posture. It seemed that this enigmatic stranger wasn't too fond of strangers, how ironic.

“Uncle, you called this one? Is that not a term reserved solely for those that one trusts?”  

The long-haired man asks with apprehension, worried that the child in front of him would find himself in trouble due to being too trusting.

Gaming giggled at the man's contorted expression, it was rare to see an adult become shy around him, so he couldn't help but find it a bit funny. He grinned at the stranger, his previous sadness momentarily forgotten as he focused all his attention on the man to his left.

“Well yeah, you're older than me and I don't know your name. Plus, you seem really nice. You wouldn't have asked if I was alone if you were a bad person. So, you're uncle.”  

The ochre-eyed child chirped, giving the man a close-eyed smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He pauses, however, eyes opening with curiosity as he asks the stranger a question.

“Actually, what is your name, uncle?”  

The e/c-eyed man, still registering the child's first and very worrying statement, doesn't answer. He heard the question, but his mind was preoccupied with his increasing worry for the previously crying boy, so he paid it no mind.

“Mortal child, this one's name is not of importance at the moment. What this one concerns one's self with is that you trust far too swiftly.”  

The robe-clad man expresses his worries, his face holding a mix of pity and concern as he takes a step closer to the boy; his posture growing more protective.

Straightening his back and stretching his arms above, causing the costume lion head to roll off his lap, Gaming stands from the damp ground. He sends a quick glance to the low-hanging sun to the west, letting him know that he should probably make his way back home within the hour lest he worry his mother. Picking up the costume head off of the grass, he turns to the beautiful stranger as he pulls the costume head over his own.

“I'll think about what you said, Uncle Měilì. I have to start heading back though, or mom will get worried about me.”  

The brunette child smiles warmly as he balances the lion's head properly.

The man, now dubbed ‘Uncle Měilì’ raises a brow at the boy in confusion. That certainly wasn't his name. By reflex, he sweeps his gaze around to check if there are any other people present, but, of course, there aren't.

“Měilì? Is it this one that you are referring to, mortal child?”  

‘Uncle Měilì’ asks the boy as he points at himself with an air of disbelief and amusement.

Gaming turns to him with a pout, annoyed at the robed man's question. The ochre-eyed boy had already asked for his name, only for the inquiry to be ignored. He huffed and turned away from the man as he began to walk back the way he came.

“You said your name wasn't important, so I gave you a nickname instead. I can't just keep calling you Uncle, y'know. Also, my name is Gaming, remember it, okay?”  

He called out as he continued walking down the mountain, the costume lion head held up above his own with his little arms.

Stopping when he doesn't hear a reply, the child looks behind him to see no one there. Only a retreating spectral-like mist could be seen, sweeping through the sky in majestic arcs and swirls as it climbed up the mountain.

The cliffs of Mt. Mingyuan were a dangerous place for any person to fool around on, but even more so for a child. However, for a certain ochre-eyed child, Mt. Mingyuan was the perfect place to sneak off whenever he wanted some distance from his family or to practice his passion for wushu dancing. It also served as a wonderful place where the boy met someone who would be a shoulder to lean on in his time of need.

Mt. Mingyuan is where a young Gaming first met that mysterious adeptus known as Sky Weaver.

🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞•♡•🏞

                                                                                                   

Footnotes:

Sky Weaver's appearance is heavily based upon the character Chuyi Flower Cake from ‘The Tale of Food’. I was actually going to add Cloud Retainer in at the very end, but changed my mind since this half chapter was already twice as long as the previous one. The word Měilì or 美麗 means Beauty, it's a simple nickname that I just grabbed on the fly.

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Genshin Masterlist and Series Masterlist!

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[thelampisaflashlight]

Some casual, domestic ghoul thoughts, because why not? Let's go.

-Mountain has a trunk of blankets at the end of his bed; It's this big, chunky box he's had forever, a family heirloom, maybe, but even he isn't sure of its origins, and, inside of it, are all these handmade, knit or woven blankets and handstitched quilts that he only breaks out during the fall and winter months.

They all smell distinctly of the wood the box is made out of and a sort of softer, cool scent that's hard to place but somehow feels... familiar and soothing.

He only ever hang dries them, and he repairs them himself if any of they get stained or torn.

Sometimes, if one of his fellow ghouls isn't feeling well, he'll grab one of the lighter quilts to tuck them into their beds with, and while it doesn't have any sort of magical healing qualities, the comfort and smell often helps the others sleep a little better.

-Dew can knit, and makes a lot of hats, gloves, and scarves when he's bored, which he usually donates once he's done.

He has a couple sweaters he made for himself that he usually wears around the abbey once it gets cold out, and once knit a teeny tiny baby sweater with a matching hat and booties as a baby shower gift for one of the sisters of sin, because he wanted to test the crochet pattern... so he could make a sweater for his Baphomet plush.

Some of his "scrapped" knitting projects can be found throughout the ghouls' den, including, but not limited to; Two sets of potholders, about a dozen mug covers, one of those chunky yarn blankets you make using your arms as the needles, and three failed crochet Baphomets in varying stages of completeness.

-Cirrus collects small, carved figurines of animals, and has even made a few herself; She started her collection after she found a frog carved out of soapstone at an antique shop in one of the towns they passed through on tour, and it's grown since then.

She usually just displays them in her room, but she also likes to pop them into little nooks and empty spaces in the den to make it feel more "homey" to her.

As for the ones she's made herself, Cirrus usually takes a bit of wood and whittles it down over the course of an afternoon to make various little creatures and the occasional woodland scene.

Additionally, she's also gotten into pyrography, aka wood burning, and has made a couple art pieces that she's sold on the sly in the town nearby the abbey.

And lastly;

-Aurora took up pottery not long after she was summoned, using it to connect herself to her elements and feel more whole in the process, but it became a fun hobby as well, and now she makes little knickknacks and things that for gifts or just to spruce up her room.

Sometimes, when she's bored, she'll make weird clay creatures or ones based off of folklore and set them out in the common room's mantle, with an everchanging story being played out with the figures.

She has also made clay figures of her packmates, usually basing them off of photos, and displays them instead of putting pictures on the wall.

Her first sculpt lives on Copia's desk in his office, and is of a small, slightly wonky looking bird.

[xxcallmemaryxx]

Hi, I have a little personal request nad I hope u feel comfortable doing it.

most of the time - if not all the time - i hate talking and that's why a lot of people tend to think i dislike everyone, but is just my social anxiety, so I want some fluff about the ghoul with a reader that it's really reserved and bc of that other members from the clergy usually ignore them, please <3

Its almost as if you just took a peak into my life anon, I deal with the exact same thing.

Mountain took one look at you, one sniff in your direction, and pretty much claimed you. If anyone of the ghouls is going to get it… it’s gonna be mountain.

I mean… I feel like he is kind of the same right? He feels no desire to constantly be talking. He feels no desire to constantly be social. Those who took the time to know Mountain, understand that he will happily sit in silence and consider that bonding time.

So when he took the time to know you, you clicked right away. He sees a lot of himself in you and it’s refreshing for him to have someone who really gets it.

There’s quite a big part of Mountain that loves the quiet moments the two of you share. When you sneak away to the woods on the Abbey property, or when the rest of the ghouls are off doing whatever it is they decided to do that day, and it’s just the two of you. Alone.

For Mountain, he doesn’t see this as a challenge to find you more friends or introduce you to people to ‘help’ you. Should you want to do so, of course he would support you. But the comfort comes from knowing you can be silent, just sitting with him… or with the other ghouls or whoever it is you want to be around and do exactly that. There’s no pressure to talk. There’s no pressure to fill the silence. And every time he notices how comfortable you are with him… he feels his heart soar.

He is almost positive that you can hear it, when it’s just the two of you. Perhaps you’re curled up with him in his room, or cozied up under a nice tree on a warm day. When the two of you sit down for breakfast, still half asleep with your eyes barely open… he is just positive… that you can hear his heart beating for you.

Rain would be kind of similar. Although he definitely likes to get involved and steal the spotlight every now and then… he will never put you in a position where you feel like you need to step up for him.

Rains heart is massive, he has so much room in his life for every single friend he could possibly make. He saw you, on your own, it took one second for him to decide he was having none of that and took you under his wing. You two have been inseparable ever since.

He keeps you close. The day Rain learned you felt a sense of safety with him. It was game over honestly… you’ve not gone a day without seeing or hearing from him. He gets so excited that he is your safety net. Sometimes too excited, because he has never been the safety net before. He has always had the safety net. And when he sees just how comfortable you feel with him, he gets all fuzzy and happy and soft and forgets to settle himself.

Of course he understands that he isn’t always going to see you, and he isn’t always going to hear from you. And he can be patient, and can wait for you to feel ready to come find him again. He knows that it may take a few hours, maybe a few days. And even when he is just itching to lock the two of you in your room and crawl into bed with you and soak up your presence again… he must wait. He is a good boy though… he waits for you every time and tells you just how proud of you he is every. Time.

Dew is a whole other story. He saw you, sitting on your own and just… didn’t really understand why. Like, why aren’t you interacting with other people? Why aren’t you sitting with your friends? Where are your friends? He wants to know. He needs to know.

So he plopped down right next to you and started rattling off all the questions he could think of. It was a rough start to your friendship to say the least. But, he made it his mission to know you. And boy, did it take time. But your world and his world were so vastly different that he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Fast forward to now, he has realised a lot about himself. And now he comes to you when he needs to step away for a bit. Dew has quite literally given you so much confidence, in the sense that he showed you that even the most popular, impulsive and out of control ghouls can drain their social battery.

He might not completely understand just how difficult it can be to put on a smile and go be social all day when you just can’t do it. But thanks to you, he learnt that it’s important for him that he spends some time away from the noise and away from the world. It’s during those moments that your worlds connect, and the two of you find a kind of peace with each other. You both found something in each other that you’d never been able to find before. And as a result, the bond between the two of you grows with every passing night.

Aether gets it too, he has his friends and his popularity among the Clergy, but Aether will always chose to spend his nights, and his free time, doing his own thing. So when he met you, he couldn’t believe someone hadn’t already come and scooped you up and away from the rest of the world. To him, you were like a dream. He didn’t need to put on a mask around you. He didn’t need to put on a smile or put up a front that would convince you he was ready for action. He could breathe a little deeper, and knock down his walls.

Much like Mountain, he finds so much comfort knowing he can just chill out and do his own thing whilst in your presence. You don’t even have to be doing the same thing, Aether could be cooking up a storm in the kitchen and you could be perched happily on an empty counter, or on a chair nearby just reading a book.

There’s no pressure to have conversation, and there is no awkwardness when it’s quiet. It’s just lovely. Aether actually finds himself craving those moments with you. When he is away on tour, or if he has duties he needs to attend to or if he has been invited somewhere and his friends are relying on his presence. He just can’t stop thinking about how peaceful it is when he is with you. The content look on your face is enough to give him purpose in life.

Swiss and you are like polar opposites. He is similar to Dew in the sense that, he is well loved among the Clergy. He has looooots of people aiming to grab his attention even for just a little moment. And there’s a big part of him that loves it. He loves the attention he gets, he thinks it’s so fun. But then he got a taste of life with you. How drastic in difference it was to his normal day to day, or life on tour. It came as quite the shock when he realised just how much he enjoyed a quiet night in.

Now, Swiss will always be a party animal. And he will always love a killer night out, but he has grown quite fond of his nights with you. He refuses to tell anyone what you two get up to when he stays in with you. He gets a little bit possessive over you, worried that everyone else will want a taste of your company too.

Which of course would defeat the whole purpose of your reasoning for preferring to stay in, and he would rather drop dead, then allow anyone on this planet to make you uncomfortable or put you in a position where you need to exhaust your social battery.

Swiss would quite literally hide you away from the world and keep your quiet little moments he has grown to cherish so much all to himself.

When Phantom was still new, and was still trying to figure out his place in the Clergy. He kind of… clung to you? Like. He felt so safe and comfortable in your presence, it was exactly what he needed while he was settling in. And it wasn’t like you two met and then talked and then became friends….

No no. Phantom literally spotted you. His ghoul boy brain just went ‘yes’. Made his way over to you and without a word… sat next to you and continued studying the rest of the room. No words were exchanged. Aside from him blurting his name out, because of course you deserved to know who was going to be your shadow for the rest of forever. It was kind of awkward, and you were confused out of your mind.

But Phantom very quickly became a rock for you. He was familiar and comfortable and safe. God he was so safe. And to him… you were his anchor during the weird period of meeting people, finding his place and getting used to performing on stage.

Even now, after he has found his footing and gotten comfortable within his life in the Abbey, you are so so dear to him and you will always be the most important person on the planet to him.

[molly-ghuleh]

Honeysuckle - Mountain x gn!reader

Mountain's rut is coming up soon, and the only thing he can think about is you.

~*~

Contains: smut, MDNI!! ghoul heat cycles, masturbation, breeding, oral (both receiving), penetration, knotting, soft Mountain uwu, pining

Notes: Reader is intended to be gender neutral, so I tried to use non-specific anatomy as best I could. Enjoy!~ AO3 link

It’s hot. Too hot, and Mountain can’t sleep. He always gets like this just before his rut–as if his body is saying, in case you didn’t have the whole week blocked off on the calendar already, it’s happening soon–and more often than not, he ends up jerking himself off anyway.

Dew and Swiss call it his ‘pre-rut nut’. 

He feels all the aspects of a rut. His body burns, his dick is sore, and his tail whips around faster than usual, but he doesn’t have that animalistic urge to breed anything that walks yet. 

Yet. 

Hence, pre-rut nut. 

Mountain sighs and throws the thin blanket off his body. The cool air from the window flows over his bare chest, raising goosebumps in its wake. His nipples pebble slightly at the sensation and he shudders. He can live with hard nipples. 

His aching cock, though, is a different story. 

When he’s this close to his rut, he has to jerk off every night. During the day he can assuage his urges, distracted by his duties. But at night when he has nothing else to do, the full force of his unholy urges hit him like a tidal wave, a near-orgasm in and of itself. In the days before his rut he edges himself all day without even realizing it. Usually it’s his pants constricting around his crotch just right, or he sees a perfect ass filling out a pair of pants that makes his dick twitch, but lately… Lately, the only thoughts making his dick twitch have been of you.

Oh, Lucifer, he’d made his way down to the gardens this morning and had been greeted with an eyeful of your ass as you bent down. The sight nearly made him trip over his own tail. He just wanted to grab your hips and– 

His cock jumps in his boxers and he groans. He slips his legs out of the material but keeps them close, so he can clean himself up after he blows his load to the thought of you. 

Mountain knows it’s wrong of him to think of you this way, but sweet Satan, he can’t help it. Not when your scent is the most tantalizing thing he’s ever smelled. Whenever he’s around you, your essence wraps around him and inside him, tugging at his heart as if you know it beats only for you. Just the smell of you, so strong and enticing beneath your perfume, is enough to bring him to his knees, and it has. The first time he’d smelled your scent after a day working in the gardens together, he’d pinned one of his pillows between his knees and rutted down into it like a rabid dog. 

He briefly considers doing that now, but he decides against it. He’d ruined his pillow so thoroughly that he had to throw it out. 

Mountain wants to ruin you instead. 

He brushes his hand down his neck, over his collarbone, and down to circle one of his sensitive nipples. Oh, he just knows you’d treat him so well. Your hands, so small and soft compared to his, would explore every inch of his skin as you exposed it. Your hands would accidentally brush his nipples as you unbuttoned his shirt, but when you heard how his breath hitches at the touch, you’d do it on purpose. Maybe you’d even tilt your head down to take one of them into your pink lips and pull just to see how he’d react. Ah, the sweet little sound you’d make when Mountain’s hips grind up into yours…

Mountain palms his length, only applying a light pressure. No fingers yet, no–in his mind you’re still wearing clothes. He can’t slide himself inside you before he’s made you cum at least once. He knows his size is daunting. He’s been humbled in the past by potential partners who’d gotten one look at his hard cock and fled for the hills. But you would see it as a challenge. He can practically hear you purring into his ear, Come on Mounty, how many inches do you think I can take before I beg you to stop?

Mounty, Mounty, Mounty…

You’re the only one who calls him Mounty. Satan, it makes his knees weak. He wants to know how it sounds in his ear, against his neck, in his mouth. He wants to know how it sounds muffled around his cock. He wants to know how it sounds when he drags it out of you, the last syllable spilling from your lips in a pathetic little whine. He just knows you’d take him so well, all the way to the hilt, and past it when he’d knot you– That thought makes a low growl erupt from his chest. He finally, finally takes himself into his hand, giving himself a few slow, firm strokes. He can’t decide if he wants to imagine it’s your own hand, your lips, or your dripping hole wrapped around him, but his mind lands on your mouth. You’d insist on trying to take him as far as you can down your throat. That’s another challenge you’d pose–how long you can keep him in your mouth until your jaw starts to ache. If you can even fit him. 

But Mountain would only let you touch him after he gives you pleasure first. He wonders how you would taste at the first lick. A little salty, maybe? After your first orgasm, you’d be sweeter, slicker, and because he knows you would be so good for him he’d give you another one. He’d make you scream for him, beg him with incoherent little pleas of your nickname for him. Oh, he can almost hear you in his mind. Oh sweet Satan, Mounty, please… 

Only then would he let you test your little theory. Such a sweet thing for him, crying and drooling around his thick cock and telling him you can take more. 

Mountain grips at the sheets underneath his naked body as his hand slides languidly up and down. He knows he needs sleep, but the visions of you are too delicious to rush. No, you deserve to be revered. Worshiped like the unholy being you are. He prays to you, kneels at your altar, communes with your divinity through his lascivious fantasies of your body under his. He wants to make love to you. He wants to take you so, so slowly at first, stretching your muscles around his dick when he enters you for the first time. He wants you to feel every thick, prodding inch of him inside you. He wants to watch your body arch under him when his tip drags against the spot on your inner walls that will, eventually, make you scream his name. He wants to swallow your moans and whines of discomfort with his lips and shush you and tell you that it’s alright, the stinging stretch will go away in a few seconds. He wants to lean down to your ear and whisper that he loves you, and he wants you to say it back. 

Lucifer, he hasn’t even kissed you yet. 

Mountain would wait until you say you’re ready for him to move, and then he’d pull out nearly all the way just to angle his hips upward and push back in. He imagines the way you’d gasp in surprise that the uncomfortable stretch has turned into pleasure. You’d wrap your arms around him, tugging at the hair on the base of his skull the way you know he likes. Your fingers would brush against the base of his horns by accident. He’d shudder at the contact, rutting his hips into you harder than he meant to, and then you’d do it again on purpose. 

His free hand absently raises to his head to touch his horns the way he imagines you would. The hand wrapped around his leaking cock begins to stroke faster, harder. “Oh f-fuck, petal, that’s so good…” 

His own words echoing in his room make him blush. Mountain knows you like it when he calls you petal. You haven’t explicitly told him so, but he notices the way your eyelids flutter and your mouth quirks up whenever he says it. Once, he’d groaned with soreness from kneeling in the gardens all day and said, you’re killing me, petal. It had sounded more lewd than he’d meant. He had to pretend that he couldn’t smell your arousal suddenly flaring up in you after he’d said it, but oh, you smelled delicious then. He’d had to excuse himself for a few minutes just to rub one out to your lingering scent before he came in his pants. 

Mountain knows you like him, too. Your scent has started to change over the last few months, after you’d started working in the garden with him. You smell sweeter now. Sweeter means your heart pounds a little faster, a little harder whenever you see him. 

The endorphins your body releases at the sight of him make you smell like honeysuckle. 

He grips the base of his horn tighter and pulls. He can picture you riding him like your life depends on it, holding onto his horns for stability and because you’d know he likes that. Your lovely hips would feel so plush and warm in hands when he digs his fingers in to drag you up and down his length. You wouldn’t have to do the work, no... Mountain would take care of you. He’s the biggest, strongest ghoul, but also the most gentle. He’d lift you like you weighed nothing and guide you back down onto his cock without you having to put an ounce of effort in. He’d treat you so well, petal. So well. 

He fists his cock faster now. He can tell he’s going to cum soon, but fuck, he doesn’t want it to be over so soon. Not when his mind is conjuring such sweet pictures of you. 

The ghoul wonders how you’d sound when you get close. Are you loud? Would you get louder? Would you start to beg him to make you cum, or would you go silent? Would you whine out his name for him? His full name or the nickname you gave him? Could you cum from just his cock, or do you need him to help you? Do you need his hands? Oh, sweet thing, you can have his hands. 

He meant to tell you. He wanted to tell you how he feels about you, and then show you, and show you again. But he wants your first time together to be slow, passionate. He wants the only thing on his mind to be you. When he’s in his rut, he can only focus on his primal need to breed, and he doesn’t want that for you. Not yet. Would you like it, though? Mountain imagines what you would sound like begging him to breed you and his knot begins to swell at the base of his dick. He wants to explode inside of you, over and over, until your belly is swollen with his seed. One of his loads will take, right? It must, after he’s fucked his cum into you more times than you can count. His thick knot will keep it inside you until it takes. 

Pre-rut nut, his ass. 

Mountain moans your name like a prayer. He’s sure the other ghouls can hear him call out for you, but he doesn’t care. “Yes, petal, take my knot. I—fuck—I know you can take it all, sweet thing. You’re so good for me, taking my knot so well—”

He imagines you crying out for him, cumming on his cock so hard like he knows you can. He’s not finished yet. Not yet. Just a little longer, please—

You would bring his head down to yours and kiss him so tenderly while he thrusts into you like a man dying. You’d whisper in his ear that he feels so good, fucks you so well, and that you want him to cum inside you. Inside, Mounty, you’d plead, gasping and moaning from his cock still dragging over your walls. He obliges. 

Mountain cums with a loud groan. His hips buck up into his hand and spurts of his viable seed—wasted when it’s not buried deep inside you—land on his stomach and chest. The shocks of pleasure roll through his limbs, making his toes curl and his back arch off the mattress. He wishes he had your body to hold onto when he cums. You would anchor him to the world, even though you were the one to send him to space with pleasure in the first place. Briefly, Mountain squeezes his knot with his hand to imagine what it would feel like stuck inside you, but it’s bittersweet. The rest of his dick is exposed to the cool air of his room. No, it wouldn’t feel like this. You’d hold him inside like a warm, soft cocoon. 

He opens his eyes and the illusion fades. He’s alone in the ghoul dens without you, with drying jizz on his stomach and a rut that came two days early. 

He wants to hold you. 

He wants you close to him, to soothe his aching muscles in between the long periods of fucking you. He wants to massage you too, because he knows he’s big and you’ll be sore for days after his rut ends. Next year, he thinks ruefully. Next cycle, after he properly confesses to you, and then properly makes love to you, many times. He wants to make sure you know he adores you before fucking you like some feral beast. 

Mountain sighs and cleans himself up with his discarded boxers. He doesn’t bother putting another pair on.

[dwritesit]

mount

inspired by this post i hope its okay! its very short...

Summary: Mountain crying and begging to breed Dewdrop. yeah.

Tags: breeding, begging, crying, size kink..., dirty talk, trans dewdrop

Read below the cut or on AO3

...

Mountain feels like he might die. It's hot, he's drenched in sweat, his chest squeezed tight like a vice as he pants and sobs for air. The world is hazy, steamy, all he knows is that he wants something he can't have. At least not yet. 

“Please, please, Dewdrop,” He says again, unsure of how many times the words have left his mouth at this point. Dewdrop’s smirk in response makes Mountain's stomach flip and twist, and his cock he's been sliding against the little fire ghoul’s thigh for the last… however long… kicks and spurts more pre-cum over that rose gold skin. 

“What do you need, Mounty?” Dewdrop asks from his place below the large ghoul. He's trapped beneath him, both his wrists pressed tight against the mattress above his head in just one of the earth ghoul’s hands. A buzz tingles under Dew’s skin at the sight of Mountain above him; the large frame, the way his muscles from hours of outdoor labor ripple as he continues jerking his hips for friction. Mountain could take what he wants. With one movement, he could have Dew on his stomach, ass in the air, and pound into him with little to no effort, but here he is instead. Begging, whining, desperate for Dewdrop’s permission.

“Please, fuck, Dewy- firelily, I need to breed you. I need it, Ineedit Ineedit Ineedit,” Mountain sobs. Dewdrop looks down to that huge, angry, red cock against his thigh. It looks painful, like one more slide might make him pop and cover Dew’s stomach. But he's being so good, so obedient for his lover. 

“You need to breed me, pebble?” Dew asks, “You think you deserve to fill me up?” 

Mounty shakes his head, tears streaming down his face and dripping onto Dewdrop’s collar bones as he leans down to lap at the plethora of bruises and bite marks he'd left all over Dew’s neck and shoulders, “Been good, been a good boy,” He says.

“You've been so good for me, baby,” Dew agrees, biting his lip to hold back a moan as Mountain sucks yet another mark onto his neck, kitten licking at the skin as an apology, “Such a good boy for me.”

Mountain cries out at the praise, kissing up Dew’s neck until he's reached his lips and captures him in a heated kiss. Dew wastes no time in diving his tongue into Mountain’s mouth, tasting his lovely earth ghoul and pulling the sweetest moans out of his chest. 

“Can I please?” Mounty asks again, “It hurts, please, I need to be inside you. Need to cum inside you!” 

Dewdrop can't help but moan lewdly at the words. He needs it just as badly, his cunt has been aching ever since he smelled Mountain’s familiar heat from down the hall in his own room. He had followed that evergreen and floral scent expecting to be fucked within an inch of his life - the way Mountain’s heats usually turned to just instinct and raw need and lust. Instead he found the other ghoul writhing on his bed, already in tears as he jerked himself over the edge, begging as soon as he smelled Dewdrop enter the room. 

“Please, please, need to breed you. Let me breed you, baby,” Mountain continues the barrage of requests, whispering hoarse against Dewdrop’s neck as he keeps licking and sucking and biting, always missing the place where he's meant to mark the fire ghoul, “Need to see you full of me, I've been good, please.” 

“ Fuck, Mounty,” Dewdrop isn't sure how much longer he can keep holding off himself. He's already cum so many times, either from Mountain's greedy mouth, or his long thick fingers, but it's nothing compared to actually being filled by the other ghoul, “Fuck me.”

Mountain stops mid-lick up the side of Dewdrop’s face, even his hips freezing, cock twitching again over Dew’s skin.

Dew knows he's waiting for clearer permission, “You're such a good boy, Mounty. Fuck me, fill me, breed me.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Mountain gasped out as he pulled back slightly, hand still firm around Dewdrop’s wrists while he settled between those rose gold thighs. He only let go so he could push Dewdrop’s legs forward, encouraging the fire ghoul to hold them, to hold himself open for him. Dew is happy to oblige, barring his soaked cunt completely as his fingers dimple into the backs of his thighs. Mountain groans, sobs , again at the sight.

“Come on, Mounty, fuck me,” Dew’s voice is raspy and dripping with desperation as he stares up at his mate. 

Mountain finally lines himself up with Dewdrop’s hole, bowing forward as soon as the tip is against the entrance, claws gripping and tearing holes into the mattress, his forehead pressed against the fire ghoul’s as he tries to control his release. He needs to be inside. Needs to cum inside of Dewdrop’s heat. 

Slowly, he sinks inside, Dewdrop’s back arches off the bed at the delicious stretch - no matter how Mountain worked him open, how wet Dew became, the sweet burn was always there and he lived for it. Craved it.

“Dew, Dew ,” Mountain wails, finally seating himself fully inside of the fire ghoul, “Need more, please. Please take all of me!”

Dewdrop groans and presses sweet kisses on Mountain’s face, licks at his tears and traces their trails with his tongue. He already feels so full, there's no way there's anything else to take. It's enough to stop any sort of response in his throat, as he gasps around the sensation.

“Let me knot you, take my knot, spitfire,” Mountain returns Dewdrop’s kisses with kisses of his own. Wetter, sloppier, making Dew's face glisten with sweat and spit. 

“Always,” Dew gasps out, feeling the knot forming where they're pressed together. He's not sure he can take it but he will...

[moldycantaloupe]

Mushy May Day 16

(bonus prompt 10) "shut up i'm taking care of you"

Cw's: mental health problems. isolation, self deprecation, issues eating, non-sexual nudity (showering together). but it is a mushy prompts list, so all ends well!

notes; this one was like a mind flayer and took control over my hands and suddenly there 1,2k words of hurt/comfort, my fave. thanks as always to @forlorn-crows for putting together the prompts!

Rain didn’t… know what happened. The day before, everything was fine. Normal even. They ate their dinner with the pack, played on their acoustic with Dew, and then went to bed. It was an easy, simple night. They laid in their bed, exhaustion heavy in their muscles, but their mind raced.

They knew they were okay. Logically they knew the pack cared so deeply about them. Logic, unfortunately, was not winning the battle tonight. They felt the first round of tears sting and scrubbed viciously at their eyes, their breathing shaky. Their mind screamed at them to hide away, isolate from their pack until they were nothing more than a nameless ghoul. No one would notice, they figured. 

But, logically, everyone would notice. They knew logically. 

It started with a quiet knock in the morning. A little later than when they usually woke up, but a sleepless night forced the exhaustion to seep further down into their bones. The knock wasn’t persistent, just someone coming to wake them up for breakfast. Judging from the footfall after they knocked, it was most likely either Aurora or Cirrus. Rain opted with Cirrus.

Twenty minutes went by before the next round of knocking started, followed by Aether’s soft voice. He mentioned that they left a plate for them in the oven, and that he was there for them if they wanted to talk. That they all were. They curled into themselves further, throwing the blanket over their eyes to hide even farther. Had they really done this so much that the pack knew their patterns? It hadn’t even been an hour and already they were being a nuisance to their pack. 

The day wasted away. They only got up to use the bathroom before crawling back to their bed. The bedding felt heavy against their skin, the pillow somehow greasy, but it was all they had in the moment. It felt like they were in fight or flight, and their body and mind couldn’t pick an option. 

A few others came by throughout the morning and into the afternoon. Most would knock, call out, and then leave when they got no response. They heard Phantom walk by at some point, and the young quint didn’t knock nor call out. Rain thought they had left quietly before they quietly sighed, just barely loud enough that Rain could hear, before finally walking away. They felt a fresh batch of tears well in their eyes at the disappointment obvious in the quint.

It was nearing the evening of the day. Rain stayed in their fetal position most of the day, their body aching in ways that were comforting but ultimately awful. They felt cold, a type that couldn’t be fixed with blankets. Their stomach groaned in need of food but they felt nauseous at the thought of eating or drinking anything. They had flitted in and out of sleep for most of the day, but the exhaustion made its way down through their bones and into their core. 

They were woken up from their nth nap of the day by the doorknob turning and the door opening. They smelt before they heard Mountain enter, the earthy smell of sage and rosemary flooding their room. They held their breath and kept their body stone still, scared of what he was here to do. They felt guilt immediately for assuming the worst in the gentle giant, but kept still. 

Instead of anything malicious, he sat down at the end of the bed and placed his hand against their calf. He messaged at the skin. It was so warm. Their eyes stared directly ahead of them to the blank wall, not daring to look at him.

“Rain,” he quietly called out. They didn’t respond. 

He sighed and took his hand away to stand. They violently flinched when he scooped his arms under them and picked them up bridal style. They shut their eyes tight.

“We’re going to wash up,” Mountain pulled the mounds of blankets off and away from them, the dull thud as they fell sharp against their ears, “and then try and get some food into you. Does that sound good, starfish?” 

Rain kept their eyes shut. Mountain took it as a yes and walked towards the bathroom. 

He sat them on the toilet and they slouched heavily until their head hit his stomach. He twisted to turn the water on before he focused his attention back towards them. With a bit of maneuvering, the two managed to get their clothes off, Rain being very little help. Mountain said nothing as he lowered Rain onto their shower seat, the spray of the water forcing a heavy sigh out of them. He shucked his shirt to the ground and stepped in himself, just to the side of them. They hesitated every movement as he helped get them clean; fingers twitching when he asked for them to lift their arm, head locked in place when he pointed the sprayer towards their hair. Everything built up higher and higher in their small body until it came crumbling down when he massaged the shampoo into their curls, his blunt fingers rubbing soothing circles into their scalp. Their face, deadpan and void of emotion before, broke into a deep frown as the tears that teased them all day finally fell down their face, an ugly sob coming deep from their chest. They held their head in their hands while Mountain continued to lather the soap through their hair. They leaned into his touch, suds spreading to his abdomen. He kicked up a purr that vibrated through their ears to their brain. They sobbed harder, loud whines and hiccups and guttural cries.

“I’m-” they sucked in a harsh breath, “I’m sor- sorry-”

“None of that,” Mountain spoke softly but firm, voice unwavering. 

“I was being- being so selfish.” They argued. 

He shook his head. “It happens, starfish.”

“And now I’m f-forcing you to deal with me-” they were interrupted by him leaning down, just enough for them to see him through tears, and his smile was so gentle, so caring. So genuine. It made them fall harder into him.

“None of that.” Mountain stood back up and leaned over to grab the spray. They let his firm hand tip their head back as he began washing the suds out of their hair. “I’m taking care of you.”

The rest of the shower consisted of Mountain rubbing conditioner through their hair as their sobbing died down into something quiet. He helped them dry off and put into clean clothing, boxers and a shirt that was definitely not theirs. He opened the bathroom door and their nose twitched. It led them to their nightstand, where a bowl of oatmeal sat. Mountain sat them on their bed, the covers and pillows no longer feeling heavy but warm and comfortable, and crawled in himself. He whispered kind words as they carefully ate, the bowl warm against their thighs. They set the bowl back down after a few bites, stomach still upset from their mental turmoil of the day. Mountain didn’t complain, though. He praised them as he tucked the two of them in.

Rain hid themselves away into his chest, arms cautiously wrapped around his waist. He purred loud enough for the next room over to hear. They rubbed their head against him in an attempt to scent him, his scent lulling them into a soft mindset and heavy eyes.

“Mount,” they slurred into his skin. He hummed in question.

“Thank you.” 

He shifted a hand to their still damp hair and began scratching at their horns. They began to purr as well. 

[iamthecomet]

𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘺 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘛𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺: 𝘎𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨

Rating: G Pairing: Swiss/Mountain Words: 741 Mushy May by @forlorn-crows Banner by @ghuleh-recs

Mountain sets an armload of pots down in the soft grass of the greenhouse. He straightens, stretching his spine until it pops loudly. He sags, wiping sweat from his brow with his dirt covered forearm, smearing it through auburn eyebrows and over freckled skin. 

Swiss huffs out a laugh as he watches, setting more pots down, looking over at Mountain’s dirt streaked face. 

“It’s too hot for this and you know it.” 

Mountain frowns. It is hot. It’s a balmy 95 outside, so he knows the greenhouse is much warmer. The air thick and damp. Beyond the glass walls he can see the others at the lake. Cumulus stretched out on a blanket with a book. Rain, Dew and Aeon trying to drown each other, Cirrus, floating a good distance away from them on a giant floaty shaped like a piece of pizza. 

“It has to be done, Swiss.” 

Mountain sighs, dragging his eyes away from his pack. He’ll finish up here and be out there with them in no time–but he can’t wait any longer. It’s too hot in here for the vegetables he started in the spring, and besides that they’re starting to take over. 

“Today?” 

Mountain nods. “It’s going to rain tomorrow. If we get them in today they’ll get a good strong start and–”

“And we’ll be overrun with tomatoes and cucumbers and squash like always,” Swiss teases. “I think there’s still shredded zucchini in the freezer from last year.” 

“Leave it to you to scoff at abundance.” Mountain rolls his eyes. “It’s only a couple more trips. I can do it, you don’t have to help.” 

Mountain turns to gather more plants. Loading his arms with plastic and terracotta pots alike, balencing them precariously in an attempt to make it take less trips back and forth from the vegetable garden. Swiss catches a poorly balanced pepper plant just before it falls to its death. 

“Shut up,” Swiss chides. Taking more of the plants from Mountain. “I don’t mind.” 

“You were just complaining.” 

Swiss waves him away. “So? I can complain and still like helping. I just wish you’d talk to them less while you’re planting them, it would go faster.” 

“You have to talk to them, Swiss.” Mountain says, matter-of-fact as they push through the greenhouse doors and out onto the lawn. “They get nervous otherwise.” 

Swiss doesn’t dignify that with a response, instead he just leads the way to the vegetable garden. A wide swath of freshly tilled land surrounded by a low stone wall, bracketed by fruit trees in full bloom. Swiss takes his stack of plants to one side of the garden, and Mountain goes to the other. 

They work silently. Planting seedlings in neat organized rows. Hands tamping down fresh dirt around delicate roots. Mountain whispering praises, and reassurance to each tiny plant. 

There’s a whoop of laughter from the lake, and a shriek that could only belong to Cirrus. 

“Someone flipped her,” Swiss says without looking up. 

“They’ll be dead before dinner.” 

“It’s really a shame that we’re missing the show.” 

Mountain laughs to himself, he shakes his head as he plants his last cucumber plant. “We can take a break, if you want.” 

Swiss stands up, wiping dirt off the knees of his jeans even though it’s a lost cause. He shakes his head. 

“It’s like one more batch. We might as well finish. The lake will be there when we’re done.” 

Mountain’s back screams in protest when he stands, but he knows Swiss is right. He knows if they go to the lake now–even if it is just to watch Cirrus attempt murder–they’ll never come back and the last batch of Sunshine’s favorite tomatoes will never make it into the ground. 

“You’re right.” 

“Usually am,” Swiss says with a smile. He slings his sweaty arm around Mountain’s shoulders, leans his head into Mountain’s. Horns knocking together as Mountain angles toward him. Swiss smells like sweat, and dirt and weed. Earthy in a way that makes Mountain want to crawl inside of that smell and live there.  

“Just, less talking to the plants this time, yeah? I do want to make it to the lake before winter.” 

Mountain sighs, tries to swallow a laugh. “Fine. But it’s your fault when we don’t have enough tomatoes.” 

Swiss rolls his eyes, breaking away from Mountain to pull open the greenhouse door and step into the oppressive heat. “I’m willing to risk it.”

[moon-the-silly-evil]

Ghouls being so in love its sickening. You agree, don't you?

Mountain baking and cooking for the pack not out of obligation but just because he wants to. He wants to take care of them.

Swiss having his love language be harmless pranks and random "I love you"'s.

The ghoulettes having a girls night in one of their rooms, usually Cumulus, and them voting on one of the guys to include (fucking their brains out and giving them the best aftercare)

Phantom and Rain both having a habit of collecting trinkets to give out to their packmates. They have a harmless competition going on of who can out-gift the other.

Dew being a big cuddle bug. Thrives off the compliments of being their heater.

All of them dedicate at least one night a week to cuddle piles and movie nights to spend time together.

Just, ghouls in love. You agree?

[cryptid-ghoulette]

Trouble Maker

More Phantom brain rot? (its more likely that you'd think, especially when @sister-nyx is involved)

Heres some fluffy phantom being a nuisance. WC 680 Implied spice at the end, but no real warnings, its fluffy as heck.

It wasn't uncommon for quint ghouls to have health issues; something about the way they're created can lead to omplications with their new vessels. In the pit, they don't have a physical form, and it's hard for their new bodies to contain the powerful magic they possess. Most of the time, it's little things like eyesight or hearing issues, but sometimes it can be more serious, like missing or malformed limbs.

When Phantom was summoned alongside multi-ghoul Aurora, all seemed to be going as planned. Sure, there were a few teething issues, but nothing they wouldn't adjust to with time. After all, it must be strange suddenly having a physical form (so many moving parts!). He settled well into the pack, the others all loving him and his childlike wonder, even if they had to answer what felt like a million questions a day.

Not long into the first tour though, the pack noticed he seemed to be having trouble with his hearing. It was just small things at first, like when they were all gathered backstage. Copia often had to repeat himself several times before getting a reply, with Mountain having to gently nudge his shoulder to get his attention.

It all came to a boiling point one night when they were all gathered in the kitchen after a particularly stressful rehearsal, each slumped on various chairs and benches. Dew was trying to get Phantom's attention, who was staring off into space, completely oblivious to Dew (and seemingly everyone else). Finally, he turned when Dew shouted his name, the anger in his words catching him off guard. Dew pulled him into the hall, Phantom confused about what he'd done to anger the fire ghoul so much.

"Did I do something wrong, Dew?" Dew sighed, considering his words, trying to make them come out without too much venom. "Listen, bug, I think we all just need to have a chat about what's going on with you lately. You seem even more of a space cadet than usual." He gave a half-hearted chuckle at the end, trying to lighten the mood seeing the rising concern on Phantom's face. He wrapped one arm around the little quint. "It's okay, let's go and talk to the others; we're all just. worried about you," guiding them back into the kitchen.

The pack all agreed that these incidents were becoming more frequent, and they were getting increasingly concerned (and their patience was admittedly wearing thin), so they figured they'd best take him to get checked, worried he might have some kind of hearing issue, or something else they weren't even aware of. Phantom didn't really understand what the issue was, but he agreed to go see Aether if it made the others feel better.

After waiting in the hall for what felt like forever, Aether emerged from the infirmary, the small ghoul beside him, and a smug grin on his face. "I've got good news and bad news," he said rather matter-of-factly. "The good news is he doesn't appear to have any hearing loss; in fact, he has above-average hearing for a ghoul of his element."

"So, then what's the bad news?" Mountain softly inquired, concern growing in his voice. The others began whispering between themselves, hushed tones, clearly also visibly confused.

“Well, the bad news is, it would appear that without any medical cause for his hearing troubles, our newest quintessence ghoul is just being mischievous," Aether chuckled, tousling the small ghoul's hair and gently nudging him back to his pack. "That part, you'll have to figure out on your own. There's no medicine for that as far as I'm aware."

The ghouls all turned to look at Phantom, a deep blush spreading across his face, staring at the ground and silently wishing it would swallow him whole. However, his shame spiral was interrupted when Mountain stepped forward and swiftly picked him up, tossing him effortlessly over one shoulder, simply saying, "I can think of a few ways to fix that." The others erupted into laughter, the smaller ghoul happily kicking his legs behind him as they disappeared down the hallway toward the bedroom.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Dew can't sleep, and he hasn't been talking to Ifrit. Doesn't mean Ifrit doesn't still care, though. I fucking love them what can I say.

It's too late for this shit, Dew thinks, as he lights another cigarette on the balcony, careful not to let the glowing tip brush up against any of Mountain's potted plants invading the already narrow space. Stems curl around the metal railing, leaves dripping down and swaying in the light breeze. It's somewhat of a hypnotizing sight, one that has Dew blinking sluggishly as he attempts to chainsmoke his thoughts away.

It's too late to be plagued by every thoughts and worries known to man, and yet here Dew is. He hasn't bothered to grab his jacket, hoping that the cold would give him something to focus on. So far, it's only making him shiver hard enough to make his back ache. He's unwilling to go back inside though, frozen in place like staying rooted to the spot might be the key to his peace of mind.

Smoke is exhaled toward the night sky, pinpricks of light blinking at Dew's sad little worries on their canva of deep blue. The burning in his lungs helps a bit, but there is no magical remedy to the whirlwind up in the fire ghoul's head, mercilessly keeping him from restful slumber.

Dew doesn't realize how tense his neck is until a warm hand presses against the back of it, thumb digging in stiff muscles. He barely jumps at the sudden presence.

"I figured you'd be the one here."

Ifrit's voice is gentler than usual in the quiet of the night, face soft and hair mussed when he shifts into Dew's peripherical vision, looking very much like he just woke up. The sheet imprint on his cheeks only confirms it, as well as making him look unbearably adorable. Eyes big and searching despite the slight glaze of tiredness still clinging to them, Ifrit has the good sense not to push for an answer, just shrugs his jacket off to wrap it around Dew's shoulders. It's warm and smells like cedar, so achingly familiar. Dew can't help sinking into it. So what if there's unsaid things trapped between them, arguments never quite settled, longing for something maybe past, maybe broken, maybe fixable, that they're too cowardly to attempt saving ?

Right now, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Ifrit's arm is slung around Dew's shoulders, tugging him into the older fire ghoul's chest, until Ifrit's heartbeat echoes in Dew's ear and he can feel a kiss being pressed to the crown of his head.

Ifrit's throat glows orange when he accepts the half-finished cigarette Dew hands him, a fun quirk of his that Dew admittedly missed. It used to fascinate him, seeing Ifrit's body visibly react to the smoke curling inside his lungs. The longer the drag he takes, the further the glow spreads, sometimes reaching his broad chest in an abstract pattern of light splashed under his skin.

With the both of them sucking onto the filter, Dew quickly ends up stomping on the butt of the cigarette. He doesn't reach for another one. His thoughts are still racing, but tiredness is starting to take its toll, and it's hard to follow what goes on in his brain when his eyes start closing for longer period of times, leaning into Ifrit's warm body and the soft touch of his fingers drawing mindless forms on his shoulder.

Dew still doesn't want to go though.

That's when Ifrit starts to sing.

It's more of a soft hum at the begining, but then words start to flow out of his mouth, ableit softly to fit the late hour. Ifrit has always had a nice voice. Surprisingly versatile, a bit raspy on the edge but able to climb pretty high, just to fall to a low rumble in a steady whiplash of register. Dew has begged him to sing to him many times over the years they've known each other, and every instance where Ifrit complied with rosy cheeks and bashful smiles have a special place carved for them in Dew's mind.

Distantly, he notices Ifrit's not singing in english. Gaelic, his brain provides. To Dew's untrained ears, the pronounciation seems pretty good, which makes him wonder whether Chain taught him, or if it's part of Ifrit's hidden deck of random knowledges.

Either way, the tension in Dew's shoulders is slowly bleeding away. There's a tight ball of yearning in his lower stomach, but that he can withstand. Probably.

The sudden realization that if they don't breach the distance that settled between them ever since Ifrit retired, the older fire ghoul will become somebody Dew used to know, used to love, strikes him like a bolt of lightening, and his hand flies up to grip Ifrit's arm in a tight grasp. It cuts the singing short, which Dew takes half a second to mourn before he chokes out.

"Don't go."

It's not all he'd like to say, but the words stick in his throat, tongue heavy and useless in his mouth. Ifrit, sweet, darling Ifrit, tightens his hold on Dew, mouth moving in his hair as he shushes him gently.

"I'm right here, i'm right here."

You're not, Dew wants to say, I miss you, you're holding me and I miss you.

But of course, it's like Ifrit knows what goes on in Dew's overproductive brain, because he leans forward, really draping himself over the smaller ghoul, planting a kiss on his temple.

"I am here, Dew. I promise."

Dew let himself relax, takes a deep breath.

"Come to bed with me ?"

Ifrit hesitates. Doesn't pull away, barely stiffens, but he does hesitate.

"Isn't Aether-"

"Yeah, he's there already. Ifrit, he wouldn't mind. Actually, I think he would be thrilled. Unless, of course, if you were with Zeph, I wouldn't want to-"

Dew's rambling is cut short by Ifrit turning him in his hold, until they face each other, heart-wrenching fondness dancing in the older fire ghoul's eyes. Carefully, he cups Dew's face in his big hands, pressing a kiss square on his forehead.

"No, I was alone. Let's go then. Before you freeze to death."

For the first time in several hours, Dew smiles bright and wide.

(In the morning, Aether wakes up with Ifrit's arm slung over both his and Dew's waist, two pairs of legs tangled with his. A familiar sight he missed more than he realized.)

[honey-minded-hivemind]

Small idea/headcanon time!

• Moth cryptid adults (The Professor, Magneto, Storm, Mystique, Wolverine, Sabretooth, and Beast) carry their moth kids (and human-turning-into-moth-beast) in strong silk pouches/holders around their chest and stomach. It is warm, it's strong, and the kids can sink into it like a beanbag or a little hidey-hole to nap in. Plus they have fluffy moth chest + belly to sleep on too~!

• Adult moth cryptids/beasts have long, sharp needle-like hairs/barbs that they can extend from their nails, knuckles, or wrists, that contain a venom or nectar that makes their kids very, very tired and very, very compliant and needy. It's injected at the base of their skull amd into their nervous system and brain, so it hurts, a LOT. Expect lots of moth kisses amd cuddles and grooming and cooing after they do it, to comfort their crying kid, clean them up, amd soothe their own tears too...

• Moth cryptids are not necessarily based on real moths, but are inspired by death's head moths, Mothman, fuzzy and venomous caterpillars, and the generic moths that flutter about. They can have designs on their wings, they're fluffy all over, but especially around their necks, chest, wings, and shoulders. Adore lights, will chirp at the moon and stars, love how their human kids have skin that very, very barely glows in the dark (if you know, good for you!).

• They usually lay really soft, jelly-like eggs, but this colony had all of their's, except for one, smashed and dissected... They were all very, very sad, and very, very angry... They weren't safe for humans to be around after that...

• Build nests and tunnels, made of and stuffed full of twigs, pine needles, rabbit pelts, random blankets and pillows from hunter cabins, moss, shiny and smooth rocks, bear furs, deer pelts, shed fluff, and old jackets and sweaters they raided from the cabins nearby... They love their nests, they are very proud of their nests, don't mess with their nests, or they will attack the perpetrator and unalive them...

• Are very crazy and protective over their human-turned-moth bbyies. They keep them very clean, feed them any berries or nuts that are sweet and safe to eat, keep them sedated and sleepy during the winter months, make them silk blankets and cocoons for the other months, and overall love on them and purr and chirp and hunt anything that comes near them.

• Can produce milk, all of them. It tastes like chocolate milk. Their venom tastes like mountain dew.

• Hole up in their nests and colony that's in a cliffside facing the woods, keep everything dark and warm and quiet save for their glow crystals and their happy croons and chirps. Will actually nurse their mothlings during this time, so they don't go hungry amd so they're wrapped up in their mothling pouch without worry. Lots of sleeping, crooning, soft snores, distant blizzard noises, amd the warm, sweet smell of pine needles and fluff...

(I love this au. It's sweet and dark and fluffy and I love it. Enjoy it. Bask in its fuzzy feels!)