#omfg that cliffhanger

[serrybluesoul]

they did not just end sonic prime like this I NEED TO KNOW HOW IT CONTINUES

[slayqueeningtbh]

“what a bunch of fucking cunts” pretty much summarizes it

[nahraa]

i watched hell’s paradise twice in one day because if there’s one thing i love in this world it’s a man who loves his wife so much

[prince-of-red-lions]

just watched across the spider verse and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[tonberry-yoda]

across the spiderverse was so good 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[musicalsiphonophore]

my httyd phase is back with a VENGEANCE guys

[perksofbeingpoet]

dps dorm dynamics pt. 1 :))

what i imagine the day to day lives of the guys in their shared rooms to look like <3

☆ PITTS AND MEEKS ☆

》 sing silly songs while getting dressed, and dance in the goofiest way possible. this became a habit bc they weren't allowed to listen to music and pitts said he always used to turn on the radio to get dressed at home, and meeks was like "why not make the music ourselves", and so now when you walk down the hallway while everyone's getting ready before class, you'll hear the two of them singing cheesy songs, chances are pitts is imitating a guitar solo.

》 read comic books together but have different reading speeds and so they're constantly ripping the comic book from each other's hands like OMFG HURRY UP THERE'S A CLIFFHANGER WHY ARE U SO SLOW I WANNA TURN THE PAGE

》 became friends almost immediately upon arrival in their dorm, based solely on the fact that they both had some article of clothing with a nerdy print on it with them (at their age probably superman (yes he was already a thing when they were 10))

》 will fall asleep over homework. whoever wakes up first usually gets the other to actually go to bed too, but sometimes they merely put a blanket on the other, who will then wake up drooling on their math equations

》 keep a lot of candy in their room, but always bicker about the other's snacks because meeks is a picky eater and eats the most specific, random candy ever and pitts will literally eat anything

》 share clothing very often. pitts used to be about the same height as meeks until his growth spurt hit him, and they never really bothered to separate their wardrobes- so when it's early in the morning and they overslept, they'd just grab a random article of clothing from the pile on their floor. used to be no problem, but now that pitts has grown so much, you can exactly see when the two of them overslept, because quite often, meeks will end up wearing oversized sweaters while pitts' sleeves are way too short

any wishes on who should be next? :))

[lovebugism]

hi!! i just had to drop by and say the customer’s always right was some of the best smut i’ve read in so long. omfg it was perfect and i can’t stop thinking about it. and that cliffhanger?! you’re trying to kill me i swear 😭 do you think you’ll end up writing a part two? 👀

THE CUSTOMER’S ALWAYS RIGHT | screw the deal

summary: "there's an angel in his trailer, washing his cum-stained jeans after getting off on his thigh, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it." pairing: virgin!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 6.7k warning: thigh riding, tit play, talks of asshole boyfriends, smut 18+ mdni a/n: ok so i'm still a bit overwhelmed by the support from the last part. like, seriously, you guys are way too fucking nice <333 i hope this lives up to expectations and if it doesn't we can just pretend, okay? be on the look out for many, many more parts to come because i can't get enough of virgin!eddie.

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

The credits of Fast Times at Ridgemont High roll beneath a jittery static of a nineteen-inch TV. Eddie, dressed now in a fresh pair of thin, plaid pajama pants, bangs on the side of the thing with his fist to physically jostle the grainy texture from the screen. It only half works.

He feels about as fuzzy as the lingering white noise on his television — like he’s not all there, like his brain is still misty and he needs to lie down. He’s still reeling from the after-effects of his freight train of an orgasm where he stands even now. And you were just touching him through his jeans.

“If you think this feels good now, just wait until you’re inside me,” you purred to him in a breathless promise. He understands, now, that just might kill him.

It’s lame. He’s lame. And he thinks he might be in love.

You don’t seem to be as affected by it as he is. Though, to be fair, you’re not the one that just came in their underwear. Either way, you’re able to avoid the bubble of bliss that settles over the trailer like a warm and weighted blanket. You evade it all with a level of finesse that makes his chest swirl with an emotion that he can’t name but he can feel. Like, if he could reach through his ribcage right now, he could physically pull it out of him and hold it in his hands, it’s so damn palpable.

You’re standing at his decade-old washing machine with his cum-stained underwear and black ripped jeans in a wadded ball at your hip. You lift the weighty metal lid and throw the dirty clothes inside, then rise on the tips of your toes to reach for the detergent and fabric softener on the cluttered shelf about your head.

The way you float through the trailer is gut-wrenchingly admirable. It's almost like you’ve lived here as long as Eddie has.

You’re still fully dressed, alarmingly put together, and not at all as jostled-looking as the boy across the living room. Your sweater isn’t wrinkled, your skirt is pulled down from where it had ridden up, and your boots are still on and squeaky clean. You look like a professional and move like one too, totally unfazed by it all, as though making men come so hard they see stars is just a pastime for you.

It almost makes him jealous, knowing your magic has touched other, undoubtedly unworthy guys. But he can’t find it in himself to get angry or bitterly self-conscious. You’re in his trailer now, not out with some other asshole, and you’re washing his fucking clothes. 

It makes Eddie feel like you’re his already. A primal sort of possessiveness wells deep within him. He wants to protect this moment and keep it to himself forever.

You peek subtly over at him while sprinkling in the washing powder, pretending to scratch your jaw with your shoulder under the guise of catching a glimpse of the boy behind you. He’d put up quite the fight about you laundering his dirty bottoms upon realizing how serious you were, but he’s quiet now.

“I made the mess, Munson,” you’d argued. “Let me clean it up.”

That shut him up real quick.

You find that he looks more comfortable now. He’s out of the usual leather jacket and tight pants duo that most people rarely see him out of — it feels like a privilege to observe him like this. He’s traded them for a pair of loose red sleep pants spotted with barely-there stains and tiny holes like he’s had them for ages. They probably used to be Wayne's.

His rings stay on, however, and the Def Leppard tee too. 

You can see more of his body without the thick jacket to shield him. The way the fabric clings to his upper half, you can just make out the subtle lines of his torso, the tightness of his chest, and the soft pudge of his stomach.

He looks less like he’s trying, but he’s somehow even prettier this way.

His chocolate eyes glimmer beneath the dim light of the living room while his hands fidget something fierce at his sides. It’s like he’s itching to do something with them but has convinced himself not to. 

You wonder if it’s the urge to touch you that he’s fighting.

You wish that he wouldn’t.

Shutting the heavy lid, you press the faded green button on the start pad. The sound of water trickling from the top goes muffled. The machine starts to shake, wobbling back and forth with age and fatigue alike.

Once you spin on your heel to face the boy, you’re able to catch a much better look at him. And the way he suddenly and oh, so casually flits his gaze to the ceiling in an effort to pretend like he wasn’t just staring at you.

His hair is wild and his eyes are tired. He probably just wants to sleep. 

You begin to fear that you’ve overstayed your welcome. This wasn’t what this was supposed to be, after all. Some heavy petting was expected, of course, but certainly not of this magnitude. Eddie was prepared to cop a feel, not watch you while you wash his fucking clothes.

So out of worry that you’ve turned this — whatever this was — into something that it wasn’t, it becomes your mission to ease the tension you’d singlehandedly crafted.

“Oh. You must be tired, huh?” you question sympathetically with an awkward hand on the back of your neck. “It is getting pretty late. Maybe I should… I should go—”

“What? No! You don’t— You don’t have to go!” Eddie is quick to interject with the rapid shake of his head. Fluffy curls shake around the frame of his face. His eyes go wide. It makes your heart sing. 

But now he’s the scared one. Fearing he’s come off as overzealous, he backtracks with a shrug. “I mean… If you want to. But I… I don’t really…”

“You don’t really what?” you press once he trails off, brows raised ro your hairline and a smile teasing at the corners of your lips.

“I don’t know… I— I guess I’d just... I’d kinda like it if you stayed.”

The revelation seems to shock you, delightfully so, because you’re lighting up again like a christmas tree. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods, suddenly shy. His chin falls to his chest, and he takes to gazing at you with a sparkling gaze through his lashes as he confesses: “I didn’t… I didn’t even get to touch you.”

His eyes squeeze shut and his face scrunches as he silently cringes at how lame the words sound spilling from his mouth.

“Oh, right. The deal,” you lilt, missing his unstated point and forming your own. You laugh a little at yourself. “That’s literally why I came over in the first place. Sorry. I guess I got a little… carried away.”

“Screw the deal,” he blurts. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night where his voice isn’t shaking. His sudden confidence seems to take you both by surprise.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to hide your sheepish grin and failing. With your hands clasped behind your back — inadvertently jutting out your chest and the twinkling pendant resting upon it ��� you take slow steps towards him, like a tiger sneaking up on its prey.

Except you’re not exactly being sly about it.

Eddie’s just not running away.

You manage to look so innocent still, all flushed out and smiling at him. “You don’t have to touch me to make me feel good, Eds.”

His brows furrow. “…I don’t?”

“I just like spending time with you,” you shrug shyly when you finally reach the boy. He remains frozen by the television that’s gone static again, the screen all fuzzy in time with the misty haze you’ve put his brain into.

You wrap your arms loosely around his shoulders, pressing your warmth so intently against his body, like you would melt with him if the rules of the universe allowed it. 

Eddie swallows thickly at the foreign feeling of having someone so close. His gaze falls to your quirked-up lips. He wonders if it’d be too inappropriate to kiss you now — if he still needs to ask or if the two of you crossed that bridge an orgasm and a half ago.

You notice his unabashed, button-eyed stare and grin at him with a similar brazenness.

“You don’t have to, Eddie. Promise,” you assure with a softness that was previously unfamiliar to him before now. “That’s not why I did that — you know, so you had to return the favor or whatever.”

“No, I know. I just…” he trails off for a moment and darts his tongue out to wet his chapped lips. “I’d really like to make you feel good. If you’ll let me.”

You shake your head at him. It’s not a rejection, though, just an expression of disbelief at how he hasn’t gotten the hint yet. So you just come right out and tell him. “I’d let you do anything to me, Eds.”

He swears, it’s that fucking scene from Fast Times all over again, the same one that got him into this mess. Eddie’s starting to convince himself that this is all just one big fever dream and that you’re his personal Phoebe Cates sent to haunt him in a fantasy far too heavenly to be real.

He’s the Hawkins freakshow, for chrissakes — since when does the town’s local weirdo get to dabble in such simple pleasures?

“Well, what do you wanna do?” you ask him like you’re the timid one. Like you didn’t just make him bust in his pants like a teenager half an hour ago.

He can’t tell if you’re playing coy to get him riled up or if your coquettish nature is just a symptom of your nervousness. It’s hot either way, he concludes, but asking him for guidance is a mistake you don’t even realize you’re making.

His hands falter where they rest on your hips — fidgeting, squeezing, and fidgeting some more.

“I, uh… I want you to…” he does his best to keep his gaze locked with yours, egged on by the intrigued glint in your eye, but it’s a difficult feat. “…to rub yourself, you know, against my— my thigh… If you want.”

He feels like an idiot, the total opposite of cool and mysterious and sexy. His cheeks burn cherry with embarrassment. You smile sweetly up at him, anyway. It both soothes and sends a sick feeling of anticipation swimming in his stomach.

Eddie’s always so sweet with you. Always asking to do something, but only if you want to. He’s all shy and finicky, like he’s nervous you might turn him down, though you’ve only ever said yes to him.

It makes you wonder if he’s ever been dominant with a girl before or if this is the first time someone’s asked him what he wants to do in bed.

It sends a foreign flash of pride in your chest.

“Okay. How about this?” You concede with a grin. Your hands fall from his shoulders and move down his torso, smooth like drops of water. You rest your palms on his hips as you walk him slowly backward. “I’ll ride your thigh, and you can play with my tits. You know, so you don’t get bored.”

The back of his knees meet the couch and he falls lamely onto the cushions. He blinks up at you. “Don’t get… bored?”

Who the fuck is getting bored when there’s a woman getting off on their lap? he actually wants to say but isn’t quite brave enough to.

“Yeah,” you shrug like the answer is obvious. “Most guys have a hard time, I don’t know, being present if it isn’t about them.”

“Well, most guys are stupid.”

“You’re definitely right,” you scoff out a laugh, though it’s mostly muffled when you strip your sweater up and over your head.

The motions come easy to you. There’s an obvious lack in overthinking that Eddie notices right away because it’s the thing that’s been plaguing him all night. He’s both envious and fascinated, but more so mesmerized by the sight that is slow to unfold before him.

Your bra isn’t anything special, just a white cotton number with a cute little bow sitting neatly between your tits. It’s a size or more too small for you, as though you’ve had it for quite some time. The tops of your breasts bulge from the cup. Eddie so desperately wants to sink his teeth into the skin there.

“How could anyone get bored of you…?” he mumbles softly to himself, not realizing that he’s actually said the words out loud until you’re answering him.

“I don’t know,” you respond with a breathless chuckle, tossing your top onto the couch beside him with a dull thud. “You should try asking my ex-boyfriend.”

“Fuck that guy,” Eddie blurts without thinking.

You laugh again. It’s comforting. Like a familiar face in a sea of strangers or a warm hug when you’re freezing. You’re smiling when you finally settle over his lap, your thighs straddling over one of his own. You were just here minutes ago, but it still feels so new.

Eddie wants you here, against him, forever.

“You don’t even know him.”

“Well, he let you go,” he reasons as he places two unconfident and shaking hands along the bare skin of your thighs where your skirt had ridden up. “So he’s gotta be a little bit of an asshole.”

“How about a lot a bit?” you playfully correct with a faltering smile and wandering eyes that flit to the ceiling.

You’re certain Eddie hasn’t noticed your momentary, faraway blip at mention of a boy who made your life a living hell. But when your gaze meets his again, you find a pair of bushy brows furrowed in concern beneath his curly bangs. His rich, chocolate cake colored eyes are coated with concern. 

In an effort to deflect from the silence and the brief flicker of following awkwardness, you grip the boy’s shoulders and reach for a kiss.

He isn’t quite swayed, however. Not even when your bottom lips brush together when he asks you: “…What’d he do?”

“Let’s maybe not talk about my ex-boyfriend when I’m trying to kiss you, okay?” you advise without decreasing the proximity. Your mouth still chases his, desperate in more ways than one.

“Okay—”

You’re kissing him as soon as the word tumbles from his lips. You lick into him without warning and he huffs a pitiful moan. You feel the exhale of it against your cupid’s bow.

It’s sloppy, all tongue and teeth, like two teenagers trying to figure out how to kiss each other. That’s what it feels like, anyway. You explore his mouth like it’s undiscovered territory, like he’s all yours to claim. 

He lets you. 

His head falls back to the edge of the couch, mouth obediently agape for you, as you rut the rough pad of your tongue against his own. You part from him only to suck at his kiss-bitten bottom lip, and you pull away from him so achingly slow just to watch the rosy plush pop back into place.

You smile like you’ve won some sort of prize with him. Your eyes are sparkling and heavy with desire.

Eddie fidgets beneath you at the unfamiliarity of it all. It makes his chest so warm and fuzzy that his heart begins to ache. He can’t tell if he wants to keep looking or close his eyes to hide from it. So he just kisses you — or rather, tries to.

You’re pulling back with a mischievous sort of grin before your lips can meet.

The sound of his discontent comes out in a muffled whine trapped in his throat. A low and yearning sound that makes your smile widen.

Unamused by your teasing, Eddie huffs a rather dramatic sigh. He grips your hips with ring-clad fingers and drags you further against him. The fabric of his pants creates a rough friction against your cotton underwear and you feel it all against your clit. 

Before you have the chance to moan, Eddie’s lips are already back on yours.

His touch is more confident now, not just in the way he keeps you pressed against his thigh, but in the way he kisses you. You’re no longer in control as he shoves his tongue in your mouth, perhaps more aggressively than intended. He roams the ridges of the roof of your mouth and the soft, irregular-patterned pad of your tongue like it’s an undiscovered island. And you let him — you beg him without words, and only in hushed and breathy moans.

He trails wet kisses down your chin and your jaw to your neck, leaving the warmed skin glistening with his spit and cooling when he leaves it.

While he mouths desperately at your collarbone, just beside the strap of your bra, his hands rise rise rise — fingers tickling below the hem of your skirt before traveling up to your hips. Eddie squeezes softly at the skin when he reaches your naked waist.

You laugh with merriment when he does. He can feel the rapid rise and fall of your shoulders from where he rests against you. A soft smile tugs at his lips. You can feel the contortion of it against your skin.  

He stops kissing you when his fingers try their hand at unlatching your bra. You’re not sure he even realizes it. He loses the ability to multitask when he finds that it’s a harder feat than he thought.

You can imagine the look of concentration on his face, brows furrowed and tongue poking out of his mouth, as he fidgets with the clasp. It makes you smile to yourself.

“Need help?”

“No, I— I got it,” he declines quickly. “—Shit. Was this made by a fucking rocket scientist or some shit?”

You giggle again. It feels like being bathed in rays of sunlight, adding heat to his already burning cheeks.

“Have you never taken off a girl’s bra before?”

You don’t sound like you’re teasing him. You just sound curious and kinda of shocked at his struggling. It makes him tense anyway. 

His virginity makes him feel like Spiderman. Like he’s got this alter ego that he can’t possibly reveal to you because it might change everything. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to — yet — because his hands inadvertently freeze and the clasp behind your back clicks lowly when it unfastens.

He’s able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Your bra eases its constriction on your chest. The tight straps loosen at your shoulders, and your fingers tug them until they're slipping down your arms.

You don’t even look at him at first, not the slightest glance to gauge his reaction. He wonders if it’s intentional — your nonchalance — as you pay more attention to the bra you toss off to the side than to the boy suddenly rigid beneath you.

And when you do finally look back at him, you can’t quite measure the expression on his face. His eyes are heavy and focused on your tits, his face lax and void of any readable emotion.

He doesn’t say anything, not for a while — or at all — and you don’t know what to make of it. It’s the first time you’ve shown your tits to a guy who wasn’t squeezing them right way (and far too roughly) or biting at them so hard they leave teeth marks. 

You hate that shit. But it might be preferable to no reaction at all.

Without thinking, you bring your hands to your chest, crossing your arms over your breasts as embarrassment burns against your cheeks.

You make a sad joke of it, a measly “Sorry, if I didn’t, you know, live up to expectations—”

Eddie’s quick to stop you then. It’s like life returns to him as he reanimates, his hands suddenly springing from your waist to your wrists.

But, again, he doesn’t speak. He just holds onto your hands and looks up at you. His gaze swims with something you have difficulty placing — it’s a little sad like yearning, but wild with craving. Lust. 

His cinnamon eyes blink up at you and tell you everything without saying a word.

You breathe a sigh of relief through your nose as you relax against him. You let him pull your arms back down to your sides, leaving your tits on display for him once more.

This time when you burn hot, it’s of the fire he’s lit in your chest.

“Do you like them?” you wonder meekly.

Eddie nods. He eyes your breasts like a predator would with its prey. His mouth falls softly agape, looking desperate to be kissed — filled. 

“Can... Can I— Can I…” he stammers like a child, though he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. He just wants to hold you, to taste you, and you’re so goddamn close.

You respond with an affirmative shake of your head. A soft smile hints at the edges of your lips while you relish in your first time rendering a man speechless with your tits. You watch with glittering eyes as his shaking, terribly unsure hands raise to touch you. 

He merely grazes the top of your chest with his fingertips in a featherlight touch that sends a shiver down your spine. He fondles you so gently, too timid yet to touch you where you want him most. Like he’s teasing you.

He isn’t, of course, he’s just feeling out the new terrain — literally — but you don’t know that. You just think he’s being playful with you. So you take his hands in yours and press your palms against his knuckles, your fingers against his ring-clad ones, and flatten him against you.

The metal bumps lightly when it meets your pebbled nipple. Chill bumps erupt on the surrounding skin when it does. 

His moan entwines with yours.

Eddie grows more confident with his fleeting touches. He squeezes your breasts softly in his palms, more gentle than anyone’s ever been with you, and takes a moment to marvel how warm they feel in his hold.

No one’s ever taken the time to admire any part of you like this before. 

When he starts playing with your nipples that stand desperately at attention and ache to be touched, he observes how you react to his touch. You twitch against him when he presses against them, moan when he tweaks the hardened buds between his thumb and forefinger, and throw your head back with bliss when he pinches them.

It’s not for his own pleasure — though he is desperately, desperately turned on — but he likes seeing how he makes you feel so he can do more of the thing you seem to like the most. 

He’s attentive in a way you’ve never seen before.

And though every single touch of his is experimental, it feels good, like lightning strikes to your pussy.

Your underwear is more than damp now, more than it already was when you were just feeling him up. It leaves your vision practically blurry with desire. So turned on you’re dumb, there is no thought in your head other than Eddie Eddie Eddie. You want to feel him everywhere.

“That feel good?” he wonders like you aren’t moaning above him without hardly being touched.

“Mm-hmm,” you sigh with a nod. You tilt your head back down to face him and release your bottom lip from where it was caged between your teeth. “You can put your mouth on them if you want.”

And it’s not like it’s the craziest question in the world. You’re just giving him consent to touch you further, which is more than most asshole men in Hawkins wait for, but it drives Eddie absolutely wild.

He’s seen it in porn a million times over, fantasized incessantly about how a girl might feel against his tongue, his teeth. But the moment is here now, sitting right in front of him — just when he thought he might die a virgin — and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

“My… My mouth?”

You nod again, quick to reassure him. “Only if you want to. You don’t have to—”

“Wanna do everything with you,” he interjects without realizing.

“Everything?” you smirk with raised brows and bright eyes. “Think you can handle that, Munson?”

Fuck no, I can barely take this, he thinks to himself.

But instead of saying all that, he just shrugs. “Got to.”

His breath leaves him in a shaky exhale that you can feel against your warmed skin as he nears you. He presses a tentative, too sweet kiss to your sternum and your eyes flutter shut. Not out of pleasure maybe, but from the sheer softness of his touch. 

It feels illegal to be handled so gently, like you were some endangered species that he had to be careful with. There’s a lingering sense of undeserving that you have to bat away.

He’s reserved with his kisses at first, only brushing his lips against your tits like he’s trying to commit how they feel to his memory. You only wish he’d do more, leave you whining and gleaming with his spit. 

But there’s something spellbinding about his meticulous touches, like he’s trying to wind you up until you snap. You like that.

So be it, if you have to suffer through some teasing, as long as he’ll break you after.

His tongue darts at against your sternum and you moan.

It was accidental, of course, he was just wetting his drying lips, but you seemed to enjoy it. So he keeps doing it.

He lets himself become more assured in the way he touches you, because you seem to like everything he’s done so far. And when his kisses grow wetter and deeper and more passionate, you start to buck your hips against his lap.

He’s not even completely sure if you realize it.

Unthinking, he turns his head and takes your nipple into his mouth. It was instinctual more than anything, it just felt right to touch you there. It’s easy to stop overthinking when you moan louder for him. 

He’s got his right hand kneading the skin of your right breast while he mouths at the left one, flicking his tongue against the delicate bud while it’s sucked between his teeth. Your cry is breathy, ethereal, heavenly. Your hands dart to his head, entwining your fingers with the curly strands as you hold him to you.

“God, you're so sweet,” he practically moans against you, reveling in your taste and the feeling of your clothed pussy against his thigh. “And sensitive— god, that’s so fucking hot.”

“Eddie,” you moan when he licks you with a flattened tongue.

He stops for a moment, looking at you with wide, twinkling, innocent fucking eyes, like he’s not effectively ruining you. “Is this good?”

“’S fucking perfect, Eds,” you manage to assure him, though it’s hard to form thoughts of any kind, much less words. 

You’re still so wildly turned on from getting Eddie to come in his jeans. It’s got you so embarrassingly close to coming, but the boy mouthing at your sensitive tits doesn’t seem to care, so you don’t either.

He keeps his focus on your chest, switching between squeezing one and licking the other. The combination of his rings rutting against your nipple and his tongue playing wetly with it is a wild one.

All you can feel is Eddie. All you can think about is Eddie.

He’s got you chasing the bleary haze of pleasure against his thigh, moaning at the deviously sweet friction of your cotton panties against your clit.

“God, I’m so wet for you right now,” you moan into his ear, words slurred and quiet. 

You’re not trying to drive him crazy, you just are. 

He exhales deeply through his nose with his mouth still on you. His breath fans against you and makes you shiver. He grips you hips and pulls you closer to him, desperate to have you nearer like your tit isn’t in his mouth and you’re not getting off on his thigh. 

You’re further against his lap now, practically sitting on his hip, and the position change puts all the more pressure on your clit. When you buck your hips against him now, that’s where you feel it all — the pleasure is so concentrated on the cotton-clad, terribly delicate button that it makes you whimper with every pass. 

Eddie shows no mercy.

His large hands start to control your movements, squeezing your hip on the up stroke and pressing you harder against him, before gently releasing his hold on the down stroke.

“Eddie,” you cry fragilely.

He pulls off of your tit with a pop. “Yeah?”

“‘M so close.”

“…Okay,” he nods like an idiot, staring up at you with a gaping gaze.

Fortunately for him, your eyes are squeezed shut in bliss, so you don’t see the the brief flare of panic that flashes over his features. He tries to remember what guys do in porn when their girls start getting close.

They talk them through it, right? the stream of consciousness in his head tells him. 

But here’s the thing about Eddie — the boy can’t talk to save his life. He’s good at telling off Jason Carver (because fuck that guy) and he’s even better when he’s campaigning, but put a pretty girl in front of him and the dumb facade of the snarky metalhead boy goes out the window. He’s got no earthly idea of what to say now. 

So, in running theme of the entirety of this night, he just says what feels right to say.

“Can you come for me?” he asks you, sounding somehow more desperate for your pleasure than you are. “Please?”

You moan louder, hold him closer, hump his thigh him faster.

He wonders, then, if dirty talking is your thing. He makes a mental note to get better at it for you for next time — if there is a next time, the voice in his head reminds him bitterly. 

He remembers that this might be the only time he’ll ever get to touch you. He fears that you’ll still think he only wanted to do this because of some stupid deal you made and never allow him the chance to prove that you’re more than just his favorite customer.

But he figures if this is the last time he gets to have you — if he can make you come so hard that you see stars, and if he can commit this whole night to memory — he’ll be the happiest dumbass alive.

“Can you come while I suck on your tits?” Eddie continues to plea before scratching your spit-soaked nipple with his teeth. Your cry racks through your chest. “—You sound so damn pretty when I do it.”

“Yes,” you moan with your head tilted towards the ceiling. He can’t tell if it’s an affirmative answer to his question or a chant of a mindless prayer. “Yes, yes, yes—”

His touch is all consuming, ardent in a way you haven’t felt before. You don’t have to work at your orgasm for it to rise within you, don’t have to think to climb the peaks of pleasure. It’s quite the opposite, really.

You don’t have to work for it, because it’s chasing you. You don’t have to think about anything, because you can’t. 

There’s a fire welling within you that leaves you momentarily frightened because you haven’t felt anything like it before.

He’s long past winding you up, you fear, now he wants you to snap.

So you do.

With one final pass up his lap, you still against him, though your legs keep shaking something fierce around his thigh.

Your mouth falls open in a moan, though it doesn’t quite leave that way — you’re silent for a moment, before a meek and fragile cry escapes your throat and fills the empty trailer.

Your hips twitch in time with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Eddie stays with his mouth against your chest and grumbles a moan when he can feel the subtle throbbing of your clit against his thigh. 

He doesn’t have much choice in the matter, anyway, because you keep him firmly locked to your tits with your hands in his hair while you come down from your high. He doesn’t much care either. He’d happily drool on your tits every day of the week if you’d let him.

The post-orgasm haze is slow to fade.

You’re buzzing at his touch, feeling fuzzy like you’re stranded on some white, puffy cloud. You just feel Eddie — his hands, his mouth — and that’s when you realize the hold you’ve got on him.

You’re quick to unravel your fingers from his curls and sputter out an apology even in your bleary haze. “Oh— shit— I’m so sorry—”

“No, it’s okay. I liked it,” Eddie assures as you pet his wild head. He pulls back and smiles sloppily at you with pink lips all swollen from his kisses and shiny with his spit.

“Oh?” you hum with a similar lazy grin. “You like having your hair pulled, huh?  That’s good to know.”

His eyes fall back to your chest. Your tits glisten with his spit, rising and falling with each of your heavy breaths and catching the light in different places — the red lovebites he’d sucked onto your supple skin, the hardened and raw buds of your nipples.

It makes him feel like he’s claimed you in some way and the thought has him growing hard again.

He shifts his hips beneath you in attempts to soothe the ache blossoming between his legs. You twitch and breathe out an almost inaudible moan when his thigh brushes against your still sensitive pussy. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes meekly, though he doesn’t really mean it. He wants to do it again, wants to make you come again, and keep making you come until you can’t decide if you’re crying for him to stop or to keep going.

He can feels your damp pussy on his leg. He wonders if you’ve stained his pants. He hopes you’ve stained his pants.

It makes his head spin to imagine what your panties must look like right now, all sticky with a wet spot in the center of the dainty cotton, your pussy drenched and gooey with your come. His mouth waters with the sudden desire to taste you. 

“I made the mess,” he’d tease you with your words from earlier, slipping your drenched panties to the side and sliding a finger between your velvety lips. “Let me clean it up.” 

Instead, he just apologizes like an idiot and lets you slip away.

“’S okay,” you breathe with your head tilted backward, still on the come down.

“Was that… Was that good for you?”

“Eddie,” you huff in a scold. “I’d tell you if it wasn’t.”

“…Would you?” he presses.

“Probably not,” you concede with a shrug and then look at him with a playful smile. “But it was good. It was fucking amazing. I mean, I can’t even feel my legs right now, so… You should really work on your confidence when it comes to the whole sex thing.”

He sighs. “You’re probably right.”

“Maybe I can help you...”

“Please,” he begs in a whisper and happily accepts the kiss you press to his lips. It’s slower than before, less messy but no less passionate. It’s soft and sickly sweet, a series of small pecks that makes his heart sing. He never thought someone would be this gentle with him.

The washer beeps a grating and daunting beep, beep, beep that Eddie curses because it puts an end to the sweet moment. You rise from his lap with one last, lingering kiss, and pull the hem of your skirt back down your thighs.

Still in your soaked panties and totally topless, you waltz from his living room and into the kitchen. 

You bend over to retrieve his clean pants from the washing machine, momentarily flashing the supple round of your ass, before throwing the clothes into the drier. The thing rumbles lowly in the quiet and clanks every time it beats against the washer.

Eddie watches from afar, his head lolled against the back of the couch. This must be a dream, he figures, because there’s no way you’re real.

There’s an angel in his trailer, washing his cum-stained jeans after getting off on his thigh, and he doesn’t know what he did to deserve it.

“You’re good to get them out of the drier, yeah?”

“Yeah, I think I can do that,” he answers with a breathy laugh. “But if it means you have to stay for another hour, then no, I’ve never worked a drier in my life.”

Your smile is a sheepish one that you bite to conceal as you waltz back over to him. 

You want to stay, you do, but it’s late. And his uncle is bound to come home from work in the following hours. You want Eddie when you’re allowed take your time with him, when there’s no threat that someone might catch you — no risk, no responsibilities, just two people who want to make each other feel good. 

If he even wants that, you think to yourself.

The negative self-talk always seems to arrive after you’ve fucked. Most people get a taste of you and don’t go back for seconds. Why would he be any different?

You tug your sweater back over your head. Without your bra to hide you, he can see the perfect outline of your nipples through the soft material. Eddie tries not to stare.

He fails.

“I gotta get home,” you tell him as you shove your arms through the sleeves. “I’ve got a cat to feed and… everything.”

“Oh. Right… Okay.”

He sounds both disappointed and dismissive, like he wants you to stay but doesn’t care enough to make you.

You might’ve, if he’d asked, Bowie would surely survive until an extra early breakfast. You wouldn’t even need to have sex or makeout or anything, you’re all too happy just to spend time with Eddie in this rundown trailer on the wrong side of town.

But he doesn’t ask. And he won’t.

Because he doesn’t know any of that.

As far as he’s concerned, you’re in a rush to get home because you don’t want to be here anymore. Watching you get dressed, Eddie’s starting to feel like this was just a one time thing. He came, he returned the favor, and now he’s only got the memory of you twitching against him while you orgasmed with your tits in his mouth.

He grieves the moment like he’s lost something real and starts to let you leave without saying a goddamn word.

You’re standing at the screen door with your hand on the knob when he notices your pearl-colored bra strewn on the floor. 

“Hey! You, uh, you left, your um…” he can’t seem to say the words as he stands with it in his hand, motioning for you to take it. You don’t make an effort to retrieve it, however, as you smile tiredly at him from across the living room. 

“I kinda did that on purpose,” you confess bashfully. “So I could have an excuse to come back...”

Eddie glows red with your admission. “Oh. Well. You don’t— You don’t need an excuse to come over.”

“No?”

“No. You can just… pop in, you know, whenever,” he shrugs sheepishly, with his head to his chest and his syrup-y eyes peering through his lashes. “To smoke or… to hang out… or...”

“Fuck?” you finish with a half-sincere laugh.

Eddie shrugs again. “Whatever you wanna do.”

“You said we were gonna do everything, remember?” you remind with a teasing grin and eyes that glimmer with mischief. Eddie nods quickly, all bright and excited like a ball of sunshine and your smile grows. “I’m looking forward to it, then.”

That’s how you leave him, half-hard with the promise of more.

Eddie Munson is so in over his head he can’t breathe. He isn’t completely sure if he wants to. He’s all too happy to drown in you.  And It’s scary, a fun kind of scary, like going on a rollercoaster. 

He’s never felt this way before and doesn’t want it to stop. 

Fuck, he can’t wait to do everything with you.

have any more virgin!eddie thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱

[romanwitchgirl]

just finished the new pjo episode

a) I am CRYING THAT WAS SO SAD

b) I'm suing Disney for emotional abuse

c) I CAN ONLY ENDURE SO MANY OF RICK'S CLIFFHANGERS BEFORE I DIE (I know what happens, but I'm still sitting in front of my computer and squealing like I haven't read the books)

d) the scene with you-know-who. Yeah. The flashback? That one. OMFG KAFNNEWHDN

e) PERCY I LOVE YOUR BRAIN OMG I NEVER WILL FORGET HOW SMART YOU ARE AND THE SATISFACTION I FELT WHEN YOU FIGURED IT OUT

[feliznavidad1010]

THINGS IM EXCITED AF FOR(✨BOOK EDITION ✨:

Games untold(is this even a question)

Fearless(After that cliffhanger I have not been able to breath)

Sunrise on the reaping(my life will be complete when finnicks games are written as well no pressure Suzanne..)

Watch Me(OMFG I JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT THIS TODAY AND I LOVE SHATTER ME SO MUCH THIS JUST MADE ME SO HAPPY)

Glorious Rivals(not as excited but still excited nonetheless)

Spectacular(novella for caraval)

Edit: Percy Jackson and the wrath of the triple goddess(why am I just finding out about this??)

[karmacansuckmyd-ck]

SIR PENTIOUS IS IN HEAVEN HES IN HEAVEN UTS AMAZING OMFG AND LILITH HOLY SHT IM TRYING NOT TO SCREAM RN OMFG ISTG THAT WAS AMAZING TRUST ME AND LIKD THE CLIFFHANGER????? TF WAS RHAT??????? OBFFHOOJJGF AND ALSO FCK YOU ADAMM YOU BTCH YOU GOT WHAT YOU DESERVED I CANT WAIT FOR SEASON TWO BUT LIKE. SIR PENTIOUS. AND IF WE DONT GET MOLLY AND ANTHONY REUNION THEN ILL BR SAD. AND ALSO THOSE TWO EPISODES WERE THE FCKINH BEST DUDE

[actualbird]

HI!!! i wanted to ask ur opinion on how the nxx boys sneeze 😭 it was a hilarious thought because i was trying to sleep when suddenly i heard my dad make the loudest, most disruptive sneeze ever and i thought "thats so funny lol WAIT what if the tot boys sneezed".

i generally think the tot boys would be more "a-chooooo...." rather than a nuclear explosion but i need ur opinion. HOW WOULD THEY SNEEZE!!??

scream omfg i love this ask and i remember i actually talked about this with @samsspambox once forever ago so, without further ado

how the nxx boys sneeze

vyn: sneezes normal but my god he's super sensitive to allergies and, most of all, Pollen. which is hell, given that he loves to garden. but his easy workaround is just to wear a mask, and that usually saves him when hes working on his own garden. but come Pollen Season, and all the plants and trees spewing particles into the air, and hes a nose-clogged sneezy mess. his students know that when it's pollen season to not piss him off because he will be so cranky from all the sneezing and also the horrid feeling of only having one nostril unobstructed

artem: sneezes the Loud Dad Sneeze. he is the disruptive sneezer, the nuclear explosion. he is sneezing like how a lion roars deeply to establish its territory lines, except artem isnt a literal lion and does not do this on purpose. his sneezes are LOUD. the type of loud that makes people want to ask artem if hes okay afterwards cuz it's so loud it seemed like it dislodged a rib or something. it's immensely comical, given artem's usual quiet nature, that his sneezes are a force of nature. he could sneeze in his office and people all the way over in the pantry would hear it. he is, and i cannot stress this enough, so fucking embarrassed about it.

marius: the sneeze that keeps wanting to happen but Doesnt happen. you know, the cliffhanger sneeze, the sneezes that are like "ah...aaAAAHH...AAAAAAAHH—" and then the resulting "choo" doesnt happen. and this Not Happening just Keeps Happening. it's agonizing. marius will start a sneeze at 9:55am but the Conclusion Of The Sneeze only happens by 10:03am, once hes already in a meeting with the board of directors. how unsightly, he KNOWS, but the worst part really is the sheer anticipation. what marius would GIVE to have a normal sneeze.

luke: the tiniest kitten sneeze on the planet, and always 6 times consecutively in a row MINIMUM. back during the NSB Days(TM), the fearsome Agent Raven arrived at the training class he handles with a slight cold, saying he'll just monitor and teach and give pointers while socially distanced. the trainees were so scared cuz "wow, hes still coming in even when hes sick, how TERRIFYINGLY DEDICATED, to be expected from the FEARSOME AGENT RAVEN." and then luke steps back and grabs a piece of tissue, obviously rearing for a sneeze, and the trainees thought "oh i bet his sneeze is the Loud Disruptive one, just like his own scary fighting skills, to be expected from the FEARSOME AGENT RAVE—" and then

it's the smallest, cutest sneeze. one after the other. and another. and another. it was like hearing a squeaky dog toy get squeezed several times vigorously. it was like how you'd assume a pixie sneezes. it was like the sound sprinkles and pink bubbles would make if those could sneeze.

once luke is done with his consecutive sneezes (that, for the life of him, he could not stop) he promptly death-glares at the trainees and they all agree to Never Bring It Up.

but the consecutive kitten sneezes still follow luke through his life and all the way up to, yep, the nxx team being able to witness it

mc: awww, it's been so long since ive seen your cute sneeze!!

luke, nose clogged: it's [sneeze] not cute! [sneeze]

marius: it's so cute, i think my heart is melting

luke: shut [sneeze] up!

marius: AAAWWW, is the big bad agent having some twouble? >:3

luke: dont you f[sneeze]ucking patronize [sneeze] me!

mc: do you need more tissue?

luke: PLE[sneeze]ASE

[god-has-entered-my-body]

Is gjwhf Matty more brattyyyyy?? I can see him doing shit on purpose to get a punishment from girlie 🤭

okay OKAY i have one scenario for you that's very. on brand (this literally got so long omfg also cliffhanger soz mates xxx) minors do NOT interact or i will scream and cry GO AWAY

SO you spend a lot of your time in business or business casual attire, meaning your closet is mainly blouses, button ups, evening dresses for dinner parties and whatnot. Point is, they're low cut and you definitely cannot afford to be covered in hickeys and/or marks, for the sake of professionality. Does that stop Matty? Most of the time, yeah.

You'll warn him every time his kisses move from your lips down to your neck, stressing the fact that he cannot, under any circumstances, leave hickeys where he knows people might see them. You have a reputation to uphold, after all. He usually obliges with a groan and a roll of his eyes, opting to move further down and leave his mark, licking and sucking your tits like his life depends on it, relishing in the sounds of your pleased sighs and soft moans.

After a while though, you let him stay where he likes it the most, right under your jaw, under the condition that he promises he wont leave anything visible. The excitement in his eyes is something you can't just ignore, so you keep letting him do it. That is, until one particular night, behind the locked door of the VIP room.

The leather is expensive, cold against your bare back as Matty straddles your waist, grazing every inch of your body with his freshly done nails (that you paid for, of course. nice and short, just how you like them x), his lips eagerly moving against yours, tongue licking into your mouth in a way he knows makes you dizzy with lust.

You don't say anything when he moves on to your jaw, teeth nipping at the skin as you let your head fall back, closing your eyes and enjoying the way he moves against you, grinding down onto your lap at a slow, sensual pace. His grin is practically audible as he breathes into you, hands coming up to touch your tits through your silk blouse, the music coming through the door muted and heavy.

Letting your hands fold over each other behind your head, you crack your eyes open to catch a glimpse of him, features painted in a neon purple light, complimenting him beautifully. Matty smirks, cocking and eyebrow as he trails his fingers over your collarbones, reaching further down to undo the first two buttons of your shirt. You let out a content sigh, a soft, relaxed smile tug at the corners of your lips before you close your eyes again, a silent signal for him to keep going. 

Matty listens, because he knows better than not to, one of his hands making its way into your blouse, slowly sneaking behind your back and undoing your bra with practiced ease, letting it fall loose as the straps slip off your shoulders. His little gasp when he undoes the rest of the buttons and rids you of your shirt completely makes your ego swell, Matty’s small, but not unnoticeable reactions going straight to your core. 

You feel him shift in your lap, his mouth back on your jaw as he trails kisses down your neck, simultaneously rolling your nipples between his fingers, earning him your choked sounds of pleasure, intertwining beautifully with the faint music in the background. One of his hands finds your hair, running his fingers over the braids as he latches on to your neck, peppering soft kisses all over the hollow of your throat. You lose yourself in the pleasure, humming in approval whenever he does something you particularly like, even if he already knows your body like the back of his hand. 

He pulls away for a second, leaning back and letting his gaze fall on you. Your lipstick is smeared, and he takes the moment to wipe it away, his thumb soft against your lips. Cocking your head at him, you reach for your cigarettes, pointing the open pack at Matty expectantly. His movements are fluid as he reaches for the lighter in your jacket pocket, taking a cigarette and placing it between your slightly parted lips, the flame warm against your skin as he lights it for you, smoke curling around the both of you. 

Before you know it, his mouth is back on you, and you get careless. With closed eyes, a cigarette between gold ringed fingers, you lean into his touch, giving him way more freedom than he’s deserved. You can tell he’s excited, his hands getting more and more frantic as he makes his way down, slowly climbing off your lap with a look on his face that tells you all you need to know. He’s eager, so ready to please you it's adorable, the way he grins when you spread your legs wider, letting him kneel in front of you, hardwood hitting his bare knees a sight for sore eyes.  

Matty bats his lashes at you from the floor, hands resting on your thighs as he rests his head on one of them, enjoying the look of nonchalance on your face. You look bored, cigarette burning between your fingers as he gets comfortable at your feet. His chest, covered in tattoos, shimmers with body glitter as the light hits in a way that makes him look ethereal. Sinful thoughts cloud your mind and the two of you just stay, staring at each other for what feels like an eternity. Matty’s grin looks particularly smug tonight, but you ignore it, much preferring his mouth to be doing something else in that moment. 

He pouts at you, his fingers moving up to trace over your stomach, grabbing onto your hips and scooching you further down. Matty looks at you like he’s expecting something, and you shake your head in disappointment, clicking your tongue like you would at a disobedient child. Taking one final drag, you flick the butt onto the floor, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip before you open your lips to speak. 

“Get to it, princess, I don't have all day.” Matty’s reaction to the pet name is automatic, his knees shifting as you stare him down, eyebrows raised and hands back behind your head. He nods, working fast to tug at your belt, undoing the buttons of your trousers along with it. You take to watching him try not to touch himself, grinning to yourself at how hard he is, cock straining against the fabric of his lace underwear as he motions for you to lift your hips, slipping your bottoms off and tossing them to the side. 

He gives you one last look before his mouth is on you, lapping at your cunt through your panties, his hands slowly pulling them off. Matty looks confused when you push him away, scrunching his face up as you reach for the hairband on your wrist, taking it off and giving it to him. “Can’t have you getting all ruined for me, can we doll? Put your hair up for me.” you say, nodding at him as he takes the elastic from you, bunching his hair up and out of his face, looking for your approval when he finishes. 

“Good?” Matty whispers and you smile at him, your hand threading itself into his ponytail and yanking it harshly. The noise that escapes him is delicious, a pained whine turned moan as pleasure courses through his veins, making him even harder than he already is. 

The moment his tongue touches your clit is when you properly let go, throwing your head back in ecstasy as the feeling takes over you, heat spreading through your whole body. Matty immediately grips your thighs, nails digging into your skin in a way you wouldn’t tolerate if he wasn’t making you feel so fucking good. You leave your hand where it is, guiding him exactly where you need it, grinding down onto his face as he moans into your cunt, both of your desperate noises interlacing with one another. 

“Fuck, so good for me princess, making me feel amazing.” Matty whimpers at the praise, pulling back to stare at your glistening cunt, letting his fingers drag through your folds, bumping against your clit before pushing two of them inside. He listens closely to how you gasp, that gasp turning into an obscene moan as he curls his fingers, coaxing even more sounds out of you.

“Feels good, ma’am?” Matty’s words drip with thick lust and you nod, eyes screwed shut in pleasure as he dives back in, swirling his tongue around your clit with dizzying speed. 

You wrap your legs around the back of his head, forcing him deeper into you as you pull out all the stops, moaning wantonly into the back of your hand, your skin fiery hot as your orgasm builds, slowly but surely. Matty can tell, he knows when you're about to cum even before you do. He grins against your cunt as his fingers curl inside of you, stroking your walls at a delicious pace, the pleasure almost blinding. 

With your hand in his hair, gripping his ponytail, you tighten your legs around his head, rolling your hip against his tongue with pure need, bliss taking over your entire body as the coil in your stomach tightens, threatening to snap at any moment. Matty redoubles his efforts, his fingers thrusting in and out of you as he sucks your clit between your lips, the sensation making your vision white out. 

Your orgasm washes over you in slow waves of ecstasy, your legs trembling as Matty works you through it, soft praise falling from your lips in response. “God, princess, s’pretty for me on your knees like this, making me cum so hard.” you half say, half whine, your breathing heavy as you come down from your high, your grip on his hair loosening slightly. His eyes are glassy when he looks up at you, chin covered in your slick and a filthy smirk on his face, evidently proud of the reaction he managed to get out of you. 

Still, you can feel something is off. The way he looks at you is too happy, too satisfied with himself and you know he’s hiding something behind those gorgeous brown eyes of his. It’s not until you catch yourself in the floor length mirror on the way out of the room that you see it. 

Though light, you see multiple hickeys painting your skin, all placed conveniently right above what the collar of your shirt would cover. Matty trails up behind you as you trace your fingers over the marks, making stern eye contact with him in the mirror as he wraps his arms around you, biting his lip as he tries to gauge your reaction. You don't give him the satisfaction of forcing him back to the floor right then and there, instead opting to just look him in the eye and shake your head, telling him absolutely everything he needs to know. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn't help myse-” he tries to defend himself, but you press a finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. 

You don't speak to him the rest of his shift, you refuse to give him the reaction he obviously was searching for. Seating yourself in your usual spot, you watch him dance for the sea of men and bridal parties, twirling around the pole with an air of sensuality, desperately trying to catch your eye while also focussing on his routine. 

Safe to say you have the perfect consequence waiting for him the moment he walks through your front door in the form of a length of rope, pretty in pink to match his current outfit. But he doesn't know that, which makes it all the more fun for you, letting him believe he’s off the hook.

The look on his face when you wrap that first bit of rope around his wrist, whispering into his ear to “Take it like a good girl, yeah? Since you wanna be such a fucking brat.” is absolutely priceless, and definitely one you want to see more often x 

[maragarita]

My thoughts on maws S2E9, Pierce the heavens, superman!

Kal-el the science man 🥺

Can't escape brainiac even in his mind palace :(

Can't escape being weird even in his mind palace :(

everybody likes cake 🥺

this episode moves at a break-neck pace omfg

Wolf pack rides again!!

look at the fucking road Steve???

E-irth 🥴

Agent of chaos Lois Lane my love

Father son violence poor Clark that looked painful :(

Ayo Lois???

Unfortunately Kara does not have the same instinct to move the fight away from civilization as Clark did

They're in love your honor!!

"I called you that because it's what you are" :''')

Full anime moment okayy

Hey uhhhh what was that Jake Wyatt said about Kara dying??

New suit! (Rip Ma's red shorts)

Cliffhanger Jesus fuck my life

In conclusion: not ready for superman Saturdays to be over 😭

[ace-in-a-very-distressing-hole]

TMAGP 23 SPOILERS

ALSO MAG 200 SPOILERS

This is my live reaction:

lena kelley I love you

SAM YOU HAVE AUTISM

piece??

sounds like they’re talking about becoming avatars ngl

WHAT DO YOU MEAN KEEP IT WARM

PROPERLY BONDED??

pov: you replace your husband with a piece of coral and the piece of coral is better in bed

SCALPEL?? SURGICAL EQUIPMENT?? euurgghh

UNDER THE SKIN??

oo we got that desires theme coming up

is there ANY WAY to abort these polyps?? please I’m begging you this is gonna be horrific

honestly it’s giving jane prentiss

ok so these ppl are literally COACHING THEM through it??

this is grossing me out so bad

HUMIDIFIERS??

SHUT CURTAINS??

what is going on

YOU HEARD IT?? OMFG THATS AWFUL

EEURRRGRH

THE SKIN BROKE

EWWWWW

when your arms start to go??

EYES?? yeah I’ve listened to TMA, I know that’s never good

unzip is such a viscerally uncomfortable word to describe skin opening ngl

we love to see the acceptance of transgender horrors changing their names

YOU SHOULD ABSOLUTELY BE SCARED

wet with mould???

this reminds me of episode 2

SKULL PULLS APART??

of course something is bloody wrong with her

hey guys I think they need help

also the moderators are CLEARLY trying to make sure other people don’t find out that it went badly

I have so many questions

CELIA STOP MANIPULATING HIM OMFG

[looks at a couple] sooo, which one of you dies of a cycling accident and which one dies of a heart problem?

I mean it’s fair to assume that Jon did in fact die of a heart thing considering he was, y’know, fatally stabbed

BASIRA OMFG

⁠LEAVE BASIRA ALONE SHE DESERVES A NORMAL LIFE

HELEN

nooo don’t talk to helen, she’s a tory

oh gods gwen my poor girl

oh no she’s crying

aaaaa that’s so sad

typical alice

literally the most alice mug ever

this is rlly saying dyhard rights

OMG SHES ACTUALLY CONFESSING TO ALICE

AND ALICE IS TAKING HER SERIOUSLY

ooo gwen is bitter, we love to see it

alice being cynical about her boss gives me life

mmmmm yes eyes and tape recorder

ALICE KNOWS TAPE RECORDERS ARE DANGEROUS

of course you’re in danger alice, glad you finally admitted it

oh god

chills. literal chills.

and THAT’S another fucking cliffhanger

alice my darling, I am Concerned

[netherfeildren]

WAS THAT THE END?!??!??!?? OMFG PLS TELL ME THERE'S AN EPILOGUE PLS PLS PLS

since i’ve already gotten rude comments about this (not you, you’re lovely) i’m only going to discuss this once and then that’ll be the end of it. yes, that is the end. no, i will not be writing extras or an epilogue or anything else for pink. the story was not rushed or cut short. i knew what i was doing, i knew what i wanted, and i’ve thought and planned this story for months and i’d been working on the ending for weeks. from the start i knew i’d be doing an open ending as a challenge to myself, and it was incredibly difficult to construct something that was left open, but still threaded with lots of hope. i feel very strongly that i achieved that in what i wrote. all of the answers to their off page future are there in the text for your interpretation, and i know that satisfying cliffhangers are tricky to execute, but once i’d found the right words to say what i needed to say, i knew i could trust you all implicitly to understand what i was gunning for. and to those of you who have been so incredibly kind and lovely and generous with your compliments, as you always are, thank you so so much. i appreciate you all to the end of time, and pink means so much to me and is so deeply personal in so many ways and the reception has been so mind blowing, i’m really so grateful for you all.