#i’d have enough to put in a sock and beat people with it

[sharkys-disco-stick]

THERE’S my sexy little war criminal

[ev3rgreenxtrees]

Jealous Boy

-C.S

Synopsis: Chris and you aren’t together. Not dating, not fucking, only friends. But what happens when he sees you flirting with another man at a party? Will he make you his, or will he let you move on.

Pairing: Dom!Chris Sturniolo X Sub!Reader

Warnings: Unprotected p in v, physical altercation, drugs and alcohol, pet names (ma, mamas, baby, darling, slut, ect.), oral (fem receiving), hand kink, sex while slightly intoxicated (EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL.), few uses of Y/N, foul language.

“I’ll be right back, mamas. I’m gonna go get another drink. ‘kay?” Chris slightly yells, patting your back. You nod as he walks off, heading back to the kitchen to grab another drink. You were now left alone.

You slowly made your way through the crowds of people, looking to find someone else you knew. Maybe Matt or Nick, or even any of your other friends. You squeezed through the crowd, and you accidentally stepped on someones foot- with your heels.

“Ouch- Fuck!” The person yelled, turning to face you. You looked up at him, his eyes meeting yours. You wouldn’t lie, he was a fairly attractive man. As you examined him, you realized that he had spilled his drink, probably because of you.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry! Do you want me to go get another drink?” You offered, but the male just shook his head and let out a small chuckle.

“Nah, you’re good. Ion mind, how could I be mad at such a pretty thing? Did ya come here alone?” The man asks; and you shook your head, his comment making a slight blush coat your cheeks. You technically didn’t come alone, but the boys you came with weren’t your date, so then again, you did come here alone.

“Yeah, I did.” You reply, and the man smirks, his hand finding its way around your waist.

“Oh, is that so?” He tilts his head. “Do you wanna leave alone?” The man asks, getting closer to you. You thought about the question, and if you agreed, you knew exactly what would happen. You’d fuck, go back to his place, maybe even yours if your lucky, fuck again, and he’s gone. But hey, whats the harm?

“Having some company would be nice,” You suggested, and the man smirked. He pulled you into him, placing a kiss on the top of your head, before looking around for an open room, which was going to be hard to find.

He must’ve spotted one, because he grabbed your hand and started pulling you after him. You happily followed, the grin not wiping off your face. You looked away from him for a moment as you passed the kitchen, but you didn’t see Chris there. He probably went looking for you.

You feel the man’s hand slip from yours, so you bring your attention back over to him. Chris was holding him by the collar, their faces so close, to anyone around them they might think the two boys were kissing.

“What the fuck, man?” The other male’s head tilted. This guy didn’t look anything like Chris. He was around the same height, but the rest about them were different. The boy had blond hair, much shorter than Chris’ his eyes were green. You hadn’t met many people with green eyes before, maybe that was why you were so attracted to him. “Put me the fuck down!” The blond demanded, and Chris scoffed.

“Yeah, and let you put your fuckin’ nasty ass hands all over my girl? Fuck that.” Chris grins.

“Your girl? She said she came alone.” The man laughed in Chris’ face. “Hm, guess you don’t fuck her good enough, do ya, big boy?” The man teases; and you know this won’t end well. You’re not even dating- or even fucking- Chris. Why was he about to beat this guys ass?

“As much as I want to fuck the shit outta her and make you watch, I think i’d rather have you cryin’ and callin’ for ya mama.” Chris smirks, and throws the blond boy. The boy stumbles backwards, but quickly moves closer to Chris, shoving him back.

Chris moved backwards, but not nearly as much as the other boy did. Chris laughed at the boy’s advance, before abruptly swinging. Hard. He socked the boy right in the side of his face, causing the two to get in a full out brawl.

Chris had the boy pinned to the floor, both of them punching and clawing at each other.

“Chris! Get the fuck off of him!” You hear a voice yell, and turn around to see Matt and Nick. “The fuck is wrong with you!?” Matt yells, as he pulls Chris off the boy, who quickly gets up and runs off.

“Pussy!” Chris calls after the green eyed boy. Chris was in way better shape than the boy that ran off, his knuckles fucked up, his lip busted, and there was a small cut on his eyebrow. Nothing too bad.

“Dude! Why the fuck were you doing that!” Nick yells, and Chris shook his head, pointing at you.

“He was tryna fuck her.” He states blandly.

“Y/N,” Nick starts. “Did you give him consent to fuck you?” Nick asks you, and Chris gives you a glare.

“Well, yeah.. Kind of..?” You shrug. Nick turns back to Chris, who rolled his eyes.

“So, why did you fight him.?” Nick asks, this time much more demanding.

“‘Cus he’s not allowed to fuck my girl, Nick.” Chris states, as if you were his girl, and as if everyone was supposed to know.

“Chris, how goddamn hammered are you? She’s not your girl!” Nick yells; as he makes his way to the door, all of us follow behind him like lost puppies.

“I only had one drink!” Chris defends. It was true, he did only have one drink.

“Yeah, my bad, I must’ve forgot you’re just this fuckin’ dumb on the daily.” Nick scoffs.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay, Mr.Tough guy.” Chris mocks.

“Motherfucker. You’re the one that decided to start a fucking fist fight because someone was tryna fuck your girl!” Nick yells. “She ain’t even your girl, dumbass!”

“Oh, yeah? Watch this!” Chris sticks his tongue out at Nick, before turning to you. “Can I kiss you? Just to get at Nick.” The boy whispered lowly, so only you could hear. You slightly nod, unsure if you really wanted to have the possibility of fucking up the friendship you two had.

His lips meet yours, and to your surprise, he was a really good kisser. You don’t know why it surprised you, since you somewhat expected it, you just didn’t ever think you’d kiss him. You pulled away from the kiss, and Chris mouthed a ‘thank you’ to you.

“What. The. Fuck.” Nick’s jaw was dropped, along with Matt’s. “You’re dating?” Nick asks, but his ‘ask’ coming out as more of an accused yell.

“No, we just.. No! She’s just mine.” Chris shrugs, walking to the car, leaving you, Matt, and Nick baffled.

“Oh my God, Y/N, please tell me you aren’t fucking my brother..” Matt’s eyes widen and Nick gags.

“Fuck no!” You deny quickly, and you weren’t lying. You and Chris had never fucked, or even kissed until tonight. “We’ve never even kissed before, I don’t know why he did that or why he’s acting like this!”

“Kid’s jealous.” Matt states confidently, as you and Nick both snap your heads to him. “What? He’s clearly jealous. He literally beat a random guys ass ‘cus he wanted to fuck you, he just kissed you, and he keeps calling you ‘his girl’. So i’m not too sure how you’re both oblivious to it, but Y/N, I suggest you figure shit the fuck out before Nick and I loose our minds.” Matt shrugged.

“Oh.” You say softly, before Nick hums and follows Matt to the truck. Nick jogs, allowing him to catch up to Chris, who was leaning against the passenger door, not yet getting in, due to the car being locked.

Nick and Chris talked about something, and you couldn’t quite tell if they were arguing or not, but the second Matt unlocked the car, Nick got in the front, and Chris in the back, which almost never happens.

Your eyebrows furrowed, but you and Matt continued to the car, Matt getting in the drivers seat, and you getting in the back next to Chris. Matt didn’t ask about the odd arrangement of seating, so that left you to.

“Why’re you sitting back here?” You ask Chris, who looks at you the second you speak.

“Dunno. Nick jus’ wanted to sit in the front, I guess.” Chris rolled his eyes. “You comin’ to ours?” Chris asked, referencing your home. You commonly slept at the triplets house, it wasn’t anything new, so you nodded. Matt overheard, and nodded as well, taking note he didn’t need to drop you off.

The drive to the triplets house wasn’t too far from where the party was. The ride was silent, other than Chris’ music on the AUX. You didn’t mind though, since you could argue that the boy’s music taste wasn’t all that bad.

Once you got to their house, you all got out of the car, Nick taking an extra five years, as per usual. You all made it inside, but before you could head straight to Nicks room, like how you’d normally do, Chris placed his hand on your shoulder.

“My room, tonight?” He asks. “I think we.. need to talk about some things.” He inhales, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Finally sobered up and came to your senses?” You teased as you followed him downstairs to his room.

“Oh, hush.” He scoffs, but he couldn’t help but let a small chuckle slip past his lips. “I wasn’t even drunk.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, big boy.” You tease again, and Chris lets out a loud groan as you walk into his room together, shutting the door behind you.

You invite yourself to crawl onto his bed, pushing yourself under the covers. He slipped his shoes and shirt off, before glaring at you.

“Are ya not gonna change?” He asked, and you shrugged.

“I don’t wanna go get my spare clothes from Nick’s room.” You pouted, and Chris tossed you a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.

“You can change in my bathroom.” Chris offers, and you nod, taking yourself out from under the blanket. It didn’t take you very long to change, both of the clothing items being slightly too big for you, and the smell of Chris infiltrating your nostrils- not that it was a bad thing. His smell gave you a sense of comfort.

You slowly made your way out of the bathroom, to find Chris laying on his bed, leaving the spot you laid in earlier open. You couldn’t help but smile, even though it was stupid, he gave you his spot. He usually slept on the side you ‘claimed’, but he let you have it.

He looked up at you, putting his phone down, as you crawled onto the bed. You wrapped yourself in his blankets, immediately making your number one priority being cozy, which makes Chris let out a small chuckle.

“Ya comfy?” He asked teasingly, as you nodded. “Look, Y/N, i’m sorry about earlier. I’m sorry for.. beating that guys ass, i’m sorry for calling you my girl, it probably made you uncomfortable, and i’m so fucking sorry I kissed you. I don’t know why the fuck I did that.” He sighs, pushing his hair back.

“‘S okay.” You hummed, moving closer to him, allowing you to lay your head on Chris’ chest, your arms wrapping around his waist. “I’m not mad.”

Chris’ hands hovered over your body for a few seconds, due to the boy being startled by your action. However, they slowly began to lower, and eventually his big hands were holding you against him. You both laid in comfortable silence, before Chris spoke up again.

“Would you be mad if I did it again?” Chris questions.

“Did what, Chris?” You reply, not understanding the question.

“Kiss you. Would you be mad if I kiss you again?” He hums, and you lift your head off of his chest, turning your head to look at him.

“I dunno. Wanna find out?” You mumble, almost a whisper. Chris couldn’t help but smile at the invitation, before making your lips meet for the second time of the night. This time, the kiss was taken further. His tongue effortlessly slipping into your mouth, teeth clashing. This kiss, unlike the other one wasn’t awkward and pathetic. It was needy and rough, like you had kissed many times beforehand.

He slowly pulls away, resting his forehead on yours. You whine at the loss of contact as he pants.

“I’m taking a wild guess and assuming you’re not mad about it.” Chris smiled, taking pride in his actions.

“Yeah, the only thing i’m mad about was you pulling away.” You replied in a duh tone, and he rolled his eyes.

“Hold on, I have an idea.” Chris demands, and you deeply exhale.

“Uh-oh. Your ideas aren’t always-“ You started, but immediately stopped talking when you felt Chris’ lips against your neck. You were at a loss of words. His hands held your lips, as he pulled you onto his lap. You could tell he wasn’t just kissing your neck. He was leaving a hickey.

Shortly later, Chris pulled away, examining his work on your neck. You sat still on his lap, in shock.

“There. Now it’s like were always kissing! Well.. Until it fades, I guess. But then I can just make a new one!” Chris cheeses, and you shake your head and roll your eyes.

“You’re so.. adorable.” You state, and Chris agrees cockily. “I feel very conflicted right now. I can’t tell if I wanna get fucked by you, or just cuddle you right now.” You hum, and Chris’ jaw dropped.

“I-“ Chris stopped to clear his throat. “I mean, I can fuck ya, and then we can cuddle..?” Chris tilts his head. It wasn’t every day that friends just, agree to fuck.

“Yeah?” You smirked, to which Chris returned. His lips met yours again, his hands slowly slipping up his hoodie you had on. You moaned into the kiss, causing Chris to let out a deep groan.

You moved your hips against his, as you felt him grow beneath you. You couldn’t lie, him getting hard was making you wet. Chris’ hands trailed up your body, groping your tits. His action made you let out a moan into the kiss, causing him to grin against your lips.

“Want this off, ma?” He referred to his hoodie, and you nodded. He quickly slipped it off, and you were quite happy that you refused to wear a bra to bed, it made the process go by quicker. “God, darling, you’re so fucking beautiful.” He groaned, his lips attaching to your left nipple, letting his fingers toy with the other one.

You let out throaty whines, trying your best to contain the sounds you were making, as to not let the boys’ brothers hear.

“Don’t be shy, baby. Let everyone know you are my girl.” Chris growls, pulling away from your body.

“P-please, Chris,” You begged, and the boy chuckled.

“Never thought I’d hear you beg for me, but it’s definitely something I will be getting used to.” He smirks, his hands slipping his own shirt off, making you not feel as exposed. No matter how many times you’ve seen the boy shirtless, this time was different. Much different.

“Chris, please. I need you,” You begged, and Chris shook his head.

“So fuckin’ needy, bet your soaked.” Chris scoffed, pushing you backwards, allowing himself to hover over you. You look at him with doe eyes, and he groans. “Fuck, stop lookin’ at me like that.” He demands, but your face turns into a pout.

“Please..?” You whine, causing him to swiftly and aggressively rip your pants and panties off, in one quick tug. Your core was pulsing and soaked. He waisted no time, his tongue immediately flattening against your folds, lifting your legs over his shoulders, giving him better access. “Oh- Fuck!” You gasp, your back arching at the feeling of his wet muscle against your nerves.

You continued to let out loud moans and whines as Chris worked his mouth, his tongue diving in and out of your entrance, his nose brushing against your clit. He took his tongue out of your plush entrance, dragging it along your soaked pussy, until he met your clit again. He licked it, swirling his tongue, flattening it and shaking his head. The actions sending you immense pleasure, and your legs began to shake. You knew you were close, and you tried to warn him.

“C-Chris! ‘M, F-fu- I’m cummin’!” You slur, not being able to form a full word. His dick wasn’t even in you yet, and yet he already fucked you dumb. Your hands gripped at his hair tightly, causing him to groan. The groan sent vibrations throughout your body, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You let go, cumming all over the boys’ tongue.

He lapped up all of your juices, before taking his mouth off of you, and resting you back onto the bed beneath you.

“I always knew you’d taste good, sweetheart.” He panted, and oddly enough the sentence made your stomach flutter, but not in a way that it has all night. His words made you think. ‘Always’? He always liked you?

“M-more..?” You asked, wondering if he was going to fuck you, ask you to suck him off, or if you were just done.

“D’ya want more, baby?” He asked, and you nodded.

“Yes, please..” You begged, and he nodded, his lips meeting you neck, allowing himself to give you more hickeys. You lifted your hips, in hopes to press yourself against something, trying to find some sort of friction.

Chris noticed your attempts, so he pressed his hand against your lower stomach, forcing your body back down to lay flat against the bed. His large hand was big enough to almost cover your entire stomach.

You whined as he denied you pleasure, until he used his other hand, and started rubbing his fingers through your soaked folds. You immediately moaned, causing him to let out a chuckle against your neck.

“Thought you were tryna be quiet, hm?” He whispered in your ear, and you shook your head. You lifted your leg, gently rubbing your knee against his boner, causing the un-expecting boy to let out a loud groan. “F-Fuck,” he cursed, pulling his hand away from your pussy, making you whine. “Want my cock, don’t you, you slut. Want my cock to ruin you?” He tutted, slowly removing his own pants and boxers as you nodded eagerly.

His hard cock slapped his lower stomach as it flew out of his restricting boxers. You gasped at the size, bigger than you’ve ever seen. He was good in girth, but his length was no doubt going to hurt. His tip was deep pink, the same shade as his swollen lips. There was a dribble of pre-cum leaking out, running alongside his prominent vein on the underside.

His hands unexpectedly gripped both of your hips, flipping you over with ease. He then lifted your ass in the air, but pushed your head back down, causing your back to be arched. Without a word, he slipped his cock up and down your slick a few times, his tip prodding at your entrance.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Yes!” You cried out, and his hands trailed from your hips to your ass, placing a harsh slap.

“So fuckin’ needy, yeah?” He teased. “Say red if ya need me to stop at any time. I will stop immediately, i’m not a asshole like that.” He reassured.

“Okay! Just- please!” You cry, and he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“If you insist..” He hums, pushing himself slowly into you. He let out quiet grunts and groans, while you, on the other hand, were practically screaming out as he pushed in and out of you. He wasn’t even moving very fast

“F-fuck! H-Har-der-“ You hiccuped, and he obeyed. His hips rammed into yours, your ass recoiling at every thrust. His hands slipped from your ass up your body, keeping one hand on your lower back, forcing you to stay arched, while the other pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

“Taking me so, so well,” Chris rasps, and you hum, not being able to form words. “Fuckin’ ya dumb, aren’t I, ma?” He growls, and you nod shamelessly. “Good girl.” He praises.

His thrusts become sloppy, as both of you near the edge. His hand from your lower back slipped down to your pussy, rubbing quick circles on your clit. You continued to let out loud moans and cries, as tears streamed down your face from the immense pleasure.

“Close?” Chris asked, and you nodded in response. “Good girl, let go on my cock. Thats it mamas,” The boy grunted, feeling your walls tighten around him, your cum streaking on his cock. “Want it inside?” The boy asked, and you nodded, not even caring where he came. The look of him inside of you was enough to make him cum, and it did.

“Fuck,” He panted, pulling slowly out of you. You whined at the loss of contact as he laid down on his bed besides you. “That was fuckin’ amazing.” He sighed, brushing your hair out of your sweaty face. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.” Chris spoke softly, as if he wasn’t just fucking into you.

He placed a kiss on your forehead, as he headed into his bathroom. Even though the kiss meant nothing, not nearly as substantial as how you two just fucked, but you couldn’t get it out of your mind. You knew you guys could just stay as friends with benefits, but part of you wasn’t satisfied with that. You wanted him. Not in just sexual ways, but in every way. You wanted to be his; and you wanted him to be yours.

Moments later, he reappeared out of the bathroom, holding two different wet rags in his hands. He stopped to pick your clothes off the floor, before crawling back into bed with you. He sat next to where you laid, and his hand slipped down to your pussy, holding a rag against it. You kissed your teeth at the feeling of cold water pressed against where you were sensitive, but Chris’ hand came up to stroke your hair softly, and your mind was immediately taken off the cold unusual feeling.

He pulled the rag away from you after cleaning you off, and he slipped your panties and his sweatpants back onto you for you. He used the other rag to wipe the sweat off of your face, causing you to smile. The way he looked so concentrated as he rubbed the rag gently against your face was adorable. He slipped his hoodie back onto you, and reached to the other side of the bed where his boxers and sweatpants were, as he slipped them on. He laid down next to you, covering both of you with the blanket.

You never thought Chris was a guy who’d try too much with aftercare, but you were clearly proven wrong. His hands snaked around your waist, tugging you closer to him, both of you now cuddling.

“Chris.. Was this a one-time-thing?” You asked, and he shrugged.

“Do you want it to be a one time thing?” He asked and you shook your head. “Then no, it’s not.” He chuckled, but you shook your head again, sitting up.

“No, Chris. Like.. I.. I want more.” You sigh, not sure how to word it.

“It’s okay, we can do more next time, ‘kay?” He reassured, rubbing your back.

“No. Chris, I want more. More of.. Us.” You deeply exhaled, and his hand on your back stopped moving.

“I.. I don’t understand,” Chris tilts his head.

“Chris, I like you. If that wasn’t obvious. I know you have commitment issues, but.. I want more of us. I want us to be a couple, I want you to be able to call me your girl knowing its true.” You speak, not daring to look at him.

“Hey.” Chris calls, but you still don’t look at him. “Y/N, look at me.” He demands, but you still refuse. He takes matters into into his own hands. He sits up, grabbing your chin, forcing you to look at him. His lips meet yours; in a sweet kiss. Your eyes widen as he pulls away. “I like you too.” He cheeses, and you let out a small giggle.

You throw yourself onto him, engulfing him in a hug.

“Thank fuck! I thought I just made a fool of myself.” You giggle, and he chuckles.

“You? Never,” Chris jokingly shakes his head. He lays back down, pulling you on top of him, laying in his arms. You were content like that, until you heard a notification from Chris’ phone. He reaches over, and snickers at the message his brothers had sent him.

“Nick and Matt say were quote on quote disgusting.” Chris giggles, tossing his phone to the side.

『 ↳✧･ﾟ Finn yaps❕ ;

This was NOT supposed to be this long mb guys😰😭

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ I do NOT give permission for my work to be published on any other site, nor to be claimed as your own . However , reblogs , likes , and comments are much appreciated ! 🤍

ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bernardenjoyer @lovely-calypso @junnniiieee07 @75sturn @tillies33ssss @imwetforyourmom

[pixiemunsons]

you're so cute (em)

your boyfriend was always so scared of corrupting you, he never considered that that might be just how you wanted it. time to convince him.

a/n: i can't believe how many people liked for your viewing pleasure! i'm so excited to share this one with you. hope u love it<3

smutty smut smut, use of slut and whore during sex, reader thinks she's in control but she's not<3, soft!dom eddie, spit play, semi public bathroom sex, choking, rough sex, the ending's cringe because i didn't know how to end it, reader is a cheerleader and fits into an oversized t-shirt of eddie's but no explicit mention of body size. eddie and reader flirt like he's cheating on her but he's not you'll see what i mean. no use of y/n

cute was very quickly becoming your least favourite word.

you used to love it. when boys told you you looked ‘cute’ at parties, when your friends told you your outfit for school was ‘so cute’, when your mother picked out ‘the cutest’ swimsuits for you to wear on holiday. you revelled in the fuzzy socks and pink wallpapered life you existed in. perfect cheer practice, ill-be-home-for-nine-daddy, milkshakes in a 50s diner with a boy whose hand would never creep any further up your leg than your knee. 

but then eddie munson exploded into your life. and dragged along behind him in a shitty, beat up van came a whole new world.

───

‘sweetheart, y’know i’d love nothing more, but it’s just not your kinda scene. you wouldn’t enjoy yourself.’ eddie felt terrible for cancelling your upstanding saturday night together, but gareth had begged him to go to a gig at the hideout, and whilst he really couldn’t care less about a rush cover - prog rock was definitely not his usual scene - he’d bailed on his friends at least twice this month already, and it was starting to get hard to hide what was going on from everyone.

not that you really wanted to. but cmon; the rebel and the good girl? it was bad enough when grease did it. and if people were to find out, then both of you would end up miserable, at least in hawkins. so it was easier to have spaces devoted to just you; eddie’s bedroom, his van, skull rock when you were feeling particularly risky. once or twice you’d managed to drive to a town an hour or so away, where no one knew either of you, and you’d almost cried the first time you’d held his hand in public.

still, that wasn’t going to stop you from pouting about not being able to go with him. sure, you were more pretty in pink than pink floyd, but anything could be a good time with eddie. you sighed down the phone, fiddling with the edge of your bed sheet as you spoke.

‘you better not meet any girls there,’ you teased, and you could hear the smile in his voice when he replied.

‘i’d never find anyone as cute as you, baby. i gotta go, listen i’ll swing by sunday for fifteen, how’s that? i gotta go, love you sweetheart.’ his voice was crackly on the shitty line, but one word stood out.

cute.

that’s what you were, you supposed. soft. sweet. cute. 

when you had lost your virginity to eddie, he’d been so careful and gentle, making love to you like you’d always imagined. but it had never gone further than that, and you knew he was capable of so much more. you’d heard the locker room talk after gym, seen the black bandana hanging out of his tight jeans, felt the way he held himself back when he was inside you as if you were a precious porcelain doll he was terrified of breaking. well, you thought, maybe it was time you put an end to that. and, well, when’s a better time than the present?

‘yeah, baby, love you too. see you later.’

───

it had taken two hours to get ready, not including the hour you’d had to wait for your parents to get ready and get out of the house, off to some retirement party or other. your mother had waved you goodbye with a twenty, not before checking at least three times that you would be fine on your own overnight. and as soon as they’d left, you began.

and you thought you looked pretty fuckin’ hot.

gone was the cheerleader’s outfit and sensible white tennis shoes. eddie had left enough clothes at your house for you to fashion an outfit, and what he didn’t provide you could put together from some old clothes in the back of your closet. you were wearing your hair down for once, and black eyeliner was smeared around your eyes in a semi-messy, semi-sexy style. eddie’s big, worn black sabbath shirt was tucked into a pair of black denim shorts you’d bought secretly on a shopping trip a few months back. your old tights were ripped in a few places, and you finished the outfit off with your black high top chucks; you’d had to beg your dad for weeks to buy them for you, convincing him finally that they went best with the green of the hawkins high sports teams, and all of the other girls had them.

the drive to the hideout was filled with nervous energy. you tried playing some van halen cassette that eddie had left in your car to gear yourself up, but hot for teacher reallywasn’t calming your nerves. so you simply switched it off and drove the five miles in silence, contemplating what you were about to do. getting in wasn’t the issue; they almost never took id, and even if they did, you weren’t sure the bouncers could even read to work out how old your date of birth made you. 

the bar was absolutely packed out when you arrived, and you weren’t even sure you’d be able to find your boyfriend through the thick crowd of leather jackets and long hair and doc marten boots. you half considered standing on a table, but you wanted to find him before he found you. so you worked your way through the throng, muttering ‘excuse me’s and ‘thank you’s as you navigated the sticky carpet. then, in the corner of your eye, right at the end of the bar, you spotted a figure slouching against the wall, beer in one hand and the other in a jacket pocket. a jacket with dio painted on the back. grin plastered on your face, you walked over to eddie quietly, leaning up to his ear from behind.

‘hey honey, you gonna let me buy you a drink?’

you saw his arm jump at the slight intrusion, beer sloshing over the rim of the cup, but he barely turned his head towards you.

‘nah, i’m cool, i got a girl.’ you cocked an eyebrow, placing a hand on his left shoulder.

‘is that right, babe?’

you heard him huff in annoyance, making to turn around and face you fully.

‘yeah, i fuckin’ do, so- jesus h christ!’

you had never heard eddie as silent as when his eyes scanned your form, lingering over the ripped lines on your thigh and the curve of your ass in particular with his jaw wide open. you hadn’t expected his reaction to be so visceral, and the way his face transformed had you clenching your thighs together. eddie thought you were hot in your cute little everyday outfits, but this?

you were a goddamned wet dream.

‘what brings you here…?’ you quirked an eyebrow up at him questioningly, smoothing down the collar of his t-shirt, and he gulped loudly, seemingly getting the hint.

‘e-eddie.’

you smiled, all teeth, and ran your hand further down his front, hooking it around his waist and stepping forward so you were chest to chest. you could feel his heart beating wildly against your front, and you hoped to god he couldn’t feel yours.

‘cute name for a hot guy,’ you winked. ‘surprised your girlfriend lets you out alone.’ something about the way you said girlfriend, dripping with seduction, seemed to snap something in him, and he leant down so his lips brushed against your ear, his hot breath sending heat directly to your centre.

‘she was gonna come, but she’s got cheerleading practise in the morning.’

‘ah, a cheerleader? she sounds like a good girl.’ he smirked down at you, laughing lightly, and reached a hand to tug your hips against his.

‘i think she likes people to think she is. she dresses in all this cute shit usually, puts a show on. but really, deep down inside? i think she’s a dirty little whore who wants her shit rocking.’

any modicum of dominance you were holding onto fell from your grasp at his words. you had allowed him to slowly back you up against a pillar, and were now standing with his legs between yours and his head tucked into your neck. with a thrill, you realised that people probably thought he was kissing your neck, thought that the hand gripping your waist was feeling you up, and you couldn’t deny it was turning you the fuck on. you clutched onto his waist, keening up against him and whining as he pressed a sharp-teethed kiss onto the delicate skin of your throat, and it took everything you had not to groan aloud.

‘what do you think, honey?’ he asked, and you made dazed eye contact with him. 

‘hmm?’

‘i said,’ eddie growled, ‘what do you think? my girlfriend. she a slut?’ his voice was gravelly, and you could tell you’d almost pushed him to where you wanted him; breaking point. so you pushed your chest forward, and looked him in the eye.

‘i think, eddie,’ your voice sounded husky and sexy under the music booming through the club, and you reached to lace your fingers through his belt loops. ‘that i would let you do whatever you wanted to me, and i’d do it better than your girl can.’

───

you had no idea what to expect of the hideout’s bathroom. you’d never been in a bar like this before. not that it mattered; before you could get a good look at it, your back was pressed against the locked door and eddie’s tongue was down your throat.

‘i can’t fuckin’ believe you turned up here,’ eddie gasped, running his teeth down the column of your throat and letting out a moan when you pulled on a handful of his hair.

‘didn’t think it was your scene, princess.’ he adjusted his grip on your thigh, pulling your feet to link behind his waist, and you could feel a bulge pressing against your core through two layers of denim.

‘wasn’t really the cheerleader’s,’ you breathed out, gripping his leather jacket to pull his mouth back to yours. ‘but ’s definitely mine.’ this time, he was barely kissing you; instead, he was nipping at your lips, stroking his tongue against yours, and you weren’t sure if it was his spit or yours that was dripping down your chin.

‘does this you fuck in bathrooms?’ he asked, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he grinned down at you. you knew eddie would never do anything you didn’t want, but you also knew this was the beginning of a whole new aspect of your life together.

‘eddie, this version of me wants you to fucking destroy her in this bathroom.’ eddie’s eyes went dark, and he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet them.

‘baby, do you know what you’re asking for?’ you sighed at him, rolling your eyes.

‘i’m so sick of everyone treating me like i’m gonna break! eddie, i can take whatever you got. whatever you wanna give me. i jus- i just want you to fuck me like i know you can. like i know you want to.’

‘in that case, princess,’ he looked downright sinful as he spoke, stroking your face with a ringed hand before slapping it lightly, ‘hold on tight.’

suddenly, you were in the air, and your ass was landing on the cold porcelain sink behind you. you put your hands out to steady yourself, gripping onto the edge, and eddie looked at you approvingly.

‘good, you’re learning quick. open that dirty mouth.’

you opened up, sticking your tongue out a little, and eddie came to settle himself between your open legs. his large hand gripping your chin once more, your eyes fluttered shut, anticipating his next move. you felt something wet touch your tongue, looking up to see a trail of spit connecting your mouth to his.

‘don’t swallow yet,’ he demanded, and you could’ve cum on the spot. he just spat in your fucking mouth and you let him, wanted him to. two thick fingers made their way into your mouth, playing with your mixed saliva, rubbing it into your tongue and pushing themselves down your throat until you were gagging and your eyeliner was streaming.

‘aww baby, are you sure you can take it? choking on my fingers already, my cock’s gonna fuck you completely dumb, ’s that right?’ his voice was taunting, harsh and going straight to your pussy, and it was all you could do to concentrate on nodding your head as you drooled around his fingers.

then they were gone, and you went to chase them out of your mouth, whining at the loss, but a sharp slap against your inner thigh had you mewling and pulling away.

‘gonna have to be a good girl f’me, princess. wanna get down for me?’

you were on your knees before he could push you down, yanking his pants down and taking his boxers with them. you weren’t even gonna pretend to tease, no kitten kicks or soft kisses to the tip. instead, you spat right on the head, just like eddie’d spat on your tongue not two minutes earlier, and took his unbelievably hard dick as far as you could.

‘jesus fuckin’-, sweetheart, are you okay?’ eddie looked almost concerned, and he went to card a hand through your hair reassuringly. instead, you caught it halfway and slowly, nervously, traced it down your face, past where you were connected, and down to the swell of your neck. you placed his hand there, looking hopefully up at him, and he took the hint and squeezed.

‘o-oh, honey, is that- you gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me, it’s buried in there, holy sh-‘ eddie could feel his cock moving through the skin of your throat, feel it in his hand how you swallowed around the thickness of him, how your muscles contracted and tried to push him out.

‘think this face was made for fuckin’, baby, what’d’you think?’ you moaned around his length, pushing yourself down on it even further, and you could hear him breathe in sharply above you.

‘christ, honey, i need to get out. i wanna fuck you, need to feel how wet that pussy is.’ eddie grabbed your hair and pulled you back to your feet, kissing your slick mouth and revelling in the way you pressed against him, tasting himself on you.

‘bend over the sink for me, princess.’

you were practically grinding back against him already, hips swivelling on nothing. you hadn’t noticed the mirror when eddie had first pushed you into the stall, but you finally caught a glimpse of yourself and- holy hell.

your eyeliner was dripping down your face, and where it had previously stylishly smudged it was now destroyed, smeared around your cheeks. your hair was a knotty mess, nose snotty and drool seeping out of the edges of your mouth. yet, somehow, you felt so powerful. you’d taken control of the situation, got what you wanted and, you’d discovered, looked pretty hot when you were all fucked out. behind you, eddie already had your shorts pulled down your thighs, and he was making moves to eat you out until you cried when your hand came back to stop him.

‘baby,’ you panted, vice-like grip on his wrist, ‘i need you. ‘m wet enough, promise, just put it in, please.’

eddie never much liked passing up on foreplay with you. he always took his time, made you come once or twice with his fingers and tongue before he eased himself into you. you very rarely had to do anything to get him going; he’d spend so long on you, he’d be bursting to cum before you’d even started. but the tables had been turned and he had the power here. so he yanked your panties down and sank himself to the hilt in your pussy.

‘eddie, fuck!’ you cried out as soon as he bottomed out, head dropping down so your forehead was touching the porcelain sink. instantly, a hand wound it’s way around the back of your neck and yanked your head back.

‘i’m gonna need you to watch, babe. watch yourself get fucked out, there’s a good girl.’ you whined at his words, meeting his eyes in the mirror. he looked as wild as you; hair sticking up all over, fringe plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were fixed on the place where you met. it was all too much, too hot, and before you knew it your eyes were closed again. the hand braced against your hip delivered a sharp slap to your ass, the other gripping your hair and pulling your head back.

‘stop fuckin’ looking away, baby, i’m not gonna tell you again,’ he spat, delivering a particularly deep thrust that had your knees buckling under you.

‘i want you to look at yourself in the mirror while i stuff you up. you’re gonna let me fuck you in a public space like a dirty slut, you’re gonna get fucking treated like one, do you understand me?’ you could only moan in response, and he let go of your hair in favour of wrapping his hand around your neck. your back was arched against him, his rings chilly and biting against the hot skin of your throat, and he lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper against your ear.

‘sweetheart, if you don’t give me an answer right now, i’ll cum inside you and make you walk out in front of all of those people with it dripping down your legs. so, i’ll ask you again, and i want you to answer me properly. are you going to be a good girl, like i know you can be, and keep watching us, or do i need to repeat myself?’

‘yes, yes eddie, i’ll be so good for you, your good girl, please make me cum, gotta come so bad,’ you were babbling now, and eddie knew you were close. picking up the pace, he gripped your neck even harder, and now you were dizzy and chasing your orgasm and your eyes were pricking tears at how hard you were trying to keep eye contact.

then he bit your shoulder and it was all you needed to push you over the edge, one hand gripping the sink and the other clinging onto the hand wrapped around your neck as you pushed back against him, triggering his own orgasm. he came inside you, deep and hot, and you could hear him rambling as he rode you both through it.

‘jesus christ if i knew you had it in you i’d have been fuckin’ you like this for months, so beautiful, so- shit, so good for me sweetheart, can’t believe you let me do this to you…’ his forehead rested against your shoulder gently, and you leant a hand back to smooth his hair out.

‘was- was that too much?’

you whirled around in surprise, hissing slightly as eddie’s cock slipped out of you, and took his face in both hands.

‘fuck, eddie, that was the hottest shit that’s ever happened to me! and one to tick off the bucket list,’ you shrugged, laughing as his face lit up.

‘bucket list, huh?’

‘oh baby, i gotta whoooole lotta shit to cross off it,’ you winked, giggling as he swooped you up in his arms to kiss you again.

[goodnightmemes]

YELLOWJACKETS SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ The only thing you should ever say to the police is, "I want my lawyer." That's why I put it on the cookie. ❜

❛ Before you go, you should take some Hawaii 5-0 punch. It's just regular Hawaiian punch, but I gave it a snazzier name. ❜

❛ I might have to break up with him. Unless I get lucky and he just disappears. ❜

❛ I don't want to talk about the future, anyways. I'm all about living in the moment. ❜

❛ You're, like, holding on to me or whatever. That's, like, haunting 101. ❜

❛ I had to cut back the rations again. There's not much left. ❜

❛ The thought of you with someone else always scared me. But it also turned me on. ❜

❛ I'll make a solid kidnapper out of you yet. ❜

❛ There's no such thing as false hope. There's just hope. ❜

❛ I'm not scared of you. I'm never gonna be scared of you. ❜

❛ This is how you're choosing to say "I love you," for the first time? ❜

❛ You weren't the only smart one. You just liked to think you were. ❜

❛ What if my only way of dealing is to numb myself into oblivion? ❜

❛ They're too focused on their own shit to even notice that I'm gone. ❜

❛ Well...you're not a picture of normalcy yourself. ❜

❛ I can feel your heart beating. ❜

❛ Everyone has their role. ❜

❛ Stop reliving this! You're in the vise grip of your trauma. ❜

❛ Every time that you try to save someone, a lot of bad shit happens. ❜

❛ Serial killers love puzzles. It's a documented fact. ❜

❛ For fuck's sake, shut up! Don't you see how much damage you are doing? ❜

❛ I don't even know where you end and I begin. ❜

❛ Believe me, if I could relax about anything ever, I promise you, I would. ❜

❛ As I'm sure you can imagine, emotions can run high in a place like this. ❜

❛ You never know when you might need to leave the country sans passport. ❜

❛ It made me feel like...I didn't know what was going to happen. And I liked that. ❜

❛ You can't blame yourself. We all did it together. ❜

❛ Dude, I don't even remember what socks I put on today. ❜

❛ I guess I'd kind of do anything to see him again, you know? ❜

❛ Moving in with you means everything in my life changes. ❜

❛ I think shit is gonna get a lot worse out here. ❜

❛ Thing is...it's one thing to point a gun at a person. It's another thing to use it. ❜

❛ There's a look people get when they realize they're going to die. It's that one. ❜

❛ My hand wasn't shaking because I was afraid. It was shaking because of how badly I wanted to do this. ❜

❛ I'm gonna live how I want to. How I know I'm meant to. And I'm gonna be the person that I know I am. ❜

❛ They're all lucky to have you. It's pretty rare to have a friend who's relentlessly got your back. ❜

❛ In small towns, everyone knows who and where the weirdos are. ❜

❛ I don't normally hitchhike and...look like this. ❜

❛ I know that you're depressed. I know that you can't see it, but I can always tell. ❜

❛ Yes, I am still depressed because it's kind of a forever thing, but I'm doing real work. ❜

❛ And I swear to God, if you lie to me again…I am so fucking over secrets. Like, I can't. ❜

❛ Oh, my fucking God. So, you… you killed a person? ❜

❛ Maybe one day I can talk to you about it, but for now, can that just be enough? ❜

❛ I don't understand why you won't see what's right in front of you. ❜

❛ I'm sorry I disappointed you. I love you even when you try to control me. But I'm okay now! ❜

❛ I think we need to get you out of here. ❜

❛ But I just got here. I don't - I don't want to leave you. ❜

❛ As parents, it's part of our job. We have to protect her, we have to shield her from making the same shitty mistakes we made. To throw our fucking bodies in front of her if that's what we have to do. ❜

❛ No, you can't deny this anymore. There is something deep inside of you that is connected to all of this. ❜

❛ So, you gonna tell me why you're here, or are we just gonna pretend this isn't super weird? ❜

❛ I'm doing a fucking thing here. I don't need you getting in my way. ❜

❛ If I happen to mention sacrificing anything on an altar, well, just ignore that part, okay? Thanks. ❜

❛ Do you get how lucky we are? Some people never find someone they trust enough to share their deepest secrets. ❜

❛ You think I'm capable of murder? ❜

❛ You're charming and impulsive, which are traits of most serial killers. Only, you pull it off. ❜

❛ Look, all I'm trying to say is, I like you regardless of your extracurricular activities. ❜

❛ That's medication for me to mind my own business. You should take two. ❜

❛ Maybe you don't have to be dying to have regrets. ❜

❛ I'm mixing my pop culture metaphors 'cause I'm fucking upset! ❜

❛ I can't ask you for your help 'cause I don't want to hurt any more of the people I love. ❜

❛ You should know better than anyone we can't define a person based on their past. ❜

❛ I don't need your fucking prayers, I need you to have my back. ❜

❛ We weren't alone out there. ❜

❛ You should get the hell away from me. I'm poison. I ruin people. ❜

❛ We did so much fucked up shit out there. And, yeah, maybe it was to survive. Maybe. But I don't think we deserved to. ❜

❛ Women have been having babies for millions of years. You're gonna be fine. ❜

❛ The wilderness recognizes your sacrifice. And so do I. ❜

❛ The power of that place. The god of that place. We did terrible things in Its name. ❜

❛ It's all your fault. There's just something wrong with you. You always do this. ❜

❛ Aren't you probably the last person who should be giving me legal advice right now? ❜

❛ I know I have no right to ask you this, but truly, what is going on with you? ❜

❛ I just want to know you haven't given up on love. ❜

❛ Maybe I have given up on love. But don't flatter yourself. It's not because of you. ❜

❛ You know I don't deserve your friendship, right? I just hurt people. ❜

❛ Suffering is inevitable. And only by meeting it with compassion can we truly begin to grow. ❜

❛ I never even wanted to be a mom. ❜

❛ I did not start out a bad person. But in case you haven't noticed, life doesn't tend to turn out the way you think it will. ❜

❛ Oh, no. What happened? Fuck, are we going to jail? ❜

❛ It's you and me against the whole world. ❜

❛ You lost a lot of blood and you were unconscious. We thought we lost you. ❜

❛ I kept surviving all this shit that should've killed me, and I just...I figured it meant something. You know, like maybe it meant that I had some kind of purpose in all of this, but, uh...Yeah. I'm not fucking seeing it. ❜

❛ I need to know why the fuck I'm still here. ❜

❛ Shouldn't you be in therapy? ❜

❛ I'm not like you, okay? I don't think of killing as a joke. ❜

❛ I really am very grateful that your hobby seems to be figuring out how to be the perfect serial killer. ❜

❛ I've always kept my daughter at arm's length. I think just out of fear that she would...die, I guess. Or maybe that she was never even real to begin with. ❜

❛ I can't have another death on my hands. ❜

❛ I can't wait for you. I don't have that kind of time. ❜

❛ Tell me, is there anything of value in this life that doesn't come with risk? ❜

❛ Does a hunt that has no violence feed anyone? ❜

❛ What, do you want to casually reminisce about our time in fucking oblivion? ❜

❛ Well, if I'm repressing things I don't know about, I am very okay with never figuring it out. ❜

❛ I know there's a lot of pain. You need to let it out. ❜

❛ I don't understand. You measured the grave to the standard six feet? ❜

❛ You're lying to me. And I want to know why. ❜

❛ Maybe [name] dying wouldn't be the worst thing. ❜

❛ When they get a whiff of how much of a liar your mom is, they'll realize that the ❜ psychopath apple doesn't fall far from the fucked-up, man-eating tree. ❜

❛ So, this is what you've all been doing with your lives? Chasing blackmailers and murdering lovers? ❜

❛ I think we can agree that it's in everyone's best interest that [name] is gone. ❜

❛ If I die, don't waste my body. Promise me. ❜

❛ I thought you loved all of me, like I love all of you. ❜

❛ We put ourselves in danger for you. You've been using us! ❜

❛ I've been trying to fix...No. I have been telling myself that I've been trying to fix things and make the problems go away, but the truth is, I've just been doing stuff that makes it worse. ❜

❛ We're all pretty messed up. It's time we finally fucking talk about it. ❜

❛ This isn't something that therapies can fix. ❜

❛ I think that you might be taking this whole, like, cult leader persona thing... a tad far. ❜

❛ I never meant... I didn't want this. ❜

❛ You started this. It's done. And it's going to save all of our lives. ❜

❛ I appreciate you trying to teach me...forgiveness. It's a nice idea. ❜

❛ I let him die in my place. It was supposed to be me. ❜

❛ You're a good person. You really don't belong in this place. ❜

❛ I'm not ashamed. I'm glad I'm alive. And I don't think that any of us who are still here should feel ashamed of that. Ever. ❜

❛ That was a beautiful false confession. I could see it came out of real love. ❜

❛ You want to help me move this body? ❜

❛ It's up to you. You can submit. Or you can run. ❜

❛ You know there's no "it," right? It was just us. ❜

❛ I never wanted to be in charge. ❜

❛ No. I'm not supposed to be here. ❜

❛ This is exactly where we belong. We've been here for years. ❜

❛ It's not evil. Just hungry. Like us. ❜

[tomsparkyr]

𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

summary: mason and y/n being in love on the pitch for 90 minutes plus. (and Tuchel being here for it)

masterlist.

mason mount x fem!reader

mason mount x footballer!reader

warnings: fluff, bitch talk from you and mount, just adorable-ness, i love reece james, an all around cute fic :)

word count: 1.1K+

notes: in this fic, boys and girls can play on the same pitch together without it being deemed dangerous, hope you enjoy!

don’t steal any of my work please, thanks!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 thinking he’s the best captain in the world, strutting on the pitch, this isn’t a catwalk mate.” Mason mumbled in your ear, arms crossed and neck angled towards you as the two of youse eyes followed the poor captain of the opposing team, simply doing his job.

“Even I could be a better captain than him.” You squinted your eyes and grumbled the words, lips wetted as they were lodged into your tongue poking out your mouth; staring down each player that walked into the pitch. Waiting for the reaction when they realised which two star-players were on the pitch.

“I know, and that says a lot.” Mason nudged his elbow into your forearm, smirking but eyes still faced forwards. You slapped an arm his way, whacking his stomach as a reflex from his subtle dig at you, a joke at the little co-ordination you had to be an official captain.

Neither of you knew the cameras were settled directly on you, filming every little twitch of the eye lid when a new face entered the pitch; the bitchiness rubbing off you as a very obvious matter.

“And here we have people, is Mason Mount and Y/N Y/L/N appearing to have finished their warmup.” The commentators addressed.

“It seems the two of them,” They paused for a laugh, “Are not too fond of the team greeting Stamford Bridge.”

“They don’t look too happy, do they?” The studio chuckled at the faces of disgust painted on your features, you and Mason looking at each other with wide eyes and then you standing up on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear definitely about someone. “I would have to say, I wouldn’t be too happy either if I entered the pitch and I saw my opponents were Mount and Y/L/N!”

“They’re on a roll recently!”

“They’re on a roll all the time, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a drastic loss in the stadium whenever Y/N and Mason are playing together.” The commentators showered you in praise.

“I doubt Tuchel would want a loss this week and with the Final approaching fast, putting the two star players in is genius from him, I’d say.” The camera panned to Thomas, a grin slithered on his face watching the two of you smirk mischievously at players, knowing he taught you well and how he couldn’t keep you away from each other for longer than one minute. Maybe, this match might be the match Mason pulls his socks up and confesses his attraction towards you; Tuchel has had enough of hearing it, someone else can deal with him now.

“Anyway, after the short break: we’ll be back and kick off will begin. Chelsea vs Norwich. Who’s going to win?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 a hat-trick, you have to go out on a date with me.”

“What?” You stopped in your tracks, panting heavily as you followed Mason to the corner to celebrate his second goal. Your heart was beating heavily in your chest, did you hear that correctly? Did the man you’ve been pinning over since the moment he kicked that ball in your face and nearly broke your nose on the first day of training just ask you if you wanted to go out on a date? On a technicality aswell?

Mason grinned from one ear to the other, slowly pacing to the camera in preparation for his celebration he’d been planing with Reece James for weeks. “I said: If I score a hat-trick, you have to go out on a date with me.”

Okay, so maybe you did hear him correctly.

The words struggled to leave your lips, hands sweating and eyes blinking rapidly as you saw Reece lean over the stands with a large note crushed in his palm. “What? I-“

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” He bit his lip, whistling to Reece as took the signal and chucked the paper into Mason’s hands, his fingers unscrambling the paper and lifting it to the camera for his ‘celebration’.

The note read: ‘If I score a hat-trick, this lovely lady will go out on a date with me :) —>’ There was an arrow pointing in the direction you stood in, little hearts scattered on the sheet as the crowd at home and in the stadium could read it easily.

The stadium irrupted with cheers and hoots, hollers heard around the thousands of fans waving their flags in the air and hearts raised with their hands.

Your cheeks blushed and tint pink, Mason turning to see your beauty and quickly pecking the side of your head before running back to the pitch to score that final goal, 20 minutes to make his dreams come true.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

‘𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐀 hat-trick for Mason Mount!’

‘Wow, it’s unbelievable, honestly. This is the moment we’ve all waited for people, Mason’s celebration.’ The commentators went silent, leaning forwards in their seat as Mason jogged towards you.

Mason yanked your hand and dragged you to the corner, right in front of the endless amounts of screaming fans and phones filming the two of you; just knowing that the media would get a field day off this.

He grabbed your waist and brought you face to face, chests together and a beautiful smile plastered on both of youse faces. He shook his head at you, “How’s that date sound?”

You bumped noses with him, eyes closed and skin radiating heat as he was so close to you. “Dunno, that last goal was pure luck—“

You didn’t have time to finish before Mason smashed his lips onto yours and felt his heart become one. The fans went wild, even the opposing team cheered loudly. His tongue moulded with yours in the most PG way possible before parents would force their kids to look away from the screen.

His hand slid under your jersey and one fell to your leg, pushing you back slightly so you’d dip backwards, his form hovering only just above yours. It was a moment to remember, really. Like that moment the price finally gets the princess in the most cliché way possible, but still having the box of tissues beside yourself.

Your hands toyed with his hair, hearing the final whistle blow didn’t interrupt the two of you, it only egged you to have time to continue devouring each other for the first time. His cheeks were cold under your touch, obviously from running around in cold wind before hand, it all worth it as his 3-goals not only scored a winner for Chelsea, but a winner for his girl.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋, 𝐖𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐃 there was meant to be a Mount and Y/L/N interview after the match, where are they?”

Thomas shook his head, “Nuh uh, we are not going to disturb them on their date—

I’ve waited too long to see the double trouble get together and standing here for 2 minutes is not going to stop that. I’ve gained too many wrinkles from their pinning, I can’t afford to earn more, the team themselves give me enough!”

ahh hope you liked :) not edited!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[hermanunworthy]

Howdy! I’m a mid-time reader, first time poster. Do people still say that? Have people *ever* said that? Anyway.

I’m not Writer Anon (though I’ve read a couple of their asks that they’ve sent you and Abraham Lincoln, the prose. It’s great) and I know you’re more of a Hermie blog - with some teens and Nick thrown in for flavor - but I have been having Thoughts. About Sparrow and his relationship to Lark and his father and himself. *Maybe* I’ll write a fic about Sparrow at some point? But I don’t really have enough cohesive ideas to make the kind of thing I’d want to make yet, and since I do not have any in-person friends to rant about the stuff I *do* have with, I shall leave this here instead. I hope you enjoy my fun little spiral about me thinking Sparrow thinking about Lark.

He looks at Lark’s face, undisguised loathing painted across it at even the mention of the man who raised them, and thinks, Father and I smothered our anger for you. Father beat his to a pulp and I snapped the neck of mine and we both buried them our backyards in as deep a pit as you can manage with your bare hands. And when mine tries to claw its way out of its uneasy grave I go and I rip it apart until there’s no longer enough of it left to even try. And when it stitches itself back together I do it again, and again, and again - and I’ll keep doing it until both you and I cease to exist. 

He thinks, Of all the things we learned from our Father, why is this the one thing you took from Barry? He thinks, Anger isn’t a weapon or a blessing or a tool to be used, it’s a monster that tears into you as much as it does everyone else. It’s a curse that will sear its mark on those you love for as long as you let yourself burn with it. It will leave you hollow and cruel and empty, if you let it. He thinks, You would let it, if I wasn’t here to stop you. You still might let it one of these days - no matter how hard I try to prevent it or how many people you hurt in the process. He thinks, Hatred for yourself does not excuse the greater wound. He thinks, Suffering, in and of itself, is not atonement - it’s just suffering. He thinks, If your self-inflicted hurt causes those you love to hurt, it isn’t really righteous in the way you want it to be. In the way that you pretend it is. He thinks, It isn’t righteous at all.

He thinks, You could do it if you really wanted to, I know you could. Nothing in the world has ever stopped you from pursuing what you wanted - not friend, not foe, not family - so why do you act like this is so hard? He thinks, You don’t have to forgive him. You don’t even have to forget. All you have to do is try not to murder him with just your eyes from across the room and engage in polite conversation. He thinks, Our Father is not the one with the greater sin between you two and yet his is the one you cannot let go of.

He thinks, If it were really that hard, I would have left you years ago.

Out loud he says, “I understand. I’d never want to put you in a position where you’d feel uncomfortable-“ (Lark narrows his eyes down to slits at the word choice but doesn’t interject) “Especially on purpose. I’ll…. I’ll talk to Fa- er, I’ll talk to him about it and see if we can find some happy middle ground where you maybe don’t have to see each other, but he can still attend.”

Lark’s mouth twists into a sharp-edged frown at the end of the sentence, radiating frustration and disgust like an aura - which Sparrow cheerfully elects to ignore (it’s quite easy at this point, he’s had quite a lot of practice after all). “Okay. Fine. He can come. But tell him that if I see him again, I’m not going to stop at just socking him in the jaw.”

Sparrow winces slightly at the blatant and bluntly worded threat, “Noted.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh, unhappy but resigned. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”

“Maybe.”

“Lark!”

“Alright, alright. Don’t get your britches in a twist, I’ll be there.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Yeah, okay.” Lark cracks a slight smile. “Worrywart.”

I’m the privacy of his own head, Sparrow thinks, I wish I didn’t have to be. 

“You caught me.” Sparrow smiles sheepishly, staring at the ground while toeing at the dirt with the tip of one Birkenstock so Lark can’t see his eyes.

For you I buried my anger. He thinks, still smiling - face fixed in a rigid grimace of joy like a fly trapped in a web. But you might as well bury me too.

AAAUAGAUAGHH OH MY GOD IM SO INSANE ABOUT THE TWINS. tysm for this anon i got so excited waking up to this in my inbox!!! i love the contrast between sparrows inner feelings and outward behavior, and the burying metaphor is so interesting! their relationship is CRAZY to dive into and i love how u did that here. wonderful wonderful, plz keep up the good work!! i love my fellow writers in this fandom :D

[brattybabbii]

I’d love to have you sitting under my desk watching me rub my cock through my pants. You’re on your knees a little hunched over trying not to make a sound. You’d reach out and try to touch and I’d slap your hand away so quickly and forcefully. You whimper lightly and rub your hand, that is now beat red. You hear people walking outside my office. The chitter chatter of voices as they pass by. You like feeling hidden with me. Our own secret. You go to reach out for me again but someone opens the door and you pull your hand back quickly. He comes in and has a chat with me but you dare not make a sound. You just stare at my hand for now. Running up and down the shaft of my cock. You’re licking your lips and getting very needy so every now and then I give you my thumb or fingers to suck on. You eagerly do as it makes your pussy ache and drool with anticipation.

You’re being a good girl and trying to obey in desperation. You’d feel my fingers running through your hair and I’d turn your head down and to the right to see my foot slide between your legs. I slide my shoe off and motion with my toes for your to sit on it. You lift your ass up just a bit and sit down. The touch… finally. It sends a bolt of lightning through your body and you whimper. A little too loud. So I slide two fingers down your throat muffling the moans and whimpering while you softly wiggle on my foot. Desperate for any stimulation I’m willing to give.

My coworker leaves and shuts the door behind him. My fingers slide out of your mouth and you exhale deeply and whimper and wiggle on my foot again. You’re soaking through your panties and I can feel it through my sock. I curl my toes upward a little and you wiggle your clit on them and your eyes roll back and you get a little more of the touch you’ve been craving. You’re desperate for more and you look up at me with those gorgeous big eyes and I can’t deny you anymore. I tell you to scoot a little closer, right between my legs.

You hear my pants unzip and I pull my cock out. It’s throbbing and oozing with precum onto the floor in front of you. You eagerly lean forward and try to swallow it hole but I push on your forehead and stop you before you can finally taste me. Denying you what you want. You crave to slide your hand in your panties and rub your throbbing clit but you resist. You don’t want to disappoint me and you love losing control and giving it to me. You look up at me with whimpering glistening eyes, needing to put me in your mouth and feel my hardness on your tongue. To taste my precum. To eagerly take what you want. But I softly shake my head and tell you that you’re too eager.

You’re salivating at this point and go to slide your hand in your panties defiantly but I lift your head up by you chin and shake my head sternly and the craving explodes inside of you. But you do your best, for me, to control it for the time being. My Baby girl loves my cock don’t you? You shake your head earnestly. I see how wet and drooling you are for it. Anticipating it sliding down your throat. I tell you to lick it. Your tongue pokes out of your cute little mouth and touches the tip of my cock. Now grasp it firmly baby. You softly grab it by the shaft. Your warm hand feels good on it. You can feel it pulsate under your palm. Your tongue is still on the tip. You look up at me, waiting for my direction, and i tell you to squeeze firmly. You do and precum oozes out of my cock like a water fall coating you tongue in daddy’s slick sweetness. You almost explode in an orgasm right there but compose yourself just enough to tamper it down. But your humping the top of my foot again trying to give yourself any semblance of satisfaction.

I softly grab the back of your head and push my cock into your mouth, sliding back on your tongue and down your throat. My other hand grabs your head as well and I push my cock down as far as possible. Your nose buried in my pelvis now. Your warm wet throat gagging involuntarily and gripping my cock. It feels so good for both of us. But you’re starting to run out of oxygen, my hands holding your head in place. You involuntarily try to cough my cock out of your throat but I just hold you firmly. I love feeling your throat convulse around my dick. You look up at me eagerly with your big eyes and tears are falling down your cheeks and you’re trying to patiently wait for me to be done but your lungs are starting to burn. Spit is drooling out the corners of your mouth. I smirk and make a fist, full of your hair, and pull your head back. My cock slides out of your mouth in a sloppy mess. Spit and drool is dripping from your mouth onto the floor in front of you and you gasp and pant and suck in all the air you’ve been missing.

I tell you to lift your skirt up and move your panties to the side so I can see your cute little cunt. I want to see what a sloppy mess I’ve made of you You do as you’re told. You’re so wet and gooey, your clit is engorged and your pussy lips are puffy. I take you by the hand and help you up from under the desk. And kiss you on the forehead on your way up. You stand there starving for touch and attention. I get up and lock the door to my office and sit back in my chair and then nudge you to com and stand between my legs. You obey and I gently pull your panties to the side exposing you. I run the tip of my finger up your slit, coating it in your cum. I hit your clit with the tip of my finger, purposely, and you shudder and exhale deeply and softly and whisper OH FUCK.

You can’t stop and you grab me by the rust and bend your knees slightly and start jumping the palm of my hand. You need to feel me on some part of your body. I let you use it. You’re such a dirty little depraved whore. I get enjoyment out of making you into a drooling cum slut for me. You beg me to cum. You plead to let you cum. But I tell you absolutely fucking not and grab you forcefully by the neck and pull my hand away from you. A string of your cum stretches as my hand pulls off of your cunt. I bring it to your mouth and make you clean yourself off of my hand with your tongue. You obey and it makes your pussy ache for me even more.

🥵🥵🥵🥵

[mr-voorhees-husband]

Smart Boy... pt.2

guh, part one here.

A fic I was writing for myself, but decided to post. Can be read as an x reader, but, it's written w/ me in mind, so.. yeah.

Warnings: Blood, Major Plot Change, Gore, Yandere, NSFT, NSF/W, non-con biting, dub-con elements, Reader + Riddler are both messed up, Trans Masc fingering, T-dick, top-scar mentions, major age gap, Telltale Riddler being Telltale Riddler

Reader - He/him, FtM, 20-25, Not good morals.

I’d considered tearing down the shrine. I really had. I even got as far as to go up to it with a trash can in my hand, but, no matter what I tried to tell myself, I couldn’t. Granted, I should have. Especially considering how Riddler wasn't no longer in custody. 

Waller hadn't made it to the station, apparently, not before Riddler had already broken out and run. Gordon had called me three times already, but, according to the DA, there was never a chance my father would be given parole. Not only did he lie, he was trying to continue to lie. It took massive amounts of self control to not hunt him down, and he was lucky I understood why he lied in the first place. If he wasn't doing it for the good of the people, it’d have gotten bloody.

My boots clattered noisily against the hardwood floor of my room, arms reaching down to take off my shirt and toss it to the dirty clothes. I was tired, sick of the day, and wanted nothing more than to sleep until my body was forcing me awake. My grandma was back in the hospital, Dad was still locked up, and to put the icing on top, John was trying to force me and Bruce to meet his friends. “Fuck.” I sighed, collapsing on my bed, jeans and socks still on.

“Bad day?”

I turned half-heartedly to the infamous villain, eyes cold and unimpressed as I glared. He was leaning against my wall, next to the open window, which I either forgot to lock, or he picked said lock. Riddler grinned, trailing over to my bed. “So you break out of the station, and head to see someone who put you in there?” I crossed my arms under my head, shutting my eyes with a sigh. “Real smart genius.”

“It’s 9 letters, rhymes with perfection, and you need it so dearly.” 

There’s a beat of silence, before I gave up, shoving myself up to look at him. Riddler was sitting on my bed now, at the very edge, as if he didn’t want to risk upsetting me, or just didn't want to get close to me. Rolling onto my back, I thought over the riddle for a moment.

“I don’t need affection, Riddler.” I hissed, making him smile wider.

“Ah, wrong and right,” In a flash, the sharp edge of his cane was pressed against my shoulder, “should I punish or reward?” I didn’t dare move, knowing damn well that cane was sharp enough to split skin at the barest graze, and it being that close to my neck wasn’t the most relaxing. “How about neither?”

“Sounds- Sounds good.” I mumbled, eyes flickering between the intruder and his weapon. He smiled, pulling the cane away and resting it against the bed.

“What’s something of mine that belongs to you?” He continued, adjusting on the bed so his legs were pressing against my feet.

“Wha..?”

The cane was back against my shoulder, and this time, on instinct, I tried to pull away, sitting up. It didn’t change much though, Riddler simply followed my movement to keep the threat prominent. I knew the riddle, it was some sappy riddle about owning someone’s heart. The fact Riddler was asking me is what was throwing me off. “The..” I passed a nervous glance to the cane, and Riddler raised an eyebrow. “Your heart..?”

“Good boy.” He chuckled, and I couldn't hide the shock of pleasure that shot down my spine from the simple praise. Riddler moved fast, grabbing my wrist and twisting my in a way so my back was against his chest. “Now, keep up this little winning streak, and I’ll keep rewarding you.”

Before I could ask what the hell he meant by reward, lips were on my neck. I gasped, instincts telling me to struggle while my brain seemed to understand they wouldn’t do much. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy it, anyway, this older man, who I’d had a crush on for years kissing my neck. It had me spiraling in the best way possible. A nip made me yelp, finally trying to tug away. I shouldn’t be getting pleasure from this, my brain seemed to finally register, or maybe it was simply what little morality I had left fighting for me to not completely accept how insane I truely was. Riddler’s grip tightened while he shushed me quietly, akin to how you’d calm a scared animal. Maybe that’s all I was to him.

“This one should be fairly obvious, my love.” I flushed at the nickname, too caught off-guard to even try and fight when he went back to marking my neck. “What belongs to you now, everyone who ever dated you wanted, and I will have?”

“I..” That was a loaded question for a riddle I already basically answered. It made me rethink it for a solid moment or so, wondering if maybe I was wrong about it being my heart. “My heart?”

Searing pain spread through my shoulder, making me cry out in agony. Adrenaline started pumping, and I tried to rip away in pure surprise. Riddler crushed me back against his chest, kissing my shoulder better from whatever the hell he just did. Choking on air, I turned to the best of my ability, eyes finding a thin line of crimson trailing down my chest. Whatever he did, he broke skin, and it hurt. “Wrong, darling.” I whimpered at the feeling of his gloved fingers sweeping up my warm blood, before I heard him hum at the taste of it. “Try again.”

“..I- I don’t-” A cry escaped my lips, fingers pressing against my shoulder. “Love?”

More pain, making me sob out a broken beg of forgiveness. He kissed the wound once more, as if trying to shake away the pain. “So close,” a kiss under my ear, and I felt his teeth graze the shell of my ear before he continued, “something I don’t already have, dear boy.”

My brain shook for an answer, pain and adrenaline making it much harder than it usually should be. I still didn’t even know how he hurt me, which made it so much worse. I didn’t know what he did, all I knew was the pain it caused and I was bleeding. “Fuck- My virgintinty? I don’t know!” My eyes shut, expecting that agonizing pain to spread through my shoulder again. Yet, it never came.

“Amazing,” a hand cupped my chin, pushing my jaw up to give Riddler more room to kiss my neck and mark me, “absolutely brilliant, my dear.” For a moment, I was just happy I got the answer right, before it fully seemed to register what the answer was. Riddler wanted my virginity. Fuck. That idea alone made me flush, not to mention how close I was to him. I knew I shouldn’t feel lust right now, but I couldn’t shake it. I liked people like this. I wanted someone insane about me. Someone who would kill if I asked the right way. He ticked all my boxes and then some. “I knew you’d get it.”

“How do you know I still have my virginity?” 

“Hm.” Fingers slipping in my pants made me gasp, head still pointed up with his other palm. “You’re too sensitive.” Riddler replied calmly, “Now, be a dear and unbutton your jeans.”

I didn’t have to listen. Nothing was forcing me. He was asking me to unbutton them, not telling me. Though, this was a one-in-a-million chance, and I wasn’t exactly known to be lucky. So, with only slightly shaking fingers I reached down and un-did my jeans. 

“Good boy,” he purred, the praise making me whine and thrust my hips. Riddler chuckled darkly, kissing the wounds on my shoulder that had finally started to stop bleeding. “Is that what gets you going?” Nimble fingers found my cock, jerking it back and forth with smooth motions. “Praise? Such a smart boy gets off on being told how good he is?”

“Uh-huh..” I wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer or not, but I still decided to answer, anything to keep his hand there. My head hit his shoulder with a moan, and he finally let my chin go to rest his other hand on my hip.

“How adorable..” Fingers grazed my entrance and I trembled, the idea of him finger fucking me with his gloves still on making my head spin. “Let’s see…” 

“No- wait-” I begged pathetically as he pulled his hand away and out of my pants. 

“So needy,” he sighed, pulling the other hand away, “pants off, and then I’ll keep touching you.”

My pants were in a heap on the floor in seconds, underwear with it before I was clambering back onto his lap. Riddler grinned madly, accepting me with open arms as he situated himself against my pillows. This time, I was facing him, knees straddling his thighs. A much more willing position, along with allowing me to see him. My knees shook when his fingers found my cock again, slipping around it and jerking it between his middle and index finger.

“Would you believe me if I told you this was my first time?” He hummed, only getting an answer in the shape of me shaking my head. I was too far gone now, I never knew being touched could feel this good, all pain from earlier being forgotten. “It is, with a man, that is.” Riddler didn’t miss the way I seemed to huff softly at that, either in jealousy or a self consciousness, I couldn’t tell. “Oh, don’t worry, darling, those whores meant nothing.” The feeling of two of his fingers stretching me out made me sob, hands finding the lapels of his jacket. He grinned, teeth grazing my neck before they bit down softly on my good shoulder. “Just means to an end, nothing like this,” I grinded into his palm, rutting like an animal in heat with a stangled groan, “nothing like you.”

“Riddler- fuck- please-!”

“Eddie, darling.” Edward gently chastised, fingers stretching me out before searching for that special place. When he found it, stars flashed through my eyes and I sobbed out a moan, burying my head in the nape of his neck. “Oh, there it is.”

“Eddie! Please-pleaseplease!”

“Shh, darling, I know,” His voice was demeaning, like talking to a child, but I couldn’t care at all, not with him making me feel like I was on cloud 9. “I know you can cum like this, so why haven’t you?” His free hand grazed up my side, before landing on my chest, rubbing the crescent shaped scars under my pec gently. “You’ve been so good too,” I moaned at that, eyes rolling back as I continued to hump his palm, “I’m sure if such a brillant, smart boy can fuck himself on my fingers, he’d be able to cum on them.”

“Can’t you, darling?”

I cried out to him one final time, body tensing as I came on his hand. Edward continued to thrust his fingers in me until my orgasm was finally over. I shuddered against his shoulder with the barest whine as he pulled his hands away. My eyes flickered over to him just in time to watch him suck my climax off his glove, pupils blown and face ever so red. Edward hummed at the taste, hand moving from my chest to tug off his gloves and toss them to the side. He glanced at me, before smiling. 

“Well, dear boy, how do you feel?”

“..Warm..” My arms dropped from his jacket to dig between his back and the pillows and pull him into a hug. Edward hummed, bare, clean, fingers going to my hair to run his hand through it. “Are you gonna leave now?”

“No.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.

[ashtraythief]

Morgan comes to see Jensen a few times (I believe. Been a hot minute). One being when Jensen leaves Jared, goes to New York and Jared has him under surveillance. If he did notice Morgan talking to him, would he have been caught? Or could he figure his way out of it?

Omg, these questions are getting hard 😅

But yes, he met with Morgan a few times. Hmmm, if Jared's people (well the people in New York that he hired) would've recognized Morgan, I think Jensen would have been able to talk himself out of it.

So, it probably would have gone something like this

If Jared’s people had recognized Morgan when Jensen was meeting him in New York (AU to Underneath It All, chapter 7)

Jared cornered Jensen when Jensen was unpacking his stuff into Jared’s closet. Jared wanted to trust him, he relly really did, but this...

“Is there anything you want to tell me about New York?” 

Jensen sorted socks into a drawer that Jared had emptied for him. “No? Not particularly.”

“Are you sure?”

Jensen finished with his socks and slowly turned around. “What are you fishing for here, Jared?”

“You had a visitor.” No sense beating around the bush, especially now that Jensen was on guard. Already. Like he’d expected it.

“What?”

“Assistant Director Jeffrey Dean Morgan from the FBI field office. Wanna tell me why a fucking Feds stopped by your hotel room?”

Jensen’s mouth fell open. He stared at Jared but instead of fear, Jared saw only anger in his eyes.

“I fucking knew it. You fucking spied on me?”

“I didn’t spy on you—”

“Yes, you did!”

“I kept track of you.”

Jensen threw his hands up. “That’s the same thing!”

“It’s not,” Jared ground out. “But that’s not the point. The point is that you’re cavoting with the fucking Feds.”

“Oh, please.” Jensen stormed past him, but he stopped when Jared clicked the safety of his gun. Interesting.

Slowly, Jensen turned around, stared at Jared’s gun. Then, incredibly, he rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Again with the shooting threat.”

“Jensen. Tell me the truth.”

“I should fucking walk away,” Jensen spit out. “Right now.”

Jared wanted to kiss him. He couldn’t believe that Jensen still wasn’t afraid.

“Ugh.” Jensen walked over to the bed, just ignored the gun and let himself fall back against the pillows. He looked good in Jared’s bed, Jared couldn’t help but think. And that he wanted him there. Jensen’s relaxed if exasperated posture also put Jared at ease. Whatever it was, Jensen hadn’t given up any secrets. 

“Yeah, Morgan came to see me,” Jensen said finally, nose scrunched up adorably in disdain. “His fucking goons followed me when I left here.” He gave Jared a sardonic look. “This is all your fault, you know.”

“Jensen,” Jared said, and walked over to the other side of he bed, sat down and put the gun on the bedside table. “What the fuck did Morgan want from you?”

Jensen eyed the gun for a moment, then focused back on Jared. “What do you think? He wanted information. On you.”

He had to give it to Morgan, the guy had balls. Sometimes Jared regretted they weren’t on the same side. “And why would he think you’d be amenable to sharing?”

“Because he thought we broke up. That I’d be mad at you. And in return he’d take me out of a few case files where I was listed as prime suspect.

“And what did you say?”

“Do you have to ask?”

Jared grinned. “Sweetheart, I have no doubt that you didn’t rat me out. You’re not petty enough to actually help the FBI. But I also have no doubt that whatever your reply, it was worth hearing.”

Jensen smiled, pleased. He could be thornier than a bush of roses, but he was also easy. “I told him that while you were an arrogant ass with a controlling streak a mile wide, you’re also an upstanding member of society and hell would freeze over before he’d be able to prove otherwise.”

Maybe not that easy. Jared still couldn’t help but smile. “You’re all charm, sweetheart.”

Slowly, Jensen leaned forward, then he crawled up to Jared on all fours, back curved sinuously. Jared let him come, all the way into his lap.

“You really need to stop pointing your gun at me,” Jensen said quietly, leaning in so close Jared could feel his breath on his face and count the freckles on his cheeks.

Jared leaned back against the pillows, pulling Jensen down with him until they were nose to nose. “You really need to stop running away from me.”

Jensen sighed, his plush bottom lips brushing against Jared’s. “I wouldn’t have to if the Feds weren’t all over you all the time.”

Fucking feds. But Jared was done playing. He pulled Jensen down for a kiss and was rewarded with Jensen letting himself be pulled and molding his soft lips against Jared’s. He opened up immediately for Jared’s tongue and they kissed slow and deep. Jared’s hands slid to Jensen’s ass, pulled him down over his hardening cock, just from this, just from Jensen and Jensen moaned against Jared, buried his hands in Jared’s hair. 

Yeah, they were done talking now.

[sergeant-spoons]

54. I Have Seen It All In Paper Dreams

Leslie Sheppard

Taglist: @thoughpoppiesblow​ @chaosklutz​ @wexhappyxfew​ @50svibes​ @tvserie-s-world​ @ask-you-what-sir​ @whovian45810​ @brokennerdalert​​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​ @claire-bear-1218​ @heirsoflilith​ @itswormtrain​​ @actualtrashpanda​​ @wtrpxrks​​

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey Don,

I'm not writing to you about D-Day, believe it or not. I'm also not writing about the fact that you still owe me half a Hershey bar, either (though I guess I kind of am, now that I've put it to paper). The thing is, Tink and I had this talk about her and George, and I guess I sort of realized something I'd been trying to ignore. Something pretty big.

It's been a week and I still don't know what to do with myself.

The sky was grey and gloomy, and the mood across the airfield wasn't much merrier. Friends joked and laughed as if it might chase away the clouds, but no one could escape the pervading sense of impermanence. It was an alienating feeling, and no one seemed to look or talk quite the same as they had before. It was as if the soldiers had only just realized their own mortality was at stake. Normandy and glory awaited, or Normandy and death. Maybe both.

Decked out in all her jump gear, Leslie sat dangerously close to a puddle, writing a letter she’d never send.

I suppose I should start this by saying I was thinking about George and Tink the other night, and that made me want to think about you. I'm sure you can guess why. He cares about her; you care about me. And then I started to wonder what that means.

Archie Potts and Cowboy Bennett came by, gabbing about life insurance policies, and made sure to remind Leslie to sign hers. She flashed them a smile that was a bit too wide and informed them she already had. They teased her a bit for being an "eager beaver" (in Archie's words) and that she'd better not think she was going to die tonight, and she told them the Devil wasn't out to get her—yet. They laughed and laughed and went on their way, and Leslie returned to her letter, biting the inside of her cheek in thought.

I've got half a mind to ask you. What does it mean to care about someone, Don? You ought to know. You've always been the better one of us at understanding the way people feel.

Her foot was wet. She looked down and saw her boot had slid into the puddle, and her nose wrinkled up in displeasure. She picked her foot up and flicked it about as if that might help, but all it did was make Tink laugh as she approached, come to borrow Leslie's baseball cap. Explaining that George and Skip had set up an impromptu baseball game down by the runways, she bounced on her toes and snatched up the cap just as soon as Leslie had dug it out of her pack.

"You got any clean socks?" she called after her friend, but Tink was already jogging off, and Leslie couldn't begrudge her excitement. Tink deserved a bit of fun, especially today. No worry, Kiko would have an extra pair, and Leslie would ask when she came around.

What does caring even mean? And how much? And how on earth would I even ask you? Not that it matters, me not being able to find the words. I won't ever bring it up to you. Not ever.

I just can't.

Kiko showed up not long after Tink had left. That same strange look she'd worn all week was back on her face, and when Leslie started to ask how she was feeling, Kiko cut her off with a request for lined paper. Leslie provided a few sheets, then asked about the socks. Kiko went into her pack and got out a spare pare, but she didn't seem to hear it when Leslie thanked her. Stranger still, she held the paper like it was fragile, and yet like it might cut her any second. Leslie started to frown, tapping her pencil against the side of her knee, and opened her mouth to speak, but Kiko beat her to it, already turning to go.

"I'll be right back."

The best mechanic in the regiment wandered off in the general direction of the officers' tents. Leslie's sigh as she watched her go was hearty enough that the paper in her lap fluttered. Supposing she'd see her again soon enough, she let Kiko go and tucked her knees up a little higher, bringing her pencil back to the page.

Do you remember all those times I told you I loved you?

Turns out I meant it a whole lot more than I realized.

She could hear the laughter and shouts from the baseball game from over yonder. For a brief moment, she felt solidly and completely alone. Then a familiar voice called her name and she looked up. Don was waving to her from the backseat of a jeep as he was ferried along the dirt road just down the hill. The hollow feeling disappeared in an instant, and her heart sighed as she raised her hand (still gripping the pencil), and waved back.

I love you, Don. I love you more than I ever thought I could love somebody—even more than I ever thought I could love you, and that's really saying something—and I don't think I'll ever be able to stop loving you.

Captain Eades had been going around all afternoon, offering encouragement as she adjusted equipment, untangled straps, and otherwise assisted her mechanics. She was more solemn than usual, but so was everybody else. Leslie hadn't paid her commanding officer much mind until she came over with Kiko at her side, the both of them muttering conspiratorially. Leslie poked her head up from her letter, her curiosity and nerves getting the better of her, and listened as Mama E gave Kiko the scoop on recent developments. A piece of intel that not even Mama E was privy to had triggered a last-minute reconsideration among some of the higher-ups, and now the location to which the Mechorps would be dropping was up in the air. Their captain said she needed to wait a little longer for things to pan out, but as soon as she knew, she'd spread the word.

"No need to worry," she advised her girls, visibly worried, "I doubt anything will change, after all."

As soon as she turned aside to address a baby-faced private who needed directions to Colonel Sink, Leslie and Kiko shared a grave look. They didn't have to speak to understand what the other was thinking: they needn't tell anyone about this. Not yet. Raising the alarms before all they had all the information would only make the worst of a worrisome situation. Everything was fine. Or, everything would be fine.

But it's not that simple. Feelings like this never are.

I think the part that hurts the most is that I can never tell you any of this. I can't ask you how you feel, either, because you'll break my heart, and then you'll feel so bad about it that it'll ruin us both.

So I can't tell you anything. Not even the war could make me.

I can't lose you.

Love, Leslie

Kiko set off to the girls' tent with claims of wanting a nap, and though Leslie knew she was lying, she let her go without a word. She looked down at her letter, at all the things she'd spilled out onto the page, and read it over and over until it started to blur and she realized she'd started to tear up. That was when she took the letter and crumpled it up as tight as she could, then leaned toward the puddle and tossed it in, taking extra measure to stomp it right in with her already-wet boot. The paper greedily soaked in the water and Leslie watched as it began to dissolve. She got to her feet and put on her pack, and it was only when she tried to separate the folded socks in her hands that she realized her hands were shaking. Then another pair of hands, almost as familiar as Leslie's own, took hers to hold, and she looked up, nearly dropping the socks.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, and as he blew warm breath on her hands to try and still their trembling, she felt a surge of fondness she could hardly contain. When the corners of her mouth turned up, his grin had the power to take all her worries away for a little while.

"Skip's looking for you."

"He has? Why?"

"Why? For your artistic expertise, of course."

She laughed, and he joined in after a moment. They both knew she was hardly an artist, and that all Skip wanted her for was to smear paint on his face while he grumbled about all the shit he had to carry. Nevertheless, she let him sling his arm over her shoulder—resting it on the flap of her pack—and when he lifted his foot to start their journey, she moved right along with him.

Dear Janie,

It's D-Day at last. We're going to make the big jump today. I can't tell you where we're going but I'm sure you'll hear about it from the war news before you get this letter. You wouldn't believe how many of us are out here getting ready. I don't think I've seen so many people in one place in my whole life.

The airfield was already full to capacity by the time the 506th had arrived last week, and when the paratroopers awoke the next morning, they discovered it was still growing, adding on the 501st and the 502nd, plus a dozen regiments of British pilots and at least a hundred anti-aircraft units. Tink had marveled at the scope of it all, happily allowing Donald Hoobler and Frank Perconte from Easy to take her for a spin around the base to see all the new faces. They'd met a few British paratroopers right around lunchtime and started a bit of banter that lasted for at least a half-hour. The Brits showed off their lugers and the Americans boasted about their prowess and nobody gave more ribbing than they could take. By the time they parted their separate ways, each and every one of them felt, in a strange kind of way, much more secure in the mission ahead.

I don't have much time to write. There's lots to get ready and I spent half the day having more fun than I really had time for (more on that later). If I get myself any souvenirs I'll send them home for you and the boys. How's Joey feeling about his finals? I know he gets nervous about them but I'm sure he'll pass with flying colors, as always. How did Jack's baseball championship go? I wish I could have been there to cheer him on. I bet it was one helluva game. Give them each a big hug from me and tell them not to worry and to keep a lookout for me in the papers—there was one of those big-time war photographers wandering around yesterday and most of us in the Mechanical Corps got together for a big group photo.

The whole shoot was pure chaos, but Tink hadn't had that much fun in ages. The photographer had come close to losing his mind, running back and forth and shouting at the soldiers to keep still—Bloody hell, stop moving!—until he was entirely out of breath and had to sit down for a minute. His assistant had been the one to take the photo, in the end, and Tink was pretty sure she'd still been laughing when the shutter clicked.

(You'll see me somewhere on the left side.)

Their tents had routinely been shifted around and packed closer together over the last few days in order to make room for the newcomers. By today, the 5th of June, they'd expanded so much that it now took a real sense of direction to find one's way back to their own tent. Most soldiers ended up sleeping in the similarly-unoccupied bunks of their friends' several rows away from their own bed, having given up the search in the late hour. Tink had started calling it a certifiable tent city. Though their tent had been up and relocated almost half a mile from its original spot, Tink, Leslie, and Kiko had managed to stick together. There was only one night when Tink couldn't find her way back. It was after they'd shown a movie all the way on the other side of the encampment; fortunately, just as she'd started to wander, Danny Huff poked his head out of his tent and offered her Michael Michaud's empty bunk. Michael and Tink had a good laugh the next morning when she found out that while she'd been sleeping in his bed, he'd slept in hers!

We had a baseball game earlier, me and some of the boys from E and B Company. They're real good sports. Guess the word got around that I've been feeling down so they were specially friendly today. I hit a double and they cheered me on like it was a home run. Our team lost but I still had a whale of a time.

The players, all tuckered out, had taken a respite on the eastern side of the mess tent. To all fit in the shade, they'd gathered in a long pile, leaning on their packs and one another other as they tossed the baseball around and made easy conversation. This was where Tink now rested, leaning half on Bull Randleman and half on Chuck Grant, as content as could be.

I'll try not to be rash while I'm out there. Thing is, I've got my service sisters over here relying on me—maybe you can excuse a tiny bit of recklessness for their sakes. I know you'd do the same if you were in my shoes.

Hope you and the boys are well and aren't worrying about me too much. Some of the fellas around the base say we might be home by Thanksgiving. Could you imagine that?

All my love, Tink

She folded the letter into neat, thin thirds, tucked it into a crisp envelope, and licked the seam to seal it. As she flipped it over to pen the address, Bull looked over his shoulder and squinted at her moving pencil.

"Writing home?"

"You know it."

"Hmm." He turned his face back up toward the sky as if it might bring the sun out. "Better drop that off soon—else you might not get a chance."

"That’s a good point, Sarge..."

"I know it is. You need a hand up?"

"Nah, I got it."

She grunted as she tried to stand up, but she wasn't in an optimal position and ended up falling all over herself. Giggling, she let Bull (equally as amused) nudge her upright, then got to her feet with the help of his uplifted hand. She patted his head in thanks—which made the others laugh—and went along to find the postman only to realize she didn't know who it was. Deciding to reroute her search to find someone who could point her in the right direction, she made her way toward the rows of soldiers collecting their last-minute gear. Bill Guarnere gave her a wave with his spoon from where he lounged eating ice cream and Tink flashed him a grin. He held up a paper for her to take, telling her to "take a look at this bullshit" before sending her on her way to Leslie further down the row.

"You painting, Lady?"

Leslie, smearing brown and green facepaint over Buck Compton's scrunched-up face, smirked.

"Yup."

"How's the canvas?"

"Handsome as ever, but needs to hold still."

"Yeah, Buck," Don laughed, happy to watch the show, "listen to the lady."

Buck tried to relax, but his nose kept twitching as if the feeling of the paint tickled him, and Leslie's brush went the wrong direction over his cheek. She swatted at his shoulder with a noise of displeasure and he tried his best to suppress his smile with little success.

"Sorry, ma'am."

Leslie laughed. "You're alright, Buck." She looked up at her friend, who was eyeing her surroundings with a look of mild curiosity. "What's up, Tink?"

"Lookin' for the mailman."

"That'll be McDermot," Leslie informed her. "He traded off with Cowboy this morning."

"Ah, gotcha. Solemn Sal, here I come."

She gave the lieutenant a jaunty salute and ruffled Skip's hair, then went on her way to deliver the letter. Catching sight of McDermot on the other side of the clump, she decided to cut through the crowd to get to him, and as she jumped over packs and limbs, she almost kicked George in the head. She stopped to apologize and he just smiled, asking her where she'd been, he'd been missing her. When he raised his hand up to her as if saying hello, she took it and jokingly kissed his knuckles. McDermot was starting to walk away, though, and she didn't stick around to see George's reaction. He stared after her with an obvious look of awe, and his friends started laughing, calling him a lovesick fool.

"Yeah, fellas," he said, rubbing his blushing cheek with the back of his hand, "I sure am."

Alex,

I could never find the words to talk to you about this in person, so I'm putting it in writing instead. I've tried for weeks to figure out how to say this, but I guess it all comes down to one simple fact:

I'm scared.

We don't know what's going to happen out there. You'll be fighting right on the front, and we won't be far behind, and there'll be real danger and real people dying and I can't lie to you, I'm scared stiff. The odds of one of us getting hit (or worse) are so high and I just don't know how I can stand it.

Ever since Overlord became an inevitability, visions and night terrors of that devil Death had tortured Kiko's mind after twilight. Though the war was yet an obscure guarantee, her dreaming mind conjured up firestorms that swallowed her friends whole and left nothing but ashen petals that crumbled in the wind. She saw flashing lights through the gap in the tent flap, and her pounding heart would keep her up for hours although she knew they were nothing more than flashlights and sparklers. She'd fallen prey to her fear and didn't know how to escape its claws.

No one knows how long this war is going to last or even how long we'll be out there in the thick of it. You know as well as I do that the longer it goes on, the less likely it is we'll come back alive.

Now I don't even know if I'll see you out there.

The first tear fell, and after that, Kiko was unable to dam the flow. She stopped trying after a minute or two and just kept writing, trying to keep her head a bit farther from the page.

Something's got the higher-ups in a tizzy, and we don't know where they're sending us anymore. My gut tells me we're not going to jump where we thought we would. We're not going to jump with you and the rest of Easy.

I don't blame either of us for how we feel, but I can't help thinking this is an awful time and an even worse place to fall in love.

The breeze snuck in through the open tent flap and blew her hair so it tickled her cheeks, but she couldn't much smile, nonetheless laugh.

I've had this terrible feeling for weeks and weeks now that I'm not going to make it. That I'm going to die. And I'm so scared, Alex. I'm so, so scared.

I'm just glad I've had you with me through it all.

I love you.

Kelani

For once, Kiko was glad the sun did not shine, for she didn't think she could be happy today even if she tried. She sat on her legs in the middle of the maze of paratroopers, her clammy hands pressed to her thighs, and soberly bowed her head. Leslie, oblivious, took the motion as her cue to start applying the facepaint in her hands to her friend's forehead as she cheerfully chatted with Tink about the afternoon's baseball game. Neither noticed how Kiko, who no one ever had to worry about, pinched at the fabric of her overalls and squeezed her eyes shut, desperate not to cry. She could feel the weight of the letter in her pocket, the tears that stained its paper the same that she refused to let fall now.

She knew what she had to do. She'd give the letter to Alex whenever she saw him next. After that, there was nothing more she could do but prepare herself for the dire night ahead.

She just hoped he'd understand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[adamwatchesmovies]

Scrooge (1970)

Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol has been adapted so many times you need to do more than end it with a line other than “God Bless us, everyone” to stand out. So how about a musical version of the classic story? Sounds like an odd fit but the terrific soundtrack and impressive dance numbers make 1970's Scrooge a new favourite.

Ebenezer Scrooge (Albert Finney) is a bitter miser who considers the ideals and spirit of Christmas pure humbug. He hesitates to give his underpaid assistant Bob Cratchit (David Collings) the day off and scoffs at his nephew Harry (Michael Medwin) when he suggests a holiday dinner. One cold Christmas Eve, the ghost of Scrooge's partner Jacob Marley (Alec Guinness) appears to him with a warning: "Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits. Heed their counsel and change your ways or risk an eternity of suffering."

I know you’re still incredulous at the idea of an all-singing, all-dancing Ebenezer Scrooge. Trust me, it works. It’s not like this was a story grounded in realism from the get-go with the multiple spirits and all. Plus, Christmas has a wide cannon of songs attached to it - so does the nearby New Year’s celebration - so is it really a stretch? These choices give Scrooge a way to stand out. If you’re a fan of musicals, it gives you one more to add to your lineup. How about a whole day of White Christmas, Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Story, The Nightmare Before Christmas, Meet Me in St. Louis, Holiday Inn (if you consider those last two Christmas movies) and you conclude it with Scrooge?

This is the best kind of musical. Every song adds to the story and tells you more about the characters. Some are so catchy you’ll want to rewind the film just to hear them again. I’d single out December the 25th and Thank You Very Much (for which the film received an Academy Award nomination) as the best. That later one blew my socks off. It’s a big parade march that comes up during the “Spirit of Christmas Future” segment and at first, I thought its cheery tone was ill-suited for the darkest point of the story but that’s the point. It’s so cheery it drives home how people feel about Ebenezer Scrooge just as well as a couple of old ladies cackling over his stolen possessions could. Then, the film adds a new scene, a delightfully ironic final fate that drives the lesson home even better than the song did. What’s next? a delightful reprise where the previous songs are now given a completely different meaning thanks to the transformation that’s taken place. My favourite part of musicals (and hear me out on this one) often turns out to be the end credits because that’s when we get a second chance to hear the best songs as the film ushers us out. This conclusion is that second chance but even better because it also adds to the plot.

The great thing about Scrooge is that you get all of these songs and the story you love too. The film hits all of the emotional beats, contains all the characters, events and plot points too. Albert Finney’s scratchy old man voice is a bit off-putting but it fooled me. I wasn't sure if he was an actor in makeup or a marvelously spry senior. It’s a great performance and within a few minutes, you’ll have set you incredulity aside.

Certain musicals contain nothing but hits. Others have a few good tunes and the rest among mostly forgettable numbers. I’m not 100% sure where the soundtrack to Scrooge lands. I’ll say this; any song becomes memorable if you hear it enough times and Scrooge is the kind of movie you will come back to. Just as fans of Home Alone occasionally swap it for the sequel, I predict you will eventually feel like taking a break from the George C. Scott and Alastair Sim versions of A Christmas Carol and reach for Scrooge instead. You might even include two or all three when the holiday season comes around, as this British musical is perfect as a movie you put in the background while decorating or wrapping gifts. The more I think about it, the more I like Scrooge. (December 26, 2020)

[so-very-small]

I sit in bed - if one could call a pile of stolen socks a bed - and when the giant thunks their head against the wall of my home, or their home, rather, I’m not alarmed. They do it a lot. I’d thought the concept of a person thudding their head against the wall repeatedly was just a trope in fiction. But it’s real. And as someone who lives in the walls, it’s annoying.

“Switch to evening classes,” I snap, before the giant can shake the walls of my little home with their giant coconut once more. “You’re always up late regardless, and your grades will keep getting worse if you keep thinking you can handle a three hour lecture at six in the morning.”

The thudding stops. I’ve never spoken to them before. They don’t even know who, or what, just spoke. All they see is the wall. They don’t reply, and after a moment I can hear them stepping away, and that’s the last I hear of them for the night.

Our paths don’t cross much, by design. They’re a night owl, and I tend towards the early morning hours. As the days go on, they sleep through the mornings more, and spend time at home in the evenings less.

Another thud rouses me from some concentration.

I thought we were over this.

“Wall Oracle?”

I go by many names. But that one, that one’s new. I sit up from where I’m hunched over some leather and thread - a new backpack once I get the stitching down - and turn to the wall where I imagine the human is putting a solid dent in with their head.

“I switched to night classes, and it helped, thank you,” they say. They sound less tired. “But it’s weird, I feel like my friends haven’t been wanting to-“

“They still like you even if you’re in different classes. It’s just hard because you’re not sharing as much time with them. Text them first. They still want to hang out, someone just has to be the one to instigate it. ”

There’s silence, before the wall creaks slightly as the human lifts their head.

“Thank you, Wall Oracle.”

It goes like this for a while. A thud snaps me from sleep, work, pleasure, and I get to hear the humans stressors and rants and inquiries. Sometimes they treat me like a goddamn fortune cookie - “Will it rain this weekend?”. Other times, they pour out their heart and soul. I give them advice as best as I can, and eventually talking to them becomes as easy as breathing.

“Wall Oracle?”

It’s dinner time, on a Saturday. No classes, no hangouts. They only go out on Sundays. Saturdays were for them, and by extension it meant I stayed in my home as well. Currently I’m waiting for some stew to cool, and hoping that the human doesn’t catch the scent of the tealight I used to cook with.

“Make ramen,” I say, an educated guess based on the time and the day, “Add a slice of cheese. It’s better than you think.”

“What’s your name?”

The question almost makes me drop the empty bowl in my hand, and I quickly set it down next to the pot cooling on the die I use as a counter. The candle is out now, and I work on smothering it in wax to clear the smoke rather than reading too into the prompt.

“I have a lot of names,” I say, because it’s true. What Ma called me, what I tell others to call me, what I call myself. Wall Oracle, too. I suppose I’m only ever called the latter these days - I don’t see people often enough to have a use for a proper name. “Wall Oracle is fine.”

There’s a chuckle, and I can hear how loud it is through the wall. Their head’s not against it, they must be standing straight, putting their chest level with my home. When they speak, I can hear the way it rumbles through their body.

“I guess I just wanted to say thank you, like, properly,” they say. They sound nervous, and it’s a little cute. “If you wanted to like, I dunno, meet or something?”

“Do you even know what I am?”

There’s a beat, and the only reason that I am not nervous is because they’re nervous. Their hesitation shows I hold at least some cards, and if they can fling sudden questions, I can do the same.

“I’ma be real, I have no clue. You could be my next-door neighbor, or a talking rat, or a ghost. I’ve thought about it a ton and I think it started to make me go a little bonkers so I just, haven’t been worrying about it?”

I clasp a hand over my mouth. It barely muffles the sudden laughter I cannot stop. I always knew humans were clueless, but I didn’t expect it to be endearing.

“Go by your toaster,” I say, leaning down to grab my backpack. I head to the exit into the kitchen walls before I can think about this too much. “Give me five minutes.”

“O-okay?”

(They sound cute when they’re confused.)

It doesn’t take me long to get to the small crack in the wall behind the toaster, and I slip out of it into the shade of the appliance easily. It’s gross back here. I sidestep crumbs and dust, and pause at the very edge, placing a hand on the toaster and leaning out to peek at the kitchen.

They’re standing right there. They loom over the counter like a celestial body in the sky, blocking out the humming florescent lights. Sheer confusion coats their features, and it takes a second for their sweeping gaze to land on my face.

Something softens, and I can see the wash of wonders over their features. Their eyes dialate, and they quickly move down to eye level with the counter - all while respecting my personal space. I can see the gears turning in their head as I step out, them trying to fathom me.

(My heart pounds ferociously in my chest.)

I lift a hand, and wave. A small smile finds its way on my lips despite the nervous energy buzzing in every inch of my skin.

“Hi,” I say.

After a second, the largest grin I’ve ever seen crosses their features.

“Hi!”

[meetmymouth]

out in the heartland : harry styles

summary: it’s harry’s birthday and you have a very special gift for him word count: 6k warnings: daddy kink, pegging, anal fingering & rimming

“Love, can you get us more crisps,” Harry calls from where he’s seated on the floor, a Playstation console in hand.

It’s another lockdown Monday where they turn Mitch and Sarah’s spacious living room into a gaming room slash studio– according to Mitch, bowls of crisps, cheese platters, wine glasses and other snacks decorating every surface as they play anything and everything from FIFA to Fortnite until their brains are too foggy and they can’t move their fingers properly due to alcohol in their systems.

Sarah and Mitch were kind enough to let them both quarantine at theirs for a while, and it’d been so much fun, spending time with Mitch and Sarah, cooking together, watching films and going on walks, and overall having a great time with their friends. As much as it was just another Monday in lockdown, it was a special one with today being Harry’s 27th. They’ve already cut his cake, one she’d made herself -and Sarah helping with the piping– decorated with maraschino cherries and sprinkles, and they’ve been spending the night drinking posh wine and screaming at each other while Harry and Mitch played FIFA.

With two bowls filled with more crisps, she makes her way back to the living room with a smile on her face as Mitch and Harry keep going on and on about the game, and Sarah teasing them both, asking whether they’d get a divorce soon since they’ve been arguing back and forth like an old, married couple.

They pause the game as Mitch says her name, “did you see the card Jeff sent Harry for his birthday?” He’s smirking as he takes another sip of his wine, and Harry throws a piece of cheese at him, earning a glare from the long-haired man.

“Not yet, what is it?”

“Jeff being a dickhead as per. He sent me a card, it’s between my book, there,” he gestures at his book on the sofa with his head.

She grabs the thick book, turns the pages until she finds the card with ease, and she feels her heart drop for some reason, eyebrows furrowing and palms starting to sweat as she turns to Harry. He’s watching her with a grin on his face, the others already laughing at what’s in front of the card as she takes it in her hands to inspect the shiny birthday card.

“’Happy pegging birthday’” she reads out loud with a monotonous voice. “Uh… okay. That’s– very funny.”

“He’s just being stupid,” Harry laughs, running a finger thorugh his hair. He sits up, mouth full of crisps, and extends his hand for her to hold. “Come here, let me feed you cheese.”

“Okay… uh, nice card.”

“I mean, I love you, Sarah, but–” Mitch starts, mouth full, and Sarah cuts him off with a glare.

“Do not finish that sentence,” she points the wine glass at him as the sounds of cackling follow behind.

They all laugh… except her.

It’s funny. It is. And she loves them, loves laughing with them. But now, with the card Harry labelled as ‘stupid’ in hand and a fancy, pink box with Harry’s name on it waiting for them, waiting for him upstairs, on the bed they’d been sharing since the beginning of lockdown, she can’t help but feel stupid, too.

Was that a bold move? Was she being too brave, or… stupid? Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but let a pang of shame and sadness engulf her for a moment, before Harry’s silky voice pulls her away from her thoughts. She accepts the hand extended and sits next to him on the floor, card now forgotten on the sofa, and she tries to occupy both her mind and hands with Sarah’s fluffy cat, giving his little head tiny pets as Harry rubs her back as if it would get rid of the tension she was feeling.  

“You okay,” he brings his mouth close to her gear and whispers, then presses the gentlest, softest kiss on her ear. “D’you need anything?”

“I’m fine.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, H.”

It’s not until 2AM that everyone decides to go up to their rooms, not even batting an eye at the mess they made as they make their way upstairs with promises to clean everything in the morning. Now that she knows the box is there, on the bed where Harry can easily detect as soon as they open the door, her stomach begins growling but not because she’s hungry, but because she’s feeling anxious, and ashamed.

She has to do something.

“Hey, um…” she begins, stopping them both in front of the guest room they’d been occupying. “Could you– could you bring me water, I forgot to take my meds today.”

“Baby…” Harry says, hand going up to her cheeks to stroke there for a moment. “I thought you had an alarm… I filled your water bottle this morning and put it on the bedside table, come on.”

“No– Harry…”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I am, I just want fresh water.”

“Are you– are you serious?”

“Yes,” it comes out as a question rather than an answer and she bites her bottom lip, feeling uneasy under Harry’s curious gaze.

“You’re being kinda weird.”

“I’m not being weird!”

“Is there something you’re hiding from me?” He says with eyebrows furrowed and hand on his hip. “In the bedroom, in particular?”

“Don’t be silly.”

And as soon as he turns away, she knows she’s done for. It’s too late. She’s fucked. Everything’s fucked, she thinks, and he will hate her. Will never want to see her face again and probably ask her to leave as soon as possible since he won’t be able to look at her ever again without being reminded of her disgusting “gift”.

He goes in, of course he does, and she can’t help but close her eyes for a few moments before she joins him, hands sweaty and heart beating like there’s no tomorrow. She finds him near the bed, eyes focused on the box sitting in the middle of the bed, and she looks up when he does, finding him giving her a bright, heart-clenching smile as the dimple gets wider.

“Well, what’s this then, bab?”

His socked-feet makes a comforting noise on the carpeted floor, and he stops when he reaches where she’s standing, hands immediately finding her hips to bring them closer.

“Harry, please don’t open it,” it’s pathetic, she thinks, how desperate and anxious she sounds. Though, she can’t help but close her eyes when Harry’s hand finds the back of her neck as he strokes there with his thumb. “Don’t open it. It’s just silly. It’s a joke.”

“Baby, breathe. What are you even talking about, hm? Why are you– oh my god, darling, you look like you’re having a panic attack. You’re sweating, are you…” he squeezes her flesh gently, then guides her to the bed. “Hey, look at me– look. I’m not going to open it unless you want me to. Do you really not know me? I would never do anything you don’t want me to. Who do you take me for, hm?” It’s so gentle, his voice, it’s like honey is dripping down his mouth and she can’t help but watch the way his pink lips move. “Baby. Look at me. I love you. You’re so special to me, you’re my whole world. I won’t open it– I won’t, I promise. C’mere, babs.”

“I love you too,” she sniffs once, twice, then rubs her eyes.

“Wanna go to sleep... hm? Come on, bab, let’s go to sleep.”

Nights chase each other away, Tuesday kisses Wednesday and Thursday is spent with laughter and too much smoke and Friday finally arrives and it’s like a breath of fresh air, but she also thinks it’s due to the open windows and fresh flowers in the spacious kitchen. The box, containing the cursed gift of hers is forgotten, placed under their bed besides their suitcases, and everything feels normal. Almost too normal. So, she does what most people would do: look for ‘trouble’.

When Harry’s in the shower, she gets the box out and sits on the bed as she thinks about what to do with it. But, apparently, the stillness of the room was too good to be true as Harry emerges from the ensuite, hair still dripping-wet as he adjusts the robe, eyes immediately finding what she’s got in front of her, and the box that is now open, and a black leather piece hanging from the not-so-tall box.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he’s testing the waters, she knows. His eyebrows are furrowed, only slightly, and mouth slightly parted. “What are you doing, darling?”

It’s not a threat, nor asked with the intention of intimidating her. Alas, she feels threatened.

“I…”

“What is it?”

She sighs, feeling the cold sweat dripping down her back, and finally gives up. “See for yourself,” the box is thrust into his hands, and she leaves the room, leaving behind a confused, semi-naked man and a very expensive looking strap-on.

It’s not another fifteen minutes until Harry comes downstairs dressed in only a pair of joggers, and finds her on the sofa as she chews on her thumb –a bad habit really– while reading one of Harry’s books. He walks up to her with a tiny smile on his face, and curls into her side, resting his head in the crook of her neck as he breathes in the sweet smell and the now all too familiar fabric softener.

He waits for her to speak first, not wanting to upset her further, but all she does is sit there, and pretend to read until Harry lets out a sigh, and presses a brief, gentle kiss to her jaw.

“Can we talk?” He says, hands now resting on her thigh as his thumb strokes the skin there.

She sighs too, and fidgets under his gaze. “Not really.”

“Why not, though? We’ve been together for years. Why are you so scared of me, hm? Have I ever done something to make you feel like you can’t be honest with me?”

“No, it’s just embarrassing to me, Harry. And… seeing that card. And you calling it… stupid. I just feel like an idiot, please stop.”

Harry sighs, his breath hitting the side of her face. “Look at me. Look–” he reaches and touches her jaw. “I love you. I’m madly in love with you. The kind that keeps me up at night. The kind that makes my heart hurt in the best possible way. I’m so gone, baby, so fucking gone for you. You got me. I can’t leave, now, I’d never want to,” he presses his forehead to the side of her jaw, the damp skin feeling cold against her flesh. “Jeff on the other hand… can we not talk about him when I have these– these images in my head. Of you. Wearing that.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to feel bad but too bad, I feel like shite and am so fucking embarassed, you don’t get it.”

“I do, I fucking do and I’m trying to tell you how much I’d love it if you fucked me in the ass. Now, you either come upstairs and finish what you started, or–”

They’re both startled when Mitch enters the living room and drops the book in his hand.

He looks up at them, clearly not phased, and they both notice the AirPods in his ears as he kneels down and grabs his book, giving them one last look before disappearing outside to join Sarah in the garden. Harry though, he lets out a chuckle and turns to her, dimple tugging at his cheek, and extends his arm to caress her cheek.

“Come upstairs, baby.”

He says it easily, words rolling off his tongue, just like that, and she does. Of course she does because what else was she to do? She lets him take her hand in his, interlocking their fingers as he guides them up the stairs. Once inside the room, the door is closed, locked, and Harry takes the time to walk towards the window to close the curtain, and she can’t help but stare at his long, beautiful fingers over the soft cotton. Other than the thick, silver band on his middle finger, his fingers are ring-free, and despite adoring his soft, pretty fingers with his equally pretty rings, there’s just something so soft, cosy and familiar about Harry without rings.

He catches her staring because, of course he does. He sees her. Every movement of her eyes, trembling lips, shaky fingers, scrunch of her nose; he sees it all. And now, he walks towards her, a big grin tugging at his lips as he stops right in front of her, both of them aware of the box sitting on the bed but neither of them say anything as they hold each other’s gaze.

And just like that, she feels like she can finally breathe properly when she’s being pulled into his chest, hands finding their place on each side of her head as he starts peppering kisses to her face, first her forehead, then nose, and at last, his plump lips find their way to the place they know by heart, her lips.

It’s not rushed, not at all, Harry thinks they have all the time in the world so he takes his time with her. He knows it’s impossible, foolish even, but he swears he can see the marks his tiny but lustful kisses are leaving behind when he briefly opens his eyes. They’re everywhere on her beautiful face, from her lips to the corner of her mouth, chin, the side of her jaw.

“How do you want me,” he mumbles and it’s an uttered promise, somehow submissive though not completely, but also one that is full of love, trust.

She freezes for a moment, hands still on his neck, holding each other’s gaze and she watches as Harry walks to the bed, and he grabs the box. The shape of the object in his hands feels unfamiliar to the eye, the dazzling, hot pink dildo at the front makes them both swallow in anticipation and she knows Harry is clueless about what his next move should be.

It certainly wasn’t their first time trying out things in the bedroom. They were both ‘kinky’, as some would call it, they liked rough sex, the kind that left bruises and marks behind, but never anything like this. Sure, she did give him a rim job a few times, his darker, puckered hole made her mouth water and she wanted nothing more than to get on her knees and kiss and lick the flesh until Harry was a mess, coming in long spurts. He loved having his ass licked, he loved sitting on her face, with his big cock stuffing her warm, tiny mouth as he forced her to take everything in, moving his ass back and forth across her mouth as she tried to lick every inch of the bitter flesh, wanting to please him, make him fall apart above her.

But, despite Harry letting her lick his ass could be considered as a vulnerability or submission to some, she was always his submissive. She loved it; they both loved it. She also knew today wasn’t the day she would give up on that submission. No, today was all about Harry, and what he wanted, how he wanted it, and it was about her giving it to him. So she gives him a tiny smile, hands reaching to grab the strap-on from his hands, and he watches with great intent, pupils dilated and mouth parted.

She swallows, and looks up at him with apprehension. “I want you to use me,” she lets out, a shaky breath following behind. “I want you to… I want you to do whatever you want with me. I know this,” her gaze falls to the pink dildo surrounded by black leather of the harness. “It’s something we haven’t done before, at least… fully–”

Harry giggles, leaning forward to press his forehead against hers. “Fully.”

“Shh. I’m just saying that… we haven’t done this before but I still want you to be in charge, at least… at least–”

“You want me to be the Daddy, hm? You still want Daddy to tell you what to do, how to fuck him? Y’gonna be my little fuck toy? Is that what you want, darling?”

“Yes,” her breath hitches at her throat. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. You’re so good to Daddy, darling. Always spoiling me, always looking after me, taking care of Daddy… how’d I get so lucky?”

“Daddy deserves it,” she looks up, waiting for his command to get naked and she can see it in his eyes, the hesitant gaze as if he wants to make sure she’s okay still even though he’s the one who’s about to get fucked.

“Go on then,” he mutters, hands going to his own joggers as he lets them pool around his ankles. He reaches up, brushing the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “Get naked for Daddy and put it on.”

And she does, oh, she does.

It doesn’t take long, considering she only has a ratty t-shirt on and a pair of joggers, and nothing underneath. It doesn’t come as a surprise to him, her forgoing underwear, but they both can’t help but hold each other’s gaze a minute longer. She notices the fiery look in his eyes, pupils now looking like a pair of black buttons as his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth.

She lets her eyes wander, gaze travelling from each puffy nipple that are now beginning to harden, to the hair on his chest, then the hair that’s following his happy trail, all the way down to his cock. She feels her heart clench in lust at the sight of his hard cock, slightly curved with a vein following underneath, and she just wants to get down on her knees and put it in her mouth. She remembers him asking her whether to shave or not a couple of weeks ago, and the thick pubic hair surrounding his perfect cock makes her mouth water, feeling content that she’d told him not to touch any razors.

She looks up at him again, to see the expression on his face and he smiles, hand reaching for her.

“Come.”

She walks towards him, the strap-on in hand, and a tiny whimper leaves her mouth when her hand finds her boob, long fingers trapping her pebbled nipple between them as he twists the darker nub, once, twice, and he lets it go only to slap it, causing her to gasp as she quickly tries to suppress the noise with her palm pressing against her mouth. It stings, but doesn’t hurt. Not at all. In fact, it frustrates her despite the tingling, stinging feeling between her legs. She needs more. She wants more.

“Get this on and get on your knees,” he mutters, hand now on her neck as he squeezes briefly, watching as she gets the strap-on on and tightens the straps. “You’re gonna get Daddy’s cock nice and wet before you can fuck his ass. Understand?”

She pairs her quiet ‘yes’ with a nod, mind too hazy to actually look into Harry’s eyes as her shaky fingers fiddle with the harness. The clasps make a clicking sound, very satisfying to their ears, and she swallows, getting on her knees in front of him. Clean, soapy smell of his skin chafes the tip of her nose very gently and Harry begins playing with her hair, hands stroking the side of her face before one finds the back of her neck, bringing her towards his hard cock.

“Take it in your mouth,” his thumb presses hard on her bottom lip, as if to remind her who’s in control despite the foreign object she’s been supporting.

Her gaze wanders, taking in his thick, leaking cock, and with one hand steady on his meaty thigh, she brings the other to his balls, humming when she feels them tight already. The wrinkly skin of it is soft and not at all unfamiliar to her. So, she leans in to press a flat tongue against his balls, not missing the way Harry’s thighs jerk in response, and she then takes them into her mouth. She hums at the feeling in her mouth as she alternates between sucking and licking them and Harry lets out a quivering sigh above her, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of her mouth around him.

He lets out a his when her teeth grazes over the area lightly. “Fuck, babe. You like my balls?”

Of course, there’s no time to respond, nor the possibility of her forming coherent words since he’s literally balls deep in her mouth, so she proceeds to hum around him, a few hairs there tickling her nose and lips as she sucks. With a pop, she lets them go and darts out her tongue again, travelling the warm, wet muscle from underneath his cock, to the tip. It’s a deep, pink colour, shiny and smooth, so she can’t help but wrap her mouth around the tip, earning a quick jolt of his hips from Harry as the action takes him by surprise.

She looks up, and sucks the tip as if it’s an ice lolly, and the salty taste of his pre-cum fills the insides of her mouth, fingernails pressing harder into his meaty thighs, and she wishes she could see the mark her nails left behind on his tiger tattoo.

Series of ‘fuck’s and ‘shit’s leave his mouth as he guides her head down his cock, and as always, she obeys while taking him deeper and deeper, her warm saliva coating his thickness and she moans around his warm cock as she brings her hands to his ass. While still sucking, she squeezes there, fingernails digging into the perfect skin of his ass and he lets out a hiss first, then pulls her hair harshly before pressing her face down his cock, a shaky moan following as she takes him deeper, her throat welcoming the warmth and thickness of his cock like it always does.

“You’re such a cock slut for me, aren’t you? Can’t keep that mouth away from Daddy,” he pulls her away from his cock, hands immediately going to her mouth to smear the pre-cum and spit all over her mouth and chin. "You wanted to treat Daddy for his birthday, hm?”

“Yes.”

“You’re such a good girl, darling. Always spoiling me, making me feel so, so fucking good,” he squeezes one of her boobs, twisting the nipple between his fingers before his gaze falls to the strap-on and the dildo secured tightly to the harness. He gets on his knees. “Make me suck that cock.”

The words, they just sound so hot, so filthy coming out of his mouth, making her weak in the knees as she swallows, and she places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing there once before it travels to the back of his head. She feels in control, having him on his knees, at her command even though he’s still somehow in charge, and it drives her crazy, having this gorgeous man all to herself. 

She watches him as Harry’s curious gaze takes the pink dildo in. She knew it wasn’t his first time sucking a cock, despite the one now in his face being silicone. So when he goes in easily with her hands pulling him closer, she can’t help but whine at the expression on his face, eyes glittering and plump lips parted as he takes the cock into his mouth.

He coats the pink silicone with his saliva, eyes shut as if he’s trying to concentrate on an important task, pink lips looking like they belong there, around a cock. They look so sinful, yet so perfect as he bobs his head up and down, talking the cock further into his mouth and she tries to guide him but she knows he doesn’t need it. He knows what he’s doing.

“You look so hot,” she manages to let out, words coming out as a hum, low and quiet, and he opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering at the whispered compliment. “You look so good, Harry.”

He takes it out of his mouth briefly, a string of saliva making a bridge between his bottom lip and the dildo, and she reaches there, smearing it all over his bottom lip just like he did to her earlier as she loved seeing him dirty.

His pink tongue darts out and he wraps his lips around the finger on his bottom lip. “Gonna get me wet now?” He hums around her finger and she feels her pussy clench around nothing.

“Get on the bed.”

As Harry gets on all fours, ass in the air, her eyes wander to their lube on the nightstand. Ignoring the heat in her stomach, she sits on her knees behind Harry and touches his ass, fingers caressing the soft skin, touching the tiny mole there before she leans forward and presses a kiss there. It’s a peck, a sweet kiss that turns into more as her mouth opens, tongue flat against the warm skin as she sucks the flesh, causing him to let out a happy grunt.

He whispers her name, the excitement making her nipples tighten once again, but she moves her lips towards the crack, not wanting to stop.

“That’s it,” Harry groans, “Get Daddy wet before you put that cock in him.”

It’s a godly sight. Him on all fours, at her mercy, it was exquisite, intense, dirty. But she wanted to get him dirtier. With her hand parting one cheek, she bites her lip, noticing his rim, puckered and surrounded by little hairs, and all of a sudden, she can’t wait to get her mouth on him, to see the hairs get darker with her spit as he squirms under her touch.

She gets closer, a grin appearing on her face when he lets out quiet whines and whimpers, and she exhales a sigh into Harry’s milky flesh. Her tongue, hungry and hot, darts out to lick his rim briefly, just to get him wet before she uses her fingers. His cock, now a deeper shade of pink, hard and thick, is peeking between his legs, moving left and right from time to time whenever Harry or she moves, and she can’t help but reach there.

Harry sucks in a breath as her warm hand meets his hard cock, and she lets out a moan when she feels the thickness of it in her palm. It’s hot, so fucking hot, and the smooth skin of his cock is still damp, so she brings her thumb to his tip and smears the leaking pre-cum all over it, then drags her finger down to his balls and squeezes once.

His perfect mouth lets out a pained whimper when she lets go and focuses on the beautiful rim in front of her. She leans forward, both hands now parting his cheeks, and spits on his rim before flattening her tongue and lapping across Harry’s puckered hole. It’s not sweet, far from it actually, but the salty, bitter taste makes her even wetter as she keeps licking and sucking around his hole, satisfied when she hears him whimper and moan. Once it’s wet and the hairs around his rim get darker, she pulls away and licks a finger into her mouth, then grabs the lube from the bedside table and places it somewhere by Harry’s feet.

It’s fire, when she presses her middle finger into his hole, and Harry lets out a groan, her finger sliding in with ease with the help of her spit. “So tight,” she mumbles when Harry pushes his ass backwards only a little bit to match the tiny movements of her finger.

“Move faster,” Harry says, voice low. “Add another one.”

The lube is now in her hand as she brings it to where her finger is, takes it out, and allows a generous amount to coat the puckered area where her finger has been. Harry groans at the feeling, hole clenching around nothing, and she rubs the area with the same finger she’s been using, and presses it in before taking it out. This time, her middle finger is joined by her index as she fucks into his ass slowly, taking her sweet time while admiring the way he’s been taking her fingers. The skin makes wet noises, and she knows if they weren’t so worked up, they would have a giggle about it, just like they often do whenever one of them makes a questionable noise while having sex.

This time, though, the sounds of her fingers pumping in and out of his ass makes her go crazy, and she knows Harry feels the same when he lets out a loud grunt, pushing his ass back in sharp movements, in hopes of getting her to fuck him harder and deeper.

It goes on like that for a while, and they stop when he’s opened up enough, Harry’s rim now looking sore and pink. Once the dildo at her front is lubed up generously, she taps his ass once, making him turn his head back to look at her, eyebrows furrowed in question and mouth still parted due to the tingling feeling at the tip of his cock.

“Go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, gaze lowering. “Fuck Daddy’s ass. I’m ready,” his voice, hoarse and low, rings in her ears as she lifts the dildo up to his ass, his now-pink hole.

One hand holding the pink dildo from the base and the other resting on Harry’s back, she starts pushing it in, whines and hisses leaving his throat as soon as he feels the silicone tip. She watches as the tip digs into his ass, slowly and with effort despite all the lube, and she can’t help but bring her other hand to her boobs, squeezing once before she places it back on Harry’s ass. He’s a mess, sweat dripping down his back, and she knows he’s trying to keep quiet as neither of them would want to get caught by the other couple despite having the door locked.

“Fuck,” he grunts, head lowering.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” he whimpers, ass trying to clench around the dildo but it fails due to how big it is. “Keep going, I want you to fuck me. Hard.”

She holds him by his love handles, fingernails digging into his milky, smooth skin as she moves her hips, the dildo now halfway in. With Harry moaning, she takes her time to admire how fucking hot he looks underneath her, with his ass filled with the pink dildo, and she sighs, continuing to fuck into his ass with the shiny dildo. It’s incredible how well he’s taking it, taking her, his puckered hole now a sore-pink, wet, and she feels like crying, not knowing how to handle what’s going on. She loves him. She loves him so fucking much, and she knows he does, too. She feels overwhelmed with love and hunger as she speeds up her hips, the dildo now fully inside him as she fucks his ass.

He gasps and jolts when the dildo presses right up to his prostate. “Fuckin’ hell. Please keep going, fuck Daddy hard. Fuck me, baby– god, I’m gonna cum soon. Keep going, keep fucking me,” he rasps.

“You’re taking it so well. You look so fucking good.”

“Oh fuck– it feels so good. Fuck me harder, come on, fuck me.”

Feeling brave, she presses her fingernails into his ass cheek, then lifts her hand, a loud smack landing on his left cheek and Harry hisses, fingers curling into the sheets as he lets out whimper after whimper. She watches as the dildo disappears into Harry’s ass, the pink mark on his ass becoming redder and angrier by the second and she decides to press her front against his back, laying down on him as she fucks into him deeper, nipples getting ridiculously hard as soon as they make contact with Harry’s sweaty back.

She finds it easier to fuck him in this position, and she likes that they’re much closer now, mouths searching for each other as he reaches behind and grabs her ass, squeezing hard as she keeps thrusting hard and deep. With kisses placed against his sweaty neck, Harry tries to turn his head to where hers is, and they meet in a rushed, teeth-clashing kiss, Harry’s tongue darting out to lick into her mouth, but missing in the end, and licking the corner of her mouth instead as she lets out a whine, hand searching for his cock that’s now trapped between his body and the sheets.

He helps her, lifts up his lower body and she starts moving her hand up and down on his hard cock, head resting on the crook of his neck as her hips move lazily. He’s so hard, and she knows he’s close by the sounds he’s making, his hips jerking forward from time to time as little ‘uh’s leave his mouth, and she wants to help him. She wants him to cum so bad. She wants to be the one making him cum so fucking hard.

“Are you gonna cum,” she whispers into his neck. “Please, baby. Cum for me. Show me how much you liked getting fucked.”

“God,” with cock still in her palm, he tries thrusting his hips forward to meet the strokes of her hand. “Please– I’m g’na cum so fuckin’ hard. You’re so fucking hot, so fucking good to me. Oh my god, baby, it hurts.”

“Yeah? It hurts?” She squeezes the base of his cock, then touches his balls briefly before continuing her strokes. “You’re taking it so well. Come on, Daddy. I need you to cum.”

“God, I’m– oh fuck. I’m gonna… Make me cum. Come on, make Daddy cum.” 

She squeezes his cock once again, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to his cock. When he lets out a choked breath, she knows he’s coming. It’s hot, sticky, and so fucking dirty, the cum coating her palm, creating more lubrication as she keeps stroking him lazily, dildo still filling up his ass, and with a groan, Harry reaches behind to smack her ass.

They stay like that for a while, with her still inside him as he tries to catch his breath, and she proceeds to match their breaths to the clock on the wall, feeling completely spent but still frustrated since the pool of wetness between her folds seems to be intensifying every passing moment.

After a while, Harry clears his throat. “Are you a dream?” It’s soft, only a whisper, and sickeningly sweet.

“Hm?”

“You’re a dream. You’re unbelievable– I love love love you,” he sighs, voice breaking. It takes him a few seconds to complete his sentence.

“No, thank you. I hope… I hope you liked it?”

“Fucking loved it. What about you?”

“I did. You did so good,” she touches his sweaty hair. “But,” she starts, legs starting to feel sore. “I’m still so fucking wet.”

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry, sweet girl–” Harry reaches behind and strokes her hip. “Can I fuck you now?”

“Yes, please.”

The strap-on now on the floor, Harry takes his time to admire her soft features, the sweat on her forehead and messy strands of hair sticking to her face. She rubs her eyes, and lets out a yawn, but her other hand reaches blindly for Harry, and he smiles, the gesture leaving his chest, his heart heavy and hot and full of love. He lets her hold on to him as she keeps rubbing her eyes, then he links their fingers as she opens her eyes to find him staring.

She gives him a lazy smile. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“All right, Shakespeare… mhm, come here,” she pulls him closer by his love handles. “I love you. Happy birthday. Again.”

“I love you so much. How is it possible to want you this much, hm?” He mumbles against her sweaty neck, not caring about the bitter taste of her skin. He watches as her smile widens, eyes tired and sleepy. “There’s a halo in your mouth.”

pls reblog if you enjoyed it! it only takes a second but it helps me tons <3 inbox is always open for your feedback!!!!! <3 lu

[sentimental-apathy]

Hey guys. I’m sorry to ask but long story short, I need help financially for the next 6 months at least. I’m in the process of applying for disability and even have a legal aide attorney this time around but she says it can take a lot of time to get it. Meanwhile I have no income. I still haven’t gotten my stimulus check yet and I’m hanging on by a thread. Donate options are under my description. If you want to know more, you can read on about my situation:

So basically I have been diagnosed officially with PTSD, Bipolar 1, and Schizoaffective disorder and depression. I’m on 4 different medications (all of which cause drowsiness and other symptoms) and I’m unable to work at all due to my mental illnesses alone. Even while under management with heavy medications, I still have panic attacks or rapid mood swings which are really stressful. Now I’m not going to get into the causes of my PTSD because they’re extremely personal and my trauma is MINE to carry and I already hate myself enough for talking about it with too many people. The point is, I’m faighting my brain on a daily basis and every time I try to work a 40 hour work week (which is also difficult for physical illness I will go on to explain), I just end up calling in sick too many times and I cannot tell you how many jobs I’ve lost due to these menatl health issues. I do hope that over time, while on disability, I can work toward beating my Bipolar mood swings and PTSD and one day even get myself a career. I also plan on doing disability works programs where you can still work part time and receive benefits. Now. On to my physical problems.

I was infected with Lyme disease by a tick sometime in my late teens. Unfortunately I never caught it so I went untreated for years. Now as a result, I’ve developed an unknown autoimmune disease, fibromyalgia/CFS, nerve pain and neuropathy, and arthritis. It sucks. I deal with a lot of pain and the worst of it is my right knee which aches and pops something fierce. I struggle to bend to put my socks and shoes on, I struggle to shave my legs, cut my toenails, even putting on clothes is somewhat difficult especially in the morning. Working out or exercising is PAINFUL. My body doesn’t get stronger with more exercise, I just get more nerve pain, stinging sensations, swollen joints, and the creme de la creme, Charlie horses. I wake up some mornings to charlie horses out of nowhere. It sucks lol. But I deal. Some days are better than others. Some days are worse than others. Sometimes I think the weather makes a big difference, and then sometimes my hormones and my period make a difference. Point is I cannot work a full time job on my feet.

So now that I’ve explained my illnesses a bit I hope that lends you more understanding to the difficulties I’m facing economically. My end goal is to eventually come to terms with my anxiety and be balanced out enough that I can return to a part time job anywhere from 28-35 hours per week. If I’m really doing well for a year or longer than I’d even go back to working 40 hours per week as long as it’s not a physical job. Honestly my goal is to go to school for something while I’m on disability and that way I can fully reach my potential and hopefully one day I won’t even need disability because I’ll have a better paying job, I don’t know. Something I could work from home. For now I’m just focusing on taking care of myself, my mind, and my body cuz I just want to reach a balance in myself. I want to not having emotional meltdowns, not have anxiety attacks for seemingly no reason, and I want to find a therapist that can help me overcome my trauma and let it go. I need to apply for public housing or a voucher too so that I can get out of the environment that is also bringing me down.

So anyway, thank you for reading. Whoever you are, I hope you are well and healthy and I wish you a joyful future! Please reblog!

[keanureevesisbae]

I was thinking abt sy with a lil idol gf and omg🥺🥺Bye he’d be so supportive🥰he would go to his gf’s shows and maybe even surprise his idol gf at a fansign and bring 20 albums for her to sign😭😭 the big bear definitely owns a bunch of merch and has a “secret” fan acc, He is overall just mushy for his girlie😩🤚(I’m so soft rn pls😭)

YOU JUST MADE ME THE SOFTEST HUMAN BEING ALIVE. OH MY GOSH, THIS IS ADORABLE, I LOVE THIS AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR PUTTING THIS IDEA IN MY MIND!! (side note: i used Jennie's Solo cover for the art and i also went out of my way to make insta edits - yes, i'm that type of person) also, thank you sweet anon for sending me this 💗hope you like it

Captain Syverson x petite!cutesy!fem!reader

Summary: Sy has a reputation: a strong and powerful captain, who is never afraid and will never turn into a pile of mush. However, there is only one woman who is able to turn him into the ultimate fanboy.

Wordcount: 1k

Warnings: none

Sy is more of a country music kinda man. Growing up in Texas, near a bar with a mechanic bull, he was obsessed as a young teen with the idea of just touring through the state with a cowboy hat on his head and a guitar.

It’s just the fact that he can’t sing what stood in the way of a very promising country career.

He joined the military and forgot about the idea all together, but when he came back from his final tour to Iraq, his friends took him on a little welcome home drive through the country. They visited all sorts of bars, listened to all sorts of music there. Sure, all sorts of music had its appeal, but it would never be like country.

The final destination of the little road trip was LA and they went to a bar for new sing and songwriters to perform.

And that’s where he first laid his eyes on you. He remembers you sitting on a bar stool, back straight as a ruler. You were adorable, he thought to himself. Wide eyes as you were watching the stage, clapping your hands along with the beat and squealing when someone sang something particularly well.

And then it was your turn to get on stage. A sweet pink dress, matched with white sneakers and socks with a lace border. Nothing about the song you wrote and sang was something he usually liked. Very happy, up beat and your high voice sang every note perfectly.

Despite not his taste, he adored every second of it.

You seemed shy off stage, with the way you sat by yourself, but on stage that demeanor completely changed.

You were born to be a singer.

When you sat down at your own barstool again, he grabbed his beer and decided to sit next to you, get to know you. Everything about you was different. Petite, long hair and your feet didn’t even touch the floor.

He was supposed to stay in LA for two weeks, but that changed into a month and then two months, because he couldn’t get enough of you. He left Texas (something he never thought he would do) and moved to LA, where he got a job as a constructor. You quit your own job, one you only took to be able to pay for the bills and musical equipments. He loved helping you out, driving you from bar to bar, hoping your dream of becoming an idol would come true.

And one day, it happened.

You got an offer of one of the biggest agencies in the US and after the two of you read the contract multiple times, you signed and were an official idol.

Life changed a lot after that. You were either in the studio, dance practice and back at the studio again, however Sy made sure that you were well hydrated and fed, just like your back up dancers.

The people at the agency loved Sy and they often joked that he was part of the family that was created at the agency.

It all happened fast. Your first single, music video, first appearance at multiple late night shows and finally you reached one million followers on Instagram.

And he was right by your side.

His friends knew about his love for country, but they also knew about his much bigger love for you. They often would catch the big captain sing to the cute, almost bubblegum pop music you produced.

He didn’t care.

Sy had all your merchandise, whether it would fit him or not. He had your albums (all signed of course) and listened to them when you weren’t around. Sometimes he’d travel with you as you were touring, sometimes he stayed behind, especially after the two of you adopted a two year old American Akita.

The world knew you weren’t single, but you always kept Sy out of the spotlight, something he’d greatly appreciated. While you were born to be famous, he was born to live a more anonymous.

But that didn’t stop you from boasting about him on Instagram.

It had been at least three months since you saw him in real life. Your manager and all your back up dancers knew about his plan. Heck, they even helped Sy with planning it. He watches from the back, the line at your meet and greet stand growing smaller and smaller, until everyone has left. You let out a content sigh and want to get up, but your manager says there is a special fan still waiting in the back.

‘Really?’ you ask him. ‘Who is it?’

‘Very special. Super fan.’

That gains your attention, as your eyebrows are raised. ‘Do I know them?’

‘You’ve met them before,’ your manager says.

‘Oh, I do hope I recognize them,’ you say. ‘I don’t want to come across as such a bitch, you know.’

Your manager starts to laugh. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ he says. ‘Close your eyes.’

You place your hands over your eyes and smile in anticipation. Sy quietly walks over to your table and places his newly bought album in front of you. ‘I’d like this signed, please,’ he says.

Within lightening speed you pull your hands from your eyes. ‘Oh my,’ you say, ‘Sy?’ You jump up, your chair falling behind you. You run around the table and wrap your arms around his neck. He lifts you up in his arms and gives you a kiss on your cheek. ‘I missed you! What are you doing here? How is Kal?’

‘Kal is good. He is with your parents.’

‘But what are you doing here?’ you ask.

‘I want my autograph,’ he says with a chuckle.

You press a kiss on his lips. ‘How long are you gonna stay here with me?’

He shrugs. ‘I brought enough clothing for let’s say… a month?’

Your eyes enlarge. ‘That’s the end of my tour! Oh, Sy, you’re staying with me?’ You have tears in your eyes and whisper: ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, little lady.’

[angryinternetduck]

oh to stay

About 4,900 words on cold beds, waltzing butterflies, and stupid rules. Harry doesn’t do relationships, neither do you; he’s a coward (but not really), and you are too. Lots of crumby bread puns. Alcohol consumption and mentions of cheating. Friends with benefits to lovers. Enjoy!

The bed’s cold.

You shouldn’t be surprised, not really.

But part of you was hoping.

You started hoping a lot recently, you notice, and it’s kind of becoming a problem. You and Harry are friends. With benefits, of course, but friends don’t cuddle. Friends don’t wake each other up with kisses and giggles, and friends don’t spend sleepy mornings in bed with each other.

You’re comfortable under the duvet, if you’re honest, if not a little lonely. You curl into yourself, wishing despite everything you had a warm body to lay with, and close your eyes. Harry’s behind your eyelids, of course, all dimples and green eyes and soft kisses, and you open your eyes again.

Mornings are interesting. They come with a bit of regret, a touch of satisfaction, and a shitload of loneliness. And the bed’s cold. It’s always cold. He’s never there. He wakes up early and runs, or works, or does yoga.

He’s so good at leaving, at being gone before you open your eyes, that you sometimes wonder if he even sleeps with you at all. Sometimes, you think he waits until you’re dead asleep and then runs to his own room.

Then you wake up in the middle of the night with his arms around you and realize he’s just an early riser. Despite yourself, those are the moments you love best. There’s something calming about being in his arms, about feeling his chest rise and fall behind you, about feeling his hand under yours.

It’s a shame neither of you do relationships.

It takes a while, but you get out of bed eventually. You eye one of his discarded shirts on the floor, tempted to break one of the rules, and then decide against it and pull on your clothes from the night before.

The floor’s cold beneath your feet. It’s hardwood, freezing, and you regret not wearing socks before remembering you wore heels last night, without socks. You scowl. They were uncomfortable. You’d only worn them because you’d gone out, hoping to get laid, hoping to get your mind off of him.

Him, who’d called you, whose bed you ended up waking up in.

Did a great job getting your mind off of him, huh.

He’s standing at the stove, flipping an egg. An image flashes through your head of creeping up behind him, hugging him from behind, feeling his warmth, kissing his cheek, his neck, him spinning around and kissing you back and dancing with you and -

He turns around. Smiles. “Morning,” he says.

You swallow thickly and smile back. “Morning.”

“Sleep well?” His smile tugs into a smirk, and you sigh. He asks that every morning. You were so flustered that first time, stumbling over your words, completely at a loss, and he’d asked that. You’d frozen, stared at him, eyes wide…

Then you’d fainted.

He was so nice about it, too, which almost makes it worse. If he’d been a prick, if he’d just dropped you and never spoke to you again, it would’ve been easier. But no, he just acted like the perfect gentleman he was.

He just gently woke you up, made sure you were okay, gave you water. Laughed when you apologized. Said it wasn’t your fault he was such a damn charmer, said he’d love to make you faint again, as long as you did it closer so he could catch you in his arms.

Now, you sigh and sit at the island and answer, “Never better,” like every morning.

He slides an egg on your plate without you asking. It’s just how you like it, and a flash of irrational anger surges through you. “Look nice,” he says quietly, and you look up. His back is towards you. Coward.

“Thanks,” you say.

“Out last night?”

You bite your lip, sliding your egg around your plate. “Yeah,” you say.

He turns back around and comes around the island. Sits down. “Anything interesting?”

You look up at him, send him a smirk of your own. “I’d call last night interesting,” you purr, and he laughs. “Fuckin’ hell. I meant before that, genius.” You put your elbow on the island, prop your head in your hand. “Hm. No.”

“Not a thing?”

“What, jealous?” you ask, wiggling your brows.

He scoffs. “Of what?”

You shrug, looking down at your plate. “You know. All the beautiful boys I’m picking up.”

“You mean… me?”

“Oh, please,” you say, laughing despite yourself.

There’s a beat of silence, and you feel his gaze on you. It takes more self-control than you’d like to admit to keep your gaze on your plate for only a few seconds, and then you look up. He’s looking at you, all right, green eyes intense, bottom lip between his teeth.

And he’s totally unabashed when you catch him. He just smiles.

“You’re staring, Styles,” you sigh.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighs back. He stands up, pushing his chair back with a squeak. His plate’s barely touched. He puts it to the side and hops up onto the counter. “Going home?” he asks, legs swinging, even though he knows the answer.

“Yeah.” You stand up, come around the counter. “Looks nice,” you go on, thumbing the top of your outfit, “but uncomfortable as fuck.” His eyes follow your fingers, drift over you, come back up to your eyes, a shade darker than his usual green.

You can see him struggle, see the offer on the tip of his tongue.

Wanna stay? Borrow something of mine?

The unasked questions hang in the air for a second.

He’s sitting right next to the sink. Slowly, you step closer to him. Closer, closer, even closer. Soon you’re close enough to kiss. Close enough for his hands, folded between his legs, to graze your dress, your stomach. His finger twitches, but he doesn’t move. “Kiss me, Styles,” you whisper.

He holds your gaze, the challenge dying in his eyes as he loses composure.

He’s not breathing.

Neither are you.

He closes his eyes.

You inhale shallowly, let your plate slide into the sink next to him. “I’ll call an Uber,” you tell him quietly, and you see his jaw clench. A bit of satisfaction races through you because you want him to be annoyed. Want him to feel the frustration you feel every time you look at him.

Because he could offer. He could give you a t-shirt. He could let you stay, could kiss you, could kiss you all morning and all afternoon and break all the rules. Every single one of them, with just a few words.

One word, actually.

Stay, he could say, softly, breathlessly, and you would.

But he doesn’t.

So you don’t.

***

You’re not supposed to wear his clothes.

He’s not supposed to kiss you in the morning. Or ever, really, except at night.

No two consecutive nights of sleeping together.

No staying.

It’s surprising, really, how long you’ve lasted. It’s been a few weeks, and not a single rule’s been broken. A few loopholes here and there - leaving then coming back rather than staying, for example…

But it’s worked. It’s worked. Despite what your friends have said, you’re not dependent on each other. You can go more than a day without seeing each other, can kiss other people. It’s not a relationship.

You leave his house crying sometimes, sure, but you’re not in a relationship.

And that’s really all that matters.

***

You use a loophole and go back to Harry’s place after a few hours. More than a few. You’re productive. Kind of. You get a few things done, stare at the ceiling, scroll through social media. It’s pretty late when you go back.

By the time the two of you become bored of the TV, the sun’s set. It’s dark outside, and cold, but you follow Harry into the hallway without a sweatshirt. “Think we should move to Alaska or summat so we can see the stars better,” Harry murmurs as he pushes open the big door out onto the roof.

“I’ll get you a telescope for your birthday,” you reply.

“And tickets for an Alaskan cruise.”

You look up towards the sky, craning your neck. “Yeah,” you agree, smiling. “And tickets for an Alaskan cruise.” Harry sits down, stretching to reach for a ratty tennis ball. It’s against the wall, right where you left it a few days ago. Gently, he rolls it forward, and it hits your foot and rolls back to him.

A while ago, probably a few years back, somebody left a tennis ball on the roof of Harry’s apartment complex. It’s old and fraying and more brownish than green. A few weeks ago, Harry brought you up to the roof, and a few days ago, you found the old tennis ball.

“Would you?” you ask, sitting down.

He bounces the ball towards you. “Would I what?”

You smile, wiggle your ring finger. “Marry me.”

He grins. “Buy me a ring and I’ll say ‘I do.’”

“No,” you say, bouncing the ball back. “Move to Alaska.”

Bounce. “Of course.”

Bounce. “That fast?”

“Yeah.”

You bite your lip. It’s quiet for a minute, both of you concentrating on the ball.

“Italy,” Harry says.

“Spaghetti,” you say back.

Harry shrugs. “I’d move there.”

“For the spaghetti.”

“And the stars.”

“And the romance.”

Harry doesn’t throw the ball hard enough, and it bounces twice. “I’d move to Paris, too.”

“For the baguettes.” You copy his throw. Bounce, bounce, catch.

“But not the romance.”

“Just the baguettes.”

“Bread above all else.”

“Did you love her?”

Harry looks away from the ball, his green eyes flicking up to your face.

The ball bounces past him.

Harry blinks, and then stands up to go and get it. You watch him, watch his back, biting your lip because you’re kind of regretting saying anything. He’s mentioned a girl. He was open about it from the beginning.

No relationships, he said, smiling. Been there, done that. No thanks.

She probably broke his heart.

You’d feel bad for him if he’d tell you anything more than, We were great. Let’s watch a movie. As is, though, he’s said nothing, and your curiosity is beginning to overwhelm your sympathy.

When he comes back, he fiddles with the ball for a second before bouncing it back.

“No,” he says.

You toss the ball lightly, letting it bounce once, twice, three times… Too light. It’s rolling by the time it gets to him. He bounces it in front of him, and then throws it, high. Bounce, bounce - toss. It arcs up into the air, and you look up to catch it before it hits you in the nose.

“Really,” you say, because it’s been a few seconds and he’s still not said anything.

Harry bounces the ball normally, and you catch it. “I liked her,” he says.

“I should hope so.” You bounce it back, normally, and he does the same.

You’re back on cadence.

A few seconds go by.

“Maybe I did,” he says quietly. “Love her.”

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.

“I tried,” he says.

Bounce. Bounce.

“There is no try,” you say. “Only do.”

“Maybe I tried too hard.”

“If it’s not there, it’s not there.”

Harry frowns at you. “How would you know, huh?”

“Because if it’s there…” Bounce. “It’s there.” Bounce. “So the opposite must be true too.”

“And you’ve been in love.” He sounds skeptical.

You smile. “Maybe.”

“Being in love with yourself doesn’t count.”

“Sure it does.”

He’s smiling, now, not even looking at the ball, just grinning at you, blinding you. “Going from mirror to mirror in your room doesn’t count as speed dating.” You scoff, bounce the ball too hard, but he keeps his gaze on you, steady, laughing, as he reaches up and catches it.

“Saying I love you to your reflection in the microwave doesn’t count as heartfelt declarations over dinner,” he adds on. You laugh incredulously and say, “You’re just on fire tonight, aren’t you?”

Harry grins. “Call me a slider, ‘cause I’m on a roll.”

“I’ll leave,” you warn, giving him a look.

“Don’t be so sour, dough.” He giggles in glee, totally pleased with himself.

“First you’re insulting my self-love -”

“You mean self-loaf?”

“And now you’re on about bread!”

“Hey, you started it with the baguette talk,” Harry laughs.

You sigh, trying in vain to hide your smile, and catch the ball. “Come on,” you say, standing up, “it’s getting late.” Harry follows you, still grinning. “What, wanna go to bread early tonight?”

“Shut uppp,” you whine.

Harry leans in, catching the door, and says, “Don’t worry, darling, you’re still the apple of my rye…” You groan, stepping away and starting down the stairs. “God, you’re impossible.” Harry skips down the steps behind you. “What, my jokes are too upper crust for you?”

“That doesn’t even make sense!”

“Sense?” Harry echoes. “If you want sense, I can give you some… pumpernickel!”

“You know where you can shove your pumpernickel -”

“What, between my two buns?”

A laugh slips out of you. You’re at his apartment now, and you turn around and lean back against the door, smiling at him wordlessly for just a second, admiring him, because sometimes that’s just what you have to do when you’re in front of Harry Styles.

“I need to go,” you finally say.

Harry pouts, leaning in, and he presses kisses against your neck. You close your eyes, resting your head against the door, exposing more skin, sighing softly. Then he murmurs, “But I’ve gotta mayonnaise your buns…”

“Jesus!” you exclaim, laughing as you’re snapped out of it, and you gently push his shoulders away. “No, you can’t, Harry, we can’t.” He’s still smiling, and he kisses your nose, and you feel like that should be against one of the rules, and he says, “What, too many crumby puns?”

“I love your crumby puns,” you say impulsively, and then you frown, looking down, because you’ll kiss his nose too if you keep looking at those green eyes of his. “No, Harry, I - I stayed over last night.”

A pause.

You look up.

“Oh,” he says, and then he pulls away. “Oh, right.”

You clear your throat, and say, “I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” he echoes, nodding. “Bye,” he says.

You smile, and you can feel it not reaching your eyes, and you say, “Bye.”

As you walk away, you wonder for a moment what would’ve happened if you told him why you don’t do relationships, rather than asking him about why he doesn’t do them. You wonder how he would’ve reacted if you told him you don’t do relationships because the only person you’d consider having a relationship with is the only person who doesn’t do relationships.

Too late now, you think, and then you realize you’re crying as you leave his house.

Well. At least you’re not in a relationship.

***

He tastes like vanilla. Feels like heaven. Kisses like it’s his sole purpose in life.

His scent, taste, touch, lingers on you for hours, days, decades after On nights. The vivid memory of his fingers, tongue, body, leaves you breathless, crying, blissful, through days, Off nights, lonely mornings.

Tonight’s an Off night. You stayed over last night. It’s beginning to just be every other night, which wasn’t exactly the intention of the rule in the first place, but you really just can’t bring yourself to care.

You can’t even bring yourself to care that what’s happening right now is basically - well, it’s basically sex. You’re at some club, bar, whatever, and he’s all over you, you’re all over him, and he’s so close you can feel his breath, feel his want, in waves on your skin.

He doesn’t kiss you though.

Because that would break a rule.

It’s tantalizing, really, because his lips ghost over your skin and his hands are everywhere and nowhere at once and you just need him to touch you. He’s simultaneously overwhelming your senses and depriving you of him and his hands and his lips and his touch.

You’re pretty hammered by the time the two of you are back at your apartment. The high’s wearing down, though, and you can feel all the energy seeping out of you. Your eyelids start to feel very heavy… like they’re being weighed down by little butterflies, tiny blue wings fluttering, teeny insect legs doing dances on your eyelids…

“Help me out, darling,” Harry murmurs, and you sluggishly maneuver your limbs to help him slide off your outfit. You giggle at the feel of his fingers slipping off your bra to tug a soft t-shirt over your head.

“If you wanted to get me naked, Styles,” you say, stumbling over your words, “all you had to do was ask…” Harry sighs, pulling your covers up towards your chest. “Don’t move unless you have to throw up,” he says. “I’m gonna get water and… medicine, or something, for tomorrow.”

“Don’t go,” you whine, pouting, and Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

“No…”

He’s back before you know it, and you hear him set something down on your nightstand, and the butterflies are tap dancing and apparently they have some industrial glue or something because all you want to do is shut your eyes and sleep for hours… and hours…

Harry stays for a second, and you want to look at him, examine him, watch his facial expressions and study the way he looks at you and decide whether or not it’s the same way you look at him, but those butterflies are relentless.

Your voice is just a whisper when the floor creaks because Harry’s moving and you say, “Please stay,” because Harry can save you from those butterflies, right? “I can’t, love,” Harry says, and you want to point out that if he can call you love, he can certainly stay for a few hours and save you from the butterflies.

But that’s a lot of words, so you say, “Please,” instead.

“Darling…”

The butterflies do a jig. You open your eyes when they bounce, relieving the pressure on your lids for a moment, and your eyes are fluttering but you can just make out Harry in front of you. He looks conflicted.

“Just for a second,” you say.

“But last night…”

“I won’t try anything if you won’t,” you say, half-smiling tiredly, because you know you’re starting to convince him, and the prospect of Harry touching you softly, comfortingly, sweetly, is making those butterflies fly all the way to your tummy and suddenly you have the energy to smile.

He sighs, heavily, and you smile more because he walks around and the bed dips as he crawls in next to you. You feel his arms around you. You turn to face him, because nearly all the butterflies are in your tummy now and you don’t feel like your eyes are glued shut anymore and you wanna see those green eyes of his.

“Hi,” you say.

Harry closes his eyes. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’m not tired anymore.” You want to see his eyes.

“Yeah, but I am.”

“Let’s have coffee so you’re not.”

“Tomorrow.”

There’s a second of silence. He’s falling asleep. You have the sudden urge to kiss his nose. It’s right in front of you, he’s right in front of you, and you study him the way you wanted to earlier except now his eyes are closed.

He’s so pretty. You want to kiss him.

“Harry?” you whisper.

“Hmm.”

“I’m sad.”

He smiles.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to smile when someone tells you they’re sad.”

“My bad.”

“Yeah, your bad, Styles. Make it up to me. Kiss me.” You make a kissy noise.

The smile disappears, and he opens his eyes. He’s frowning now, and a flash of panic shoots through you because he’s mad now and he’ll leave, and you hurry, backtrack, “I mean - I mean…” You sniffle. “I don’t know what I mean.”

“You don’t mean anything,” Harry says, “because you’re drunk.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Oh, don’t do this,” he mutters, sitting up.

You sit up too, reaching for his arm, and you say, “Sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t -”

He looks at you, and then his gaze softens, and then you feel tears on your cheeks and you realize you’re crying and you’re crying because you want to kiss him but apparently he thinks you’re crying because he was sharp with you and -

“Don’t cry,” he says, whispering, and he leans forward and thumbs away the tears on your cheeks. The butterflies waltz across your eyelids, and you close your eyes and lean into his touch and he’s cupping your cheek and he says, “I’m sorry.”

Then he breaks a rule.

He kisses you. Gently, on the cheek, where your tears were.

You melt into him. He kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your nose.

“Don’t go,” you whisper.

He holds you close, kisses you once on the lips. “I won’t.”

***

The bed’s cold.

Surprise, surprise.

Rubbing at your throbbing temples, you gulp down the medicine and water he’d left you.

After a few more moments of lying motionless on the bed, you sit up with a groan. You wonder where Harry is. Perhaps he’s doing yoga. Or cooking breakfast. Maybe he’s baking cookies. Who knows. Not you, certainly.

The floor’s cold. You scowl at it. Fuck Harry Styles and his pristine hardwood floors.

You walk towards the kitchen, getting your annoyed frown ready for when he asks if you slept well. You debate hugging him instead of replying like normal. Maybe you’ll kiss him. Or just tell him you love him.

Smiling lazily at the thought, you step into the kitchen.

It’s empty.

Your smile disappears.

Probably doing yoga, then. There’s a cup of coffee on the counter, though, so you grab it before doing anything else. You sigh, wrapping your fingers around it. It’s still warm. You take a sip and go to wipe some crumbs off the counter.

Then you see the note.

Out. See you later. xxH.

“Oh,” you say, out loud.

It’s not quite unusual, per se, but you’re more than a little surprised. Also, you’re wondering how recently he left if the coffee’s still hot. You’re a bit irked you didn’t wake up just a few minutes earlier. Would’ve been nice to catch him in the act.

You take another sip of the coffee, studying the note. His handwriting’s nice.

Sighing, you turn around and walk back upstairs. Your head still hurts.

After getting dressed, you drag yourself into the blinding sunlight and into an Uber. You stare at your phone the entire way home. It doesn’t ring, or chime, or vibrate, or do anything more than reflect your frowning face back at you.

Actually, it does light up a few times, but nothing’s from the right person. That only makes you more annoyed. Your head hurts really badly. He doesn’t text, or call, or FaceTime, the entire day.

Or the next.

You text him a few times, call him a few more.

Nothing.

Zero. Zilch. Nada.

Until a week later, when he knocks on your door.

***

He smiles at you when you open the door. “Hi,” he says. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” you say, hesitantly, and you step back to let him in. He walks in and sits on your couch. He fidgets for a second, and then stands up again. He starts to pace. You watch him, waiting for him to talk.

“I went on a date last week,” he finally says.

Your brows jump. For a second, a billion thoughts rush through your head - what about the ex, was it just you, if he wanted to date why didn’t he ask you, was this the first time he’d been with somebody else since being with you, why the hell was he telling you this, were you the only one going about life as if the “relationship” was exclusive even though it wasn’t, what the fuck is going on - and then you reply, “Congratulations.”

“The night after… I left you. It was a little weird.”

Swallowing thickly, you ask, “So… did it go well?”

Harry frowns looking at the floor. “Yeah,” he says.

“Didja take ‘em home?”

Harry’s smile fades, and he looks up at you. “Er - yeah.”

“And you got laid?”

Now Harry’s frowning. “Yeah.”

“That’s great. Why’ve you been radio silent?”

“Because…” He fades off. “I don’t know.”

You pause for a second, not sure what to say.

Harry bites his lip. “You’re upset,” he says.

Stunned, you blink. “What?” you laugh incredulously.

“You’re upset,” Harry says again.

“Am I?” you ask, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Am I, really? Tell me more. Explain my emotions. ‘cause shit, Styles, apparently you’ve got all your emotions figured out - I mean, damn, you’re so fucking figured out that you can kiss away my tears one night and fuck someone else the next. Your versatility is to be fucking admired, Harry.”

There’s a beat of silence.

He closes his eyes, puts his head in his hands. “I wasn’t even gonna tell you,” he mutters. “I was just gonna be a prat and move on and never talk to you again because technically we’re not dating - I mean - not technically - we’re not dating, we’re not -” He coughs. “We’re not dating,” he repeats weakly.

He looks up again. “But then I couldn’t,” he says. “I couldn’t…” He laughs lowly, wryly. “I couldn’t stay away from you, as cliche as that sounds. I wasn’t even gonna come here, I was gonna - I don’t know, I was gonna… plan it out, make it special, show you I fucked up, but I… I was driving home and then I turned onto your street and suddenly…”

He takes a deep breath and then tells you, “I’m sorry.”

You soften. “Yeah,” you say.

He starts to say something and stops. He reaches out, then pulls away. He turns around, running a hand through his hair, and then clears his throat and sits down on the floor. He leans on the couch, slides the coffee table aside, and pulls a small bouncy ball out of his pocket. You watch, confused, and then he tosses the ball at you. You catch it just before it hits your TV.

“I used to get these at the dentist,” he says, holding up his hands for you to throw it back.

“Harry,” you say, frowning at him.

He sighs again and puts his hands down. You watch him, fiddling with the ball.

“She cheated on me,” he says after a second.

You bite your lip, and then sit down and gently bounce the ball towards him.

“I loved her,” he says.

He bounces the ball back at you.

You catch it.

“I love you more,” Harry says.

You swallow thickly, and then you bounce the ball back.

“I figure… I figure you can’t cheat on me if we’re not in a relationship.”

The bouncy ball is smaller than the tennis ball. It’s harder to catch.

You finally say something. “I wouldn’t cheat on you.”

“I know that,” Harry says.

Bounce, bounce, bounce. The ball is pink and blue. It’s mesmerizing.

“I wanna kiss you,” Harry says quietly, and when you look up, his eyes are on the ball still, and his ears are tinged pink. “I wanna kiss you all the time. ‘specially when you smile. I wanna kiss you when you laugh. When you cry. Right now.”

You don’t know what to say. So you settle on, “Thanks.”

He glances up at you, smiling, finally, and it’s nice to see. “You’re welcome.”

You bounce the ball towards him, and he catches it. Then he stands up. He walks over to you and offers you his hand. You take it, and stand up. “I wanna break a rule,” you whisper. He smiles, giving a small shrug. “Don’t have to.”

You raise a brow.

“Can’t break a rule if it’s not there in the first place,” he says.

“Right,” you say, a smile growing on your lips. “So no more rules.”

Harry bites his lip. He looks nervous. “The rules are no more.”

You smile. “It’s official.”

“You’re smiling,” Harry whispers, leaning in.

“Wanna kiss me?”

“Mhmm.”

You lean in, too, smiling more. “Well, what’s stopping you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Harry says quietly, and he kisses you.

***

The bed… is warm.

You’re warm.

And smiling.

Your head’s on Harry’s chest, and the first thing you see when you open your eyes is his moth tattoo. He’s awake, or at least you assume he is by the way his hand gently traces shapes on your bare shoulder.

“How long’ve you been up?” you mumble, looking up at him.

“Hours,” Harry whispers, kissing your forehead.

“How kind of you to stay with me.”

Harry kisses you again, and you giggle and let him shift you so you’re on top of him. “Better make it up to me,” Harry says with a smirk. You lean down, moving your hips slightly, and nibble on his ear. “Excited to see me, are you?”

“Excited to finally be able to move,” Harry replies, pressing kisses along your shoulder. “My arm’s fallen asleep.” You laugh, kissing him more, unable to keep the smile off your face, and he’s smiling too, and you laugh and kiss him and you decide to stay.

***

okay this has been in my drafts forever lmao but here it is!!! hope you like it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be amazing! thanks for reading 💜

masterlist | ask