#but they're fuckbuddies first

[steviewashere]

Early Morning Thoughts 🔞Minors DNI🔞

Okay, I'm going feral this morning and need to just get this Steddie fic idea out of my brain.

Thinking of Steddie who recently start a fuckbuddy relationship (before dating). Both of which are usually pretty quiet when they masturbate alone, but together they are...incredibly loud. (Something, something—the volume of their sex is a testament to their love for one another or whatever.)

Something about Eddie spending Friday nights with Steve, staying over and sharing a bed with him (literally). And in the early hours of Saturday morning, they fuck nasty and ear-piercing. Thinking about them fucking in Steve's weird ass bedroom, in his lonely and otherwise silent house.

Of Steve and Eddie sleeping with the windows open on Friday nights. Because they both get a little too warm at night. And when they have sex—which is nasty but also sickeningly tender, sweet, and genuine—every single one of Steve's neighbors can hear them. Can hear Steve whining high pitched and mewling and shouting when he comes. Can hear Eddie grunt and pant and moan so hoarsely that his voice remains deep and gravelly for the rest of the day.

But the neighbors never complain about it because they know how absent Steve's parents are, they know how quiet the house tends to be when it's just Steve there. So though it's usually crazy loud, at least the Harrington's kid is getting love. (Bonus points if they think that the person who's whining is a girl, but turns out it's just Steve.)

Anyway. Windows open sex, my beloved.

[suga-kookiemonster]

Don’t mind me just passing here for my monthly delusion where oc from ego and taehyung actually end up falling in love after hooking up in the chronicles 🤸‍♂️

idk why it entertains me so much but it does they’d either be the Chernobyl toxic or a healthy chaotic evil together

LMAO! they'd definitely be chaotic evil, but they wouldn't last very long, because tae has a wandering eye and oc don't play that 😂 so it wouldn't even have time to get properly toxic because as we all know, our girl? she's a runner, she's a track star 🏃🏾‍♀️💨

[strangersteddierthings]

"Look, Steve, I don't have any bad feelings towards you," Eddie says, has been saying, talking nonsense, like he and Steve weren't anything more than fuckbuddies, like he isn't breaking Steve's heart. "I used you too, y'know?"

It's then Steve rears back like he been slapped. Or punched. It feels more like a gutting. Joke's on him, he supposes. Once again, he wants more than the other person. He wanted a boyfriend, Eddie'd wanted sex. Why does he keep trying? When Steve finds his voice to speak, it comes out flat and dead and not really like a question at all. "Used me. Like you think I've used you?"

Eddie shrugs, looking for all the world like he's not bothered by that statement. "We had fun, right? So it's all fine in the end."

"Fine," Steve repeats, hollow. They're in his house but Steve feels the need to leave, to run before the reality of how unlovable he truly is sticks inside him forever.

"But I think we should stop while we're ahead," Eddie continues and Steve wonders if Eddie is listening to him at all, or just saying his piece before he goes. Can he not hear Steve's heart breaking? "I want to... I want to find someone to love."

If Eddie's previous words felt like being gutted, these ones feel like cement. Heavy and solidifying. Trapping in the truth of Ever Unlovable Steve. He doesn't even feel heartbroken anymore. Just numb. Dead inside. He should say something encouraging. Let Eddie know that all he's wanted was for Eddie to be happy and loved. But words seem impossible, so he gives one jerky nod of his head. An understanding.

"Right," Eddie says, returning the nod before turning away, towards the door, "I'll just go now. Umm, see ya later, Harrington."

Facing the horrors of the Upside Down should feel like the scariest thing he's ever done but it doesn't. Watching Eddie walk away does. Steve should be able to hold it together long enough for Eddie to leave. He's the tough one. He can hold himself together no problem-

"Why can't you love me?"

Eddie whips back around, an expression on his face like confusion and anger mixed.

It's only then that Steve realizes he spoke. He hasn't meant to. He was going to let Eddie walk away but now his voice has been freed from the cement. His heart has shut down his brain it seems because he just keeps talking, voice flat and hollow, "why can't you love me the way I love you? What is so broken and wrong within me that no one loves me back? My parents, Nancy, now you. Why can't- I thought that we were- where did I go wrong?"

"What?" Eddie asks, and the anger is gone from his face but now he just looks horrified. Which is understandable. It's horrifying to be loved by Steve Harrington. "What did you think we were?"

Boyfriends. Together. Going steady. At the very least, dating without labels. But none of those very reasonable, normal answers come out of Steve's treacherous mouth. Because Steve can't seem to be a reasonable, normal person. He's got to be too much, too soon, too clingy. So, instead, he says, "In love."

Eddie looks like he's just received the worst news of his life. In fact, he looks a little sick. "Oh fuck. Jesus Christ. I can't- I thought- Fuck!"

Steve just nods along. He hadn't actually said I love you to Nancy that night at Tina's Halloween party, but he imagines if he had, the beginning of the bullshit conversation would have sounded much the same as Eddie does now; like anger and regret, the starts and stops. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- if you want to go, you should go."

Eddie crosses the room back to Steve in half the steps he took when he first walked away, hands reaching to grab Steve's face between them. He speaks quickly and sounds panicked now. "No, no no no. I fucked up, misunderstood. I don't know how I got it so wrong. I don't want to go. I never did."

"What?"

"I am in love with you, sweetheart. I just- I didn't know you loved me back. I thought you didn't- that we weren't..."

"I thought we were boyfriends."

"Jesus, please let me fix this. Let me stay and make it up to you. I'll be the best fucking boyfriend you've ever had."

Steve thinks if he had any shred of self-worth he might step back, make Eddie explain himself, but as it is, he steps into Eddie's space and kisses him, hands pulling him as close as he can get. He doesn't want to think about the cruel things Eddie's said, about using each other. Maybe one day they'll have to hash that out, have that conversation, but Eddie says he loves him too, and that's all Steve's wanted.

[zarnzarn]

i see all these comments talking about this after the new episode, but. i would like to state for the record that stolitz isn't. toxic.

first off, the concept of a toxic and a healthy relationship are such... vague terms. when you're online, drenched in language and tight moral boundaries, trying to put a nuanced story like helluva boss's into boxes is easy to attempt and impossible to do.

a toxic relationship is one where one or both parties is maliciously affecting the other. I'm talking fetid, nasty, rude interactions where there is more hurt than love. they're unhappy more often than not when they're with their partner, there's no respect or give from the other side.

stolitz is nothing like that.

Stolas actively cares about Blitz and actually has no fear or hesitation in ADMITTING IT OUT LOUD TO OZZIE. he has been calling, texting, commenting, laughing and finding ways to spend time with Blitz. he's throwing everything he has to the wind, finding the courage to move forward with the divorce, putting everything he has into trying to keep him. he's been alone in a palace since he was born, on medication, with such less people dear to him that he remembered the circus boy who spent a day with him DECADES ago- so when blitz comes into his life and brings back in laughter and color and sex, he's holding on with everything he's got.

and blitz does care!!! he cares a LOT, the whole series we see him falling in love with stolas through SHOW NOT TELL (his expressions, his choices, his fear, his lashing out) and utterly unable to process that stolas cares about him too when talking to fizz; almost a desperate kind of denial-

cause yknow. the first time he tried to confess something to someone he really liked, he accidentally killed half the people he knew and ruined the lives of the rest?

thats gonna leave just a teensy impact on the will to express your emotions in the future, methinks.

even before that, he clearly felt like on some level that he was unworthy and he's said twice that he despises himself for the accident even though it wasn't actually his fault. being self aware doesn't stop the emotions from emotioning.

he keeps insisting its only sex so urgently to anyone who doesn't ask because he can't even imagine it being anything else. he's both disappointed and relieved when he repeats that stolas sees him as a novelty, because what else can it be?

(there's a whole other spiel of how brave both Stolas and Blitz have to be to say it out loud even when asmodeus can't afford to, considering how publically and completely beaten down both were at the club.)

(there's also another whole spiel about how frustrating it has been for ME to see all these comments over time with such bad takes based on like,, 20 min worth of info of a show that takes months to release an ep. like godDAMN have some patience?? let the story UNFOLD MAYBE? IT WAS ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE AN EXPLANATION WHY WOULD YOU CRITICIZE THINGS THAT ARENT EVEN FINISHED ESPECIALLY AN INDIE ANIMATION- i digress)

mind you, this has NOTHING to do with abuse. an abusive relationship is one where one is actively harming the other with full awareness. Stella is an abuser and their marriage is abusive.

and stolitz isn't that; it isn't even unhealthy or toxic. it's a consensual, transactional fuckbuddy relationship that slid into something more for both of them.

but!!!!! one of the main reasons for the problems that everyone looks over is-

they're in a BDSM relationship.

I can't possibly delve into dynamics without making this a 10k research paper BUT even though we've gotten only hints and costumes and dialogue- they're very clearly and undeniably in a BDSM contract. Behind the scenes of this crazy show is a whole different story, of these two delving into the most hardcore kinks out there- knifeplay, painplay, bondage.

if you've gotten into the community, if you've read a couple dozen particularly good fics by authors who know what they're talking about, hell; even if your only experience is fifty shades or 365 or whatever- you gotta know that BDSM scenes are crazy fucking emotionally heavy. there's so much that has gone down between them during their full moons that helluva can't get into!!

but you know how in so many of these popular medias and fics, the dom in the relationship is also like,, the billionaire/mafia heir/prince, etc, the one with financial and physical power? this isnt that. it has been very clearly stated that stolas is subbing, blitz is domming.

now take a moment and think about how much that fucks up the dynamics.

in stolas' eyes, blitz is a confident, dangerous individual who's an old friend and cherished memory of his, who he's trusted wholly with his safety during sex and he's lucky to have; and he has been in an abusive arranged marriage for the past eighteen Years, he's probably not going to be pushing his luck with his dom that much in the first place. plus, blitz is never cowed by him during their conversations- think back to the first phone call right after he stole the book, completely unafraid.

and for blitz, it's someone trusting him again- but it's also a royal- a blue blood who's nearly untouchable and so much more powerful- who couldn't possibly like a piece of shit like him, apart from the sex he gets out of it. he only flirts once he gets some sort of cue from Stolas; he's desperately trying to view this as only a Goetia trying to get his rocks off, despite all the evidence to the contrary, because anything else is unfathomable to him, no matter how clearly Stolas shows it, because of the ptsd.

both of them thinks the other has the power. both of them aren't expecting the other to keep shut if something's bothering them.

and there's so much conflicting messages from the other too!

stolas calls him a plaything when trying to intimidate the humans; stolas cups his face gently and asks if he's alright

blitz asks him on a date and tells him to get better soon; blitz yells that it's only sex and doesn't reply to his messages

ya see?

bring it to fizzozzie for a second now; even though they do look all good on surface, you can still see fizz's trauma and doubt in all their interactions, they're still forced to keep the relationship secret. do you see his face when Ozzie says in hyperbole that he's never leaving the house again, or when someone accuses him of being a pampered house pet or when he got sexualized in the 7th ep? whatever happened in the interim between the accident with mammon, it fucked him UP. even though oz seems to be well aware of this when he tells him not to apologise and in their general interactions, fizz still visibly has trouble separating plaything/commodity from healthy relationship.

shout the fuck out to Ozzie btw, man knows whats UP. rooting for these two so much omg.

i forgot where I was going with this point, I'll edit it when i remember. but yeah! lovely fucking relationship, but damn what angst filled issues.

anyway, to sum up- stolitz is not a toxic relationship. the relationship is stuck sludging through misunderstandings and careless microaggressions and trauma responses, but it's not unhealthy or toxic because of the simple reason that most of the current hurt comes from... a misunderstanding. stolas didn't realise blitz would need reassurance about what they were and blitz didn't see stolas as someone who could get hurt.

unecessarily calling it toxic, even online, is more impactful than people think too. almost all spindlehorse ARE on all social medias; so MANY YouTube animators i know have found jobs there; they see your words, especially since a lot don't tag posts with "anti hb" correctly to keep them out of the main tag. there are Very few queer medias made BY queer people that haven't gone through heavy corporate revisions- helluva boss is practically a historical landmark in its success. it's very very very fucking easy to forget that not ten years ago some of the only queer videos on YouTube were butter lover (one kiss at the end post credits), dirty paws and welcome to hell (subtext).

the amount of "critical talk" helluva boss gets for what it is is very unprecedented. it's a beautiful show. can't wait for the next episode.

[rpdepartment]

simple yet specific relationships & reverse starters meme!

send one of the followings emojis or prompts if you have ideas for relationships & plots when it comes to our muses, but you don't know how to start! in return, i'll go through either yours or my prompts and try to send you something to work with your wishes! feel free to send more of them at the same time too!!

note: with "my muse", we mean the sender's

NEUTRAL

🙂 a simple first meeting should work

🤭 my muse wants to know yours better

🤗 my muse doesn't know yours, but heard of them /pos

🤔 my muse doesn't know yours, but heard of them and has no strong feelings about them. yet.

😄 my muse is related or friend of someone your muse is friends with

😕 my muse is related or friend of someone your muse dislikes

😍 my muse is related or friend of someone your muse loves

PLATONIC & FAMILIAL

🐶 they could be friends!!!!

🐺 they were friends in the past, but lost contact with eachother

🐣 they're family!!!

🐔 my muse is a distant relative of yours

🐴 my muse is a fan of yours

🦝 my muse is an old friend who yours didn't see in a while

🐭 our muses are online friends

ROMANTIC & SEXUAL

❤️ my muse wants to kiss yours (in a romantic way)

💙 my muse has a one sided crush on yours

💚 our muses are exes

🧡 my muse used to have a crush on yours some time ago

💛 my muse wants to kiss yours (mostly in a sexy kind of way)

💜 our muses had a one night stand

🖤 our muses are fuckbuddies

ANTAGONISTIC & NEGATIVE

🥄 my muse doesn't know yours, but heard of them /neg

🔨 they should beat eachother up

💣 my muse hates yours

🗡️ our muses hate eachother

🔪 my muse is scared of yours

⛏��� they were friends in the past, but they had a serious fight

🪓 my muse wants to kill yours

WORK & SCHOOL

📅 they're forced to cooperate

📋 my muse wants yours to work for them

📚 our muses know eachother from school

📊 our muses know eachother from work

📌 my muse works for yours

📭 your muse works for mine

📖 my muse is or was your muse's teacher

OTHER ODDLY SPECIFIC SCENARIOS

🍉 they should work together to beat someone else up

🍋 our muses are in a fake relationship

🍏 my muse needs yours to pretend to be their partner

🍒 my muse is famous, and i'd love to see yours reaction to see them

🍓 my muse is a troublemaker and yours find them after a fight

🍇 my muse is sad for any reason and crosses paths with yours

🍊 my muse catches yours doing something illegal

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 2 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: depiction of a depressive episode, recreational drinking and bar scenes, allusion to oral (f. receiving), kissing, rough sex/man-handling, explicit penetrative sex, dirty talk, aftercare, didn't venture fully into writing dom!vernon but i have been informed i wrote something that might be in the realm of a dom drop, language obviously, reader is called a gendered slur by a stranger, law-breaking :), actual fluff for a second, allusions to drug use, car sex

wc: 6900

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1 yr, 5 months ago

The onset of spring brought a lack of color. Grey clouds hung full and heavy, low over the city skyline. Grey crept into the corners of your apartment, darkening rooms during daytime so that you needed to keep lamps on even in midafternoon. Grey crept over your body, into your limbs. Days stretched and nights inched; you only got out of bed because you had to feed the damn cat.

That's part of why you'd gotten the cat in the first place, after a particularly long episode a few years ago, when Chan had presented you with a list of things he thought you should do to combat the blues, as he'd put it.

He meant well. But he always came at your depression like a problem solver, like just doing the right things could make it go away.

And sure, his suggestions were things that would help - get outside, call someone, don't isolate, shower even if you aren't leaving the house, drink some damn water - they weren't a cure. They were better reminders for when you were okay - good at keeping you okay for longer stretches. But when it was already too late, when the grey came, they all sounded fucking pointless. 

Anyway. The cat had been a good idea. 

is it bad?? 

Chan did his best. He was a good best friend. He just didn't understand it.

The answer to his question, you thought, as you flipped your phone over so you wouldn't see the notification if he followed up, was yes. Yes, this time was particularly bad. But you didn't have the energy to type those three words. 

Terrible friend, your brain accused, and it was right. 

You managed to drag yourself to work, to at least show up so you could continue to pay for your apartment and your damn cat, but not much else. You existed on cans of diet coke and microwave meals. You doom-scrolled until sunrise, then slept an hour or two at most before getting dressed for work. You left texts unanswered, the mail piled up. So did the dishes. 

Chan came by, once, did your dishes for you. It made you feel worse - useless and pitiable. You'd rather he just go away, but you held it in; you knew that would only hurt his feelings.

You learned from your mistakes, one thing that could be said in your favor. 

“Have you called your doctor?” he wanted to know.

What was the point? There wasn't a stop hating your life pill. 

“What if you tried painting?” he asked.

“What if you just let me be?” you countered, finally tripping over the line from embarrassed apathy to defensiveness. 

That pout again. “It might help,” he said. “Don't most famous artists do their best shit when they're down?”

“Get out,” you deadpanned. He dropped it, knowing this was a bigger issue, a bigger argument, than this current episode, a complex situation that went beyond the boundaries of your brain chemistry.

He put the last of your now-clean plates away. “Let's go somewhere,” he suggested.

“Chan,” you groaned. “I’m tired. I can't go gallivanting -”

“You're not tired, you're depressed,” he argued. “And going outside will help you.”

“I might have to kill you,” you said seriously, and he rolled his eyes. 

In the end, he let you win. He'd been around long enough to know that eventually you'd venture outside again, hit the bars with him again, text first again, laugh at his stupid memes again. It was just a waiting game. 

Still, when he left, you sat on the edge of your couch with your chin in your hands. On the living room rug, the cat rolled and showed you its belly. 

“Not you, too,” you groused. 

The cat did a few alligator rolls and then scampered into your bedroom and under the bed, as if chased. 

You sighed. You made your way to the spare room, which had been shut - to keep the cat out. To keep your ghosts in. 

Your easel was still set up in the corner. You were kind of surprised it wasn't covered in cobwebs. You'd been sketching just on paper last time you'd worked, trying to make decisions that way so you wouldn't waste a canvas, and it still sat there. 

You inched closer, ran your hands over your brushes. Took a step back, eyed the paper and your sketches. 

It was bad. Thank god you hadn't put it to canvas. 

You pulled the paper down, crumpled it in your hands. You chased the cat out with a gentle nudge of your foot, and closed the door again, keeping both cats and ghosts on their respective sides of the door.

There was no rhyme or reason to your brain, no map or calendar to follow for the starts or stops. But eventually, the clouds broke. The grey gave way to baby buds of green, yellows pushed through soil, determined to meet the sun.

You texted Chan - drinks??

He responded - about time!!!

You texted Vernon - hello, its me

When he didn't answer, you tried again - sorry for the radio silence. 

Still nothing. 

You checked his socials, saw that he'd been doing his thing - a smattering of selfies, some group shots with the guys he played music with sometimes, a few nature shots: the moon, once, and what looked like the river at night. 

The silence stretched. You gave up, considered it over. Grieved a little, because it had been good. 

You went out on a night that teased summer even though it was months away, sank into the familiar blur of too many shots - not enough to be a problem, but maybe enough to make problems. 

Under the club's ever-moving lights, you took a selfie, your drink and cleavage both showcased in the shot. 

Send it to Vernon, the urge to make trouble suggested, and you listened without hesitation.

And - finally - an answer.

come here after?? 

You smiled a tiny, victorious smile and knocked back the rest of your drink. 

omw.

Later, he gave you a rare and devastating pout as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smoothed fingers down the still-shaking inside of your thigh.

“What'd you make me wait so long for?” he complained, those sharp eyes sparkling with mirth. When you shrugged, still a little mindless from your high, he gave the same spot on your thigh a playful slap. “Don't do it again.”

1 yr, 4 months ago

busy tonight?

not busy but.

???

not in the best mood.

bet i could fix that.

yeah. idk.

why don't you let me try? 

“What's wrong?” you cooed, teasing, when Vernon let you into the apartment. 

He didn't smile, didn't play along, and it sobered you quickly. 

“Don't want to talk about it,” he muttered, crowding into your space. “Wasn't that big of a deal anyway.”

Just want the fix you promised, he thought. 

You moaned like liquid gold when his first kiss was a bite. Encouraged, Vernon gripped you by the shoulders, pushing you back against the wall hard enough that he heard your breath escape in a single huff. He hesitated, eyes searching your face; a question.

You lifted your chin, eyes shining with something hard. When he kissed you again, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled, hard enough to make him hiss; an answer.

His pace was frenzied from the start, your legs around his waist and the wall holding you up. His hand curled around your throat, not squeezing, but sliding up to grip at your jaw instead, keeping you from tilting your head back, closing your eyes, losing yourself in how he felt slamming his hips flush against yours with dizzying smacks.

When you whined that you were close, he pulled you away from the wall and lowered you both to the ground, the wooden floor of his entryway cold and hard beneath your spine. It didn’t matter, didn’t do anything to stop the vortex tightening below your stomach. You slapped a hand over your face as it distorted in pleasure, Vernon kneeling between the legs you still had gripping his waist, one of his hands braced on the floor next to your head, holding his body over you.

“That’s right,” he breathed, gritted teeth flashing over you, forehead wrinkling as his own release closed in on the chase. “Just fucking take it when I fuck you into the floor.”

Then he was pulling out, breaths hissing through his teeth as he straightened up, one hand pumping himself furiously until strings of white decorated your stomach, cooling immediately in the apartment’s chilly air.

His breathing was ragged as he sagged back onto his heels, and you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, watching him warily.

Then he stood and slipped into the hallway bathroom, the light clicking on and illuminating the unlit entryway where you’d just fucked. You heard the sink run, then shut back off, and Vernon returned. He knelt gingerly - you could see his knees were red from kneeling on the wooden floor - and cleaned your stomach first, then gently between your legs.

You sat the rest of the way up then, watching him carefully as he sat back on his heels again, avoiding your gaze. Something about the moment felt like a thing alive, unfurling between you like a casablanca lily under the refracted light of the moon.

You spoke at the same time.

“Vernon?”

“You okay?”

You swallowed, rubbed absently at your elbow where you’d smacked it on the floor during the position change.

“I’m fine,” you said tentatively. “Are you?”

He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, and then peering through his fingers at you for a second before dropping them again. “Thought I hurt you.”

You shook your head. “I’m okay. I would have said something.”

He nodded, relief starting to bring feeling back to his hands again. He stood and reached a hand down for you. When you took it, he closed his fingers around yours and pulled you to your feet.

“I know we don’t usually do this,” you said, rubbing at the parts of you that had been on the floor - the backs of your legs, your ass, “but could I take a super fast shower before I go?”

“Yeah,” he said, so quickly that the word almost trips on itself. “Of course.”

He led you into the bathroom, rummaged in the disorganized linen closet for a clean towel, pressed it into your hands.

“If you need one, too,” you said easily, as he reached around you to turn the water on so it could heat up, “I don’t mind if you join me.”

He paused. “You sure?”

You shrugged, then leaned over to put your hand under the spray, testing to see if it was still cold. “It’s your shower.”

Under the stream of warm water, you turned to face him, front to front, looking up at him with clear eyes. Something in your expression was so open, Vernon couldn’t help but feel both the desire to step into the space you seemed to be offering him as well as the desire to get far, far away from it.

He’d been so angry before you’d texted, furious enough that he’d bruised his knuckles punching the doorframe; now, as the chemicals in his body settled down, he felt those knuckles throbbing. He was disgusted that he’d lost his temper, guilty that he’d taken any of that anger out on you, who had nothing to do with it.

He was scared of the desire he felt to be closer to you, just for tonight. Scared that fucking you hadn’t been enough to soothe whatever it was that roiled inside him, like it usually was. Scared that he felt like he needed more than sex to heal this particular burn.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and part of him thought he was apologizing in advance, like he knew already he’d run scared at some point. “For being so...”

He didn’t know what word fit best. 

“I told you,” you said, pressing a little closer, “I would have said if I had a problem.”

“Okay,” he said, frowning a little. “If you’re sure.”

Then he reached over and brushed a thumb along your cheekbone, chasing away a rivulet of shower-water. You closed your eyes for a second, and he swore he could feel you lean into the touch, just slightly.

He didn’t know how to explain how he felt. Kind of like he’d done a hot-coal-walk; the exhaustion that came with an adrenaline crash, the vulnerability that came after facing down something big, that need - the burn inside him needing cool water before it could quiet down.

With the shower off, the silence in the bathroom was loud.

“Do you…” Vernon started, then stopped. His heart hammered, the adrenaline returning. He covered the moment by toweling his hair roughly and pulling his hands through the strands so they’d lay right. “Do you want to stay for a little bit? I was gonna order delivery, maybe watch something before I finish my assignment.”

He’d expected you to think about it, to turn it over in your mind the way you turn his things over in your careful hands, the way you turn him ass over head with just a smirk. Instead, you nodded right away.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was no big deal. Like you did this all the time. Maybe you did, just not with him. “I was starving, actually. I could stay for an hour or two.”

On his couch, the leftovers of the food scattered on his coffee table, you reached for his hand, ran a thumb imperceptibly along his purpled knuckles. You didn’t ask what happened, just brought them to your lips and pressed the lightest kiss before putting them down again and reaching for your noodles, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

That was when Vernon saw the potential of it, an entire picture, framed and labeled: you could hurt him so badly if he let you, if he let it get that far. For whatever it was that burned inside him, you were the cool water… but you could absolutely be gasoline, instead.

1 yr, 3 months ago

If you closed your eyes, you could pretend the light that passed over your closed lids in a repetitive pattern was the sweep of a lighthouse beam. You could pretend that the rumbling bass of the music was the roar of the ocean. You could pretend that you weren’t here, in a shitty bar, but at the seaside. You could pretend that you weren’t alone. You could pretend that you weren’t you.

You drained your drink and caught the bartender’s eye, gesturing for another, sliding the sweating glass away from you once you knew a new one was coming.

“What are you drinking?”

The voice came from your right, and you lifted tired, disinterested eyes to find the source of it.

“G and T,” you answered, because it was one fewer syllable than saying gin and tonic and maybe that one syllable would do the dirty work for you and tell this guy that you didn’t want to talk to him.

“Nice,” he said, like you’d said something interesting, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You didn’t return the question, just slid your phone screen on and opened your messages.

wyd

drinks at my hyungs place. wbu

damn. guess i have to settle for one of these very mid prospects at the willow

damn thats a sad story. if only you had a better option

if only my better option werent busy at his hyung’s

no one said i had to stay here. ur at the willow?

yep

The guy to your right tried again. “The DJ tonight kind of sucks, huh?”

You looked back at your phone.

don’t leave

You smiled into your drink, a thrill dancing through your bloodstream. The lights and music didn’t seem as garish as they had ten minutes ago.

“My boyfriend’s on his way to pick me up,” you said flatly to the guy who kept trying to talk to you, “so you might want to find someone else to complain about the DJ to.”

The word tasted like lemonade on your tongue - acidic and sour, sweet and refreshing, taste buds blooming and shriveling in tandem. Even the knowledge that it was a flat-out lie didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.

You expected the guy to get up and leave, maybe throw you a dirty look on his way. Instead, he seemed to call your bluff, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to read you.

“I don’t think I’d let my girlfriend go out alone looking like this,” he said evenly, and you let out a derisive laugh.

“The fact that you just said the words let my girlfriend probably has a lot to do with why you’re here alone,” you countered, a flash of victory slicing up your spine when you saw his face flush.

Before he could retort, you hopped down from your barstool, pushing your way into the crowded dance floor. You didn’t even want to dance, you just wanted to get away. If Vernon wanted to find you, he could come find you. He’d told you not to leave, he hadn’t said make it easy for me.

He found you anyway; he made it look easy. He stepped around a group of guys talking in a circle and into your space, like he was following a path, like he knew there’d be room for him.

You were happy to see him. You were happy he came. You were happy to breathe him in, to feel the warmth of his body and smell his cologne and hear your name tumble from his mouth like a statement. You were too drunk to tuck these truths away into pockets and folds where they would be harder to find.

You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around his neck. If he was surprised, his body hid it well. His hands came to rest on your lower back, pressing you closer to him as you leaned up to find his mouth.

You kissed him slowly, at odds with the frantic bassline vibrating under your feet. You let him tip your head back, changing the angle, sweeping your mouth with his tongue until you both tasted lemonade.

“Happy to see me?” he asked, a hint of a smirk on his face, one eyebrow arched in question and one half of his mouth twitching into a smile.

You didn’t have it in you to lie, so instead you said, “Your place?”

He led you outside.

As luck would have it, the idiot from the bar stood beside the front door, a cigarette between two fingers. His expression darkened when he recognized you, then further when he saw your fingers linked with Vernon’s as you stepped into the quiet night.

“Your girlfriend’s a fucking bitch,” the guy bit out, dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it.

Vernon’s eyebrows shot up.

Evenly, he said, “She’s not -”

She’s not my girlfriend. You felt your stomach swoop, and you felt yourself flinch.

“- a bitch. She’s just smarter than you.”

Vernon tugged on your hand, leading you across the street to his parked, waiting car.

You tried to bite back a smile, and he looked sideways at you, his own lips twitching.

“What?” he demanded.

“What?” you parroted.

He scowled at you, but his lips were just smiling. “What?” he asked again.

You laughed. “Let’s go,” you said. “The bitch wants to kiss you more.”

You expected his smile to sharpen. Instead, something in it seems to soften, changing from teasing to actual affection.

“Alright,” he said, turning to start the engine. “Can’t really say no to that, can I?”

“You could,” you mused, as he pulled away from the curb and the bar slid into nothingness behind you, “but I just don’t think you should.”

1 yr, 2 months ago

wyd

melting

srsly

no, seriously. i am laying on my living room floor like a starfish trying not to turn into liquid

come to hyungs

its too hot to move

i have an idea, come meet me at hyungs

You frowned at your phone. Of course your aircon died during the only heatwave you could remember in your entire adult life. Your whole body felt sticky; you were pretty sure you were stuck to your floor.

It was too hot to move.

what’s the idea??

you’ll see. i’ll order u a car. can you bring a couple towels?

“Vernon, no,” you laughed, your voice echoing.

He shushed you through laughter, both of you leaning on each other as you stood at the edge of the yard, the grass tickling the bottoms of your bare feet. Upstairs, at his friend’s place, you’d thrown back a few shots for courage before following Vernon out here, and you were feeling them, your head swimming like your body might soon be.

“It’s a circuit, see?” he tried to explain, pointing through the night, as if you could see through all the fences and over all the hedges. “Five yards, five pools, and then we end up right back here and we get in the car and go. Just follow me, don’t stop for anything.”

“Someone’s gonna call the cops,” you complained. “And these neighborhoods all have cameras.”

“That’s why we keep moving,” he said, his grin so excited and so un-Vernon that you almost couldn’t bear to say no to him. “No one’s gonna call the cops if we’re already gone - it’s not worth it. You ready?”

You hesitated. “You’re good to drive us out of here?” you checked.

He held up his hands as if to show innocence. “Only had a beer,” he promised. “But I’ve got something fun in the car for after, if you want.”

You felt your grin turn wolfish. “Okay. I’m right behind you.”

“Try and be quiet,” he warned, then took off running across the yard, cannonballing into the pool with a splash.

You tore off after him, leaping into the water and suppressing a shriek when the cold water hit you. You felt instantly sober, jittery with adrenaline, alive with laughter. You spluttered your way to the surface and pushed water away from your eyes, trying to find him through the shadows.

He was already climbing out the other side, water running down his back, the muscle shifting in the half-light as he hoisted himself back onto the pool’s deck. You hurried across the pool, climbing up beside him, giggling wildly.

“Shhh,” he warned, but he was giggling too as he led you carefully over the fence to the next yard.

As soon as you crept close enough to the pool to jump, a motion-activated light came on, flooding the yard white and causing you to cover your eyes.

“Quick!” Vernon told you, grabbing your arm and pulling you in with him as he jumped.

You let out a stream of bubbles and water rushed into your mouth. You felt your feet hit the bottom and you pushed off hard, surfacing quickly.

Again, you followed him across the pool, both of you laughing and whispering, “Hurry! Quick!” as you climbed out and headed around the house to the front yard.

“Okay, this is the hard part,” he told you, both of you shivering as the night air caught up to you. “We have to cross the street, hop the fence, and then the pool is around back.”

“I’m ready,” you promised, with a particularly hard shiver.

You sprinted across the street, both leaving wet footprints on the pavement. His hand felt warm in yours when he helped you over the fence, warm on your body when he held your waist as you climbed down.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you muttered, but giggles still spilled out of you.

“More fun than melting, right?” he asked, and you thought that you’d seen him smile more tonight than in whole months of coming together at night.

You thought you might move mountains to see him smile like this again, gums showing, open and honest, happy.

Then you were underwater again, swimming hard to keep up, following Vernon through the night as he pushed his way through some hedges and held them apart for you.

You made it to the last house before someone caught you, slamming the back door open and shouting, “Hey!”

“Go, go, go!” Vernon cried, laughing with such abandon that it sounded like goose honks, pulling on your hand as you both stumbled, dripping, towards the car.

You’d set towels on the seats before starting, so you tumbled into the car and he peeled away, both of you laughing wildly as you left the neighborhood behind.

It was miles before you calmed down, gasping in breaths and trying to hold them before exploding into laughter again.

“I’d better not end up on the news,” you scolded. “I’m in my underwear.

He gave you a searing sideways look. “I noticed.”

You felt yourself warm again, despite being in soaking wet clothes.

“Where next?” you asked. “Home?”

He let out a breath that was almost a sigh. “I don’t really want to go home,” he admitted. Then, “I was having fun with you.”

You considered this. “Not to be a cliche, but… I know a place.”

The quarry was quiet, surrounded by only trees; without posted lights, everything seemed to be just varying shades of black - the black of the water just darker than the black of the stone ledges just darker than the walls of trees just darker than the sky sprinkled with stars above you.

“We have to be careful,” you warned him seriously. “If you slip and get hurt, it could be bad.”

He turned the flashlight on his phone on and set it next to the metal rungs that jutted out of the stone, a makeshift ladder for the swimmers who came here during the day, when swimming was allowed.

“It’s going to be way colder than the pools,” you added.

“You’re not selling this very well,” he pointed out.

“Don’t be a chicken,” you teased.

He eyed the water. “I’m having second thoughts.”

You nudged him in the ribs, which caused him to squirm away, hands batting at yours, a noise emitting from him that made you laugh out loud.

“Are you ticklish?” you demanded. “How did I not know?”

“Come on, are we jumping or what?” he asked, laughing, still trying to keep your sneaky hands away from his ribs.

“Yeah, that’s probably the only way to actually get in,” you admitted, still laughing a little. Your abs felt a little sore from how much you’d laughed tonight.

You stood on the edge of the stone, toes curling over the ledge, Vernon’s hand tight in yours. You stood on the edge, the ink-like water beneath you rippling slightly, marring the reflection of the constellations high above you. You stood on the edge of something, knowing full well you were afraid to swim.

He counted you down, and together, you jumped.

The water was freezing - it hurt, it stung, and you shrieked and laughed as you surfaced. A foot from you, Vernon was shouting.

“The towels!” you told him, already swimming towards the little dot of light that marked the ladder.

Shaking and shivering, you reached your towel, wrapping it around yourself. Behind you, Vernon jogged up, making noises like a disgruntled horse as he found his own towel.

“Oh my god,” he groused, grabbing for you. “I’m freezing, come here.”

He opened his arms, the towel behind him like a wingspan, and you stepped into the space, letting him wrap his arms and his towel around you. You stood shivering together, trying to let your body heat chase the cold away.

You wrapped your own arms around his middle, pressing yourself closer as your legs shook, shivers rolling up your spine in waves as your body fought the chill. 

“C’mere,” he murmured above you, holding you a little more tightly, his own teeth chattering. 

It was the first time, you realized as you turned your head to rest your cheek on his chest, that you’d held each other. It was the first time you’d been between his arms when you weren’t fucking, the first time he’d tightened his grip around you for a reason other than gratification. 

You didn’t want it - didn’t want to know that it felt nice in his embrace, didn’t want to know that it fit right and felt safe. You didn’t want to know that you liked it, didn’t want to have to fight against the humiliation of wanting more.

As soon as the full-body tremors died away in the warm, sticky night, you stepped away, eager to put distance between you again. 

Later, he looked over at you from the driver’s seat of the car, red-eyed, his smile stretching slow and thick like putty. When you straddled his lap, his hands searching out the bare skin of your back, you rocked against him and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the column of his pretty throat until you were pulling groans from him with each pass of your hips. 

Forget, you thought, as you pulled your underwear to the side for him. Forget every single thing but this.

When you slipped an arm behind his neck and pressed your foreheads together as you lifted and dropped, you weren’t sure whose memory you were hoping to erase with this most recent pleasure-chase: yours, or his.

1 yr, 1 month ago

There was no map or calendar to this thing your brain did. It was summer, the sun shone, and yet the days bled together again, sunsets swirling down the shower drain.

The last time you’d gone radio silent, the last time your world had gone grey without warning, Vernon had answered in kind. His own silence had shouted for him until you’d tempted him back.

This time, he didn’t resort to silence in retaliation to yours. Instead, he kept trying, relentless. If you’d had more presence of mind, you might have wondered why.

wyd

[ ]

yo. whats the deal

[ ]

i will have you know that this is very insulting

[ ]

don’t get mad but im coming over

“What the fuck, Vernon.”

“I said don’t get mad.”

“It doesn’t work like that. What are you doing here?”

He leveled you with a look. “You gonna let me in?”

“Literally, no.”

You hadn’t showered in days; your apartment was probably grosser than you were. The cat milled around your ankles, trying to weasel its way outside, and you hopped from foot to foot trying to nudge it back inside.

“Why not?” he asked.

You huffed, annoyed. But the annoyance was the first thing you’d felt all day, and something inside you clung to it, desperate for more of anything but the crawling nothing that’s kept you company for days.

“Because,” you grumbled. Because there’s nothing for you here. Because I have nothing I can give you. “I’m… just not in the mood.”

He stepped back from the door so you could see more of him. “I’m not asking you to be.”

“Then why are you here?” The words fell between you, heavy. If you hadn’t been so low, if you hadn’t gone all day without eating, if you hadn’t been on your thirtieth hour without sleeping, you would have known better. You would have realized that you were asking, if you aren’t here for sex, then what are you here for? 

You wouldn’t have asked a question that you didn’t want the answer to.

He met your eyes. He seemed to teeter on the edge of telling you the truth, giving you the real answer. Then, he muttered, “Got bored.”

You knew it wasn’t the whole truth, and he knew you knew it, and yet neither of you were willing to look at it directly.

“I fail to see how that’s my problem,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

He watched you for what felt like a long time, face serious, eyes glittering and attentive. Then, instead of answering, he repeated, “Are you gonna let me in?”

You frowned at him, but there was a little more pout to it than anger. “I’m all gross,” you said, instead of answering.

Something in him softened - it was visible on his face, in his shoulders, like he knew this was your way of saying yes. “So let’s shower,” he suggested quietly.

You felt trepidation, like part of you expected him to stay soft, to try to take care of you. To your relief, Vernon acted like everything was normal, scrunching his face at you when the water was too cold as he stepped in, washing his own body in silence and letting you do your thing.

He didn’t try to hold you, didn’t ask you when you’d eaten last, didn’t try to talk about it - didn’t try to fix it. He was just… there, and this - along with your first shower in days - was somehow revitalizing in itself.

You pulled on clean sweats, which was better than the day-four sweats he’d found you in. “The apartment’s kind of… sorry,” you mumbled, looking around the living room, feeling a bit of that familiar shame crawl up your neck as you noticed the evidence that you hadn’t been picking up, or running a vacuum.

Vernon flopped backwards on your sofa, unphased, one arm bent behind his head. “We’ve been doing this for almost a year,” he pointed out. “I know how it usually is.”

It isn’t usually like this. And neither are you.

You wondered when it happened - your ability to finish his half-thoughts, your ability to know what he meant when he only said a fraction of it.

You stood awkwardly beside the couch where he was lounging, and he looked up at you with a tiny, amused smile.

“What do you wanna do?”

What you really wanted to do was cocoon yourself in blankets again and put on repeats of a show you’d already seen. But now you had to look functional. You might be mad at him for showing up like this, now that you thought about it.

“I dunno,” you said, which was close to the truth.

“You wanna eat?”

“Honestly?” you asked, pursing your lips a little. “No.”

“Okay,” he said easily, and it struck you again how different this was than how Chan treated you when you were low. Chan would have already had the food delivered, and would be chasing you around the table with loaded chopsticks, demanding you take a bite.

“Can we just… watch something?” you asked, unsure.

Vernon wordlessly reached for your remote and held it up to you, nonplussed.

You wondered if it was an act, how easy this was, how unbothered he was, how he seemed to just understand what wouldn’t help.

You knew it wasn’t; you’d been around long enough to know that Vernon’s demons weren’t all that different from yours.

You settled somewhere between his body and the back of the couch, one leg bent over his legs, one of your arms over his stomach and his arm curled around your shoulders.

“This is weird,” you muttered into his chest, and his laugh rumbled under you.

“Why?” he asked, his smile big, like he thought you were particularly funny. “Not used to being big spoon?”

Not used to cuddling - with you.

“Yeah,” you said, because that was easier.

On your TV, a show ran through several episodes, the changing scenes splashing you and Vernon with changing colors, casting his face blue and then white and then black and then red and then blue again. Sometimes he’d watch, sometimes he’d scroll on his phone. You mostly felt his heart beating under your hand and let your mind whir.

At some point he started mindlessly (or not mindlessly, who could know) stroking your back, gentle touches brushing up and down, slow, slow, the way he always was. At some point you shivered, goosebumps rising along your arms, and snuggled closer to him. At some point he shifted you from slightly beside him to on top of him, a second hand slipping under your loose tshirt and joining the first in tracing stripes up and down your upper back.

You shifted against him, something coming to life with a shudder like the furnace in your parent’s basement on cold autumn nights. Heat worked its way slowly from your core to your stomach, down your legs.

He kept his eyes on the tv, innocent, but you could hear his heartbeat. It couldn’t lie and pretend.

You shifted again, squirming until you’d worked his t-shirt up just enough that you could touch skin, too. You trailed your own fingers over the inch of exposed stomach you’d found, and delighted in the way you could feel him start to harden beneath you.

Then, you delighted in your delight. It was the first good thing you’d been able to feel in almost a week.

You said his name, and he finally looked down at you, eyes nearly black in the unlit room.

“What is it?” he asked, and his voice was suddenly so low it sent shivers tumbling down each vertebrae and tripping over to your limbs. “Want me to make you feel good?”

No, you wanted to say as you answered his question by pulling the hem of his t-shirt higher, encouraging him to lift up so you could pull it off. No, just want you to make me feel.

1 year ago

Everywhere Vernon looked, all he saw was circles. Circle of red in his bowl when he inhaled. Circle of condensation on the table when he lifted his beer. Circle of light reflecting from his phone case, laying in the setting sunlight, to the ceiling. Above him, the ceiling fan circled lazily, nowhere to be.

And you - you and him. That was a circle, too. A cycle, at least, which was close enough in his opinion. Text, hook up, skitter back to your respective places, wait out the next weekend. It was as rhythmic and routine as waves breaking and then getting pulled back out only to come shatter on sand again. It was out of his control, up to forces far greater than he was.

Vernon’s friends had texted to hang out and he’d declined. He told them he was seeing his parents, but really, he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to watch the ceiling fan circle, he wanted to let his brain go staticky quiet, he wanted to burrow deep into things that made him feel less.

But he still, somehow, wanted to see you. He wanted to be alone, and being with you didn’t feel like not getting that.

It was a little scary, he thought, that you were the exception. That he could be with you without feeling the uncomfortable pressure of being with others, of having to be on, of having to fake cheerfulness and keep up with chatter that only exhausted him.

Vernon wasn’t a kid. He knew what it meant.

whats up

honestly not a lot. want me to come over?

Yeah, he did. He did, even if you weren’t going to hook up. He did, even if you were just going to lay on opposite sides of the couch and scroll on your phones. He did, and he hoped he’d end up with his arms around you, and he hoped he’d make you laugh at least once, and he hoped you’d stay and just be there with him after.

When you came over, he asked you how you felt about it - about him, about you and him. He asked by laying you on your back in his bed, by brushing fingertips along your face. He asked you by sliding your leggings away gently, pressing his mouth to each inch of your inseam as it became exposed to his dimly lit room. He asked you by kissing you through the lace you wore for him, then kissing the same spot once that lace was on his floor.

He asked you when he crawled up your body until his tip teased at your entrance and you whined, shifting to try to take him. And - when he took it slow this time, teeth scraping at your neck and then tongue hurrying to soothe the sting, his arms bracketing your body like he was sheltering you from an incoming storm.

(Maybe, he considered, he was.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was worthless in the face of this storm’s wrath.)

(Maybe, he considered, he was the fucking storm in the first place.)

And you heard his question loud and clear. You pulled on your leggings as soon as you were cleaned up, popping your hood up over your head as you searched for your phone. You kept your eyes on your screen as you waited for a car to come, murmured, “Later,” on your way out the door.

Vernon’s apartment rang with quiet. He was alone, he’d gotten what he’d wanted.

He’d also, it seemed, gotten his answer.

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thank you so much for reading!!! i'm always happy to hear what you think!

[thedrarrylibrarian]

hi!! I first off wanted to say THANK YOUU!! I came across your page abt two months ago when I needed new fics and I use your recs so often!! I was wondering, what are a few of your all-time favorite fics, if you had to choose? (:

Oh my goodness! I'm so glad to hear that you've been enjoying my blog! I can't believe I've been running this blog for 3 years today!

What a fun ask (I've been sitting on this so I could use it for today!) I really struggled to pick fics - or more accurately, not to pick ALL the fics! I picked fics that are my go to rereads - whether it's because they make me laugh or because they pull at my heartstrings, or because they're so hot, these are some of my personal favorites.

Cupboard Love by @shealwaysreads (4,184 words, rated G)

Cupboard Love: the psychoanalytic theory of an infant’s primary drive being food which, when satisfied, leads naturally to a secondary drive for attachment.

Harry’s life, and love, in food.

Still Warm, Still Warm by @tsauergrass (4,899 words, rated G)

Harry is up to something. Why else would he keep giving Draco presents?

Five Little Things by @bixgirl1 (6,197 words, rated T)

Harry was supposed to be good at this.

Headway by orphan_account (7,482 words, rated M)

“It’s called courting,” Draco spat suddenly, livid and red in the face. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand a single thing about it, actually Potter, since it’s formal, and there are rules, and neither of those are concepts you’d know anything about even if they took on human form and kicked you right in the fucking dick.”

The Exhale by spqr (7,506 words, rated T)

Hermione makes a soft, concerned sound. "Harry, look at this." She shows him an article with a photo, but the photo's not moving; it must be a Muggle newspaper. "NASA have just landed a rover on Mars. It's called Curiosity, and look, this is so--I don't know if it's sweet or sad, but--it's all alone out there, and they programmed it to sing itself Happy Birthday."

Nothing is wrong, but Harry starts crying.

Silverpoint by @tackytigerfic (8,836 words, rated E)

It seems fairly simple to you, but you know that you don't really understand love - how could you, after all? You've never known how to talk about it, but you've never had to before. Everyone you ended up loving has always understood. You've been able to show them, by fighting for them, dying for them.

That seems a bit much- after all, Malfoy just wants tea in bed and his cock in your mouth (not usually at the same time).

It's ok to love him, you reason with yourself - he doesn't have to know. No one ever has to know.

Quick as a Flash of Lightning, Unhurried as Eternity by @onbeinganangel and @babooshkart (10,000 words, rated E)

Can you fall in love with someone by simply watching them fiercely love another version of yourself?

The Way These Days Seem to Go (And Go) by @firethesound (15,230 words, rated T)

Stress baking isn’t a hobby Harry ever thought he’d pick up, but he’s surprised to find how much it helps him to get through those long months post-war. It keeps his hands busy, it keeps his mind occupied, and when Draco Malfoy steadily pushes his way back into Harry's life, it helps with that too.

Let him lead me to the banquet by @harryromper (16,066 words, rated T)

The worst part is Harry’s got no idea why Malfoy keeps sending him invites. He’s never replied to a single one. And if the whole dinner is as exclusive and sought-after as the Prophet keeps breathlessly reporting, then presumably the only reason Malfoy wants him there is in his capacity as the Chosen One. So, really, he can fuck right off. Harry doesn’t care about Draco Malfoy’s redemption tour. And he’s certainly not going to help him with it.

Draco Malfoy Absolutely Does Not Need to Be Loved by Harry Bloody Potter by @nv-md (18,153 words, rated E)

It’s not easy to be bonded to your childhood rival, turned fuckbuddy, who you also have extremely uncomfortable but repressed feelings for—just ask Draco Malfoy.

When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way to Burn) by @femmequixotic (22,167 words, rated E)

A drag fairytale of New York in which Draco wears red lipstick and Potter can’t get enough.

In the dark, the light by phrynne (32,203 words, rated E)

‘Potter… It’s Malfoy. Do you still want this?’ It started like that. Malfoy’s breath on his ear, his voice low, hot against his skin. Harry shivered, though he could feel the heat from Malfoy’s body just behind him, too close, but not touching him. Even if he could. For the rest of the night, he could do whatever the hell he wanted with Harry.

Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon by @drarrytrash (36,733 words, rated E)

According to Harry’s personal narrative regarding the incident, he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy for purely self-destructive reasons, or out of convenience, or by some unlucky accident. Looking at him, sprawled in the moonlight, Harry is devastated to recall that he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy because he’s hot.

Draco is a secret werewolf and Harry is doing his best and they've got criminals to catch, darn it.

Boiling Point by @goldentruth813 (42,882 words, rated M)

After an Auror raid gone wrong, Draco ends up trapped in a dodgy safehouse with nothing but Harry Potter’s dubious company and a dwindling supply of food. With only each other and the walls surrounding them, they're forced to confront their past and their feelings which have long been threatening to boil over.

The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (103,395 words, rated T)

This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.

Grounds for Divorce by @tepre (122,217 words, rated E)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

What We Pretend We Can't See by @gyzym (131,086 words, rated M)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please remember to leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Love forever,

The Drarry Librarian

[cuubism]

would you be ok elaborating on the hob/death post? I already adore Hob and death friendship arcs and Hob/death as a concept and I would LOVE to hear more <3

*cracks knuckles* so--

there are actually two separate AUs. the canonverse one, and the human AU one.

i pitched the canonverse one to @magnusbae thus:

extremely funny au where hob and death have been casually hooking up since 1389 and dream finally confesses his feelings in like 2050 and hob's like ah. should i stop hooking up with your sister then? and dream's like should you stop doing WHAT?

basically. in the six billion years it takes dream to get his shit together and admit to his own feelings for hob, hob and death have just been having loads of no-strings-attached sexy fun in the background (death: you snooze, you lose, dream! *sticks tongue out*)

dream is very perturbed by this, he's like hello that's MY toy?? give it BACK???? I HAD IT FIRST!!!!!!!!!

(we don't headcanon hob and death actually dating, by the way. they're just pals who hook up sometimes. they're very chill about it. dream is the only one who's not chill about it because he wants All Of Hob's Attention All The Time NOW)

tldr:

The human AU version:

Hob and Death are roommates/friends/fuckbuddies who have this lowkey open relationship thing going on. they're having a great time in their casual but well-communicated healthy relationship.

enter Dream, least well-adjusted person on the planet, also Death's younger brother, who's staying with her for a while. and as soon as Dream arrives Death has to watch her formerly reasonable friend Hob disintegrate into a haze of utter Simp Behavior and insanity, and she's like oh boy. this is gonna get interesting.

meanwhile Dream is like handsome... guy... being nice... to me... 😳 *falling down the stairs*

Hob is into him so fast it's embarrassing and eventually Death yanks him aside and just gives him a look. And so like the mature adults they are they do talk about it and Death is like, dude, we aren't dating, you can do whatever you want. Besides, I'd rather have my brother be with someone I actually know and like rather than his other disastrous relationships (though Death is swiftly learning that Hob is much more unhinged than she'd previously thought. Dream brings all of it out in him). So Hob's like cool I'll flirt with your brother

NO ONE TELLS DREAM ABOUT IT

Dream is under the impression that Hob and Death are actually dating. So the more Hob flirts with him the more Dream is like 👀🤔 and he's kind of in love with Hob because ohh Hob is so kind and handsome and he listens to everything Dream says and he's so charming... but he also kind of hates Hob because how dare he cheat on Death and how dare he make Dream want him like that?

Death: so are you and Hob getting along well?

Dream: no. I hope Hob falls off a cliff and dies.

Death:.... alright thanks for the input

But Dream does just keep indulging his worse impulses and one day he just finds himself sitting in Hob's lap on the couch in Death's apartment while Hob listens to him talk and he's just like: oh my god I'm a homewrecker

Dream, later: Sister. Your shitty boyfriend is cheating on you

Death: ....did it actually take Hob this long to ask you out? we talked about it ages ago

Dream: ...

TLDR:

[shortpplfedup]

Only Friends Character Rankings Episode 6

Another outstanding episode as chickens start coming home to roost and Sand sets a ball a-rollin' that is gonna roll right over him in the end. In a surprise upset, Sand's mom won the audience vote last week, with Top and Boston tied for second place. You really never know who the Tumblrinas are going to favour from week to week, keeps us all on our toes! Here are this week's highly scientific rankings.

🔺1. Ray (4)

Let me talk to my friends. It’s his birthday. I’d like to say something.

Ray said NO SURVIVORS and sprayed the entire room at Mew's birthday party, and honestly? Kinda deserved. From calling Sand a whore (OUCH) to reading Cheum for filth for her shitty little backhanded comments, to almost letting the cat out of the Top/Boston bag in front of everybody, our resident mess came for every neck in the building. Boston primed him, Sand aimed him and Cheum lit the match, and it's no coincidence those three got hit with the blowback of his explosion at Top. A seething ball of pain and resentment fueled by alcohol and god-knows-what-else was never gonna fire a clean shot.

🔺2. Sand (5)

Stop thinking about Mew and focus on me for once. Can’t you really see that I care about you?

Well now we know why Sand didn't blink an eye at Nick bugging Boston's car; he's just as fucking unhinged. Sand, a poor, breaking his own phone just to get his hands on Nick's and that recording (which, by the way, calling the file 'That Car' is really too much Nicholas PLEASE 🤣)...WILD. We've all had Nick pegged as the bunny boiler but Sand might be worse and I can't WAIT because I still believe in that baseball bat. But him begging Ray to give a single solitary shit about him even AFTER Ray calls him a whore in front of a bar full of people...I remain embarrassed on his behalf.

🔺3. Mew (6)

Cocky much? I don’t even know if we’re gonna last that long.

Ok, when Mew said 'I love the sound you make when having sex' I literally screamed out OH FUCK HE KNOWS and listen, I have been WAITING for this moment. That was a baller fucking moment. You just KNOW Top's blood ran cold. Of course these two aren't breaking up, because couples like this NEVER break up. Game always recognises game. This is gonna be the first confrontation of many. But I'm pretty sure this is the last time Mew is gonna cry about it. Top might have just picked the wrong one. Mew has two moms, pretty sure he knows how to destroy a man.

🔻4. Nick (2)

I don’t give a shit about what number I am. Screw it. I’m not that into you.

At some point Nick is gonna have to stop threatening to walk and actually fucking walk, but it's clearly continuing to work for him as he and Boston are clearly the boyfriends Boston insists they're not. Dates, couple photos, meeting the dad, tender lovemaking, Boston's deep, dark secrets: Nick's getting it all...except the label he wants so very badly. And now he's shook because he knows Sand stole that recording, and he knows if Boston finds out about it it's all coming crashing down.

🔺5. Cheum (8)

I’m so happy everyone has a lover. Even a heartless slut like Boston has one.

Girl, you absolutely earned that smoke Ray blew at you. Sly Comment Susie got a minor taste of her own medicine and didn't like that shit one bit. It's all fun and games until it's your dirt under the microscope. Maybe Cheum just learned a lesson about minding her own business a little more, or at the very least keeping some of her thoughts to herself.

🔻6. Boston (3)

If I was a nice guy, you wouldn’t like me.

A surprisingly quiet week for Ton as everybody else gets so messy he looks relatively drama-free. But under the surface he's still paddling like mad: screwing Nick like a lover rather than just a fuckbuddy to keep him from leaving, clearly not out to his dad but bringing Nick round to meet him (once again using him for free work), pinning Ray so decisively that he causes a full-on meltdown. Though, 'I don't hate Mew'...well that might actually be true, because he's giving more fear than hatred.

🔻7. Top (1)

I get anyone I want. What about you? Who do you get?

Oh how the mighty have fallen. Top spent the episode feeling totally smug as he finally won the game and is basking in his spoils, swinging his dick around, feeling like King Shit. And then Mew played that recording and LOSER TIME. I have the distinct impression that Top hates to lose...

[sunnynwanda]

Rules to break

Villain had fucked up.

They knew it. Hero knew it. The entire fucking city knew it.

It was dumb, too. Textbook-level stupidity. They knew the rules, for heaven's sake. Each and every one of them was written for young villains such as themselves. To no avail, apparently, since they went and got themselves involved in exactly what was forbidden in the rules of entanglement for promising villains.

Rule #1 Make sure your fuckbuddy is not your nemesis.

They are paraphrasing here, but who cares. The meaning's there.

Villain should have known that sexual tension between Hero and them couldn't dissipate out of the blue. It should have been alarming the first time they did not feel it burn them during a fight. Right after their first date, too. What a complete idiot they were... are. They still are.

Rule #2 Make sure you don't get attached to the bloody git.

Yeah, they're paraphrasing again. What's the point of memorising the rules word for word if they've already gone and broken every single one of them? For some unfathomable reason, they never questioned their attraction for Hero. There were other things to worry about once they found out who exactly they were shagging.

Rule #3 Villainy always comes before any attachments.

Did Villain know this rule? Yes. Did they follow it? No. Did they know why? Also no.

Okay, that was a blatant lie. So what? Sue them.

Rule #4 Don't risk your goddamn life to save your nemesis. Even if they ask.

Sure, Hero didn't ask for it either. Villain couldn't sit on their bloody ass and wait for them to get to the point of breaking and begging for help. Not when they saw the way Hero's body crumbled to the floor. Not when it ripped their lungs out of their chest to watch Hero getting beaten like that. And by their joined teams. Fucking hell, Villain was ready for a massacre.

Rule #5 Never join forces with the enemy unless faced with direct and inevitable danger to your life.

Did the rule still apply to them if Villain was on the run with said enemy, unconscious in their car? They didn't know. Probably no.

"You didn't have to do that," the voice catches them off guard. Villain shakes their head, not taking their eyes off the road. "I know you're not exactly excited that it was me."

Villain chuckles darkly at that, still not facing Hero. They pull to the left, taking a side road until they reach a small lake safely hidden in the depths of a forest. The car comes to a halt, but Villain remains silent, so Hero speaks again. "Will you please say something?"

Villain does not. Instead, they turn and lean forward, pulling Hero into their arms. A sigh of relief escapes Hero when Villain leaves a chaste kiss on their temple. Villain lowers their head, pressing their foreheads together and finally meeting Hero's lips.

Rule #6 Making out with the enemy is not a healthy coping strategy.

Oh well. When did Villain ever follow any rules?

Masterlist

[starkstruck27]

My eighth fill for @harringrovesummerbingo!! Just like the last one, I tried to reimagine this prompt to make it original but also to push myself, so I hope everyone enjoys. Also, did you know that the inside of an elevator is called the cabin? Prompt + Space: Sharing a Cabin Reluctantly, C3 Title: Love in an Elevator Major Tags: None Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5061 words Additional Tags: Alternate universe - modern setting, Alternate universe - celebrity, Actor Steve Harrington, Drummer Billy Hargrove, Corroded Coffin, Hate sex, Enemies to fuckbuddies, Trapped in an elevator, Elevator sex, Social media, Porn with plot, Pre-relationship, Dom/sub undertones, Mirror sex, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Happy ending Summary: On his way to an interview, Steve Harrington happens to share an elevator with Billy Hargrove, the man he's been fighting with over social media since they met two years ago. He doesn't know why Billy hates him, but he's not about to let it go unanswered, so he hates him right back. But while on the elevator, the power cuts out, and it gets stuck with just the two of them inside. They're about ready to tear each other's heads off, but then Billy does something unexpected: He kisses Steve to prove a point. And unfortunately for him, Steve is too competitive to let Billy get the last word. Also on: Ao3

One of the most harrowing things about being a celebrity nowadays was that everybody felt entitled to knowing your business. Whether it be who you were dating, what your vacation plans were, even if you were planning on going home for the holidays, everyone thought that they had a right to know the intimate details of your entire life. And nobody knew this better than heartthrob actor Steve Harrington. Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t sneeze without some overeager reporter writing about it and making his entire fandom worry that he’d gotten the black plague. And as much as he loved his fans and the fame he’d acquired, he’d also love to go home and visit his family and friends without the paparazzi staking out his childhood home to try and get a glimpse of him. 

If he were to be perfectly honest, he had liked all of this attention when he’d first started to gain notoriety. But now, after the scandal of his model ex-girlfriend cheating on him with her photographer, he was not too keen on the entire world knowing everything about his private life. It only got worse when he got a little tipsy at a party he’d thrown for a friend’s birthday and started making out with said friend, who was the frontman of a very popular metal band, and everyone started speculating about his sexuality. And of course the very public feud he had going between him and another member of his friend’s band, the drummer who just never liked him much, was not doing him any favors, either. 

And of course, all of this information being released to the public meant the fans were going nuts. Some people were normal about it, but others were taking sides and getting into whole feuds of their own over who was right and wrong, making the entire fandom look bad by threatening or even actively trying to cause harm to the side that didn’t agree with them. It was just ridiculous. 

That being said, he knew that one of the things that made him successful as an actor was being so popular, and to keep that popularity, he had to pay the price. Sometimes the price came in the form of feeding into the fans, giving them what they wanted, and generally being as nice as he could to everyone he met, no matter what they had to say or ask him. And under the umbrella of feeding into the fans fell the chore of doing interviews for different outlets and reporters. 

He wasn’t necessarily dreading it when he walked into the office building where Buzzfeed had set up an interview with him about his latest film, since Buzzfeed usually were less about getting information out of him and more about letting him have fun doing something silly and hoping he said something significant on his own, but he knew there were some things he was bound to be asked that he was not exactly excited about. His love life, for one, was something that every interviewer asked him about, no matter what his relationship status was at the time. Steve could slap on a smile and dodge a question as well as the next guy, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed being badgered about it at every single interview. 

He was so wrapped up in planning what excuses he was going to hit them with this time as he boarded the elevator that he didn’t really notice someone rushing up to him, barely able to stick his arm in the doors before they closed, and stepping into the cabin next to him with a huff. 

“Thanks for holding the door for me, asshole,” the person said, making Steve look up. It was none other than Billy Hargrove, the drummer of Corroded Coffin, and the man who Steve was currently fighting with via social media for a reason he couldn’t even remember anymore. 

“Oh, excuse-moi, but I wasn’t expecting to be sharing a ride with the center of the universe,” Steve snarked, rolling his eyes. “Had I known, I’d have laid out a red carpet for you, too.”

“Fuck you, I don’t want to be in an enclosed space with your ass either, but I happen to be late to an interview and I figured you’d at least have enough common courtesy to hold the door for someone when they’re running over and yelling for you to do so. But I guess I shouldn’t have thought so highly of someone who spends that much time admiring himself in the mirror.”

“For your information, I was thinking about what I was going to say in my own interview, not admir-”

Steve was cut off as, suddenly, everything went black, and the elevator stopped abruptly. It made him stumble a little bit, and Billy too, and they nearly fell into each other as they scrambled for their cell phones, desperate to get some kind of light. Steve found his first, just as the lights went back on, but the elevator stayed put as he opened his phone and called his co-star and best friend.

“Robin, what’s going on?” He asked, knowing she had gotten there earlier and was already upstairs waiting for him.

“Hey Steve, it was just a quick power outage. Where are you?” She replied, and Steve could hear a bunch of people chattering in the background.

“I’m on the elevator, I was on my way up when it happened. The lights are back on, but we’re not moving, and I have no idea what floor we’re on, either.”

“Well I just heard someone say that they have a generator that kicks on whenever this happens, but I don’t know why the elevator would stop working. I’ll tell someone that you’re on it and hopefully they can get it fixed or at least get you off of it.”

“Please do, I don’t want to be in here for any longer than I have to be,” Steve said, giving Billy what he hoped was the most unsubtle side-eye ever before hanging up. 

“So, there was a power outage,” he said then as he slipped his phone away.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. And now the power’s back on, so why aren’t we moving?” Billy said, crossing his arms in annoyance.

“If you’d let me finish, jackass, you’d know that something is wrong with the elevator, but I don’t know what. My friend Robin is asking them about it now,” Steve said, just as his phone dinged with a text. He opened it up and sighed heavily after reading it, rubbing his eyes until they stung. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Robin said that even though the power is back, they think that something is up with the elevator itself, they need to get maintenance to tinker with it before they can get us moving again.”

“Fuck, so I’m gonna be stuck in here with you for God knows how long?”

“Hey, if anyone’s stuck here, it’s me with you! You couldn’t have waited for the next elevator or taken the stairs? They would’ve been faster anyway. But noooooo, you just had to get on this one specifically, and now I’m stuck having to look at your ugly mug until they can get us out of here.”

The ‘ugly mug’ remark must’ve really struck a nerve with Billy, because the next thing Steve knew, he was being pinned up against the wall, staring into fiery blue eyes and holding back the urge to headbutt that already slightly crooked nose.

“Listen here, Harrington! I don’t know why you think it’s a good idea to provoke the bull when you’re stuck in the china shop, but if I were you, I’d shut my mouth right now and keep it shut until they get us outta here! Otherwise they might not recognize you once you finally get out to do your interview!”

“Are you threatening me, Hargrove? Because if so, I can call my lawyer right now and we’ll see how the bull fares when taken from the china shop and put into a courtroom to be sued for everything he’s got.”

Billy held Steve there for a second longer, seething with anger, but ultimately, he huffed and let him go, moving to the other side of the elevator and sitting down, resolving to ignore him until they managed to get out. 

That was easier said than done, though, as everything they did seemed to irk the other more and more. Steve kept tapping his foot impatiently, and it was driving Billy insane. And Billy couldn’t stop cracking his knuckles, making Steve cringe at every pop and snap. Pretty soon it became like a silent contest, who could keep their cool the longest, and after Billy popped his knuckles for the ten millionth time, Steve was the one to lose it.

“Holy fuck, would you stop that?!” He snapped, throwing his arms up in frustration.

“What? This?” Billy feigned innocence, popping his knuckles again.

“Oh my God, you are insufferable!” Steve groaned, about ready to break Billy’s hand to get him to stop.

“I’m an absolute delight, you’re just too high strung to notice,” Billy said, standing up again. “You’re always this uptight, but it’s especially bad since your girl left you. I wonder, have you gotten laid since she kicked you to the curb? I bet a good fuck would loosen you up so you wouldn’t be such a fucking dick all the time.”

“Okay, first of all, I am not uptight. Second of all, if you wanna talk about being a dick, you might wanna do a self-evaluation before you come at me! I was nothing but nice to you when we met, but you decided you didn’t like me so I just reciprocated. And third of all, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to get laid since Nancy, so fuck you!”

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Billy grinned, proud of himself that he made Steve’s face go red.

“As if! I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last person on Earth!” Steve grumbled, shooting daggers at him.

“Oh really?” Billy taunted, “How do you explain this, then?”

“Explain wha-” Steve tried to ask, but before he could finish his question, Billy had grabbed him again, backing him against the wall again and kissing him, hard. He was shocked, to say the least, and more than a little mortified at the fact that this may have been turning him on a little bit. But even though his face felt like a furnace and his head was telling him to make this stop, like, now, he did absolutely nothing to end it. Billy may have been an asshole, but he was right, Steve hadn’t gotten laid since Nancy broke up with him, and though he may have hated the person he was with, it still felt good to be touched. And that reason alone was why he couldn’t hold back a little whimper when Billy let one hand slip down to grab the front of his pants.

“Ha, see?” Billy chuckled, “Fuckin’ knew it.”

“Shut the fuck up, dickhead,” Steve sneered.

“Oh, Harrington, you wound me! Maybe we should stop if you’re gonna be that way,” Billy laughed as he stepped back, letting Steve go. He had the upper hand and he knew it. 

“Y’know what? Fine. I’m sorry, you win. You’re a dick, but you win. Now get back over here and finish what you started,” Steve said, annoyed that he was letting this affect him this much.

“I didn’t hear the magic word,” Billy taunted, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Please,” Steve said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. If he weren’t so desperate to get off, he might’ve punched Billy in the mouth by now, but unfortunately, he was very desperate. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Billy said, his voice full of condescension. “Turn around.”

Steve actually did roll his eyes this time, but he did as Billy told him to, turning around and facing the mirrored wall of the elevator. Once he did, Billy came up behind him, grinning smugly as he reached around him and loosened his belt, then shoved his hand down his pants. Steve sighed and his eyes fluttered shut, but as soon as they did, Billy stopped moving.

“Keep your eyes open,” he said, his tone sharp and demanding. “I want you to see how pathetic you look while we do this.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“Oh, so you want me to stop?”

“Fine, I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now be a good little bitch and shut the fuck up from now on, m’kay?”

The two stared at each other in the mirror for a few seconds until finally, as much as it killed him to do it, Steve nodded. He kept his mouth shut and pretended it wasn’t driving him nuts that Billy wasn’t working faster. Billy must’ve known it anyway, because he took his time working Steve up, seeming to delight in the little noises he was drawing from his throat and the different ways his body was reacting to his touch. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, sweetie pie?” He said as he started to jerk him just a little faster. 

“God, you really fucking love the sound of your own voice, don't you? C'mon, you gonna fuck me or just keep listening to yourself?” Steve sneered, delighting in the fact that Billy gripped his dick harder at the provocation. 

“I thought you wouldn’t fuck me if I was the last person on Earth,” Billy said, clearly amused, if the way he wrinkled his nose up was any indication. 

“Yeah, well, things change, so get the fuck on with it,” Steve almost growled.

“Impatient much? Maybe I wanna take my time.”

“Well we don’t have all the time in the world, you know, and I wanna get off before this stupid box starts moving again, so hurry up.”

Billy finally seemed to agree with him on something, because before either of them could get out one more snarky comment, he was opening his own pants and taking a condom and a little packet of lube out of his wallet.

“Bend over,” he said, not even looking up. 

Steve was reluctant to look like he was taking orders from this guy, but his need to come far outweighed his pride, so finally, he complied. He bent over, holding onto the handrail for support, and watched in the mirror as Billy finally came up behind him, ripping open the lube with his teeth and letting some dribble onto Steve’s now exposed ass.

“Jesus! You couldn’t have warmed it up a little first?!” Steve yelped when the cold gel hit his skin.

“Oh, well excuse me, princess, but I didn’t realize it was gonna be cold after being in my pocket all day. Besides, you won’t even feel it in a minute, chill the fuck out,” Billy said, rolling his eyes. He ignored the face Steve made as he gripped the base of his dick, gathering up as much lube on it as he could and smearing it around Steve’s hole. He made sure to make as much of a mess on him as he could, wanting to make it as hard as possible for Steve to clean himself up once they were done, out of spite, but he was getting impatient himself, and finally, he started to push just the tip in. It went easily, and Steve let out a strangled sigh as it did, clearly trying to hold back the sound, but Billy heard it.

“You’re such a slut, Harrington,” Billy leered at him in the mirror, “Look at you, already open and sucking me right in. Didn’t even need any prep. I guess the rumors are true, Wheeler really did turn you gay when she broke your heart. That must be why you’re so prissy and whiny all the time.”

“Okay, first of all,” Steve said, his breath getting heavier as Billy started to pick up the pace, “I’m bi, not gay, but I don’t care to discuss my personal life with the whole world, so fuck you. Second, I’m not a fucking slut, I’ve just been fucking lonely since Nancy, so fuck you again. And third I’m not prissy or whiny, so fuck you a third time.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that, you’re already fucking me, so it just makes you sound needy,” Billy teased, gripping Steve’s hips harder and moving faster still. “And you absolutely are prissy and whiny, you’ve already corrected the things I’ve been saying, like, ten times.”

“I… fucking… hate you…” Steve panted, trying to glare at Billy through the mirror, but the effect was lost somewhere between the rumpled clothes, slack mouth and rosy red cheeks.

“I fucking hate… you, too,” Billy said, his own voice starting to break into fragments as he continued to thrust into Steve. He was so tight, so warm, and so fucking ruinable, and Billy was getting entirely too much pleasure out of taking him down a few pegs. Seriously, how amazing was this? He got to destroy everything Steve ever thought he was, take him from pretty golden boy who could do no wrong to desperate slut fucking his worst enemy in a broken elevator. Billy had never been so turned on in his life. Nothing he ever did for the rest of his life would be able to top this moment right now.

And Steve, for as much as he hated to admit it, was enjoying himself, too. Sure, this was kinda humiliating, but sometimes he enjoyed a little bit of humiliation, it kept him humble. And as for Billy, he was a dick, but no matter how this interaction ended, Steve had one little bit of information that he could use to his advantage, even if he tried to turn this around on him: Billy kissed him first. He was a willing participant after that, but there was no denying who started the whole thing. And if, at the end of this, Billy tried to go back to hating him and insulting him and doing anything he could to make his life miserable, Steve could lord it over him. With that little nugget of information stored safely away, he figured it was more than acceptable to enjoy getting railed as well as he was, so that’s exactly what he did.

“Fuck… c’mon…” Steve huffed, “Think you’re gonna… break me? C’mon, you can fuck me… harder than that.”

“Don’t think I’d break ya…” Billy grunted, “Just wanted to… give you a chance of being satisfied… by anyone else after me.”

“You talk a big game for… someone who’s been… mediocre… so far,” Steve groaned, letting go of the handrail to start stroking his cock. “I mean… you’re a drummer… for fuck’s sake. You should know how to handle… a couple of sticks, but… apparently not.”

“You think you could do better?” 

“Without a doubt but… I’ll have to take a rain check. I don’t have any condoms on me and… I don’t wanna catch whatever diseases… you’re inevitably… carrying.”

“Fuck… you,” Billy sighed, rolling his head back as he let out a heavy groan.

“I thought… we already established that… you are,” Steve grinned meanly at Billy, glad that he was no longer the butt of the same stale joke.

“Shut… the fuck… up…”

And for once, Steve actually did. There wasn’t a whole lot left to be said as Billy continued to pound his ass, anyway. And there would be plenty to say soon enough, once he caught his breath again and was able to torment him relentlessly about being the first one to come. It was close, but Steve felt Billy shooting off inside of him at least a few full seconds before he started painting the walls with his own come, and he was absolutely going to make fun of him for that once they were out of their post-orgasm haze.

Once it was over and they had retreated once again to the opposite sides of the small space, though, neither of them seemed to have the brain capacity to keep the insults flying. Maybe they both knew what they did was stupid, maybe they were both kicking themselves for allowing it to go so far, or maybe they just didn’t see the appeal in their rivalry anymore. They had no idea which it was, or if it was any combination of the three, but whatever the reason, as they cleaned themselves up with whatever they could find in their pockets, they were silent. Finally, the silence felt too thick, too charged, and Steve felt he might burst if he didn’t break it, so he resolved to do what he’d planned on earlier.

“Y’know, for as much shit as you were giving me about being pathetic and uptight and shit, I would’ve thought you’d have been able to last longer. I mean, you were talking pretty tough, but when it came down to it, you couldn’t last as long as me. That must be a hard pill to swallow, tough guy,” he said, though his heart wasn’t quite in it anymore. Especially since Billy didn’t get fired up and start throwing words back at him. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Steve said, more annoyed by the lack of response than by anything Billy could’ve said.

“I heard you, dipshit, I just don’t care to answer. Just because we fucked doesn’t mean we’re friends. I was just letting off some steam,” Billy said, flicking the crumpled up tissue that held the used condom a little bit farther away from him. It was gross, but he needed something to do with his hands, and it wouldn’t be the first time he did something gross to keep him from saying something worse.

“Fuck you,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Nah,” Billy replied, “Been there, done that. Kinda wish I hadn’t done that, 4/10 experience, if that.”

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Steve raised his voice, finally at the end of his rope. “As far as I can remember, I never did anything to you, so why the hell do you hate me so much?! What the fuck did I ever do to you?!”

“Nothing, Harrington. Just leave it,” Billy said sharply, turning away, but still having to see Steve’s angry face in the mirror beside him.

“No, come on, you don’t get off that easy! You better fucking tell me before they get this damn box moving again, because if you don’t I’ll hit the emergency stop button and make you stay in here until you do!” Steve crossed his arms, staring Billy down.

“I swear to God,” Billy said under his breath, rolling his eyes, “It’s fucking nothing, and I’m not gonna fucking tell you, so back the fuck off!”

“No! I will not fucking back the fuck off! I have a right to know what the fuck I did to make you torment me for so fucking long! I have a right to know why I keep getting death threats from your fans who think the whole fight is my fault, and why I can’t go to see my friend’s band play without having extra security with me in case anyone recognizes me and decides to act on them! If you want to keep the whole thing going after this, fine! But I at least want to know why it started in the first place!”

Any response Billy was preparing died on his tongue after that as he finally turned to look up at Steve. He had no idea that stuff was happening to him, and it had never been his intention to turn his fans against him. Truly, the whole thing had started because Billy was being petty, and he never wanted it to go this far, but it was like a wildfire, it was left unchecked and now it was just out of control.

“I never meant for that to happen,” he finally said, hoping that would at least get Steve to calm down.

“Well, it is happening, so fucking tell me why,” Steve said, lowering his voice. There was no point in screaming anymore, anyway.

“It’s really stupid,” Billy scoffed, “And it’s kinda pathetic.”

“What’s pathetic is that it’s gone on this long and I’m letting it get under my skin so much. I don’t care if it’s pathetic, I just want to know,” Steve sighed, sitting down on the opposite side of the elevator, waiting.

“Fucking fine,” Billy grumbled, “When we met two years ago, I thought you were alright. Maybe a little uppity, but you were slummin’ it with Eddie and the rest of us, so you couldn’t be all bad. But then I went to use the john and when I came back, I heard you talking to your girl about me. And as soon as you saw that I was standing behind you, you just laughed a little, then turned and changed the subject so you wouldn’t have to say anything to my face. But I heard you anyway, and I was pissed off, so I didn’t say anything to you for the rest of the night and I made a stupid tweet about you just to piss you off the way you did me. I thought it would end there, but then you said something back, and then it just kept going.”

“Wait, wait, wait, that was the night you guys played at Madison Square Garden, right?” Steve asked, and Billy nodded. “Do you remember what I said specifically that made you so upset?”

“Yeah, I’ll never forget it. You said I was stupid and simple and that I ‘lacked depth’, whatever that means.” 

“Holy shit,” Steve said, standing up again and scrubbing his hands down his face as he began to pace around. “Holy fucking shit. That is what this has been about this whole fucking time?! Dude, I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about a fucking character I was playing at the time!”

“No fucking way,” Billy said, his eyes going wide as he stood, too. “That can’t be fucking true. Then why did you change the subject as soon as I got back to the table?”

“Um, because that conversation was done and it was time to move on to another? Like with any other conversation ever? You had nothing to do with it except having the worst possible timing ever and jumping to conclusions.”

“Holy fuck. I cannot fucking believe this. I am such a fucking idiot.”

“I mean, kinda, but so am I. I didn’t have to respond to your tweet, I could’ve been the bigger person and just let it go, but I let my ego get in the way. I guess we’re kinda both at fault, huh?”

“I guess so,” Billy replied, taking his seat again and leaning his head back on the wall, closing his eyes.

Neither of them said anything else after that. What could they say? It seemed a little late for apologies, and it wasn’t like they could just pretend the past two years hadn’t happened and just start over. Luckily, they didn’t have to stew in the silence for long, as a few minutes later, the elevator made a noise and finally started moving again.

When the doors finally opened on the floor Steve was supposed to get off on, he had never been so happy to be heading into an interview. He practically leapt off of the damn thing, and was tempted to kiss the ground he was walking on. But he knew he had to get into the interview before anyone got too impatient, so he resisted the urge and turned towards where he was supposed to go. But before he could even get two steps in, he heard Billy calling back to him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hey, Steve,” he said, holding the elevator door open, “I’m sorry. For everything.”

And even though it shook him to his core to say it, Steve replied, “I’m sorry too.” But where his stomach usually flipped when he was shaken, this time, it kinda felt good. Kinda like the feeling you get when you come in from the snow to your favorite hot drink and a warm blanket. And the feeling made him think, maybe he’d been wrong earlier. Maybe it hadn’t been too late for an apology.

As he finally met up with Robin and sat down with her to do the interview, he could hardly focus on whatever was happening around him. Robin was answering most of the questions about their movie they'd just released, and he would chime in here and there with a comment or two, but for the most part she was doing the talking. Until finally the inevitable question came, and Steve had to get his head in the game. 

“So, Steve,” the interviewer asked, “Your movie is all about finding love in unexpected places. Everyone knows you've been single for almost a year now, so tell us, have there been any flings this summer since you've finished filming?”

Steve had one of his usual vague responses at the ready when he'd first gotten on that elevator, but now, he couldn't help but toss it aside in favor of something else. Hopefully what he said would start getting the people online to forget about his feud with Billy and start wondering about something a lot more interesting and a lot less harmful.

“Actually, yeah. I wouldn't say it's anything serious just yet, but you never know. It could potentially end up being the most interesting relationship I've ever had in my life, and that's all I'm gonna say for now,” he said, smiling both at his own cleverness and to appease the camera. “Oh, come on, not even a name? You've just got to give us something!” The reporter said, but Steve just shrugged. He could see the headlines now, “Who is Steve Harrington's Mystery Lover?” But for once, he wouldn't mind all the prying and the speculating. At least this time, it might do him some good. And maybe, just maybe, it'd give him and a not-so-assholish drummer a chance to start over.

[bengiyo]

If It's With You Ep 5 (Finale) Stray Thoughts

Last week, Ryuji was feeling awkward after Amane's confession and dragged him off to a shrine so they could be alone and talk about it. These two are so kind and forthright, and they have one of my favorite confession scenes of all time now. Ryuji received Amane's feelings and asked for time to sort his own, healing Amane's own insecurities about even having them. Later they decide to go on a date together for the fireworks in a few weeks, but Ryuji is too busy with the restaurant to talk to Amane much in the meantime. Amane has also turned down any more encounters with his old fuckbuddies. We left at the beginning of the date.

Even if Ryuji isn't super passionate about the restaurant, I like that he has a love for food.

No, classmates, don't interrupt the flirting!

Ryuji continues to be a favorite. He didn't let them crash their date.

They're holding hands!

I love how self aware Amane is about his own internalized homophobia, and how he can admit it to Ryuji.

Oh boy it's my favorite thing: YEARNING.

I like Ryuji's confession, even if subs were a bit choppy. Recognizing that he does think about Amane a lot and wants to see him, and connecting that to the way his mom talks about his dad lands solidly for me.

That first kiss was cute, and they captured the different levels of awkward well, but my little dude Amane fucks and this can't just end on cute.

I like them spending the night walking around and seeing the sunrise together.

This is about to be over. What about the thing Ryuji didn't admit at the shrine?

Final Verdict: 9.5, Fantastic Expressions of Different Levels of Sexual Awareness. I really loved this little show that came out of nowhere. I liked how aware and assured Amane was about who he was even as he had specific hangups he still needed to face. I loved how forthright Ryuji was with Amane the entire time, and I like that they're giving themselves permission to take things a bit slow. I only have a few quibbles about some things Ryuji said getting left unfinished, and I'm not sure where I sit on Amane's desire since the show led with a partner wanting Amane to get exactly what we watched.

[buckevantommy]

i love the angst of saltommy under gerrard bc if they get caught it's not just their jobs on the line, and maybe it's unrequited or just unbalanced with one of them wishing they could be more. i can see it both ways with sal either no-homo or apathetic about it, but in any case i see the angsty vibes dissippating once gerrard leaves, and they carry on with an ocassional fuckbuddy thing; sal dates women while tommy hooks up with a few guys (still on the dl), and sal knows tommy only likes guys by this point. during dry spells they're there for each other. when bobby kicks sal out their thing sort of comes to its natural end - not working together means seeing each other far less and they kind of drift apart; sal finds a serious girlfriend - his first love (although maybe he loved tommy, too) - in this new chapter of his life while tommy thrives at work under bobby like never before, but he still feels stuck in the past haunted by gerrard's presence at the 118 and every authority figure like him, so it's only when he transfers to the 217 that he comes out and starts dating guys in earnest. they both move on with their lives, but after a year or so of no contact they cross paths on a call and grab a beer; sal broke up with that serious girlfriend and tommy hasn't had a longtime boyfriend yet but he's met a few nice guys, no one currently though. they end the night in bed together, but it doesn't feel like the restarting of something so much as a: for old time's sake, kind of thing.

[hypervoxel]

Enough discourse, I wanna post about headcanons

The Vees are a polycule to me, but in a way that I can't even explain without an entire slowburn fanfic (stay tuned. I'm a slow writer). But I will try.

Velvette:

I do adhere to the lesbian Velvette headcanon. She's dating Vox and still occasionally joins Valentino for a threesome with him. When she first joined the Vees, Velvette used to identify as bisexual (and still loves the bi flag colors the most) and all three of them used to date, before Velvette realized that she's a lesbian.

She and Vox are still dating, and they have an open relationship.

Vox:

Vox's response to Velvette coming out was, "So you're breaking up with Val?" Yes, his pronouns are he/him. No, he's not a man. He'd long shed the fleshy confines of humanity and gender along with it.

Vox is aspec, agender, autistic. To me. He's sex favorable of the 'I want to do it for my partner's enjoyment' flavor. Watching from cameras brings him just as much enjoyment, and he watches everything and everyone, living vicariously, a voyer through the screen. As a result of that, he's so so touched starved, but his sense of feeling is muted (the consequences of betraying flesh in favor of the machine). Soft touches to his synthetic skin don't really register, his sense of feeling restricted to mostly pressure and pain, so he's become a bit of a masochist in response because that's something physical.

Valentino:

He just likes sex. He chases pleasure in any form he can find, dopamine rushes from numerous drugs, orgasmic release, the rush of power from crushing someone underfoot. Anything and everything, he'll try it all. And none of it is really enough, so he'll never stop chasing more.

Valentino doesn't consider his relationship with Vox romantic, even if Vox totally does. They're friends, sure, business partners, absolutely, and fuckbuddies wherever Val is in the mood for it. But romance isn't Val's thing. That's hard work, and Val saves romancing for potential new hires he wants to sign a contract with. What Vox and he have is also written down on a contract, joining their businesses together too closely to be parted without blood, but it's not the same. Not to Val. So, he wouldn't call Vox his boyfriend, but he also wouldn't correct anyone who said they were. Vox is someone he can let his guard down with, one of the few people who would never want to get out of the contract their names are signed on. They work well together. That's better than any romance you can get in Hell, Val thinks.

Val and Velvette are catty besties. Pan/Lesbian solidarity and hostility all in one.

[sithfox]

hello there!!! can you tell me about It Might Be Your Wound, But They're My Sutures :D I love the title so much

Sutures is actually the first fic I ever started! It came to be because I was frustrated by how few fics there are where someone goes Sith and never actually does anything morally questionable. I enjoy the 'dark side emotions = power of love' fics, too, but the lack of variety was getting to me. Then it spawned a plot and turned into a fuckbuddies-to-lovers fix-it 😂

A snippet for you!

He’s saved from having to decide by Quinlan exiting the fresher, tidied up and not bearing a single mark of the evening's activities. Fox does not allow his hand to drift towards one of the hidden bruises on his thighs, does not let himself spin any meaning into it. Quinlan is looking at his comm, frowning, and Fox wants to smooth out the furrow between his brows with a kiss. He wants to fix whatever is making Quinlan upset. He wants an excuse to keep him around-

Oh.

Fuck.

[spielzeugkaiser]

the love child update from today was 🔥🔥🔥 outstanding as always, i’ve read it like 12 times already i love them sm

i can’t remember if this is smth you already addressed, so feel free to ignore this if it is, but does milek know that geralt is his dad? like obviously jaskier told him to find geralt if he was ever in trouble, and he knows about their friendship, but does he know how far it went? and if he does, does he know that geralt doesn’t know? i just feel like that conversation they had today could be read so many different ways, like are they talking past each other? is milek facepalming bc goddamnit both his dads are morons, fucking typical? so many possibilities!

Ohh, that is a good question, I guess the whole thing is a bit convoluted.

Milek knows that Geralt is his father, he knows that his parents have a long, but complicated history (in which Milek is under the impression that his parents were a couple at one point and Jaskier feels like they were fuckbuddies at best. He felt rather used at times, more like a substitute for Yennefer).

Milek was taught from a young age that he is not supposed to tell anyone about this. First it was a safety measure because Nilfgaard was looking for them and later it continued to be one; they're already not seen in the most positive light and in the best case, it would look like he's lying. In the worst case he would meet anti-witcher sentimentalities. He learned later that Geralt has no idea either - which is something Jaskier needed some time to realise too, as he was accusing Geralt in his talk with Yennefer here about knowing it, but still sending him away.

So there are years of secrecy drilled into Milek, and he knows Jaskier would be fine with him telling Geralt, because I do think Jaskier and Milek had the the talk once he was older that it's his decision if he wants to get to know and tell his father, or not, but.

I think he imagined that talk a hundred times. He daydreamed about this a lot. But now, in reality? The thought of saying something is a suddenly very, very scary.