lee

the spark, the ignition, the fire — victors of district twelve

random ass eddie munson headcanons..

he really likes your ankles for some reason. if your legs are laying over him he’ll catch himself resting his hand on your ankle, gently rubbing the bone. he doesn’t know why. he’s like some kind of victorian man

i mean he’s definitely got some WEIRD likes.. he will inhale the top of your head. the smell of your shampoo will quite literally make him hard. he used it to jerk off once and regretted it after his dick started burning 🫶🏻

you in general? you wear this scented lotion that sticks on your skin like all day- and he literally just wants to bite you. and he does. he calls it his love bites. and he’s unashamed.

to me he’s definitely a thigh man.. something about him just reads as ‘i want my head to be squished between my partners thighs’ he also just reads as the type to like being degraded. i don’t know. it’s his puppy eyes.. they speak to me.

he also likes making you wear his boxers if you have no clean underwear- then he will wear them after. why? i don’t know, he probably doesn’t know either. he says it’s ’to be closer’ with you.. okay bud.

could also low-key see him wearing your underwear too if he missed you. would definitely turn into a running joke if you caught him.

MY KEYCHAIN GOT HERE EARLY AND IT CAME WITH SUPRISE PHOTOCARDS YAYYYYYYY

https://www.etsy.com/listing/4355804093/divine-violinist-shaker-charm

Bonsoir, Madame de Lioncourt.

Im not sure what "canoodling" you're referring to. Now since me and you are at a considerable distance from eachother;

If you mean sex? Fucking?

Absolutely, constantly.

Whenever I get my hands on him. On every flat surface, in his tour bus, in his home in New Orleans, on his coffin, in his coffin, on Armands coffin, in the theatre storage room, in the alleyways of Auvergne, in the tavern Inn, behind the building of the liqour merchant back home.

My home, every hotel we've managed to get into, in the stables back home, in the woods, in my father's shop, in our home church, in our parlor in Paris.

Oh but don't worry Maman De Lioncourt, your home is not spared in this. In your bed, flat on the dining table with the Marquis deaf and dumb in the den nearby, from the moment we knew what sex was and how fantastic it feels we were in every corner of that decrepit domain you call a manor house.

I've sucked him off in the church so fresh out of mass that the censer still had incense smoke coming out of it.

Then I turned around that same evening and bid you and the Marquis a wonderful time out on one of the rare times you dared be seen in public with him and got bent over the dining room table and got off so hard I felt like I was on that floor scrubbing the stone and tile hours, making sure I didn't leave a drop behind.

All those times that bedroom door was locked and he was ' ill ' and speaking to you through the door? I was either under the bed, in the bed , or right there with him on the other side, face buried while he held onto my hair and struggled to speak to you.

Now that I've detailed that for your curiosity I will follow lt up with letting you know that I have the same level of care and thought towards him and Louis' "relationship" that you had with your marriage.

Nothing.

Zero.

Louis is an on and off fling when I cannot cater to him. Eventually everyone must settle for house wine when they prefer aged.

I would say the same to him that I would say to you:

Lestat knows where home is 💚