#time is a flat fucking circle what can i say except help me

[kitamars]

what do you mean this didn’t happen at the end of s1

[neo-percs]

FACE SITTING:: ( day 11 )

WARNING:: face sitting, unprotected sex, best friend! Juyeon, fingering, flirting, teasing.

SUMMARY:: you've confided in your best friend about your sexcapades many times before, when you break the news that you've never had an orgasm from getting head Juyeon takes it upon himself to help you with that.

WORD COUNT:: 1.4K

"I beg you're pardon?" Juyeon asks feeling almost she'll shocked at the news "I'm being so serious, every time I get head I have to fake it because I feel bad" you whine in response. "Who are you fucking to not be able to cum from head?!" He asks as he breaks down into laughter making your face heat up in embarrassment.

"No, but in the end I get off...just not exactly when somebody's face is between my legs" you trail off quietly. "Now I want to see if I can make you cum" he mumbled not too keen on embarrassing himself if you're opposed to the idea. "Okay" you shrug. Neither of you had anything to gain out of it except an orgasm and keeping his ego in tact.

"Okay?" He asks his eyebrows scrunch together. "Okay, you can give me head" you say so nonchalantly it almost mind boggles Juyeon. "Okay. Sit on my face" he says voice barely over a whisper. Your movements are slow yet precise; standing up from the bed and ridding yourself of your panties, slipping them down your thighs before they drop to your ankle kicking them away.

Then your shirt, Juyeon's eyes attach to the way your chest looked like it could spill out of the bra any second from just one slight movement but he didn't have to think any harder about it as you unclip it and let the straps loosely fall from your shoulders. Juyeon didn't know where all of this need came from but just the sight of you naked is really fucking with his senses right.

"fuck I wanna eat you out so bad" he groans as his head falls back against the headboard your thighs practically clench together at the thought. "Come here" he says holding a hand out his eyes looking so fucked out you almost moan at the sight. The sight of his jaw clenching and adam's apple moving was enough for you grab onto his hand not even thinking as you straddle his lap he sits up, hands caressing the back of your thighs gently fingers digging into the back of your inner thigh.

Your hands meet the back of his neck gently pulling him closer until your lips met. Pulling away like the kiss had burned Juyeon laid flat on his back and guided you up the bed. Your knees dig into the mattress as you crawl over his face, your thighs trapping his head between your thighs, the smile on his lips makes your stomach flutter. You were nervous to sit down all the way, making you hover over his face cautiously. "What are you doing? Sit all the way" he spoke to him with a small laugh that made his chest bubble.

But before he could press your hips down his fingers hook at the elastic band of your panties. Tugging your panties down from the elastic waistband over your thighs and down your ankles he's met with the pretty sight of your pussy and thighs glistening in your slick arousal. Looking back up at you his gaze darkened as he gave small kisses against your thigh.

You gasp as you watch his head disappear between your legs. The heat of his mouth nearing your pussy he licks small stripes against your clit before he sensually licks from your entrance to your clit, and sucking on your clit with fervor.

You moan as your head falls back and your fingers find their way to his hair. The sounds you make are so pleasurable to his ears. He presses his nose on your clit, inhaling your scent deeply before his tongue dives inside your waiting pussy. You pull onto his hair, writhing against his face.

"Oh fuck" you manage to whimper out you tug at his hair as he groaned, your eyes shut as you "please fuck me with your fingers" you moan neediness dripping from your tone. His hand moving from your plush thighs, his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit he pulled away licking your clit once more his middle and ring fingers make way to your entrance.

Pushing in slowly you groan at the penetration, easing your tight walls around his thick fingers as he pushes them deeper you feel the cold metal on his rings all the way at the knuckles of his fingers as it grounds you from the euphoric feeling.

Pulling his head away he looks up at you with your juices on his swollen lips and on his chin his fingers begin to move opening your eyes you look down at him feeling his gaze as he watches you react gasping as the feeling you grind down against his fingers "you like that? Don't you?" He says as he licks your essence off of his lips.

His hair now disheveled as his cheeks were heating up, yet if it weren't for the lights casting off the billboard into his bedroom you would see his raging blush. you nod eagerly "yeah? You want me to go faster for you?" He coos feeling you clench around him at the sound of his lewd words.

"Say it" he demanded, making you clench harder "yes please- please go faster Juyeon" you say losing your mind on his fingers as you absentmindedly grind down on his.He hums as he watches his finger get sucked inside of you. Moaning at the sight with sparkling eyes. His fingers hitting all the right places stuffing your pussy as the sloppy sounds of his fingers pounding into you as if you were his personal fuck toy.

"So good just for me right?" He asks as his tongue finds its way back to your clit, he looks up at you choking on your moans "yes" you say feeling a familiar pressure build in the pit of your stomach. "I'm so close" you whimper.

sending tingles down your body before he licked big stripes of your cunt, sucking on your clit, his tongue working wonders on you. "Cum for me" he says possessively. Your hips grind against his face as the feeling of his fingers so deep inside you curling had you gasping for air desperately.

His thumb replacing his tongue as he rubs circles on your clit, your hips shake as your mind is clouded with the sudden rush of your orgasm. You let out an almost pornographic moan as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you until you ride out your high.

"So good" he coos as you grip his wrist as overstimulation starts to creep in. Waiting for you to come down he slowly removes his fingers as he is eager to taste you.

Juyeon's dripping fingers make their way up to your clit as his mouth makes its descent to your puffy lips. he pushes his heavy fingers on your clit as he adorns your lips with light pecks and kitten licks before using his free hand to pull them apart and licking your entrance. his mouth sucks hard in its endeavor to taste all of you.

Your hips buck at the feeling the sloppy sounds make your head spin. one of your hands moves to grip the hair on the back of his head and you push his face into yourself even more "oh god" you say shivering at the feeling. Pulling away his eyes look up at you while his lips attach themselves to your thigh, he bites and sucks the skin on your thigh in different spots leaving red and purple spots to bloom into hickeys as the hours pass.

Pulling away he lifts his fingers still covered in your cum up to his lips sucking on them becoming addicted to the way you taste. Licking whatever remnants of cum was left on his plump lips "You taste so good" he mumbled as you pulled away from him getting a good look at his body that sat against the mattress fully clothed showing the tent in pants that seemed to grow. And once your eyes meet the bulge your eyes visibly widen.

"Your turn" you mumbled as your hands worked on his belt "my turn?" Juyeon asks with curiosity growing in his eyes. "To strip" you whisper as you succeed to pull his belt out of the loops. "Get up. Don't just leave me hanging like that" you giggle as you see his flustered gaze. You were being serious.

[slavicviking]

Long Jump, Huge Leap

wc: 5k | Pre-Season 3 steddie

[Ao3]

Whoever said Eddie Munson doesn’t like sports is wrong.

One can dislike a candy bar, a type of soda, a likewise mundane thing that comes down to preferences. No, no. What Eddie Munson feels towards sports cannot be condensed into such a simple term. His body itself outright refuses to take part in any sport activity – sweat immediately pooling at his pits and back and ass, legs acting disjointed, arms too long and too weak to do anything of significance, except for maybe making a fool of himself. With that particular element of his P.E. experience helps his mouth which, funnily enough, is the only part of Eddie that runs quicker than anyone, especially its owner, can catch up. Not that the rest of his group feels exceptionally impressed with the skill presented.

Hawkins High doesn’t need a furry mascot for laugh-inducing entertainment when it has Eddie Munson.

“Munson, you’re in Hagan’s team.”

“Oh, for fuck’s-“

“Do not fret, little ol’ Thomas, I sincerely vouch to not dare touch the balls you play with-“

And as the usual song and dance goes, the ball is thrust directly into his stomach.

Several bruises left on his body and ego later Eddie decides it’s simply not worth it, he skips P.E. entirely – avoids it as if it were the ninth circle of Hell. It may as well be, he thinks. Uncle Wayne seems persistent to convince Eddie to try again but after a long and, frankly tiring, conversation the subject is dropped.

Until now.

Eddie stretches out his legs in front of him, the uncomfortable plastic chair digging into his spine and reshaping his already barely-there ass into a flat tire. It’s psychological warfare, it must be, because how else can one explain furniture that defies its primary function so well. Principal Higgins knew well what she did when she chose them to be placed in front of her office. Her own personal little torture chamber.

“The Principal is ready to see you now, Mr. Munson,” the secretary, a pretty blonde in her twenties, tries to smile at him but all that comes out as a result is a grimace stretched thin over her face. It dims further when Eddie stands up making the most noise he possibly could have with the chair sliding across the parquet.

“Sorry,” he says because he is actually sorry. For all his bold persona and jumping on tables, he hates the idea of bothering someone who absolutely does not deserve it. The secretary is nice, he can say that with confidence he’s gained over sitting in that damned red plastic chair too many times to bother counting. He also knows he can be a lot when seated in it – constantly twitching and shifting, mind all too self-aware of the pre-attached uncoordinated body.

Principal Higgins doesn’t look pleased to see him but when does she ever? Eddie personally believes they see each other often enough to be on first-name basis, or at least have this unspoken camaraderie between each other. He thinks the name Margaret would fit her. Tiffany? The only obstacle of their everlasting friendship he can think of is the boundless hatred she has for him. And he has for her.

“Mr. Munson, I’m glad you could join us,” she says, voice syrupy-sweet, so much so it clogs Eddie’s ears for a moment. She has a maroon sweater on today and Eddie thinks it complements the stark bags under her eyes very well. A white blouse ironed to the bone peeks out from underneath it, sleeves rolled up. It’s then that he notices Coach Collins sitting in the chair usually reserved for the culprit’s legal guardian. This is not a usual part of their – Higgins’ and Eddie’s – routine and so it throws him out of the loop a little.

“Please sit,” Higgins points to the only empty seat in her office. Eddie is glad, for what’s it worth, that the chairs here are leagues better than whatever monstrosity his ass still feels the imprint of awaits in the waiting room.

“It wasn’t me,” Eddie says what he always does as he sits down. The Principal doesn’t look any more or less impressed with the line than usual, only letting out a silent sigh.

“Mr. Munson, your attendance ratio in Mr. Collins’ class is abhorrent.”

 Ah. Rough and straight to the point, just the way he likes it.

“I might have missed… a couple of days,” Eddie admits, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. His eyes roam the intricate designs on the carpet. Surprisingly enough they look exactly the same as the last time he’s seen them.

“More like a whole semester, son,” Coach finally decides to take part in this excruciating exchange.

“Normally that amount of missed classes is enough to fail the grade but Mr. Collins was considerate enough to offer you a deal,” Higgins pointedly stares Eddie down as if wanting to force him to slide down to his knees and thank the Coach for the opportunity. As if ‘Mr. Collins’ didn’t turn his head at all the harassment Eddie has faced in his class to begin with.

“Uh-huh.”

“Sport’s Day is coming up. We’d like you to join us this year, Mr. Munson,” she adds, implying she very much would not like him to be there at all but some predestined script requires it. “I believe some teamwork could do you good.”

Yes. Because being stuck with the school’s entire jock population on the football field is somehow better than ten or so of them in a P.E. class. He’s going to die, for sure .

The thing is, he knows they are giving him an excellent out. Sport’s Day is sort-of mandatory, though he’s only attended it once himself. It’s a big event for the school that, in theory, is a great opportunity to let a bit loose and get to know each other. Except, as it often is, a certain part of the Hawkins High population deems themselves as better than others and what should be all fun and games turns puckingly nerve-wracking if you dare to not be pristinely perfect and screw up. Eddie had one attempt in 1982 and hasn’t stick in a foot or arm onto school grounds that day ever since.

“Right,” he says in the end, voice a little strangled. They both clearly take it as him agreeing and, well, he doesn’t really have a choice, does he? Unless he wants to repeat Senior Year again.

He doesn’t.

He really, really doesn’t.

So one full day of excruciating pain it is.

-&-

It’s hot as fucking balls.

The event hasn’t started yet but Eddie can already feel the sweat pooling all over his body. Students stand in small groups all around the yard and it takes him a long while before he spots the Corroded Coffin.

“Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Eddie Munson?”

“Yeah, yeah, yack it up,” he rolls his eyes at Jeff, eyes scanning the area for a semi-hidden smoking spot and finding none. It’s too risky, anyway. He lifts the hem of his shirt to fan himself. “Not like I had a choice.”

They all know about the quote unquote ‘olive branch’ handed out to him by the school but he can feel they’re surprised he decided to follow through with the spectacle anyway.

A long queue forms in the middle of the court, Coach Collins and Jenkins right at the top of it all along with Principle Higgins, each with a jar filled with differently colored strips of material in their hands. Even with no say in the matter, Eddie feels his hand sweating the closer he gets to the harbinger of his doom. Soon enough he will know who is going to make his life hell the next ten or so hours.

“Team yellow,” Collins tells him and gives him the appropriately colored ribbon. Eddie does a apathetic ‘woohoo’ with it before sliding off the side where his new team members reside. He ties the material loosely around his neck because he lives to disrupt the norm. Because fuck Collins.

“I don’t think it’s supposed to go there, dude,” Hawkins’ personal eye-candy, Steve Harrington, tells him upon arrival. Even in this horrid damp weather he keeps smiling for some unknown reason, no strand of hair out of place. He has his basketball uniform on – a simple gray shirt and, oh God, tiny shorts that expose those legs- Eddie snaps his head up so fast he’s surprised it hasn’t cracked and rolled off yet. Perhaps that would be the more merciful solution. A yellow ribbon is residing around Harrington’s sun-kissed bicep.

Great.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a great fan of rules,” he bites, hoping Harrington will just leave him be.

“I know. It’s your whole shtick.” So. That’s a no. Harrington shrugs.

“But sometimes rules are there for a reason,” he says and hooks his finger under the ribbon around Eddie’s neck to tug at it lightly. “To, like, not die.”

However eloquently phrased, Eddie begrudgingly admits – to himself, in his head, never out loud – that there might be a good point hidden somewhere underneath all that hair spray. He wonders if it were Hagan in Harrington’s place would there be a more hands-on approach to this warning. With Eddie being left strangled.

Quite possibly.

He’s not going to test that theory.

“Whatever his majesty wants,” Eddie says as he dutifully unties the yellow ribbon from his neck. And because he never knows when to shut up, he adds, “You don’t have to pretend to be nice, dude. I know me being in your team, like, disrupts your mojo, or whatever.”

Harrington is noticeably not smiling anymore. He doesn’t cross his arms though it looks like he really wants to. There’s a pinch between his eyebrows. It should not be attractive but, alas, Eddie is but a weak man.

“It’s supposed to be fun, man.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Eddie ends up mumbling, feeling out of energy all of a sudden. The queue of students doesn’t seem to be getting any shorter, not that it matters much because all his friends have been scattered throughout all the other teams. He moves to sit on the grass at the edge of their little Yellow group, legs spread out in front of him. The grass is dry under his palms as he leans back, and he wishes he could light an inconspicuous smoke. Even more so when a body slams into him.

“Jesus Christ, what the f-“

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” a girl yelps. “I was trying to tie my shoe but I have, like, no coordination so I kind of fell over you? I didn’t mean to do that, I’m so sorry. Balancing on one leg is so much harder than it looks. Like, honestly, how do cheerleaders even do that thing where they-“

“Whoa, hey, it’s fine,” Eddie jumps in before the girl – Robin Buckley, turns out – faints from lack of air. A yellow ribbon hangs limply off her wrist. Maybe it makes him a bad person but there is a sense of relief knowing he will not be the only ‘uncoordinated’ one on the team. Harrington is going to have an aneurysm for sure.

Robin blinks down at him, lips pulling down in a frown. “Oh, it’s you.”

Okay? Mean.

“Yes?” Whatever imaginary comradery Eddie hoped for seems off the table all of a sudden. Well, that’s a bummer. “Why the long face? Not happy to see a fellow nerd on the team?”

“You stepped on my sandwich last week.”

Ah. Well. That would do it, he supposes. The lunch break speeches… they sometimes get a little intense. Eddie gets a little intense, is what the rest of the Hellfire Club would probably say. Eddie’s shoes have been known to slam face – sole? – first into the best of what the Hawkins High cafeteria had to offer; which is not saying much, to be completely honest.

“My humble apologies,” he tries a little bow and hopes it comes off sincere. Buckley looks less than convinced. Tough crowd, what can he say?

“Alrighty, I think that’s all of us,” Harrington’s overly cheery voice thunders somewhere from above him and Eddie, like a moth drawn to a flame, has no other option but to look up. With his hands power-posed strategically onto his sinfully slim waist and the sun positioned perfectly behind him, Steve Harrington seems to have taken it upon himself to alter Eddie’s brain chemistry, braincells leaving left and right, leaking right through his ears, never to be seen again.

“You’re drooling,” Robin’s monotone informs him from his right and he promptly slams his mouth shut, even though he knows the claim is wildly exaggerated. Buckley may be the best or the worst person he’s ever met – he desperately needs to befriend her.

“First up is the relay-race. We need four people. Anyone up?”

Harrington is met with painful silence and that does dim the cheery smile a little bit. Eddie wonders if that is where the famous King Steve comes out of the hiding, all scary sharp teeth and disregard of basic human decency. He himself stills, for once not wanting to draw any attention to himself, feeling like a student who doesn’t know the correct answer which, not to brag, if you asked Higgins or any other teacher in Hawkins High, is something Eddie excels in. Curiosity, though, is a fickle thing and he’s fallen victim to it more times than he can count, and so when the uncomfortable silence drowns on, Eddie can’t help but take a look around to meet the Team Yellow, so to speak.

Fred Benson peers at him from his thick glasses. A group of scared freshman cower together. There’s a couple of band kids other than Robin Buckley who forgone glaring at the back of Eddie’s head in order to chew on her lip nervously and stare at the ground. Not a jock in sight.

Steve Harrington couldn’t have landed a worse team if he tried. Surprisingly he doesn’t look like he’s about to piss himself over it. Huh.

“Alright, well. I volunteer myself then,” he raises his hand. “That leaves three. Hm? Come on, it’s gonna be fun!”

Eddie can’t help it. He snorts. It’s loud and ugly.

“Well, I guess we have another volunteer,” Harrington preens and Eddie has to see who is idiotic enough to- It’s him, isn’t it? Harrington pulled out the classic teacher move and Eddie fell right into the trap.

“You do not want that, Harrington,” he tells him, trying his best not to show how much the intense eye contact from the jock affects him. It does not. It affects him even less when Steve juts out his bottom lip and tilts his head to the side like a goddamn Golden Retriever.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to lose?”

“It’s not about winning, it’s about teamwork,” Harrington trudges on stubbornly, sounding eerily sincere even while basically quoting every fake-cheery pamphlet in existence. It doesn’t matter how much Eddie tries to convince him it’s a bad idea – a terrible, awful, horrible idea – he doesn’t budge an inch like the stubborn asshole that he is.

“I’ll go last,” he informs Eddie and the other two unfortunate ‘volunteers’ once they reach the track.

“Hey, Harrington,” cuts a familiar voice and there’s Hagan suddenly all up Harrington’s business. “Ready to lose?”

To his credit, all Steve does is raise one eyebrow. “Did Hargrove tell you to come here, or what?”

Eddie appreciates balls on a man, literally and metaphorically, so this cheery but assertive combo is doing things to him that he is not proud of. There is a reason he avoided Steve Harrington for most of high school, and it wasn’t only because of the King Steve jock persona. Eddie may not have a good taste in men but he does have eyes.

“Whatever, man,” Hagan finishes off their little pissing contest in the meantime, strutting right back to Billy, both arms adored by blue ribbons. Harrington’s nostrils flare with each breath before he closes his eyes for a second.  

Eddie isn’t known to make wise choices. One would argue bad decisions run in his blood, screwing things up his very own a generational pattern.

“Uh, you okay, man?”

Harrington’s eyes snap open. Eddie should have never opened his mouth. With Harrington’s intense eyes on him, he feels like Icarus, flying too close to the sun. Steve smiles. Eddie is going to crush and burn any minute now.

“Yeah, sorry,” he keeps his voice light but there’s underlying tension that hasn’t been there before. His eyes appear almost glazed over when he looks over to Billy Hargrove. Eddie’s gut-instinct wants to pin the strange interaction on some jock-code that he is simply not familiar with but that’s not all there is to it. Eddie has fallen victim to the rumor mill many a time during his prolonged high school career and so he tries not to lean into them too much, even when the juicy news of a fight between the former and new king of Hawkins High broke out. One look at Harrington now and he knows, deep down, the impressive shiner on Steve’s face last fall has truthfully been Hargrove’s doing.

Doesn’t matter, really, because Harrington, emanating a true father-at-vacation energy, claps his hands together with too much enthusiasm. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

Getting the show on the road, so to speak, is Abby, a freshman, who does not at all look very confident. Eddie cannot, for a fact, tell if the time passes too fast or too slow as the whistle toots and Abby is on the go, then Nigel, and then-

Eddie leans forward, bends his knees. Suddenly there’s a weight in his hand. Someone is screaming for him to ‘ go, go, go’ !

And Eddie does what he does best. He runs.

By the halfway point, his lungs are on fire, his legs feel like jello. His hair flies out of his bun and he can barely see but, he muses, he might as well try and actually finish something for once. And it’s not because Steve Harrington happens to be waiting on the other side. But maybe that’s a bonus. Who can tell?

The second his hand touches Harrington’s and passes on the stick, his legs give out from underneath him and he falls on his ass with a deeply unsatisfying thunk .

“Nice job, Munson,” says a blurry hand with a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” he says, or tries to, though it comes out slurred. A big swing of water helps.

“You okay?” Robin leans over him before taking a whiff of L’eau d’Eddie and promptly taking an out.

“Aw, I knew you cared, Buckley.”

“I just don’t want you to hurl all over my shoes,” she simply says.

Somehow they are not last. Eddie doesn’t know whether he helped at all or is it simply the power of Steve Harrington’s godlike legs that did all the heavy-lifting, but they finish off in second place, right after Hagan.

Eddie would never admit it out loud, not under threats of death, but it was…kind of fun. Satisfying.

“Eddie, you were amazing!” Harrington runs up to him, sweat pooling over his forehead and neck and Eddie has to stop himself from offering to lick it off.

“Hu-?”

“You never mentioned you’re this fast!”

“Because I’m not? Have you hit your head on the way here, or-?”

Something weird happens with Harrington’s face for a split second but it’s so quick Eddie doesn’t have the time to properly analyze it before he’s smiling again.  

“Not this time, no,” he forces a chuckle. “But you had fun, right?”

Eddie sighs, flops down on the ground to make it extra dramatic. Eyes closed, he reaches out with his hand to make a tiny gap between his index finger and thumb. “Maybe a little.”

A small laugh rings above him, this time genuine, and he hates how he can feel a lazy grin tug at his lips.

Eddie misses at least one round while he lays on the grass. It’s a blissful fifteen-thirty-forty minutes and he revels in it with every whiff of a colder breeze but by minute forty-two the ground doesn’t seem nearly as comfortable as it used to right after the race. The sun assaults his eyes the moment he opens them and he swiftly sits up, trying to shake off loose twigs and dry grass that have gotten entangled with his hair.

Team Yellow has seen better days. While Eddie lounged in the grass they have become a mass of sweat and red heat-swollen cheeks. Whatever disciplines he’s missed, he is glad he has. They are not last on the leaderboard, though – by what miracle, he cannot figure out.

“Eddie!” Steve Harrington, of course, has been spared the same treatment as his team. Hair slightly whipped by the wind and rosy cheeks, he looks as though he just about stepped out of a salon. A tattered yellow-white-blue volleyball sits against his hip. “Just the guy I was looking for. You willing to give it a try?”

Eddie is not.

Not under any normal-adjacent circumstances anyway but Harrington is, consciously or not, giving him his best rendition of puppy eyes. That and Eddie can feel a heated gaze located on the back of his head coming coach’s way. No matter how tempting, he cannot afford to screw this up.

So, in the driest monotone he can muster, Eddie says, “Been waitin’ for that my whole life.”

“Cool,” is all Harrington says before his achingly warm fingers wrap themselves around Eddie’s wrist and tug him towards the court. Buckley is already standing by the net, sending Eddie a miniscule smile of encouragement when he settles on her left, Harrington just behind him.

“Was worried you were a goner by now,” Gareth calls from the other side of the net, a green ribbon tied to his wrist.

“Nah, you know me, Gare-bear,” he flexes his non-existent biceps. “I'm prime material for the next super athlete.”

Someone – Harrington – chokes and coughs behind him. Eddie refuses to look, contribute to the hot and sticky flush of embarrassment that settles over his organs like slime. He has a reputation to uphold, though, so when Gareth raises his eyebrow, silently asking if he is okay – in this team, with King Steve, here and now – Eddie simply rolls his eyes and conspicuously whispers ‘Little Miss Primadonna’, their little nickname for King Steve back in the day.

He doesn’t like how instead of feeling lighter he just feels sick afterwards.

A resounding whistle starts the first set.

Eddie has forgotten how violent and competitive volleyball can get. He jumps away every time the ball comes anywhere near him, Harrington’s sweaty body miraculously appearing right there and then to save the day. It’s maybe the first time today that he can see blips of annoyance on the jock’s face but then as soon as it appears it smooths out and Steve graces him with yet another smile.

“You don’t have to be afraid of the ball,” Harrington off-handedly tells him in-between sets.

“Yeah, well, you tend to start feeling a little bit wary about it after you’ve been hit in the face a few times,” Eddie can’t help but bite back. Harrington looks sad all of a sudden, as though his friends haven’t been the ones to attempt their best at making Eddie’s face concave. He can’t help but yelp when a hairy mass – Steve’s arm – settles over his back and shoulders.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Harrington teases but there’s a sincere note in his voice. “I won’t let any balls come near you.”

Harrington – blessed, innocent, Harrington – is thankfully too straight to realize the innuendo he accidentally made but Eddie is most definitely not, face red as he mumbles under his breath ‘I mean, some balls are fine.”

Thankfully he does not hear that either.

Steve keeps his promise with surprising accuracy; no volleyball flies anywhere near Eddie and Harrington is always close by. Which should not bring as much comfort to him as it does. Especially considering Eddie still is unable to figure out why – why is Harrington this nice? Why does he care about Eddie at all? Part of him worries it’s all an act, a grand performance by one King Steve, with a grand finale that promises pain and humiliation right at the crescendo.

Nothing happens.

Well, they lose. Spectacularly. One game, then another, then a third one.

Amid this disaster and despite them being the singularly least athletic team possible, Steve Harrington remains an encouraging and patient captain. Not once does he yell or complain when the majority of the team scrambles away from the ball instead of towards it. Surprising, when Harrington has spent years under the wing of Coach Daniels as the Hawkins High very own basketball team captain.

“You’re good at this,” Eddie thinks out loud, promptly pursing his lips because he did not mean to actually say it. It is in particularly bad self-preservation taste to give a jock more ammo.

“I promised,” is all Steve says with a wink. And for a second, a blink-and-you-miss-it, his eyes go up and down along Eddie’s body, and- But that’s impossible. Harrington is not- He wouldn’t have-

It’s a preposterous cherry on the wild-buck cake he’s been offered today. There must have been a ball hurled his way at one point or another, punching him into another dimension that is similar enough yet decidedly feels a little bit off at every step. He’s rooted in his spot like the idiot that he is. What finally breaks him from the self-induced coma is what caused it in the first place - his ears catch the melodic tune of a Harrington laugh and, just like that, from feet above the ground he falls back to Earth, popping like a balloon with a gun.

For all Buckley piss-poor attempts at appearing done with it all, she sure looks chummy with Steve Harrington all of a sudden, and he does with her as well. It was foolish, stupidly childish, to assume the jock’s attention was for Eddie and Eddie alone.

Harrington pulling out his patented charm with Buckley the same way he did a second ago with Eddie feels like a light stab in his chest. What twists it is them looking Eddie’s way, red cheeks and mirth in their eyes, and letting out a short but audible laugh.

“I’m telling you, dingus.”

 “God, shut up,” but Harrington laughs as he says it, even when he elbows Robin right in the boob.

Dead-set on keeping his eyes on the ground, Eddie tries to move past them. He doesn’t get far.

“Hey, Eddie, I’m trying to convince Robin to go for tug of war,” Harrington tells him for some fucking reason.

“No way, dingus.”

“She’s stronger than she looks,” he adds, poking Buckley in the bicep-less arm. “From carrying that tuba around.”

“Trumpet.”

I haul up the amp at every Corroded Coffin show, Eddie wants to say – would that impress you?

He’s pathetic. He’s fallen from the high pedestal he self-appointed himself at – above the bullshit popularity contest and suffocating do’s and don’ts of small-town’s high school lore – right at the feet of the walking and breathing representation of everything he resents about how the world works, and-

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles.

A good smoke is exactly what Eddie needs right now. Fill his being with nothing but puffs of smoke. Students and teachers and even some parents roam around the school grounds but his trusty spot behind the gym is free of the intruders. Two cigarettes in, he refuses to feel sorry for himself any longer.

He’s not going to dwell on something that was a pipe dream to begin with. Not too long anyway. Whatever. He’s fine.

He is .

Steve seems wary of him when he gets back but he brushes it off as well as he can and gets in line behind Fred Benson instead. It’s long jump time.

“Robin’s pretty cool, right?” comes a voice behind him. Eddie yelps.

“Jesus Christ, warn a guy.”

Steve has the audacity to look a little sheepish, hand going to scratch at the back of his neck. “Sorry, man.”

Silence.

“Turns out we have some things in common,” he says, then. And stares. For a long time.

“Okay?”

What does he want Eddie to say? You have my blessing? Congrats?

Steve looks slightly discouraged from continuing his ventures but seems willing to trudge on, for whatever reason. “Maybe-“

“Munson, you’re up!”

Oh, thank God .

Eddie may not be the fastest or the strongest but he has years of avoiding bullies under his belt. That is to say, if he wants to avoid someone, he will find a way to become, well, not invisible, but unreachable at the least. It does not help that at this point he understands Harrington’s newfound obsession with him even less. Maybe for a second Eddie could have thought that – well, that doesn’t matter.  

By hour eight and with only one event left, Eddie feels pretty confident he’s going to survive the whole thing after all and not even be on the losing team somehow. That is until Coach Jenkins announces the farewell match.

“Dodgeball! Yellow against blue,” and whistles loud and clear, no room for complaints.

It all goes surprisingly well until it doesn’t. Until there’s a ball flying his way. Until he faceplants into next week.

Of course it’s Steve Harrington who insists on patching him up in the nurse’s office. “I’m the captain,” he says before anyone else can offer. Not that they were people scrambling to do so, really.

“I’m sorry,” Harrington adds when an icepack settles on the side of Eddie’s head once they arrive.

“What for? ‘Far as I can tell it wasn’t you who threw that,” Eddie narrows his eyes. “Right?”

“No, of course not, Eddie, I would never-“ Steve stops himself and Eddie wants so badly to point out that he ‘would ever’, in fact he ‘did ever’, but that would be a lie. King Steve never stooped as law as the likes of Tommy Hagan or other low-esteem high school bullies. King Steve was always above it all, too high and mighty to bother with mundane shit such as head shooting a nerd with a basketball in P.E. or offering a swirlie. Doesn’t make it right, doesn’t make him any less of an asshole for standing by and watching it happen.

But Harrington hasn’t been King Steve for a while now, has he?

It’s morally questionable. It’s confusing.

Eddie thinks he might be having a concussion.

“I promised,” Steve says instead, and Eddie is really even more convinced a visit to the ER is going to be necessary because- “That I wouldn’t let any ball come near you.”

Ah.

A strange oath to so stubbornly hang onto all things considered.

While Eddie struggles to find an appropriate response Steve decides to take it upon himself to start cleaning the scraped knee with a feather-light touch and precision that comes as a surprise. A minute stretches into five, into ten, as he works, clearing his throat at the end.

“I’ve been told that I’ve been,” he makes quotation marks in the air. “acting like a weirdo.”

“Ah. Well. Who am I to disagree with the King?” Eddie juts out his bottom lip and Steve snorts. Clamps a hand to his mouth, embarrassed, though a glint in his eyes betrays him.

“What’s so funny, Harrington?”

“Nothing. Just – I really do have a type,” Steve shrugs.

“Women that are probably too good for you?”

“Mmm, that, too, but also,” he grabs one of the loose strands that have escaped Eddie’s bun and twirls it between his fingers. Heat rushes to his ears fast and warm and he can barely make out what Steve says next. But he does and- “Cute pout. Curly hair. Beautiful brown eyes. Super smart.”

Eddie swallows. “Steve.”

“Not ‘Harrington’ anymore?”

“If this is a joke-“

“It’s not,” Steve’s hand quickly links and tugs at his. “I promise it’s not.”

“I’m a little lost, dude, not gonna lie.”

“The whole day, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You’re… pretty, so pretty. And Robin insisted that you like me, too,” Steve slows down, disentangles his hands from Eddie’s. “But – did I misread this? I- Don’t leave me hanging like that, man.”

Eddie can see the growing panic in Steve’s eyes, desperation in his voice. He can’t help it, his mind comes to a shattering halt.

“Wait, hold on, I- You’re being serious?” Steve nods. “Okay, shit. I-uh. Fuck.”

“This was a bad idea, wasn't it?” Steve fists his hand in his hair, making a mess of it and oh, Eddie cannot allow that, not unless he’s the one that- “I’m so sorry, Eddie-“

One hand on a grey shirt, one with rings getting tangled in-between strands of puffy hair, two pair of lips collide for just a split second. Only a quick pause follows before they are reunited again, and again, and-

“Does that mean,” Steve asks, breathless, between peppering kisses. “that you’ll go out with me?”

“Keep the kisses coming and you have yourself a deal.”

Steve leans away and smirks. Eddie can’t help the little embarrassing whine that leaves his lips. “We stopped. Why did we stop?”

“Told you it’s all about teamwork.”

[rubenhopclap]

Re: post about offering to buy Wanda a phone/the replies.

...he also had the song of the summer, so the record label def throws money at him the way they used to with Fig. Especially if Jace makes him follow their song and dance continuously (spreading rage via his tunes and glyphs priming the ground and people around), so he's making more money than he knows what to do with.

Doesn't necessarily have to have come from means. If anything, he could have been an average kid pre-Jace, pre-rage, and suddenly he has a boatload of money. So he buys a big house he wants his friends to spend time in with him ('anyone who likes me coded', "please like me, I'll buy you things. I don't care, though. Whatever.") He decks the place out with things to keep his friends, his party, wanting to come around (honestly, very Fabian behaviour, if you think about it; except Fabian is 'anyone who hates me' coded) and willingly throwing money at people to get them to stick around. Because he can now. He doesn't have to be vulnerable for that. He doesn't have to let them know how scared he is.

"I'll buy you a phone, Wanda (so you'll talk to me? Please talk to me)".

Yesssss.

I will say it's quite possible that more of the RGs have generational wealth connections than just Oisin. What makes me roll my eyes and joke about it is the implication it always seems to carry that having a connection to generational wealth renders them a flat joke when Fabian is right there.

It's like do you really hate them because you think they're rich, or are you deciding that they're rich because you hate them? And if it's the second one, then why do you have to make up another non-canon reason to hate them, if you genuinely think they're so hateful in canon? I might make another post about this. I have thoughts.

That being said, the clincher for me is that the mansion overlooks the glade. It's wayyyy up in the hills. And it's near an abandoned factory? If this was Ruben's family home, it paints a really interesting picture that strongly suggests they're up to their necks in whatever is going on too. (Like... chance that if Ruben lived there before, then he could be the one to suggest the glade. But then it's in full fucking view of his parents' house? They can watch this going down whenever?)

But it's way too late in the season to introduce new major players. I still can't fathom a way that Henry's confrontation with Jace still happens if he actually knows what's up. And I think the whole "I'm a rich dude who is nominally consenting to this bc i don't have the whole picture but i think you can make my favorite teen strong" schtick is probably taken by Bobby Dawn. So unless Mr Gibbins is his half-uncle on his other side or some shenanigans. That's Ruben's house.

It's definitely possible that Ruben got the mansion off music money. Since they also seem to be bankrolled by dragons OH FUCK WHO OWN THE BANK??? RUBEN HAS A MORTGAGE 100%. Ugh. Okay anyway so he has a mortgage with great terms, and again, this place is in an area with an abandoned factory. Huge house, absolutely ice cold location.

Which circling back around FINALLY to the point of what you were saying. Yes, 100%.

It's clearly extremely helpful for them to have a hangout hub, and one in this location too. So I'd bet Porter had advice and suggestions.

They need a headquarters. It can't be Porter's or Jace's for op-sec reasons. Maybe they wanted some distance from Oisin's family too. (His tower additionally to everything else is behind an extra secret panel. Fascinating.) That makes Ruben the least suspicious remaining choice to own a mansion, after he's famous.

But the psychology of these kids is just as much a matter of strategy to Porter as everything else is. And he's the perfect choice that way too. Everything you're saying.

So Ruben gets this huge house where everyone else who's in on the plan and reinforces Porter's ways of thinking can come and hang out and be around all the time.

He can't actually bring back any of the people he's constantly dating and talking to who think that he's cool back to this locked down abjured and alarmed to hell mansion.

And it's way way way outside of town in an area with an abandoned factory. And he goes out on his balcony and gets a perfect view of the glade.

[aspd-culture]

I apologize, i know this is a “culture is” blog but i was wondering if you had any tips on unmasking? Its a huge struggle for me and its effecting my treatment and mental health severely.

This culture is blog definitely is in massive part a place to ask and answer questions too, no worries at all!/gen

The biggest thing for me that helped was first working on the masked piece that told me I was supposed to give a fuck about what people thought of me. I learned that manually over a long period of time, having next to no sense of embarrassment as a child and early teen. I found that once I got back to "I really don't give a fuck if you like me or think I'm a shit person or what, and if you think I should be constantly putting on some act for you, then you're an exhausting person and I'm glad to see you leave my life so bye", the rest of unmasking has come easier.

The second biggest thing builds on this; making sure you're not filling your life, especially your personal relationships which are supposed to be caring, supportive, and filling your battery vs draining it, with people you can't unmask around. Massive red flag if they can't get past the easy symptoms like flat affect and need for emotions being clearly communicated after a conversation or two and maybe some reassurance if they are more sensitive or have Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. If the people you value push you to hide your disorder, you will no matter how hard you try not to. ASPD makes us cling tighter to bad people sometimes, because we know that we hate the social dance of trying to find someone else even remotely trustworthy, let alone that we can tolerate spending time around. This goes 10x for any Exceptions.

The third is letting yourself get a little angry. You shouldn't be spending your energy trying to hide symptoms you never asked for and that hurt you more than anyone else. This disorder doesn't show up without the failure of *at minimum* a few adults in your life for many years without resolving it. If they don't like you being like this, then maybe they should have done their job. It isn't your job to hide their mistakes. It isn't your job to hide their *failure* to do a simple job of keeping a kid safe and secure. If you look up the percentage of needs being met that leads to a secure attachment style (which ASPD is not compatible with), you probably will find the getting mad portion of unmasking pretty easy. The bar was in hell and the majority of the adults supposed to take care of you in your childhood played limbo. That's worth being upset about.

To be clear, this isn't the go ahead or encouragement to get violent, abusive, or destructive, but if your symptoms are inconveniencing someone vs hurting them, then fuck it. You deserve to breathe and just *be* sometimes instead of starring in Normal Person, Director's Cut all day every day.

Once I got those things under my belt, most of the rest of unmasking for me has just been reminding myself that I will burn out if I keep making myself fit in a box that does not fit me. It was not my choice to end up a square while everyone else is a circle, and no matter how much it might bug anyone, that won't make a square fit through the circle hole.

Just in case no one else in your life says this to you, I will. You deserve at least some amount of time - and while sleeping does *not* count - without the mask at least some of every day (with maybe exceptions for like the occasional holiday with family or work trip or anniversary or something) without masking. There are plenty of symptoms of this disorder that do not cause harm to anyone, they just don't like it because they aren't used to it (for example flat affect) or because it causes them to have to put some effort in (for example, needing to communicate their emotions vs playing a bs game of Guess Who? with the clues read in a language you don't understand). Those symptoms can and should be unmasked sometimes.

Plain text below the cut:

This culture is blog definitely is in massive part a place to ask and answer questions too, no worries at all!/gen

The biggest thing for me that helped was first working on the masked piece that told me I was supposed to give a fuck about what people thought of me. I learned that manually over a long period of time, having next to no sense of embarrassment as a child and early teen. I found that once I got back to "I really don't give a fuck if you like me or think I'm a shit person or what, and if you think I should be constantly putting on some act for you, then you're an exhausting person and I'm glad to see you leave my life so bye", the rest of unmasking has come easier.

The second biggest thing builds on this; making sure you're not filling your life, especially your personal relationships which are supposed to be caring, supportive, and filling your battery vs draining it, with people you can't unmask around. Massive red flag if they can't get past the easy symptoms like flat affect and need for emotions being clearly communicated after a conversation or two and maybe some reassurance if they are more sensitive or have Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. If the people you value push you to hide your disorder, you will no matter how hard you try not to. ASPD makes us cling tighter to bad people sometimes, because we know that we hate the social dance of trying to find someone else even remotely trustworthy, let alone that we can tolerate spending time around. This goes 10x for any Exceptions.

The third is letting yourself get a little angry. You shouldn't be spending your energy trying to hide symptoms you never asked for and that hurt you more than anyone else. This disorder doesn't show up without the failure of *at minimum* a few adults in your life for many years without resolving it. If they don't like you being like this, then maybe they should have done their job. It isn't your job to hide their mistakes. It isn't your job to hide their *failure* to do a simple job of keeping a kid safe and secure. If you look up the percentage of needs being met that leads to a secure attachment style (which ASPD is not compatible with), you probably will find the getting mad portion of unmasking pretty easy. The bar was in hell and the majority of the adults supposed to take care of you in your childhood played limbo. That's worth being upset about.

To be clear, this isn't the go ahead or encouragement to get violent, abusive, or destructive, but if your symptoms are inconveniencing someone vs hurting them, then fuck it. You deserve to breathe and just *be* sometimes instead of starring in Normal Person, Director's Cut all day every day.

Once I got those things under my belt, most of the rest of unmasking for me has just been reminding myself that I will burn out if I keep making myself fit in a box that does not fit me. It was not my choice to end up a square while everyone else is a circle, and no matter how much it might bug anyone, that won't make a square fit through the circle hole.

Just in case no one else in your life says this to you, I will. You deserve at least some amount of time - and while sleeping does *not* count - without the mask at least some of every day (with maybe exceptions for like the occasional holiday with family or work trip or anniversary or something) without masking. There are plenty of symptoms of this disorder that do not cause harm to anyone, they just don't like it because they aren't used to it (for example flat affect) or because it causes them to have to put some effort in (for example, needing to communicate their emotions vs playing a bs game of Guess Who? with the clues read in a language you don't understand). Those symptoms can and should be unmasked sometimes.

[abiiors]

feeling very much not body positive about myself and need a nice strong man (named ross) to comfort me 😭

i'm so sorry you're struggling a lil with your body rn :( i hope your day's a bit better today <3

cw: mentions of body insecurities, suggestive but no actual smut

it first happens when you're supposed to go out for the evening--nothing fancy, just trying out a little food truck that caught his eye last week. it's as casual as it can get, and yet here you are, trying on outfits after outfits, trying to find the perfect combination. trying to nail the line between cute and casual.

except nothing fits!

the top you loved two weeks ago now makes your tits look saggy. the jeans you've always adored fits your butt weird. the skirt makes your thighs look huge. outfit after outfit that you toss away makes the pile of the bed grow bigger and yet nothing. looks. good.

and short of wishing for the giant pile of clothes to swallow you whole, there's not much you can think of right now.

until ross opens the bedroom door.

his eyebrows fly up into his hairline, his mouth parts and his face turns from confused to aghast. "you aren't ready yet?! babe! i'm fucking starving, i thought you'd be down fifteen minutes ago!"

he doesn't mean to sound so sharp, of course he doesn't but the tone of his voice makes matters worse. now on top of feeling ugly, you also feel useless. scolded like a child by your own boyfriend for being late. sudden tears sting your eyes, your throat feels tight and you turn away from him.

it's not that serious for fucks sake! of course he's right to be annoyed, he's probably been waiting for a while. but in the mirror you see his face turn back to confusion and then concern.

"love, you alright?"

"mm-hmm" it's sounds pathetically small coming from you as you try to swallow the tears and find a fucking thing to wear. anything would do at this point.

"hey, look at me," he says again, much gentler this time and that somehow makes it worse. you do the exact opposite though, trying to hide your face so he won't see the tears that are about to fall.

you pick up the white t-shirt from the floor, resisting the urge to sniffle or wipe your cheeks.

it's not that serious.

it's a fucking food truck.

"sorry, was just trying to find this t-shirt!" you try to keep your voice as bright as possible and cringe when it comes out mechanical and fake. it shouldn't be such a surprise really, everything's been wrong today--your clothes, your hair, your smile. fuck. your entire body is wrong.

that should be the only explanation.

there's some movement behind you and you feel his hand on your hip, the same hip you were busy frowning at in the mirror only minutes before--scrutinising the extra flesh, glowering at the not-quite-flat stomach. his touch makes you flinch, not because it's unwelcome. far from that actually. it's so he won't be able to feel your body the way you see it--out of shape and ugly.

ross staggers, utterly baffled. his mouth hangs open, like he's about to say something but can't quite get the words out. it's not what you wanted--to make him feel like he's done something wrong.

"sorry, sorry!" you mumble quickly, trying to navigate around the clothes on the floor. "sorry, i didn't mean-- i didn't--"

"baby," he says calmly, and god his eyes are so fucking kind that it snaps the last tether on your emotions. you can't help the tears welling up anymore, the quiver of your chin or your trembling lips. ross' face falls and your feel worse for it.

ross's expression softens as he takes a step closer, concern etched across his features. he wraps his arms around you gently, pulling you into a warm embrace. the tears you tried so hard to hold back now stream down your face, and you bury your head into his chest.

"hey, hey," he murmurs soothingly, rubbing your back in slow circles. "what's going on, love? you can tell me."

you sniffle, trying to compose yourself. "it's just... nothing fits right, and i feel so... i don't know, out of place, wrong, ugly--"

"stop." his voice is firm but gentle and his mouth is pressed in a thin line. "i wish you could see what i saw...

"i love you so much, sweet girl. i love your body and your face and your personality. i love your hips, i love grabbing them when you're on top of me. i love how you make me feel." you blush at his words remembering the number of times his hands have been on your hips, tightly gripping them, helping you move.

"i love your thighs and how they feel around me, i love kissing them and biting them and i love the sounds you make. and don't even get me started on your tits--"

"ross," you slap him lightly, giggling through the tears. it makes him smile too--his real gorgeous smile that shows his dimples and makes his eyes crinkle. the smile that makes you smile and swoon.

"no no, let me continue," he smiles cheekily, slapping your ass which makes you squeal.

"you're going to make me cry more!" you whisper, voice watery but there's a smile on your face now and that's all that matters to him.

"kiss?" he asks sweetly, leaning down and oh you need it so much more than you'd realised because you crash your lips against him instantly, holding on to him as he kisses you sweetly--long and sweet and languid. his arm is firm around you, holding you flush to his chest and you can practically feel his smile through the kiss. it's all-consuming, like nothing else matters when he's kissing you.

until his stomach growls out of nowhere and you pull away, giggling at him.

"fuck, i'm so sorry, love. we should just go, you're hungry."

ross clicks his tongue, pulling you into a hug. "let's just stay home and order pizza. i feel a bit lazy now anyway."

you consider it--the thought of getting dressed and going out right now feels astronomical anyway but he's been looking forward to this for so long. he's been--

"don't overthink it," he scolds gently. not that it should come as a surprise really that he knows you well enough to know every thought inside your mind.

"fine. let's stay home then," you pull back and smile at him. it's not exactly how you thought the evening would go but hey, it's not like you're complaining about it.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

pSSSSSTTTTTT

EEEEEEEEEEEK

okay so. i'm obviously going to write a thorough analysis about this but i thought i'd get some initial thoughts out there since this is a really fun game and i NEED to play.

so. first time hearing angels fly all i could hear was a oasis-esque anthem with the firm chorus and the way the melody turns during "is an eye in the sky", giving that typical complaining sound (lol very music good terminology. it's a flat note which gives it that vibe so there okay) that just screams oasis to me, especially the big vocals towards the end. the lyrics, in their treacherous simplicity, push you to keep holding on while acknowledging the sad and admiring the beautiful. very oasis, again. also very louis. i can't help not hearing it in a hugeass stadium with people belting it with their whole chest. i know that is not the vibe most ppl will have with this song but when coldplay played don't look back in anger during one love manchester? yeah that. (as we're walking on by)

aaaanyway then upon further listens the lyrics finally filtered in and what i heard was a reply to as it was.

Nothin' to say When everything gets in the way

I don't wanna talk about the way that it was

We can talk about it It'll only make it worse

Answer the phone "Harry, you're no good alone Why are you sittin' at home on the floor? What kind of pills are you on?"

I’ll knock on your door it’ll save me from calling

There were problems in this empty bottle but we drained all that

and yk even if you don't see these parallels as strong, it's more about what the songs are saying, really. it's harry being desperate in as it was, desperate to get out of a rut, to stop going in circles bc someone's holding on to heartache, bc he knows life is so so much but all he seems to do is focus on what goes wrong, how wrongly he's perceived, how bad he copes, and he needs to fucking get out. because he knows that bottom line, bottom fucking line, he has love. in that world, it's just them.

and then angels fly is that moment of relief, of calm, of i am here for you, i am holding out the palm of your hand. we don't need to talk about who did what, what got in the way. nothing really matters now except remembering that we're just these tiny specks of dust in the scope of the universe. look at the horizon. look up at the sky. those who were once just as broken as we are fly up there. but there are enough dying stars in the sky. we're good down here, looking up at them, honoring their memory by living on. by loving on

it's louis giving comfort like only he can: offering a shoulder to cry on, while respecting your way to cope, not a speck of judgment detected, but with that firm arm around you, grounding you, holding you, making you look forward again. about tomorrow. about the time we still have. it's once again a reminder of the life that's left to live.

[hag-o-hags]

last weekend I went way too hard, and by Sunday night I was running on completely empty. not even partying hard, just. Ikea and redecorating and blah blah blah blah blah, in our mid-30s we ball.

all this week I've been OUT, batteries dead, zero energy, can't brain for shit, plus Mon/Tues/Wed I have a sore throat, so I'm hitting it with alka-seltzer the first couple days, till it starts to feel better and I'm just drinking SO much tea.

Wednesday the Dizzy starts. By Thursday, I can't sit up without everything spinning, and through Sunday, I have to be flat on my back. Getting up to feed the creachurs is exhausting, disorienting, and generally miserable, let alone feeding myself. Dramamine does nothing. Also, super bonus, my body fucking hurts because I can't move!

Surprise, this is exactly what getting over La Rona felt like, except I don't have La Rona.

Since November I've been sort of operating on yes, this is still LongTallShortFatCovid in the absence of enough data to officially diagnose it, so let's just behave like it's ME/CFS and see what happens. So, supine on the sofa on Sunday, I'm trying to figure out if Gentle Stretches™ are a good or bad idea with post-exertional malaise (the hallmark ME/CFS symptom that I am pretending I know I have for reasons of science). Because, again, I am stiff and sore and I fucking ache.

I know that unfortunately there's a LOT of anecdata and not much hard review around symptom relief, but I also know there's quite a lot of people trying to figure out what works. One person's dribbly candles and magic circles and stuffed crocodile hanging from the ceiling and 13 other chronically ill people chanting the universe's esoteric and black history leads to another person's 4 cc of mouse blood and three small sticks.

I found a blog with a good enough balance of science vs multiple personal experiences that it felt worth digging into -- also Gentle Stretches™ probably not gonna make PEM worse, thank god, sitting yoga ahoy. Some people found NSAIDs or steroids helped them to recover, but the really interesting one to me was a couple very very very small studies about Dextromethorphan Hbr, an OTC cough suppressant.

That tinged a tiny little ding in my foggy jelly brain, and I rooted around like a drunk opossum until I found the alka-seltzer box in the recycling. (Coulda looked this up online. But again, jelly brain.) The cough suppressant is DXM Hbr. And it's got aspirin. I'd been taking a little ibuprofen all week because Ache, so it wasn't necessarily the NSAID. But when I phased out the cough suppressant, that's when the dizzy started.

It's just a correlation, I've got n=1 here. I know that. But I took a standard dose of OTC cough syrup (DXM Hbr and guaifenesin -- no NSAIDs), and in a couple hours I could get up, and walk around the yard and water the plants, despite being kinda dizzy. I started some laundry. I kept taking it just according to the directions yesterday, and today, for the first time in an ENTIRE WEEK, I can think enough to write, I can go upstairs without needing to sit after, and I'm a little lightheaded but I'm not stumbling.

Placebo is a thing of course, but also, Dramamine couldn't touch this, even though it helped last time. Day by day it was getting worse, not better, and I was laying on the couch because I'd finally managed to finish a shower but I couldn't be upright any more afterward.

(All shower euphoria is erased when I gotta sit flopped on the ground towing the faucet hose around my head and trying not to blast my eyeballs out.)

I have an appointment with my doctor on Wednesday. I'm really lucky -- she's been great thus far, and takes me seriously when I say wacky things like I HAVE AN HYPOTHESIS REGARDING THESE SYMPTOMS, CAN WE LOOK INTO THEM. ("Yes and also would you like a referral to get spayed").

That being said, Saturday morning, I cried and cried, feeling like I had to hold onto the sofa to not fall off, because I'm scared and frustrated and angry and grieving. Grief is probably the worst because right now I don't know what I've lost. If I've lost anything. If this is real, if it's going to pass, if I'm panicking ... or if this is my life. Other disabilities have taken things from me -- doors that get closed and then bricked over. This feels like I could get shut in one room forever, like. Yes you, the Stress Powered Engine, who lives for pushing eustress as close to distress as you possibly can for fun and profit! Doing that will now hit you like a semi at highways speeds!

Or, I could recover. I don't have the data to know.

[thewrittennerd]

 Chapter Two

Optimism cautiously measures itself out into tiny flickers through Hallie's bloodstream as she awaits for any kind of verbal response from Jake. She'd learned a long time ago that Jakob Seresin doesn't do things lightly or the easy way.

But then Hallie's hand begins bouncing with an unexpected vibrating movement; causing the blonde to glance down and then back up at Jake, who is now openly crying. “Oh, babe, why are you crying? I thought you'd be happy about becoming a dad again.” Her hands are gentle…warm…loving…and oozing a smidgen of concern when the tips of her thumbs caress back and forth across the bare cap of Jake's knee.

Pushing her hand aside with a firmness she'd never seen him do, Hallie watches as a still very much naked Jake turns and flings himself into the pillows of Hallie's bed. Through his sobs Hallie can swear she hears him saying to her in a muffled tone. “Smettila di comportarti come se ti importasse di quello che penso.” (“Stop acting like you care what I think about it.”)

“Mi interessa, perche ci vogliono due per il tango, darlin',” Hallie says in a soft, gentle, teasing voice; moving to join him on the bed. Slender hands with fingernails covered in a vibrant green polish slide along Jake's rib cage. Every part of him except for the tiniest one wants to push her away. (“I do care, because it takes two to tango, darlin'.”)

“Non trasformarmi nella tua festa die pieta, Hallie,” Jake mutters. (“Don't turn me into your pity party.”)

“Non e un peccato quardo so cosa hai passato,” Hallie murmurs; the tone of her voice losing its teasing and throwing maternal, wife-like comfort into the mix. (“It isn't pity when I know what you've been through.”)

Late October/first of November, 1987  

Baton Rouge, Louisiana 

Twenty-four year old nursing school student Norah Burnett is just getting her arms into her rain jacket when another nurse…her supervisor for Norah's final year…cries out in anguish in a room on the maternity ward's floor down the hall from the nurses' station. As fast as her feet would carry her in he sneakers, Norah rushes to the room where her supervisor is gawking in shock at the empty bed. Going over Norah sees a scrawled and hurriedly written note laying among the covers that had been flung off to one side of the hospital patient issued bed itself.

 It was as if whomever had been in this room wasn't ready to be a mom to the baby in the nursery down the hall.

 Lord help her Norah knows that this precious baby girl without a home or someone to love and care for her would need it … as soon as possible. “I'm going to adopt her,” the brunette resolves he thoughts; turning around to face Laverne, her supervisor.

 “Are you sure that is a wise idea, mon cherie?” Laverne asks. Her Creole-French accent makes it impossible for most patients and their families to understand what she says half the time but Norah did and often spoke in the language they could understand. “Her maman might come back and claim her.”

 Norah uses a gentle touch to push the note into Laverne's aging hands. “She isn't coming back, Laverne,” Norah tells the older nurse. “She's abandoned the baby.”

Present Day – San Diego, California

Jake turns to face Hallie, fresh tears in his eyes and her own. “I don't get it. Why didn't you tell me?”

Hallie sniffles, wiping at her eyes. Jake puts his arms around her; one laying its palm flat against Hallie's back; the other traces slow, gentle circles on the nape of Hallie's neck. “Because I owe so much of my life to Norah. She's my mom in every sense of the word. I did meet her once. It was right after you and I, uh, had that one huge fight.”

2017 – Venice, Italy

Hallie easily dodges around to avoid the strong hands that reach out for her slender waist. “Non toccarmi cazzo!” Hallie shouts, ignoring the fact that she's attracted the attention of people walking along the street where their apartment is located. (“Don't fucking touch me!”)

“Ricardo solo che sono innamorato di te e che il mio cuore non vo da nessura parte, Hallie.” Jake's voice is eggshell soft, on the verge of cracking, as he takes gentle…hesitant…steps back to give Hallie the distance. Easing himself down onto the bottom steps that lead up to the loft. (“Just remember that I'm in love with you and that my heart isn't going anywhere, Hallie.”)

His wife huffs in anger and frustration before turning to storm out, going down two flights of stairs and emerging into the heavy rain that's just started pouring down. Hallie knows Jake will give her a big, long lecture about not taking a rain jacket or umbrella but right now she's feeling the fuming anger continue to build into a boiling point. Stomping down the rain-soaked cobblestone streets of Venice, Hallie heads toward an indoor food market just around the corner.

She is then startled by a woman preparing to leave the market with her various food purchases. When the said woman glances up from digging around for her keys, Hallie gasps sharply in shock.

 It's like looking into half of a mirror with the other half obscured and shadowed.

Turning on her heel Hallie runs all the way back to the apartment, finding Jake still waiting where she'd left him. “Mi dispiace. Mi dispiace tamto.” (“I'm sorry. So, so sorry.”)

“Anche io,” Jake says, standing and pulling Hallie close. He holds Hallie's rain-soaked and slender 5'5 form to him and just helps her let go of all the anger, letting it spew out like lava from a volcano. (“Me too.”)

  Present Day – San Diego

“It was that moment I knew we could be what the other needs during an emotional spell,” Hallie says, voice quiet as she waits to see what Jake will say.

“Very much so,” Jake agrees in the same quiet tone as Hallie; the cog wheels turning in his head with loud, annoying squeaks.

The next morning Jake approaches Maverick before the class they would be co-instructing. Both men fall into professional format, taking a moment to salute each other. “Do you…or did…know Lieutenant Ron Kerner, Captain?”

“Still do,” the older dark-haired pilot replies. “Why? Is there something I can help with?”

From the pocket of his personalized flight suit Jake withdraws a couple of Ziploc bags. One is empty but the other has a strand of Hallie's dark blonde hair. With a pencil on the desk, Jake scoots the empty bag toward Maverick. “I need to get his DNA to do a paternity test. I think…he's Hallie's biological father.”

Maverick's brows furrow in confusion. “Who's her mother?”

“Hannah Metcalf.” Jake's answer is anything but simple as the older pilot grows even more confused at the surname mentioned.

[leopardtie]

"sometimes missions get to me. not that theyre- hard, or anything. i’m great at them. but sometimes i cant help but wonder if i should be doing more because im great. yknow? like, i should be wearing myself thin so other people dont have to..."

it’s rare when the boy doesn't deflect his more unsavory emotions via jokes. it draws the sleep off his mind and he huffs lightly at his last comment. "you already do more than enough, satoru," he retorts. he can imagine the boy's pout, his annoyance, his stubborn refusal to believe nanami's words whenever they took a comforting tone. "if you wore yourself thin all the time, you would not be able to give it your all where it counts." his voice quickly shifts. he's less interested in talking about gojo's duties as a sorcerer than he is about his needs as a person. "and -- you deserve to rest like everybody else, no matter how exceptional you are."

he remembers getting into heated arguments with the principal on the subject, demanding that they do not overburden the boy's schedule with missions that could be effectively handled by groups of grade 1 sorcerers. they talked about efficiency and logistics, and nanami talked about gojo needing time to unwind and be a regular nineteen year old human. he lost many of those arguments, but once in a blue moon the stingy bastards on top relented, and nanami took shoko and gojo to novelty cafés full of colorful pastries and terribly sugary drinks in commemoration.

he sighs, closing his eyes, and smiles tiredly at the sound of gojo's soft breathing on the line. "for the record, i've thought about you too," he adds. he's a little more uncertain when he admits, "if there's something i can do to help you sleep, you should tell me." the low flush on his skin manifests palpably warm on his voice.

*

its so easily at the forefront of gojo's mind to say you could come over. regardless of distance, regardless of missions or duties or responsibilities. regardless of who they are or where they are. come over, and touch me, and dont go away for as long as we can both tolerate it.

but hes half-edged and half-asleep and half-in love w nanami's voice so he just shifts in bed a little, mindlessly runs a few fingers up his softening erection. hums to himself, scrubs a hand over his face in contemplation.

"how do you think about me?" he'd murmur, sounding shy but feeling for all the world like something possessive and nasty. "do you marvel at how handsome i am, nanami-san? how special?"

he’s idly stroking himself again now, phone flat on the pillow beside his head. "that’s what i do. i think about the first time i watched you fight. i think about you finding me bothersome and giving me detention. not because i want you to do it again, yknow, but- well you always sound really hot when youre bossing someone around. mm and i-" he lets himself moan just a little, a breathy little thing, his hand quickening. one cups at his balls a little, smooths further as he hitches a leg up and rubs circles at his own hole. "-i think about.. things you havent done, either. things i want you to do, think you should do. bet i could get you to do them... bet i could bat my eyelashes at you and win you over, isnt that right. sir? always suspected i was nanami-san's favorite student. always tried to be so good for you..."

hes not hiding anything at that point, fucking into his own fist and teasing a finger in and out of himself until it makes him buck, makes him roll over and rut into his mattress so he has a better angle to work himself open. he doesnt usually finger himself when he gets off (not unless he’s got the time for it) but sometimes he cant help the reedy wire that coils in his gut and makes every touch to his cock feel half as good as he knows his hole would be instead. hes panting and whining quietly into his pillow and he knows nanami can hear a good portion of it, but he wants to gauge the blond's reaction before he really lets go. maybe he reaches around for the spare bottle of lube he keeps near his bed and uses some to get himself nice n slick but i also picture him not fully planning on using more than a finger or two w how leaky and sensitive his cock is atop the blankets already.

*

he can feel the way his heart skips at the question, at its tone,  the honeyed anticipation caught on the flat of his tongue. he'd had a clue about what the boy had been actually up to, it didn't take a genius to interpret the throaty, half hearted hums of acknowledgement and the muted rustles of fabric rolling off the skin. it was all pretty obvious. and far from an innocent party in the situation, nanami had been willing to entertaining it, undoubtedly deriving a subdued form of pleasure from it all. would it be so different, then, if he took on a more active role? he's already crossed so many lines with the young sorcerer, some would argue the most important ones — would another one really make it worse? 

he clears his throat and blushes deeper, swallowing back a soft swear as gojo continues to ramble and confess to the depth of his crush. it vertiginously takes on a more and more desperate edge, spurred on by nanami's complicity, and the blond would be amused if the blood in his cock wasn't latching onto every single word.

 he's not aware he's been idly palming it through his sweatpants until he seeks to free it from its constraints. he licks his lips and gives the half hard length a tentative stroke, and it quickly devolves to a self limiting squeeze as gojo's stray, distant pants pour over the line. "don't rush, sweetheart," he breathes into the phone. he closes his eyes, picturing it and not for the first time wishing he was actually in the boy's room,  controlling everything from gojo's voice and volume to the exact pace of his greedy ministrations. "don't rush, slow down for me. take your time.." a few more strokes, the languid pumps eased with the precum gathered on the head of his cock. 

"i do think about you a lot," he confesses to the dimly lit, increasingly stifling room. he pictures drawling it into the younger man's ear, rumbling it in between the certain drag of his hips with the similar sort of reverence he's exhibiting right now. "such a special boy, yes, but also just how gorgeous you are. and how even more beautiful you looked lying beneath me." 

it's a visual that replays in his head constantly, to the point it makes focus nearly impossible these days. what desire he thought would eventually bleed out of his system turned, without warning, into full blown ravenous longing.

"i think about your pretty mouth, too," he continues. "about fucking it until you can hardly speak in the end—" his hand picks up a bit more of the pace, thighs parting for greater ease of movement. "about how nice i felt inside you — how fitting, how hot you were on my cock." he's hardly thinking, lulled by gojo's moans into a state of perfect carelessness. "and how much i'd like to do it again right now —"

lube is poured along the length of his cock and turns the movements slicker, louder and possibly perfectly listenable to gojos sensitive ears. he figures the boy has set the phone aside, which is why it feels infinitely less daunting when the camera shutters and he snaps a picture of his cock in his hand, his sweatpants pooled around his lower thighs. he sends it without thinking, without asking for permission, heart lodged in his throat, and tries not to not to instantly regret it as soon as it he sees it delivered.

"i want you to see it, baby," he continues, licking his lips. "i want you to know what you do to me. check your phone." 

*

gojo splutters out a breath, fingers stilling in their current stretch of his hole as he tries to listen to nanami's words. slowing down, now of all times- will sex with the blond always feel so controlled? the boy cant say he minds it but... he rolls his hips, lets another throaty moan slip free. he cant say he minds it but that doesnt mean he wants to do it. he wants quick, blind release. wants nothing filling between the start and the stop. wants his head to stop buzzing.

but maybe thats what nanami is aiming for too, and gojo has to listen. its always listen with the older man. gojo could say typical if he had the spit in his mouth to speak. hes been rocking back onto his fingers, mindlessly fucking himself as nanami rumbles into his ear. numbed at the deep drawl of his voice, the catch in his throat around certain sounds. gojo whimpers as his knuckles brush an aching sweetness inside him and he lifts his ass higher in the air, spreads his thighs more.

theres one confusing moment where he cant decide if he wants to touch his cock as well - feels it hard and arched against his stomach, pre-cum dribbling steadily onto the mussed sheets below - before the choice is taken from him by the chiming of his phone. gojo collapses onto one shoulder, uses his free hand to check the message.

"fuck," he gasps, eyes fluttering at the heady flush that abruptly rolls through him, "fuck, i need you in me."

the greedy press of a third finger against his hole is as desperate as it is instinctual, and he whimpers when each plunge of his wrist spreads him just shy of what he needs. the churn in his stomach, whipping tendrils throughout his thighs and abdomen like licks of heat. he sits up, tries to grind his hand into the bed; whines and snaps his thighs closed at the way it almost works; almost gives him more.

a cool breath glides across the boy's warmed chest, free of his mattress, and he pinches a nipple absently.

"this is mean," gojo pouts, snatching his phone as he says it. "im trying to feel full on nothing but fingers and youre sending me this?" hes not mad, not really, but he needs nanami to know what state he has the boy in.

gojo leans back flat, spreads his thighs so easily; works himself open a few more times before snapping a picture knuckle-deep; mouth in view, a tight little o, cheeks rosy and shined against his pale complexion. the softening line of his cock peeks out of view across the plane of his stomach, but his own leaking mess is difficult to ignore. he looks like a mess. he looks like a mess already, without nanami here. gojo whines again, quickens his fingers with a plea and a sob, hits send.

"wanna be stuffed on your cock again. dont think i'll ever get over it, dont think i can; fucked me so good, nanami-san. made me a perfect sleeve, made it fit so well. god, what do i do? tell me what to do, i dont- i dont have anything here, its just me."

he sounds like an idiot, he bets. he sounds like paid whore but he cant bring himself to care. wanting what hes getting for as long as he has? it'd turn any young man into a addled fool. gojo rolls onto his stomach again - gasping and moaning at the friction against his sensitive tip - but its short lived. he lifts his hips, holds the phone close to his lips.

"look at me," gojo breathes. "look at what youre not fucking."

and he takes another picture, doesnt even bother to look. loose hole, half-hard and untouched cock, gojo face down and panting. he knows how it must look. hes living it. and close to crying, in all honesty, as a result. the boy sinks his fingers in again, so, so easily, and silently wills himself not to combust at the sorry state of his prostate.

*

the pictures come one shortly after the other and so he has no semblance of a break for the impact they have on him. nanami feels his cock throb in his fist, feels the drum of arousal in the marrow of his bones, his hasty pumps turned slicker and even more desperate. there's a groan at the depth of his throat when he sees the second snapshot -- it's hard to focus on anything in particular when the full image makes him feel fucking feverish, but still, he manages to zero in on a few things -- on the bitten-red lips and the soft, pretty cock and the modest, mouth-watering gape of his hole, the rim glistening with the sort of pink evenness that can only come from lube and effort.

gojo satoru is gorgeous -- always has been. he's beautiful in a way that borders on impermissible and unjust. it's only recently, however, that he has allowed himself to really sit in with that fact, and to let it affect him the way it does, seizing his gut with a hunger he doubts will ever be satiated.

"-- fuck, sweetheart," he growls. his palm squeezes at the base of his cock hard, trying to ward off an almost certain orgasm just a few more minutes. that's all he needs. just a few more minutes of this. "i'll take care of you soon, don't worry," he purrs against the receiver, closing his eyes and licking his lips at the mental visual of gojo on his stomach for him, fully open for him, ass spread and cock untouched and face pinned down against the pillow as he lets himself get fucked to his heart's content.

"just come back to me soon and i'll do it. i'll fuck you until you're sore and i won't let you heal it afterwards. i'll give you everything, baby. i'll give you whatever you want," he continues, a rushed, breathless set of admissions, and wonders if he's remotely coherent, wonders if he even should say the things he's saying, if he isn't binding himself to something that could end up being far more than he can chew. the boy is gorgeous in a way that's dangerous and he does not know much in the way of boundaries, after all.

it's something he thinks about, briefly, as all things can be thought of in the cusp of climax, and he rids himself of it with a handful of strokes that makes his balls seize and a groan rip past his lips. "give it to me, satoru," he orders, doing his best to keep his voice focused, the growl in his voice rough and decisive. "cum on your fingers for me and show me the mess you make."

*

theres a guttural moan that follows at the command, gojo's thoughts growing cloudy with nanami's voice thick and desperate in his ears. he can feel his cock slapping his stomach as he rocks onto his own fingers, can feel each string of precum coat his skin until the slaps are tacky and loud, slick whispers slipping through the phone over his heavy breathing.

"gonna make me cum," he whimpers, so close his stomach is churning, and yet the stretch leaves gojo yearning for something more; a tease he cant follow, cunt sloppy and loose and wanting more-

he pitches forward on one shoulder, tightens a fist around his cock and pumps full, quick, just to ease the emptiness he keeps squirming around. the boy isnt quite hard enough to do much other than milk himself into the cup of his palm but its something, a distraction, an additional heat pooling in his gut as he feels his thighs tense and shake, fingers curling deep into his prostate. once, gojo moaning and trying to arch into it, and a second time so close to being sweet that he gasps against the phone, bites his lip to stop the wet pleas sticking in his throat.

"dont-" tries the boy, weight collapsing under his own need, landing on his side as he massages the base of his cock absently, "dont even wanna cum without ur cock. ruined me da- nng, damnit, fuck-"

gojo twitches in his palm, cock leaking onto the sheets, stiffened fully under the attention. he strokes, breath heaving so hard his chest hurts...

has a fleeting, passing moment of annoyance at how useless his dick is in a time like this. he'd take it off and fuck himself with it if it meant he had any dick up his ass. but the crest of his orgasms chases off any humor that could remain in the thought and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth with a high whine.

"cumming, oh- nanami- daddy, im cumming-" and gojo lasts just long enough to fit another finger, stretch himself with as much as he can fit and relish the ache, the protest of his hole even as he glides over his prostate and massages into it. he can hear himself distantly, loud and demanding and gone, and he can feel his cock throb as he cups his balls and presses behind them, kneading his taint; theres a thread of decency left in the boy that shrivels up at how easily he was reduced to this, though it means little to him now.

when it finally buzzes out of him, rich and heavy and thick like smoke, gojo can only swallow around the dry of his own mouth and groan. his hole twitches at the insistent stretch of his fingers, but he leaves them a moment, trying to tune into nanami's voice again. he grabs his phone as he does so, hikes his leg up to show both the splattered mess of cum and the still plugged, sore rim of his cunt.

gojo works himself open a few more times, lazy and almost unwilling to end it, before removing his fingers and sending the blond another photo, gape leaking lube. the boy looks loose enough to take nanami with nothing more than a nudge of the man's cock, and lord knows gojo would fruitlessly ride his fingers throughout the night if it meant he'd wake up stuffed, but as the messages send he keeps himself from prattling on much further...

"what a mess," he murmurs, suddenly shy at the loneliness of his room and the clear static to nanami's distant, mobile voice. "you really worked me up..."

*

it's cruel of him, he's sure, and completely unlike him, the way he enjoys every aspect of the boy's struggle. every whimper and shift in tone, every audible sign of strain and weakness — it all goes straight to his cock as he strokes to the same beat of gojo's growing debasement, all of which is encouraged, of course, in the consistent, persistent shape of praise and mindless dulcet words —

he thought himself above such kind of lowly obscenities for a long time. as it stands, satoru continues to teach him things about himself he hadn't thought to ask. 

"good boy," he rumbles around a hazy, mean and greedy smile. "such a good, obedient little boy for me. you sound so nice right now, satoru. i could get used to this." 

drunk. he's drunk on this man. dazed and reckless. his flushed cock throbs in his fist, threatening to cum any moment now, and nanami heeds it, spreading the precum beading at the surface with a seamless flick of his wrist. 

there's the release soon after, gojo breaking down vocally as he finally spills over himself, and it's so rich and clear he can almost see it as it happens. nanami gives it chase, cums hot against the rough of his palm and uses it for a few more damning strokes. leaves him growling, the keen bite of pleasure digging at his heels, but it's bearable next to the nothingness of allowing the moment to die out. 

at least for a few more minutes. at least. just enough for sense and rationality to make a feeble grab for the wheel.

he licks his lips at the last picture, feels a blissful sting of desire at the dewed skin (wants to lick it, get lost in it) and loosened hole (wants to fill it, wants to be the only one that enjoys it, wants to be the last one), and knows this is going to stay with him for a while and make everything infinitely more difficult for him for the upcoming days — at least until the young sorcerer returns. after all, how is he expected to focus when there's a password protected folder in his phone with things like this? 

he didn't ask to know this about himself but he's learning it either way. 

he takes a deep breath, willing oxygen to reach his addled neurons, and releases a quick, amused huff. "you're the one that called me." then, more warmly, dabbed with sleepiness: "i'm glad you did." 

if the boy had been simply lonely, he could have found anyone  (literally anyone, as there was no shortage of people who found gojo beautiful, man or woman alike) to mend it. the fact that he called, and settled for an arrangement like this? nanami wasn't one to let things go to his head, not even the most self indulgent realizations. he aimed to think clearly, but it was hard when it came to his former pupil.  it was hard to think — in general — when it came to how the boy made him feel. 

he bit his lip, tasted the words on his tongue. logic after such intense orgasms was not exactly his strong suit either way. he should just not try. he should simply go with what feels right.

 "and i do mean it as well — i want to take care of you when you come back," he confesses. "you should wait until then."

*

amidst the quieting sound of gojo catching his breath, the boy tugs a pillow close and curls himself around it. his nose wrinkles and twitches at the cooling sensation of cum along his stomach and cock but it passes in a moment, replaced instead by smooth sheets and plush feathers. he feels... sore all over, and worn out, and like a subtle idiot for the way he acted.

but nanami is still there, still murmuring into the line, so gojo lets himself listen. 

"i know i called you," he says gently. confessing almost, shy and sheepish and tired. "but id like if you took care of me. i think id like a lot of things with you."

the room feels larger than it did a few minutes ago, so gojo tucks a blanket loosely around his lanky frame and blinks at the light of his phone until his eyes grow heavy. he doubts he could stay up much longer, orgasm or not; everything feels like it needs to be slept on. still, the boy holds the pillow tighter against his chest and feels his heartbeat bleed through it.

"this was nice... im glad i didnt put you off. if-... if this is what you want more of, then i dont mind waiting. you should promise, if anything."

which is a subtly idiotic thing to say but the boy chooses to ignore it in favor of ignoring everything else hes revealed tonight.

*

nanami hums softly at the boy’s words, efficiently tending to the mess smeared over his stomach and thighs before it dries uncomfortably on his skin. part of him wants to tease gojo for this odd bout of reticence, but the other understands it far too well. knows that that is the last thing he should do. that it is simply far too precious.

“i promise, satoru,” he assures into the speaker of his phone. his orgasm has left him boneless and sated, warm underneath the covers, but it has also made him all the more aware of the pointed absence in his bed, of how lacking even this bliss feels without practical, grounding weight of another body pressed close to his own. “i’ll look forward to it every day until your return.”

he signs the boy off with a warm goodnight, and hopes that, if nothing else, he succeeded at helping him achieve a night of proper sleep.

[justtogetthrough]

Booked my breast reduction for September 29th and I'm still kinda 😬😬😬😬 at the money I'm paying with no guarantee about how much smaller my boobs will get.

The surgeon was nicer today and was very clear in making sure I understand this time there's a limit to what can be removed and I'm like yeah I know that now. At one point he just straight up asked me if I was sure I wanted another reduction period and I wanted to be like ....what part of me hounding you since January about getting a revision and then crying on a fucking table in May for an excision procedure I was told would also be a breast reduction consult makes you think I'm not sure that I want s m a l l e r b r e a s t s?

There were a bunch of implants on the counter so I wonder if maybe he'd been seeing augmentation patients all day. I was literally like "I know you already removed half my boobs but they're still literally the size of my head. I desperately need them to be smaller." I think that was what made him stop asking lol. Bc then he moved on to "I'm not taking OHIP patients right now, if you try to submit it after the fact they won't process it just a heads up" and I said "I know. I'm paying privately. I just need THIS *motions in a circle around my chest* dealt with ASAP so I wasn't going to go through OHIP in the first place."

I left his office NOT in tears for once and I'm like... slightly optimistic because he's doing it at all (sad I know) but part of me knows to expect great disappointment because all of my surgeries turn out shitty and this one definitely won't be an exception. It's just gonna be a surprise re: what part is terrible :~)

I am nervous as fuck. Super super nervous. But because of my stupid eating disorder and my stupid body I can't lose weight and it's dumb how much money I'm paying for potentially little change, but any decrease in size will help my mental health and I feel like I don't have a choice. I'm having him correct the sides of my chest as well from a lil side effect of gaining several dozen pounds in only a few months 10 years ago and he did say there's no way it'll go flat, but I said it'll flow better? And he said yeah, he can change the shape quite dramatically. So... even if my boobs don't reduce as much as I want them too I'm hoping this other problem that makes me wanna die will go away enough that I don't feel utter disgust with myself every time I am conscious about having a body.

[songbirdstyles]

let it bleed

summary: you’re on your period, and harry just wants to make you feel good.

warnings: smut, shower sex, period sex, clothed sex/grinding, fingering

word count: 6.8k words

song inspo: let it bleed - the rolling stones (aren’t i funny)

Waking up on Saturday is generally a blissful experience - sleeping in until the day feels nearly gone, lounging with Harry around the house or heading outside when the weather permits it - sure, every day in quarantine could be chalked up to just another Saturday but there’s something different about the actual day itself. Harry’s usually awake entirely too early during the week, sitting at the kitchen table with his headphones in, suffering through meetings with producers and managers for much longer than what could possibly be bearable. And you’re generally holed up at your desk, trying not to fucking die of boredom as you sit through useless Zoom sessions and assignments given by superiors who don’t understand technology - needless to say, you’d rather waste your days wrapped in Harry’s arms than sitting through that.

This Saturday, though, wakes you up a few hours later than you usually would, Harry’s head pressed into your chest, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, fingers clutched tight on the oversized t-shirt you’d donned to bed. Chestnut curls brush the end of your nose and a sleepy smile tilts your lips upwards as your eyes crack open, squinting up at the ceiling of your bedroom, only dimly aware of the low stream of early morning light shining through the window beside your bed.

You never usually wake this early, do you? No, you don’t, and you tilt your head to glare at the clock mounted on the wall across the room from you. It’s 4:56, a whole 5 hours before you’d ever even consider getting out of bed, and, yet, your body had forced you awake for seemingly no reason. You could be curling yourself up in Harry’s arms, legs around his torso and arms around his neck as his snores ring in your ears like a lullaby, except -

There’s a dull pain in your abdomen, right above your belly button, twisting your insides with just enough force to rip a soft groan from your lips. It’s a feeling you recognize entirely too well, cramps throttling your uterus like they’re trying to fucking murder you and you’re sure that, whenever you muster the energy to pull yourself out of bed and waddle over to the bathroom, you’ll see the physical proof of exactly what’s causing it.

Harry stirs against your chest, arm tightening around your waist until his forearm is pressed to your abdomen, face pushing further into your boobs as though it’s intentional. You stare down at him for a moment - perhaps he’ll crack an eye open, lips turning up, just to see how you’d reacted - but, no, he’s truly asleep. Dead asleep, you’d assume as you lift a hand to run through his messy hair and he doesn’t move at the motion.

You hate untangling yourself from him, almost always forcing him awake, but you suppose it’s repercussions for him being such a damn cuddler - not that you’d dream of complaining.

Slowly your fingers wrap around his wrist, his fingertips still held tight onto your shirt (or is it his? You never truly know, sometimes) as though it’s some sort of lifeline - still, it’s easy enough to pull his hand from your clothes, reaching over to rest his arm against the side of his body and he hardly stirs at the disruption. 

Of course, the next part is destined to be much less graceful and significantly more disruptive to your loving boyfriend, resting like a sleeping angel, practically on top of you - you press your palm to the side of the bed next to you and use it as leverage to roll out of his embrace, pausing once you land on your back to see if he wakes.

(At the same time, you feel a familiar swooping sensation in the pit of your tummy that - isn’t pleasant, to say the very least, and you scrunch your nose up at the feeling.)

That seemed to do the trick - Harry drops flat on his face on top of the mattress and wakes with a jolt as though you’d doused him with water, pushing himself onto his forearms just as you stand up, stretching your arms high above your head with a sigh.

“What’reyoudoin’?” he slurs out, voice dripping with raspiness and sleep and you look back just as he drops his head back onto the pillow. You could fool yourself into thinking he’s gone back to bed until he lifts his head up, eyebrow raised just so. “Come back, babe - s’so early -”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you tell him, sliding your feet into your Santa slippers before making your way across the bedroom towards the bathroom, its door creaked open just so. You pause once you pass your dresser and open the top drawer, grabbing a fresh pair of panties and balling them up in your fist. “You can go back to bed - I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll wait,” he insists, eyes already drooping shut as you close the bathroom door behind you, shuffling over to the toilet as you wince at the discomfort. You certainly hadn’t needed any sort of confirmation to affirm your suspicion but you still get one - blood stains your panties, your sleep shorts mercifully spared, and you kick them off your legs, balling the blood-soaked panties with a grimace. 

It takes only a minute or two to clean yourself up, and when you’ve put in a tampon and pulled on your new panties and sleep shorts, you rifle through the bathroom cabinet searching for the small bottle of painkillers that your abdomen yearns for - there’s few pills left, used mainly for this time of the month, and you shake three into your palm and pop them into your mouth. It’ll take a while to kick in - twenty minutes, usually, and that’s if you get lucky - but you’ll hopefully be fast asleep in Harry’s arms during that time. They’re not horrible, anyway, your cramps - usually they’re worse, and you’re sure they’ll pain you more as the day progresses, but at least you can take pills now to settle them.

You flick the light switch so the room basks itself in darkness before heading back into your bedroom, eyes landing on Harry’s figure, duvet pushed down to just above his hips, arms stretched high above his head. Even in the dim light of the room, illuminated solely by the rising sun that peeps through the window, you can see the way his eyes follow you - instead of walking around the bed to your side, you stop beside him, reaching down to run your fingers through his curls.

“Tha’s nice,” Harry murmurs, moving his head up further into your grasp and you grin. “Are y’comin’ back t’bed, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, voice soft, and hardly one minute ago it had been your intent to crawl into bed beside him and sleep off the first morning of your period but you’re feeling an entirely different urge, now, gaze locking with his for just a moment, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. “Yeah - scoot over.”

Harry scoffs with a lazy smile but obliges, shifting to the side so you can clamber into bed beside him. One bare arm lifts to wrap around your waist as you curl into his side, tilting your head upwards to land a light kiss to the underside of his jaw. Your palm goes up to the side of his face, cold fingertips pressed to his cheek as you tilt his head towards you, suckling light kisses into the delicate skin on the column of his throat, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath your lips as he exhales.

“What’re you doing?” your boyfriend questions softly, fingertips fiddling with the ends of your hair as you lift your leg to throw across both of his, kisses trailing further down his neck and your palm smoothing up and down his bare chest, nails scratching his skin softly. “Tryin’ t’make me horny - you’re the devil.”

“I’m not,” you murmur against his skin, which is a lie and a pathetic one at that, as your calf dips higher to caress the bulge in his boxers that seems to harden with every pucker of your lips against his neck. 

“You are,” Harry insists, hand sliding down your back until he reaches the hem of your sleep shorts, and before he can duck his fingers beneath the fabric your face heats up and you push yourself to straddle him, core situated directly over his cock, and he groans, the noise guttural and raspy. “What’s got you so worked up, hmm?”

You don’t answer - and it’s not as though it’s embarrassing to admit that you’re on your period, because you’ve certainly been with Harry long enough to know that he’s not a man with masculinity so fragile that it breaks with the mere mention of menstruation - but you’d rather not shatter the moment you’ve created by announcing that it can’t go on further than it already has. Instead, you roll your hips against his, spurred on by his soft moan as your hands slide down his arms until your palms press to his and you interlock your fingers, using it as leverage to rock your body against his with more force.

“Oh, shit,” Harry breathes, head digging backwards into his pillow and you drop your head back, grinding your clit against his bulge and even through the layers of fabric between you, the stimulation is good enough to pull a whimper from your throat - you hadn’t thought you’d been that needy but perhaps you were more desperate for him than you’d suspected. His hands untangle from yours and slide up your thighs, landing on your ass, fingers spreading to encompass as much of your fabric-covered skin as he can, rocking you deeper against him.

You moan softly, bracing your hands on his chest as his grasp on your ass tightens, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts and you can feel his cock twitching in his boxers against your cunt - his hips buck gently up into yours and if you were like him, you’d tut and murmur for him to stay still, baby, but you’re nicer than that. “God, Har -”

Large hands slide from holding the globes of your ass up to your waist, fingertips smoothing circles into your skin through your shirt and the motion helps to ease the cramps still throbbing in your abdomen, though significantly lessened by both the Advil you’d taken and the pleasure building in your body as you grind against your boyfriend. Orgasms always help with cramps - when you were younger you’d spend hours in the shower, fingers toying with your clit and bringing yourself to cum over and over again. And now - well, you still do that, though grinding against Harry is much more pleasurable than doing it yourself. “I’m gonna cum, Har,” you breathe, and you lean your body forward, palms pressed into the pillow beside his head until you can dip your head down, lips pressing to his in a heated kiss that he moans into, holding your waist tighter against his dick. “Just - just a little more -”

“Don’t,” Harry grunts, which is what you’d expected him to say, and you push yourself back up, detaching your lips from his as you rise to sit above him again, hips still working against him with ease. “Wanna be inside you, baby - need t’fuck you -”

You bring your hands to his wrists when he reaches for the waistband of your shorts, preventing him from tugging them down your stomach and he looks up at you, brows furrowed and lips parted with desire as you breathe, “No - can’t -”

“Please -”

“I’m on my period,” you tell him, feeling heat creep up your neck and tainting your cheeks, and to compensate you grind further down on him, dropping your head back at his responding groan. 

His tongue darts out to lap at his lips briefly, hands smoothing back down to palm your ass and he doesn’t look nearly as weirded out as you’d expected - you hadn’t thought he’d push you off but you didn’t think he’d start rocking you against him with a new intensity that rips a whine from your throat. Harry doesn’t waste another moment before responding, as though you’d merely told him the weather instead of the current state of your menstrual cycle, “I don’t care, need t’be in you -”

He’s horny, your brain tells yourself. He would care if you hadn’t been grinding on him for nearly ten minutes. And you could accept his declaration of carelessness at face value and strip down and take him but he wouldn’t want it if he was thinking straight, and he’s decidedly not, now, brain muddled with sleep and horniness, even as his hands begin smoothing up the fabric riding up your ass. Fingertips graze your ass beneath your shorts and you jolt -

You’ll suck him off when you’re done, and you’re so close - it’s just another roll of your hips as Harry’s hands grasp your ass, digging into your skin so tight you’ll surely see bruises later that will do unspeakable things to your menstruating brain -

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as Harry moans beneath you, grinding yourself vigorously against him with a desperate whimper, and you’d cringe at it in any other instance but God, it feels so good, better than anything your fingers could do in the shower, and you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed as your orgasm washes over you. It’s fast and brutal and your body jerkily attempts to maintain a rhythm against your boyfriend’s clothed cock but it’s difficult, arms shaking with the force of holding yourself up as your thighs tighten around his hips, and finally you lean forward, crashing your lips to Harry’s so he can swallow your needy moans.

His palms slide up your ass to your back, pressing against the small of your back as you lazily roll your hips over his, riding out the last aftershocks of your release until you’re done, dropping your head to his chest as heat floods your face. Perhaps he can tell you’re feeling embarrassed - he can read you like a book, generally - and his hands move up beneath your shirt, hands warm against your bare back as he breathes heavily.

(His dick is still throbbingly hard beneath you, and it’s a wonder he’s not bucking his hips into yours to chase his release, but he is, first and foremost, a gentleman.)

“Please -” he murmurs as you move your head so your cheek is pressed to his chest, feeling his heart thumping against your face. “Need t’fuck you, baby - little blood doesn’t bother me -”

Well, he’s still horny, and you ignore the way your stomach flips just like you ignore his words, sliding down his body and laying kisses against his skin as you tug the duvet fully off his body. You’ll consider his words later - debate how much he means it, and maybe he’ll mention it again later - but, for now, you can’t go on leaving him so painfully hard under you, especially when the thought of sucking him off sounds so appealing -

 ~~

 The topic goes, for the most part, unmentioned throughout the rest of the day - the two of you fall back to sleep after your early morning ministrations but only for a few more hours, venturing into the kitchen at 8 to have breakfast out in the garden. French toast amongst flowers is an unmatched experience and one you hadn’t had before quarantine, but you and Harry try to take advantage of the weather before it starts to get too chilly to spend time outside. You still had to run inside to grab cardigans for you both to don but - well, it’s the principle that matters.

And after breakfast comes movies, searching through Amazon until you find something you both haven’t seen, and Harry heads to warm your heating pad as you sacrifice the $3.99 to watch Almost Famous, and he returns with your pad just as you clear a space for him to curl onto the couch behind you. It’s such normal period protocol that you could nearly forget his eagerness to bury himself inside of you, blood and all - 

Nearly.

You haven’t forgotten, even when Jason Lee and Billy Crudup fight in a crashing plane, how Harry had begged you to let him fuck you - and he was horny, only a blind man could deny it, but he’d never made claims he couldn’t keep no matter how hard his dick was. The first time he’d confessed that he loved you, he’d been balls deep in your cunt, back pressed tight to your back as he landed biting kisses to the back of your neck, and he’d murmured the words against your sweaty skin - and, later, when you’d asked if he meant it, he’d told you that he’d never lie t’you when you’re tha’ close t’my bits.

It isn’t the most eloquent promise, but he’d mostly kept it. Still - what kind of dreamboat would someone have to be to be willing to fuck you on your period? You’d dated enough people to know what how much of a rarity that is, to have a man so cool with menstruation he doesn’t care about having sex with you and you find it hard to believe Harry truly would be willing -

His arms are crossed over your body, forearms holding your heating pad to your abdomen, palms resting nearly absentmindedly against your boobs through your shirt. His lips lay lazy kisses against the back of your neck, so gentle you’re sure he isn’t even aware he’s doing it, fingers every so often flexing gently against your chest. His curls tickle your shoulders through your tank top, cardigan discarded on the coffee table in front of you, and a chill rolls through your body at the feeling.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to you - or maybe he does. You can’t decide which option you prefer.

Harry pauses, breathing gentle against your skin. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Sometimes you forget how well he can read you. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

He hums, thumb moving in gentle circles against your boobs, grazing your nipple through the thin bra you’re wearing beneath your tank top, and you can practically hear the way his eyebrow quirks as you inhale softly. “Ah.”

“What?”

“You’re horny.”

You huff, and Harry drops his forehead against the back of your scalp with a low laugh. “Well, obviously - fingering my boobs like that - it’s the period hormones -”

“Period hormones.”

“Yes!” And you push yourself to sit up, glaring down at Harry lying beneath you, heating pad falling along with his arms to your lap, and his hands land on your thighs, palms smoothing up and down your skin. “Come on, you know I get horny on my period -”

“More than usual, you mean?”

“More than - I’m not the one who wakes up in the middle of the night with love boners!”

“Did that today, though, didn’t you?”

You, truly, don’t have any sort of response for that, mouth opening and closing a few times before you cross your arms over your chest, decidedly ignoring his smug smirk. “At least I have an excuse.”

He shrugs, drumming his fingertips up and down your thighs before raising one arm to slide beneath his head, tattooed arm gazing up at you and you want to - God, you want him to fucking rail you and you swallow thickly as his gaze never leaves yours, grin still toying at his lips. “So horny, an’ you won’t let m’fuck you.”

Heat burns at your face as you stare at him, eyebrows furrowing. Is he kidding? You can’t tell. He’s wearing that shit-eating smile that he dons when he’s fucking with you but you can’t see why he’d mention it again unless he was serious - it seems cruel. “Harry.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not serious.”

Harry shrugs, pushing himself onto his elbows, staring up at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “‘Course I’m serious.”

You reach down, fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt covering his chest. “You don’t think it’s - gross? Come on, Har.”

“Do you think s’gross?” he asks, and you shrug, even if you really want to shake your head in a vehement no, glancing back up at him when he lifts his head closer to yours. “I don’t think it is -” and as he sees your doubtful, quirked eyebrow, he exhales a laugh. “M’serious! Remember when y’had the stomach bug, an’ I was cleaning up your puke an’ -”

“Okay,” you cut him off, reaching forward to place your index finger against his lips before he can finish reminding you of exactly what he’d had to clean up - he puckers his lips to land a light kiss against your digits. “But that’s different.”

But you can tell that he can tell that he’s wearing you down - “How’s it different, babe? M’fine gettin’ m’hands a little dirty.”

The expression makes you cringe and you drop your head back with a groan, rolling your eyes at Harry’s barking laugh as he reaches his hand up to rest against your waist, other hand pressed into your thigh. “Sorry, sorry,” he grins, dropping his head into your lap, and you instinctively smooth your nails against his scalp. “But m’serious. Can’t have you gettin’ yourself off by grinding - what kind of boyfriend would I be, hmm?”

A normal one, you want to reply, but the truth is you don’t think you’ll ever look twice at a normal man again if you seriously accept this. How could you go to a normal boyfriend knowing Harry is more than willing to bury himself inside of you, blood and all?

When your fingers abruptly stop scratching his scalp Harry lifts his head, pressing his cheek against your thigh, and you lower your eyes to his with your bottom lip tucked tight between your teeth.

“S’that a yes, then?” he questions, and he sounds so excited at the prospect that your stomach flips.

“A maybe,” and he doesn’t deflate at the half-rejection - you’ll come around, and the both of you know it. “We can - um - we can try it.” As a larger grin spreads across his face you playfully hit his cheek, feeling your own heating up. “In the shower tonight. So - you know - it’s less messy.”

 ~~~

 Harry runs off to start the shower nearly immediately after your late dinner while you begin loading dishes in the dishwasher, shaky hands holding tight onto each dirty plate so you don’t drop it. And you aren’t - nervous, per se, at least not as much as you’d expected yourself to be. Harry had hardly been able to keep his hands off of you all afternoon, palm resting firmly on your thigh during dinner and mouthing open mouthed kisses to your throat while you started your second and third movies of the day.

He wasn’t nervous - not at all. He seemed pretty damn excited, too, and that should make you less hesitant but your stomach still flips as you hear the shower turn on, followed by his footsteps padding down the stairs and the hallway until he emerges back in the kitchen, sweatpants low on his hips and shirt riding up his torso, and you swallow thickly as he leans against the doorway.

“Shower’s running,” he tells you as you shut the dishwasher, taking a step closer to him.

“I hear it.”

“Y’okay?”

You shrug, dragging your nails against his chest softly through his shirt, and Harry wraps his hands around your wrists with a raised eyebrow. “I’m fine,” you tell him, smiling lightly. “I’m nervous, but I’m -”

“Horny?”

“Yeah.”

Harry drops his forehead against the top of your head with a laugh, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you to him. “It’ll be fine,” he says against your hair, puckering your lips to land kiss after kiss to your head. “Anyway, don’t periods stop flowing in water?” You furrow your eyebrows. “No - what?”

“I saw tha’ online -”

“That’s not true!”

“Okay, okay!” Harry holds up his hands in surrender and you grin, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Well, m’lady, can I take you upstairs, then?”

Your stomach still rolls with nerves, even as he holds a hand out for you to grasp, and his palm is warmer than yours, skin soft and damp from the shower - “‘Course you can.”

 ~~~

 Harry’s fingers are expert at undoing the clasp of your bra, letting the cups fall away from your boobs and he lowers the straps down your shoulders, dragging his fingertips gently down your skin and smiling as goosebumps pop up over your skin. Your hands, in turn, travel downwards to the front of his sweatpants, pulling the tie until they come undone and the slightly-too-big pants droop down his hips until you slide your hands into the waistband and lower them all the way down into a pool by his ankles.

His shirt has long been discarded, thrown lazily on top of the toilet seat, and your tanktop and shorts have faced similar treatment, abandoned on the floor of your bedroom until you’re both just in your underwear - you’re both itching to be free of them, though, and just as Harry’s hands slide down your waist to the waistband of your panties you grab onto his boxers and tug them down, freeing his half-hard cock from their constraints.

Your hand wraps around his length like a vise, thumb swiping over his head and his hands falter, fingers tight on the hem of your panties, and his eyes drop shut with a low moan. You’re solely interested in feeling him harden in your grasp and your wish succeeds, feeling him throb against your fingers until he’s fully up, sliding his hands up to your breasts and rolling your nipples between his thumbs as some sort of punishment. Your lips part with a whine and you rest your head against his chest, inhaling shakily.

“Y’ready?” Harry questions, pinching your nipples lightly, and you arch your chest into his hands - he knows how sensitive your boobs get on your period and he never fails to take full advantage of your increased responses to his touch. “Panties off, baby.”

You pause, and then move your hands up to his chest, taking a step away from him. “Go in the shower,” you tell him, biting back a grin as he playfully rolls his eyes.

“Are y’serious?”

“Yes - go in the shower and - and close your eyes so I can - wash myself.”

Your cheeks heat up as Harry raises his eyebrows, clearly trying to see whether you’re being serious - after a moment with neither of you budging he sighs, trailing his fingertips down your hips before taking a step back, and you get just a moment to stare at his backside as he turns to step into the shower, sliding the door shut behind him until all you can see is his silhouette in the frosty glass.

You hook your fingers in the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them down your thighs as you can hear Harry humming in the shower - you kick them to the floor and gaze at yourself in the mirror, just for a moment, before reaching down to the unshaven apex of your thighs, hooking a finger in the string of your tampon and pulling it out with one fast yank. First day of your period and it’s mercifully bright red instead of the end of the period brown that you can’t stand to look at, and you open the trash can with your toes to drop the tampon in.

When you look back at yourself in the mirror briefly, you can already see red staining your inner thighs, and your cheeks flush but you don’t give yourself time to ponder on it for fear of backing out on the whole idea. You merely turn, sliding open the door to the shower and stepping inside, and Harry stands, hand pressed dramatically over his eyes as the water washes over him, and you press your hands to his shoulders, moving around him so you can be in the direct line of the water. The stream washes away the remnants of blood between your thighs, disappearing down the drain until you’re sure there’s nothing left, and you tap Harry on the shoulder.

“You can open,” you tell him, and the fingers clamped over his eyes separate so you can see just a band of green peeking between his digits.

“Can’t believe you’re this bothered over a spot f’blood,” Harry says, and before you can venomously retort by telling him that it’s much more than a spot of blood, and he should know, considering how often he has to go out and buy you tampons, he presses his hands to the side of your face, lowering his lips to yours in a clashing, deep kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth without a moment to spare.

You nearly slip, then, taking a slippery step back until your back is pressed to the shower wall, hand reaching behind you to grab onto the railing installed into the wall for this very purpose - it’s ideal to grab onto you when he’s railing you from behind, and the little alcove dug into the wall for toiletries is the ideal place to perch on while Harry goes to town between your legs -

Now, though, you simply loop your free arm around his neck, pulling his body closer to yours with a soft moan into his mouth as one of his hands leaves your face to trail down your body, palm cupping your boob and squeezing the soft flesh. It pulls another whine from your throat, pushing your chest into his hands and he grins against your lips, dragging his thumb across your peaked nipple. You get so caught up in the kiss and his hand on your boobs that you could nearly forget about the circumstances that led you to this specific scenario, fucking in the shower instead of the comfort of your own bed -

Until his hand cupping your breast moves farther down, fingers trailing through the sodden curls between your thighs before dipping between your folds, and you jolt, arm tightening around his neck and his head drops between your neck and shoulder. Your face burns as his fingertips circle your clit, pressing into the sensitive nub as you groan before he slides them back down your folds, pressing one gently into your hole until it slips in with an embarrassing amount of ease.

“Oh fuck -” you exhale, and Harry lifts his head slightly, suckling a hickey into the side of your neck as his finger pumps in and out of you, curling upwards to hit the spongy spot inside of you that has you pushing your hips into his hands. “Come on, Har, babe - just fuck me, really fuck me -”

“Wan’ me t’fuck you, don’t you?” he exhales into your skin, soaked curls dripping moisture onto your chest, and the warm water dripping down your skin has a chill rolling through your spine like a goddamn tidal wave. “Don’t want m’fingers, d’you?”

You do want his fingers, though - and his mouth - and his cock - and the need is so overwhelming it makes your legs feel shaky. For a moment you don’t know what to say, mouth parted in a silent plea for everything and anything he’s willing to give you and Harry simply stares, thrusting his finger in and out of you before adding another. 

Eventually his pauses, fingers twisted to graze the spot inside of you that makes your vision go hazy, and you know he needs you to speak but you can hardly think of anything to say. “Please -”

“Please wha’?”

“Please - I need to cum -”

He hums and lowers his lips back to yours, and you cry out directly into his mouth as his thumb rests against your clit, rubbing slow circles entirely too soft into the nub but even the slightest bit of stimulation has your hormone ridden body bucking up into him, squeezing onto the railing behind you for dear life so you don’t collapse with need. “Need t’cum?”

“Yes!”

“Do it then, baby - cum f’me, cum on m’fingers -”

You roll your hips against his fingers, dropping your head back against the wall of the shower with a whine, and Harry continues his steady face penetrating you with his fingers - normally you’d never cum this fast, hardly five minutes with his fingers in your cunt but this isn’t a normal situation by any standards, and you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed over how close you are.

Harry’s teeth close on your bottom lip, nibbling on the skin gently and you’re nearly crossing your eyes to maintain eye contact with him - you know how much he loves watching when you come undone - and all it takes is one more measly pump of his fingers into your dripping pussy for you to topple over the edge. Your body trembles beneath him as his fingers still, your eyes rolling back into your scalp as you shake in his arms, cunt fluttering weakly around his fingers. His breathing is heavy in your ears, low and raspy as you whimper violently with your orgasm wrapping around you like a fucking vise and when your vision finally clears up he’s staring at you like you’re a piece in the damn Museum of Modern Art.

“Fuck, Har, felt so good,” you exhale, and Harry reaches down, one of his forearms going beneath your thighs to lift up, and you look down just as he pulls his fingers out of you. The blood on his digits is immediately washed away by the stream of water but you still cringe watching the water turn red as it disappears into the drain, and you can tell he notices your sudden shyness - fingers grasp your chin, angling your head up to stare at him. “What -?”

His lips press to yours once more, a soft, lingering kiss that doesn’t go anywhere at all, before he pulls away, hands sliding up and down your hips. “I guess eating your cunt s’out f’the picture, then …?”

You roll your eyes with a giggle as he drops your leg again, nails digging crescents into your hips as he turns you around, hips pressed flush to yours and his chest to your back, and you instinctively hold tighter onto the railing. “For now,” you groan in response as he thrusts his hips against yours, cock sliding against the sensitive folds of your cunt, and you can practically feel the way he perks up at your half-rejection. “Just fuck me, Har - please, missed it so much -”

Harry laughs at that - a dry one, void of humor, and you whine, pushing your ass back against him before he indulges you, grip landing on your hips and pulling your ass tight against his cock. “S’only been one day without my cock,” he breathes, one hand leaving your hips, presumably to line his dick up as you feel his tip poking at your folds, and you drop your forehead against the shower wall with a whine. “Look how needy you are.”

You are needy, rocking your hips against the tip of his cock that he drags through your folds, and you can’t bring yourself to care about it one bit. “Please -”

“Tell me.”

“Harry -”

“Tell me.”

You groan as he pulls the tip out, and his length smacks against your ass once and even if it’s gentle it still makes you thrust your hips back towards him, and his arm on your hips tightens until you can’t move at all. “I’m - I need you so bad, Har - need you to fuck me - fuck me like you -”

Your sentence is cut off with a loud, drawn out cry as Harry pushes himself into you, cock filling you to the brim and your mouth opens and closes uselessly before he pulls out and thrusts back in with a loud groan, water droplets flicking onto your skin as you hold tight onto the railing. Your knees feel weak as Harry fucks into you, his hands holding tight onto your hips and surely leaving bruises on your skin, but you can’t possibly bring yourself to complain as you drop your head forward with a sob.

“Fuck, Har!” you moan, pushing your hips back against his as he pumps into you, his groans nearly overpowering the slap of skin against skin but you can still hear it like music to your ears, and you gnaw on your bottom lip to try and silence some of your desperate cries. “Please, please -”

“Oh, god,” Harry grunts, holding your hips tighter to his as his pace increases, hips slamming into yours as though he hadn’t fucked you for weeks instead of one measly day. Quarantine truly had spoiled both of you - days spent without fucking each other all over the house seemed to be days wasted, aren’t they? And the week per month you’d had to spend without having sex during your period was a miserable one, and an era you’re more than glad to see gone - “fuck, baby, so - so tight, ‘round m’cock, squeezin’ me so tight.”

Your hand slips on the railing and for a second you fear you’ll fall - but then Harry’s arms slide upwards, forearms wrapped tight against your stomach as he leans forward, chest pressed to your back as his hips slam into yours over and over, lips pressing biting kisses into the wet skin of your neck. You can feel rather than hear his moans, their vibrations reverberating through your skin and you reach behind your head, dragging your nails through his hair as he leaves bites down your skin.

You can already feel your release building, pressure rising in your stomach as your cunt clenches and unclenches around him, gasping for air in the shower, humid from the hot water and your body heat. You’re sure all you need is his fingers, just circling your clit one time and you’ll snap, cumming so hard you’re sure you’ll see stars, so hard you won’t be able to hold yourself up -

“Play w’your clit, baby,” Harry breathes, so quiet you nearly can’t hear it, and you inhale shakily as you oblige, letting go of the railing with one hand to trail down your wet stomach until you reach your sensitive clit, and it throbs against your fingers. “Yeah, good girl - give it a pinch f’me, baby, make yourself cum on m’cock -”

Shaky fingers circle your clit and then press down before pinching it like he’d instructed, and your back arches into his chest, feeling his peaked nipples dragging across your skin. His body blocks most of the water’s stream onto you but you can still feel droplets soaking your skin, trailing down and meeting your fingers at your clit and it only adds to the pleasure mounting, spreading from your clit throughout your entire body -

“Fuck!”

Your knees finally give out as you sob out, squeezing your eyes shut as you hit your breaking point for the second time - your body shakes desperately, tilting your head to the side with a cry as Harry lunges forward to attach his lips to yours, every whine going directly into his mouth. His arm around your waist is the only thing holding you up but you can tell he’s close, thrusts losing their steady pace and growing jerkier, and as your cunt flutters around him you can feel his cock throbbing -

“God,” Harry moans, and you can hear his voice growing higher in pitch, and it’s a telltale sign that he’s so fucking close you’re sure he can feel it on the tip of his fingers - “clench around me, baby, come on -”

And you oblige, cunt tightening around him as you rest your forehead against the railing, and it only takes a few more jerky thrusts before he grabs hold of your hips, bringing them tight to his. The sensation of being filled with his cum is one you’ve grown so used to but it never fails to make you moan, tilting your head to the side so you can get a glimpse of his face in your peripheral vision as his eyes shut, lips parted as he groans, and hot ribbons of cum fill your cunt as he releases.

Your breathing is shaky when Harry grabs your hands, tugging you around so you’re facing him, and you glance down at the floor of the shower, watching the water beneath you tint itself red with your blood. You expect a rush of embarrassment to wash over you as he glances down to see what you’re looking at but it never comes - you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed when you’re so relaxed, finally satisfied, watching his cum drip down your thighs.

Harry turns to shut off the shower, the stream of water abruptly stopping, and you cross your arms over your chest, trying to preserve the humid air sure to escape as soon as he opens the door. But he doesn’t - not yet, at least - his hands, instead, coming down to land on your upper arms, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he stares down at you.

“How was tha’?” your boyfriend questions, voice soft and sentimental and you can’t help yourself from pushing yourself onto your toes to land a kiss to the side of his cheek. “Not as bad as y’thought, was it.”

It’s not a question - he knows the answer already. “It was amazing,” you confess truthfully, reaching up to move his wet curls out of his face, and a smile tilts your lips upward as he grins. “Not bad at all.”

“Not bad at all,” he echoes, and you can tell he’s resisting the urge to say I told you so or something of the sort, but you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to - he was right. Knows you better than you know yourself, sometimes, and it should scare you but it just makes you love him more than you thought you could. “An’ next time, we can do it on the bed.”

“On the -?”

[rinstars]

clean up

pairing: college!sukusa kiyoomi x reader

genre: smut

word count: 1.6k+

tags: cunnilingus, penetration, size kink, a bit of degradation/dumbification(?), choking, probably more but i suck at tags.

note: not as long and didn't proofread as much cause i did this on a whim (again) but here's frustrated sakusa cause you didn't watch him practice like you usually do and he missed you. basically, university/college au cause i don't write them as high school students! always always 18+

"you didn't come to see me in practice." you looked up from the desk to see sakusa entering the sliding doors of your classroom. he quietly walks over to you, the mask strapped on his face unable to hide his obvious distate at your absence. he leans on the teacher's desk in front, calloused palms pressed flat on the wood to support him as he looks down on you.

"sorry, baby. lots of council stuff to finish." you look up to him pouting, but his glare on you is hard and unmoving – making you press your thighs together as your body heats up with arousal. with the slight bob of his head, he motions you to stand up and get closer to him as he removes the mask from his face.

the moment you sprung up to your feet, you wrap your arms around him, nestling your head on the crook of his neck. one of his hands traveled all the way down to the back of your thighs, guiding you to lift it so one of your knees are resting on the table while the other one remains standing between his legs. you rest a bit of your weight on him, attempting to sit down on his thigh so you're stradling it. you groan in annoyance as his firm grip pulls you back by the waist.

then all of a sudden, without warning, he licks a bold stripe on your ear before whispering, "shhh patience... missed my baby girl."

your breaths slowly get shallower by the second as he continues licking and biting your lobe, the hand on the back of your thigh slowly disappearing to find its way below your skirt. you whimper as the pads of his fingers press on your sopping clit, rubbing small circles through the thin underwear. "missed this little pussy."

your fingers grip the hairs on the back of his head, slowly grinding on his hand as he continues pressing open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. he hooks his fingers on the band of your underwear as he tries to tug it down with one hand. when he successfully manages to get it on the floor with your help, he pulls back to look you in the eye. he flips you around to switch your positions and hoists you up the table so you're sitting on it.

"spread your legs." he simply murmured, making you twitch in excitement as you slowly opened your legs, skirt bunched up to the sides. his eyes follow your every movement, pupils dilating in hunger as he stares at your glistening pussy.

"omi, touch me now, please." you pathetically beg, spreading your folds even further with the use of your two fingers so he can get a clearer look of the way you're repeatedly clenching into nothing.

he kneels in front of you, thumb collecting moisture as he runs it softly on your protruding clit. "already making a fucking mess. you're creaming so much, it's soaking the damn wood."

his face inches closer and closer to your cunt and you close your eyes, waiting for the warm contact of his tongue – but it never comes. not when he suddenly spits harshly on your pussy, making you yelp both in surprise and pleasure. you feel his spit slowly run down from your bud to your slit – almost at the table when sakusa's tongue suddenly connects with your folds to collect it instead, making you cry out.

the one time sakusa is willing to be messy is when he's lewding you. he doesn't care if you're dripping on the sheets, the floor, all over him. he loves seeing your cunny get swallowed by your wetness.

"my sweet little slut." he groans, sending a series of vibrations through your core as he laps and flicks your clit over and over – drinking whatever drips out of your hole.

"o-omi, ah, yes baby, j-just like that." you squirm against him, panting with your head thrown back. "your t-tongue, put it.. ah shit – put your tongue in, please."

he forces his tongue inside you, wriggling it a little to fit it into your hole as he uses his fingers to roughly rub your already sore clit, making you grip the edge of the table. he interchanges his fingers and tongue after a moment, sinking two fingers inside you and scissoring it as he sucks on your bud.

"gonna cum, omi." you sob, grabbing a fist of his hair and pressing his face harder to you as you slowly rock your hips.

he just hums into you, encouraging and giving you permission to let go. you soon feel your juices flow out along with the sighs escaping from your mouth. when you looked down at him, he's peering at you through his lashes, lips shining with your slick. his tongue glides past his lips as he stands up, pulling you closer to him.

"that's enough prep time, right baby?" he coos at you as he removes the knot on his training pants, sliding it down his thighs. "you'll take me balls deep and let me fuck you dumb?"

you shook with both desire and fear. sakusa is long and thick, lined with prominent veins. the first time you both did it, you cried so much with barely the tip in. by the time he's halfway in, you're already panting from overstimulation. even now, no matter how many times you've done it already, even when your insides are already taking his shape, you can't help but shed tears when he fucks you. that's why he always takes time to prep you, get you wet and stretched enough.

"be gentle, omi." you plead him, reaching out to touch his face. he places his hand on top of yours, giving it a squeeze before pulling it away and eyeing you with mischief.

"you didn't come to see me in practice." he repeats, hand wrapped around his cock as he slowly pumps himself, spreading the pre-cum leaking from his tip. "bad girls get their little cunt punished and split apart."

tears blur your vision as he comes near you, aligning his cock on your opening. you gently grab his forearm and prepare yourself for the impact of his cock slamming into you. you waited as you felt sakusa pull back a little before burrying himself in you, making you scream out and tighten your grip around his arm.

his hands immediately found your mouth, covering it to prevent you from making any more sound. "fuck, quiet down, baby.. unless you want someone to see you? is that what you want, hmm? someone watching you cream around my fat cock while i split you apart?"

you bit his palm to prevent yourself from making a sound as tears continue flowing down your cheeks and into his fingers. you couldn't hold back the gasp when you looked down at your connected bodies to see that only half of his length managed to slip in. he roughly goes in and out a couple of times, accepting whatever you have to offer at the moment as he helps you adjust a little.

when you feel him start to pound the rest of his length into you, your eyes rolled back, touching his waist in an attempt to make me go slowly.

"omi, n-no more – ah ah you're gonna split me apart, you're gonna break me, p-please yoomi you're too big." your muffled voice resonates through the room.

he completely pulls away from you, leaving you empty without his cock inside you. he steadies your head to face him and look at him in the eyes as he slams all of himself to you, making your body shake both in pleasure and pain. you vision whitens when you feel his tip right at your cervix, touching the spongy area inside you.

"hm? then break for me, little one." he moves his hand from your mouth to your throat, squeezing gently while the other one wraps around your waist.

he pounds into you over and over, making you feel every single vein rub through your walls as you take his shape. his hold on your throat prevents you from making any sound – the wet squelching sounds of your cunt being ripped apart along with his grunts the only thing audible.

"you're gushing so fucking disgustingly around me – fuck, stop clenching me like that, i can't move." he grunts, not out of anything but pure pleasure. he loves it. he loves seeing you wrap him in your stickiness, sucking him dry as you tighten around him.

your toes curl as you feel orgasm flooding your body. you look at him with desperation, and he nods to you, understanding what you're trying to say. he lets go of your throat to pinch your nipples through the sheer white of your uniform, closing the distance between you as he sucks your neck.

with one last moan, you spasm around his cock while your own fingers circle your clit to ride your high. you feel his cock start twitching inside you and you hear him suck in a breath before he, too, spills his seed in your walls, filling you to the brim.

he stays unmoving in your cunt, watching you fail to accommodate all of the juices flowing in you as it falls to the floor. after you both catch your breath, he grabs your face gently, turning you to him so he can press a soft kiss on your lips before hugging you to him.

"did it hurt a lot? are you okay?" he strokes your hair, pressing comforting kisses on your temple. you soften with his touch, assuring him it's fine.

you both stay like that for a moment before he pulls his pants back up, walking away from you to one of the cabinets in the room. you laugh as you realize he's getting cleaning supplies to fix the mess you both caused. luckily, you both finished your duties in practice and council late so you don't have to worry much about getting caught (except probably a few more students who also has things to do).

"well help me clean up your damn mess." he lazily glares at you from across the room, making you reach over to your discarded underwear on the floor and slip it on before grabbing one of the mops from him.

note: thank u for 100 followers :D

ghoultobio / risaki © 2020 | all content and its rights belong to me. do not modify or repost.

[zodiakuroo]

copycat

18+, eren jaeger x fem!reader

part two of pierced

inspired by the 'big stick' scene from jawbreaker (iykyk)

wc: 3.7k

contains: mild dubcon, light dom/sub, ball play, choking, dumbification, degradation, spit, creampie

Eren can’t help but admire you from the doorway of your shared bedroom. One would think, that after 30 days of edging, you would learn not to be such a fucking tease. But here you are flitting around the kitchen in nothing but one of his t-shirts and a frilly pair of lilac panties.

‘Stop being a perv. It’s hot out.’ You don’t have to say it. The ‘you’ in his head is already chastising him for the lascivious nature of his thoughts.

The ‘you’ in his head is also already bent over the granite top counter, panties long discarded, presenting yourself to him, begging ‘Please Eren. Fuck me.’

He can’t help it. Everyday he’s found himself face to face with your cute little pussy, absolutely begging to get filled and not being able to do anything about it. It’s not his fault that when he sees you wearing next to nothing, he just wants to stick his cock in you.

Except it’s entirely his fault.

That’s why even though you can feel the weight of his stare as you move around the kitchen, you don’t even spare a glance in his direction.

If there’s one thing these last few weeks have taught you, its willpower. And thanks to your newfound self-discipline you’re able to resist the urge to pounce on him when your boyfriend pulls your back against the solid wall of his chest. “Baby.” He rasps. “I’m all healed up.”

The statement makes goosebumps appear on your skin despite the sweltering heat but other than that, you show no signs of exactly how pent up you are.

Eren made you swear not to touch yourself whining about how unfair it would be and how he would really appreciate your support in his hour of need. Yes he used those exact words. You kept your promise but not without intending to receive payback. It was only a matter of how. The idea hadn’t come to you yet.

“Really?” You don’t even bother to turn around, pushing past him. Partly as a way to tease him but also because you don’t trust yourself to be able to resist him once you get a good look at him. From his scent alone you can tell he’s fresh from a shower and that’s when he’s the most dangerous. He smells cool and fresh like his shower gel, spicy and warm like his aftershave and fruity and floral like his your shampoo. It’s hypnotic.

The trance is broken when he pulls you even closer to him, grinding his bulge into your backside.

“Stop buying that 2-in-1 shit if you’re gonna use mine all the time anyways.” You grumble.

Right.

Revenge first. Dick second. The voice in your head reminds you.

You wriggle out of his hold, remembering why you came into the kitchen in the first place. You breathe a sigh of relief as you open the freezer door, the cold air providing a brief reprieve from the near suffocating heat of your apartment. Once you’ve obtained your target; a cherry popsicle hidden behind some ice packs and frozen peas, you finally take a look at your tormentor.

“Babe c’mon.” Eren persists.

He looks good. Unfairly good considering the fact that he’s not even trying. Fresh from the shower, he has on a worn out white t-shirt, stretched around the neckline which gives you a mouthwatering look at his perfectly sculpted collarbones and no more than the top of his pecs that peak out above the seam. His grey athletic shorts hang low on his hips and outline his print a little too well so you know he’s not wearing boxers. Eren hasn’t bothered to tie up his long hair leaving the damp tendrils dangling above his shoulders with a few stray strands framing his handsome face. He’s putting up a nonchalant front but the tick in his eyebrow gives his irritated disposition away.

Surely he didn’t believe that you would let him have his way with you that easily.

Except he did. Because under most circumstances he would. But today, your own stubbornness (only marginally) drowns out your desire for your Adonis of a boyfriend so you push past him into the lounge, plopping down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Later.” You bring the frozen treat to your lips. “It’s so hot.” Again, Eren tries to keep his face expressionless but you easily spot the way he clenches his jaw as his gaze fixes itself onto your mouth.

Bingo

You close your eyes, enjoying the sweet cherry taste and cool sensation that spreads throughout your body.

“On second thought,” You start, as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “There is something else I’d rather have in my mouth.”

“Yeah?” Eren dons a matching smirk and stalks his way over to you, sitting down so that you can straddle him. “Tempting but honestly, your mouth isn’t what I had in mind.” His voice trails off, large hands moving down to cup your ass, giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure. But before he can take it any further you’re already manoeuvring your way between his knees.

“Oh. You don’t want me to suck your cock?” You pout, resting your head against his thigh, trying your best to sound disappointed.

Eren swallows whatever argument he was about to present when he sees your pretty eyes, shaded by fluttering lashes looking up at him with the tip of the crimson popsicle pressed against your sinful mouth. The same sinful mouth he’s been dreaming about for a month.

Fuck.

“Yeah, okay.” He grumbles while you watch him pull his already half hard cock out of his bottoms. It’s so pretty and long, perfectly thick in all the right places, decorated at the tip with a vertical running titanium barbell.

He’s got a hand around his base, waiting for you to replace the sweet treat in your mouth with his aching cock but much to his dismay your attention is drawn a little lower.

The sight of his plush balls all swollen and full of cum proves to be too much for you to resist. He shudders when your cold lips press against the taut skin. You know he’s sensitive from being so backed up. That’s why he starts panting as you leave wet kisses on his sac, leaving your saliva all over it while his shaft grows harder above you.

“Hold this for me.” You pass him your popsicle, that is slowly starting to melt which he takes in his free hand.

“Okay can you just- fuck.” One more kiss, right on the shiny metal of his newly healed piercing, shuts him up quickly.

Your own hands find their place on his thighs. You dip your head down again and take one of his balls in his mouth massaging it with your tongue.

“Christ.” He groans, slowly jerking himself off while you worship his balls.

“Oh poor baby…. so full.” You murmur letting go of the left to suck on the right one, savouring the weight of them.

“Yeah.” His voice is about a whole octave higher than usual. “Hurts.” He scrunches up his face when you let go of his ball with a pop.

“I bet.” You giggle. Eren is now at full mast, veiny shaft resting against his abdomen, dribbling precum which coats the shiny piercing that crowns his angry-red tip. His wrist flicks ever so elegantly as his hand moves languidly up and down, up and down, up and-”

“Princess.” Your boyfriend whines, yanking you out of your daze. “Enough with the teasing. You wanted to suck me off. Do it already.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, not losing sight of your revenge plot.

“Baby,” You pout. “I really want to but-” It’s so hard to bite back your laugh. “But I don’t remember how.”

“Wait what?” His hand stops right in his tracks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s been so long. Can you show me?”

Eren’s expression goes from perplexed to vicious but you don’t budge, blinking up at him with wide innocent eyes.

“How?” He huffs impatiently. It’s funny actually, seeing him struggle to tolerate a fraction of his own bitter medicine.

Your eyes shift to the frozen treat still in his hand that’s starting to drip down his knuckles. “I’m a visual learner.”

He moves like he’s about to stand up but you won’t make it that easy for him. “Please, Rennie? Please teach me how to suck your cock?”

As much as Eren has you wrapped around his finger, he’s just as whipped for you. So when you look at him with those sparkly eyes and call him the pet name he swears he hates but brings him to his knees when you use it, you know you have him.

Hook, line and sinker.

You use your thumb and middle finger to make a circle around his base, positioning yourself eye level with his leaking slit.

His tongue peaks out cautiously, eyes trained on yours as he flicks it across the tip, testing the waters. Immediately you follow suit, tasting his precum for the first time in so long. His hips buck off the couch, chasing the gone-too-soon sensation but you dig your nails into his thigh, reminding him who’s in control right now.

You quirk your brow at him, making sure he understands what you want.

How many times have you found yourself in this exact position: sitting between your boyfriend’s thighs while he looks down at you, both of you equally as lust drunk as the other. But this time he’s the one panting and whimpering while you have your turn to torture him.

Eren doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to smack that smug little grin right off your face but instead he pulls at your hair, tugging right at the roots and making you yelp in pain. Now you’re scowling. But it’s hard to look at all intimidating sitting beneath him with your head tilted at such an awkward angle. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs clench together either.

Never breaking eye contact, he uses the flat of his tongue to lick a broad stripe up the length of the popsicle. You squirm in place, remembering how it feels to have him lick across your cunt exactly like that.

Fine. He’d play along with your little game. But on his own terms.

You lean forward to copy him but the hand holding your head keeps you in place. Without looking away, Eren launches a glob of spit onto the already drippy ice-cream before licking it away. It’s that simple for him to put a crack in your domineering façade and have you whimpering right at his feet as per usual.

The corners of his lips twitch as a silent challenge to you.

Never one to back down, you use your tongue to trace the vein that runs along the underside of his cock, feeling it pulsate. As you get closer to his prince Albert, you can’t hold back from swirling the wet muscle around the cold metal.

A soft whimper escapes his lips as you pull away, keeping your mouth agape, looking up at him expectantly.

It’s silent for a moment before Eren realises what you’re wordlessly pleading for. “Fucking slut.” He mutters, almost amazed before he gathers more of his saliva to drop into your mouth with a loud khwa pto echoing throughout the quiet apartment.

You close your mouth with a satisfied smile, savouring the taste of sweet, tart cherry and a flavour that is uniquely Eren, letting it mingle with your own saliva before spitting it on to his cock. You use your tongue to spread the wetness all along the shaft, leaving it covered in slick sheen.

“So fuckin’ nasty.” He groans, moving his hand from your head to push his own hair out of his face, not wanting anything to obstruct his view of you right now.

You feel the way his thigh twitches under your palm every time you come even close to his puffy cockhead and your tongue brushes across the sensitive piercing. The idea that you have him like this, desperate and whining, after weeks of him toying with you is exhilarating to say the least.

You have to rein yourself in before you end the fun too soon.

Reluctantly, you pull away and patiently await your next command.

You know what he wants next and so does he but Eren can’t help but feel self-conscious.

Of course, he loves the way you look when you’re going down him. His gallery is filled with pictures of you with your eyes filled to the brim with tears and your lips stretched impossibly wide around his girth. When you’re not around he gets off to the videos him fucking your face, relishing in the way you gag while you try to accommodate him in your throat. He doesn’t think he could ever measure up to how sexy you look with your pupils blown, lips all swollen and your spit dripping down your chin.

But just like you, he’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

Ever so slowly, he opens his mouth and latches on to the blunt top of the popsicle. His plump lips form a perfect O-shaped pout, stained beautiful crimson from the fruit juice. Your gaze is transfixed on his face, the sharp lines and edges tinted with an uncharacteristic blush as his cheeks hollow out, to suck it in deeper.

“So pretty baby.” You breathe out.

He shudders as the cool air fans out across his wet skin.

“Yeah? ‘m pretty?” He smirks, using his free hand to drag his cock across your face, smearing his precum on your lips. “Show me how you treat pretty boys. Please?”

And how could you deny him?

Centimeter by centimeter, you pull him in. Only the first few inches, get to enjoy the warm, slippery cavern of your mouth while the rest of him has to make do with the soft skin of your hand gliding up, down and around.

“Fucking take it inside. Christ.” He groans, frustration evident as he glares down at you.

You simply shake your head a ‘no’, far too content with the taste and the weight of him in your mouth to stop suckling at his cock. If he wants more, he knows what he has to do.

The frozen treat is back between his lips and far too quickly, with not enough thought he pushes it inside as far as it can go until his gag reflex forces him to abort his mission, sputtering out red-coloured saliva.

You pull off of him as you erupt into a fit of giggles.

Eren takes advantage of the fact that you’re unguarded and in a matter of seconds he has you pinned to the floor. The poor popsicle is left in a sad, melting puddle on your couch while his long, sticky fingers circle around both of your wrists, the other hand keeping a harsh grip on your jaw.

Yeah. Not laughing now, are you?

“Was that funny to you princess?” He questions you, almost daring you to hit back.

Knowing when to quit was never one of your strong points.

“Not funny.” You say despite your giddy smile. “My pretty boy just needs more practice.” You snicker.

You’re pushing his buttons on purpose now. At best, you expect some degrading words fitting of your bratty attitude. At worst, you expect the sting of his palm to come down against the side of your face, reminding you of your place.

What you don’t expect is a wry chuckle before he says, “I forgot how bitchy you get when you don’t get stuffed full of cock enough.”

Eren frees your hands in favour of placing both of his on your knees. He spreads apart your legs as wide as they can go, dragging his coarse palms up and up to rest at the apex of your thighs. He flicks up the hem of your shirt to reveal to him the crotch of your panties that's soaked through with your arousal. He pulls them to the side to expose your cunt to him. Eren barely stops himself from tearing the flimsy fabric right off your body and only because he thinks they're pretty and wants to see you wear them again.

He can smell you. But he suppresses the desire to bury his face between your pillowy thighs for as long as you’ll let him. He knows that’s not what either of you really want.

“This needy pussy been missing me?” He coos, keeping his voice sugary sweet and dripping with condescension. He grinds his pierced tip all along your cunt, dipping under your hood to press right against your clit.

You feel it before you realise what’s happening; the burn of his fat head of his cock prodding at your tiny hole, forcing it to stretch around him.

“Jesus fuck- ‘s tight.” He grits out, managing to pop just the tip in.

Tears gather at your waterline as he impales you further and further on his cock, reintroducing your insides to him and his newest body mod. The bulb of the piercing drags deliciously over every bump and ridge that lines your walls. It just keeps going and going until it’s all too much.

Instinctively, your hand flies to Eren’s abdomen, fingers splaying across his tummy. You want to ask him to stop or wait or at the very least prep you. But you’re just so full.

He’s not even all the way in and you’re full of him everywhere. Did it feel like this before?

He doesn't give you a chance to remember.

“Move. Your fucking. Hand.” He grunts before moving it for you and sheathing his cock fully in your spasming cunt.

“Fuck Eren. ‘s big.” Your voice breaks as you utter that last word right one Eren fills you to the hilt. Your arms fly to his biceps, squeezing the muscle so tight that you’re certain it hurts him but he doesn’t complain.

No one would believe that mere minutes ago Eren was the one under your thumb. Not when he’s so quickly managed to turn you into a blubbering mess.

“Where’s that smart mouth now?” He mocks you as if he’s doing any better. In reality he’s keeping himself still, with his pressed against yours trying to regain a semblance of control, not wanting this to end so soon.

Slowly, he starts to rock his hips against you and little by little you open up around him, offering less and less resistance. Hand on the bible, he swears he can feel your gooey pussy sucking him in every time he pulls back, almost like it’s begging him to never leave again. Hand on the bible, he swears that he won’t.

“Huh?” He taunts. “Where’s the bitch who thought she could fuck with me?” He emphasises his point with one sharp snap of his hips that hits the bull’s eye.

“Eren! Right there!” You cry out as you back arches up into him but he forces you to stay down by pressing his palm firmly against your sternum.

“Right there?” He mimics your voice, with a high pitched, nasal tone. You can’t even cringe at how it sounds because the feeling of the rounded metal hitting that squishy patch deep inside you with pinpoint accuracy is too overwhelming for you to think about anything else.

“You want me to fuck you here?” His thrusts start to pick up pace. You’re finally getting used to him again and the slick juices from your pussy let’s him move as fast as he wants, as deep as he wants so you he can use his cock to abuse all of your sweet spots

You can’t exactly speak; only nod, as you dig your nails into his shoulders and back, leaving a trail of crescent shaped indents in your wake. The coil at the base of your belly twists tighter, tighter and tighter still as all your nerve endings work overtime to register the way he fills you up completely, the way the metal rubs along all the right spots and the way Eren rams into you like a man possessed.

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” Now you’re begging. It’s impossible to stop the fear bubbling in your chest. You’ve become well-acquainted with this feeling. Absolutely drowning in pleasure and right on the edge of an unimaginable peak before having it ripped away. It’s not unreasonable to be worried that Eren might leave you high and dry once again.

He halts his movements the moment he notices the doubt behind your eyes.

Your pleas become more and more frantic, already thinking the worst. “Don’t stop Eren! Please don’t stop.” You sob but go silent when his hand rests itself firmly around your throat.

“Told you.” He punctuates the sentence with one, deep thrust.

“Fuck. What did I say?” He growls as he falls back into the same brutal rhythm that had you teetering on the very brink of an orgasm before.

God above as your witness, you try and answer but all that comes out is a pathetic squeak of his name before he cuts you off completely by squeezing your neck tighter.

“S-said I was gonna fuck you stupid. Right?”

You nod as best you can, head spinning from the lack of air and your orgasm approaching rapidly.

“Now fuckin’ cum for me so I can keep my promise.”

The second his hand meets your clit, you’re a goner. The calloused pad of his thumb rubs the neglected nub with exactly the right pressure to push you over the edge. Every muscle clenches as that tightening coil finally snaps. The intoxicating pleasure that shoots through your body reaches your head at the same time as the pressure on your throat is released, much needed oxygen flooding your brain and prolonging the high.

You wrap your legs around his waist, keeping him deep inside you as cream around his cock. It’s pointless to hold off his release any longer and with nowhere else to go he spills his load deep in your pussy. The feeling of his hot cum seeping into your pussy has you twitching around him, trying to milk every last drop from him.

You may have blacked for a second, eyes fluttering open as Eren gently taps your cheek. His handsome face, all flushed and sweaty comes into focus. Both of you are wearing equally dopey grins as he asks you, “Did it feel as good as I said?”

[paperpocalypse]

white rabbit.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 2. Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,874 words

Warnings: Swearing, panic attack

His idiot siblings are going to give him a goddamn aneurysm.

The hum of the Commission briefcase – which is now in 2019 without a single person attached to it – rings in Five’s ears, mocking. He resists the urge to scream and tear all of his hair out. All that work – wasted!

“Now what?” Luther asks as Five paces up and down the alley.

What do you think, you doorknob? “Now nothing, Luther, all right? Make your peace with God.”

“What? What about Allison and Vanya?”

“Screw them both. They should have been here.” Five’s irritated pacing turns into a run, and he furiously kicks a cardboard box. God, the alley smells like vomit and shit. Everything is shit! “Ugh!”

“What about Diego?” Klaus slurs out his two cents from his place on the ground. Useless puke bag. “He's quite a responsible young man, no?”

“Something must’ve happened to them,” says Luther.

Fuck that. Wherever they are, they’ll be dead soon enough. Does nobody understand that? Dead! Dead! Dead!

“Screw Diego, all right? Screw everybody!” Five seethes. “[Y/n] and I were better off in the apocalypse.”

He turns on his heel, trying to suppress the rising panic in his bones. Something catches his arm.

Your brow is furrowed when he meets your gaze, mouth set in a thin, worried line. “Five,” you murmur, voice soft.

A tiny sting of regret worms its way into his chest at your expression. But then he thinks of the briefcase, and the Handler, and he quickly looks away.

“Five!” Luther admonishes, casting you a concerned glance. “Come on.”

His brother’s tone grates on the last of Five’s nerves. Gritting his teeth, he advances on the large man. Your hand slips away.

“You know what, Luther? It's every sibling for himself now.” Five throws his arms out in a grand gesture, then makes his way over to the door. “How ’bout that?”

Yanking the door open, he storms into the building.

Five tries to think as he stomps up staircase after staircase, but he can’t hold onto a thought for more than a few seconds before it disappears into a muddle of static. Concentrate. He just needs to get to the flat and think of a new plan, yeah, again, and try to save the world for the millionth fucking time – he stumbles over a step and then rights himself, legs numb. His chest feels tight. Come on. Keep moving. Think, think! God!

You’re calling his name. He doesn’t answer.

There is another way. A Hail Mary. But what if they waste that last chance too?

He swears underneath his breath, heart pounding. Blood roars in his ears. He tightens his grip on the railing and tries to even out his breathing.

Shit. Now is not the time. He needs to get out of this stairwell. Everything is so cramped and it’s not helping at all –

“… Five.”

You’re behind him, and then you’re in front of him, and Five meets a blurry set of eyes for the second time. Breathe. Breathe.

“Do you want to go back outside?” you ask softly.

No more stairs. “Flat,” he manages to reply, gesturing messily at the door a few feet away. Just somewhere with some space. In. Out.

You nod.

Several minutes later, he’s sitting on the bed in the room that Elliott had given him, blazer folded over the footboard, face damp with sweat and tucked into the crook of your neck as he completely breaks down.

Your hands treat him gently, rubbing circles into his back and wiping his face. He grips your shirt until his knuckles are white.

“You can get through this,” you say to him. “Just breathe with me, okay?”

Five tries. He really does. A shudder wracks his body. You inhale. He inhales. Exhale. Exhale.

“Good job.”

Something wet runs down his cheek. Fuck.

Both relief and shame fill him when you dry his cheek with your sleeve.

It’s absolute shit, however long it lasts – Five doesn’t know how long. Too long. But you’re there the whole time, holding him like you’ve done before, and it helps even though he’s too embarrassed to admit as much. You help a lot.

As the hammering in his chest finally slows to dull thuds, he takes in another deep, slow breath, and loosens his grip.

“I’ll get you some water?” you ask. He moves his head in some semblance of a nod. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Carefully, you detach yourself from him; the mattress creaks as you stand up and leave. Five swallows, staring down at his hands. The air feels slightly chilly on the side of his face that had been pressed against you, and he uses the comforter to quickly scrub away the dampness. His eyes ache.

You return soon enough with a glass of cold water. He sips slowly at first, then gulps the rest of it down. You put the empty glass onto the nightstand and brush his hair away from his eyes.

“You need to rest.”

The word brings a brief wave of longing. Then stress follows soon after, and Five steels himself. “I need to come up with another plan,” he mutters.

Even though he’s not looking at you, he feels the sudden burn of your gaze as you put your hands on his shoulders. “After you rest.”

“The apocalypse –”

“Is still a few days from now.” Your words take on a honeyed, coaxing tone. “There’s not much else we can do today, so sleep. Please. I’ll take care of things while you’re away.”

You press down, and despite his previous protest, Five doesn’t resist.

“… Thanks,” he vaguely hears himself mumble.

When his head touches the pillow, it feels as if all his muscles give way. His eyelids immediately feel heavy.

The last thing he’s aware of is you taking off his shoes.

—

Five is thoroughly conked out by the time you pull the blankets over him, and after giving his forehead a tender peck, you tiptoe out of the bedroom and shut the door with a quiet sigh.

Now on to business.

The rest of the Hargreeves siblings, as well as Sissy and Harlan Cooper, sit up slightly as you stride into the living room. You make a point of looking at each one of them individually, cross your arms, and then speak.

“I believe explanations are in order.”

Diego is the one who speaks first. “I ran into Lila,” he says, maintaining eye contact with you. “She tried to drag me to the Commission while I was burying Elliott.”

“I see,” is all you say. “Allison?”

“Some men came in and attacked Ray and me at the house,” she explained. “Otherwise, I would have been on time.”

“Did you kill them?”

“I made them leave.”

“All right. Vanya?”

“Carl called the police to stop us on the way here. I had to deal with them.”

Sissy and Harlan are not supposed to be here. Based on the hard look Vanya is giving you, she knows that. You close your eyes and breathe out softly.

“All right. Well, I can’t change the past, and the briefcase is already lost, so I’m not going to shout about how everything should’ve gone,” you eventually tell them, eyebrows drawn. “I just want to talk to you about Five.”

“What's wrong with him?” Diego asks.

Klaus answers for you. “He’s pissed.”

Luther agrees solemnly. You frown.

“He’s stressed. Yes, he’s angry, but he’s mostly stressed and worried sick.” You uncross your arms. “Do you know what he did to get that briefcase?”

The siblings blink at you.

“He assassinated the board of directors,” you say. “I know you don’t know much about the Commission, but what he did was a big deal and very dangerous. And he did it for you. He does everything for you, because you’re his family, and he cares about you.”

“He has a hard time showing us,” Diego mutters.

“And you guys seem to have a hard time showing him,” you return. “It just … it feels like you see the apocalypse as Five’s problem. And maybe mine as well, but not yours. I understand that you’ve had to adapt and make a life here, but none of you except for Sissy and Harlan belong in this time. Whatever we’ll have to do from now on will require all of us to stay together. We can’t risk another doomsday.”

“Doomsday?” Sissy speaks up, alarmed. “What’s this about a doomsday?”

Vanya shifts. “It’s …” She touches Sissy’s hand gently. “It’s kind of a long story. I’ll tell you later, okay? You and Harlan don’t have to worry about it. We’ll fix it.”

“We will,” you confirm, nodding at the pair. “As long as everyone does what they’re supposed to.”

Luther looks at you curiously. “Why are you telling us all of this and not Five?”

Why, indeed. Glancing back in the direction of the bedroom, you think of Five tucked away in bed for the first time since he landed in Dallas. Hopefully, he hasn’t snuck out. You’ll have to check on him soon.

“He’d be too stubborn to admit it. It took me a long time to find out how much he sacrificed to help me in the apocalypse. And the Commission.” You smile frankly. “What’s more, he’s resting now. It’s been a long two weeks.”

“Shit,” Klaus mutters. “I forgot about the time thing. The old man must be one apocalypse away from a heart attack.”

“Yes. He’s not invincible.”

Everyone looks down awkwardly.

“We’re sorry for not making it. We didn't know. And we’ll tell him that.” Allison folds her hands tightly in her lap. “So what do we do now?”

Again, not much. Shrugging, you gesture to the couches and chairs that they’re sitting on. “Rest. Get cleaned up. Five and I will need to explore our options once he’s awake.”

With that, you turn and start making your way back to the guest room.

Vanya’s tentative voice stops you when you’re halfway through the kitchen. “Let us know when he wakes up?”

The other siblings voice their agreement. A genuine smile touches your lips. “I will,” you answer, pleased.

The murmuring in the living room fades as you continue walking. When you reach the bedroom, you gingerly open the door and poke your head inside.

Five is exactly where you had left him, tucked in with the blankets up to his chin and dead to the world. Soft snores reach your ears as you creep closer. Good. Seating yourself at the edge of the mattress, you run your fingers through his hair.

For the rest of the evening and most of the night, you watch over Five, keeping quiet and re-tucking the sheets around him whenever he stirs. He doesn’t open his eyes once. His siblings drift in occasionally, individually or in pairs, each of them looking every bit like they’re entering a lion’s den until you smile and beckon them closer. None of them speak, but they don’t need to. You can only hope that Five won’t be too angry with them in the morning.

A lot of work will need to be done then. But for now, your partner needs to sleep.

[wherethingscomebackx]

Top 25 Larry Fics of 2020

h 2020 was HELLISH. So thank you to all the writers, and I mean ALL of them, who kept us occupied as the world continues to burn.

You may be familiar with these lists:

Top 25 Larry fics of 2016

Top 25 Larry fics of 2017

Top 25 Larry fics of 2018

Top 25 Larry fics of 2019

We’re going on our 5th year!!  As always, I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is Larry. I like making lists and I like Larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2020 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out!

25.) a trail of honey through it all by @yvesaintlourent (27k)

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

24.) even the best laid plans by @falsegoodnight (25k)

“Anyways,” Louis stresses, narrowing his eyes, “just let me say it and then rate how terrible of an idea it is on a scale from one to ten.”

“Alright,” Zayn agrees, sitting up expectantly.

“I want to ask Harry Styles to take my virginity,” Louis blurts, holding his hands out for emphasis.

The way Zayn’s eyes bulge is almost comical. “Negative infinity,” he says, voice choked. “Negative infinity times negative infinity.”

“Technically, a negative times a negative is -”

“Really negative infinity,” Zayn corrects himself, shaking his head wildly. “Louis, what the fuck?”

-

Or, Louis wants to have sex with someone and decides Harry is the perfect alpha for the job.

23.) A Distant Hazy Light by @greenfeelings (76k)

Life’s pretty ordinary for Harry. He lives with his best friend, got into university just like he’s planned, and manages to support himself just fine for an unbonded omega. If he sustains that lifestyle by getting paid to help alphas through their rut every now and then, that’s nothing to be hung up on. Until he’s hired by an alpha that turns everything upside down.

Or, Harry’s working on taking Louis’ walls down, until he builds his own up.

22.) Ghost Note Symphony by whoknows (96k)

Louis is on tour when he first hears about it. It’s all over the news – Harry Styles Attacked By Fan runs in headlines for days. It’s not even just the gossip rags, either. Actual journalists are covering the story. It would have been impossible to avoid hearing about it. Technically, Oli is the one who tells Louis about it, but it’s not exactly being covered up. Harry doesn’t answer Louis’ text asking if he’s alright, but that’s not really surprising. They haven’t spoken for months, and it’s been a lot longer than that since they’ve had a real conversation. The sting of the text going unanswered is still there, less painful than it might have been a few years ago.

It’s not that it’s easy to forget about, exactly. Louis has a whole life outside of One Direction now, though. So Louis goes on with his life, figuring that if Harry was seriously hurt he would have heard about it by now. He might currently be in the same country as Harry, but being on opposite sides of it puts enough distance between them that putting it in the back of his mind is easy. There’s nothing Louis could do, even if he thought Harry might want him to.

That’s why everything that happens next comes as a complete shock to him.

21.) Until by @allwaswell16 (38k)

Rural Eagle County, Colorado wasn’t the type of place to find a famous musician or actor. At least not until songwriter Louis Tomlinson showed up with pop star Niall Horan to visit his uncle’s horse ranch, and they just happened to find themselves next door to a reclusive former movie star.

20.) Strangers in Love by sweetums (42k)

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

-

Prompt 51: An amnesia fic where louis and harry were enemies to lovers but after an accident, louis only remembers those memories that him and harry hated each other. now harry has to fix it. I think something like this less dark and less angsty compared to other amnesia fics and it could be funny

19.) A Long Way From The Playground by Pink_Sunsets (170k)

One Direction is broken up. They broke up five years ago. That should be the end of the story, right?

Harry is finished with One Direction. He now has a new life, one with two kids and a successful solo career. And he’s happy.

But a call one night from management flips Harry’s whole new life upside down, and he’s forced to face the life he had left behind.

As well as a certain blue eyed man who had left him behind.

18.) my love’s not simple (it’s fragile) by @falsegoodnight (27k)

“Can I take you out tomorrow?” he asks. “My shift ends at 7 but we can go for dinner at 8.”

Louis is silent for a few seconds and then, “Like… on a date?”

Harry swallows thickly. He hasn’t done this in years, hasn’t ever wanted to. “Yeah.”

He’s worried he’s misread things but then Louis raises his head to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Yeah,” he says easily. “Sure.”

Tension leaves his body swiftly. “Are you sure?” asks Harry. “I know we’re both so busy but I can’t not try with you, Lou.”

“Neither can I,” says Louis. “I think we can figure it out. I care about you a lot Harry. We’ve known each other for a week, but I already like you so much.”

-

Or Harry's new job is threatened by his impending rut. Desperate for a solution, he allows Niall to introduce him to Louis, an omega whose heat begins the same day. They click.

17.) Cocaine for Breakfast by @harryeatsburger (309k)

“It’s an easy job.” He continues, as if Louis wants to listen. “Like I said, a few trips. Parties, students, nothing dramatic.”

Louis gazes over to Harry. He’s looking thoughtful now, eyes on the green like he’s talking more to himself than Louis.

“Clubbing, drinks. Whatever, the business is just a side thing.”

That’s not how Louis remembers it to be, “You lying?” He honestly can’t tell.

Harry shakes his head slowly, meeting Louis' eyes.

“No,” He answers almost toneless. Harry clears his throat, “I won’t put you in any dangerous situation.” His voice is sincere, Louis can tell he means it, his jade green eyes glinting with truth.

or, - Louis Tomlinson is a drug addict, sent away from his beloved party-scene to recover. There, he discovers that small towns have just as much access to drugs as London did, plus something even better that he just can't get enough of. That something is a boy with green eyes and bouncy curls named Harry Styles. -

16.) Tastes like Strawberries by @sadaveniren (4k)

I’m stressed. I’m nesting and demand cuddles. Come over

Harry frowned and double checked who the text was from. Yup, it still said Louis - Grad, which meant it was from Louis from his grad school.

aka Louis texts Harry by mistake. It works out

15.) the way the storm blows by @rbbsbb (21k)

Louis doesn’t have a habit of thinking about Harry’s dick.

That would be weird, seeing as they’re best mates, and they share a flat, and they’ve spent holidays at each other’s family homes. Their friendship hasn’t ever risen to a point where Louis should want to see his mate’s dick, and he’s happy to keep it that way.

Except, all that Louis can think about is exactly that. The size of it. The shape. The amount of people it’s been in.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, or the fact that Louis’ just recently walked in to an eyeful of Harry taking turns on some slags that he’s never seen before, but. Louis’ mind can’t stop obsessing over the idea.

14.) bruise you like a peach by @falsegoodnight (40k)

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

13.) Watching The World Fall by whoknows (11k)

This segment has been going on long enough that Louis knows what’s coming before James starts in on it, trying to sell him on something he knows that Louis wouldn’t normally be buying. But there’s four cameras surrounding him, and an audience watching him expectantly, so if Louis wants to continue convincing people that he’s doing just fine, he’s going to have to go along with it.

“We have a whole host of single men backstage waiting to meet you, Louis,” James tells him. “We want to help you find love tonight, on Late Late Live Tinder. Is this okay? Do you want to play?”

It actually kind of makes sense that his first date after the break-up is going to be just as public as said break-up. Something like coming full circle.

“Alright, James,” Louis agrees, hopping down off his stool.

“Okay, come down to the stage,” James says. Louis can’t even tell whether the excitement in his voice is genuine or not. “Right now, come on down!”

12.) Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds by @2tiedships2 (38k)

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

Or the one where Louis is a nonverbal omega who has accepted the fact that he will never find an alpha that will treat him as an equal. On the other hand, he’s never met anyone like Harry.

11.) The Wrath of the Emerald Eyes by @purpledandeli0n (85k)

His chin is grabbed harshly, facing the two deep green eyes that have been getting on his nerves for the past ten minutes. The smirk on the man's face does not vanish. The grip of his hand on Louis' chin does not soften, his thumb at the side of his lower lip.

His smile widens as he answers Louis' question, ''My name is Styles, but you will call me Captain."

•

Pirate AU

10.) Canyon Moon by @eeveelou (40k)

For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

9.) We Both Got Nothing to Hide by lovelarry10 (43k)

“Talk to me, Lou.”

“I can’t,” Louis mumbled, knowing he genuinely couldn’t say it. He couldn’t admit to what he was doing. “Don’t ask me to say it, because I can’t.”

“Then… I’ll try and guess. You’ve… got some stuff of Harry’s. Something of his to make it smell like him?”

Louis just nodded, eyes fixated on the floor. This was humiliating, but he knew Zayn wouldn’t stop until he found out what was going on.

“Okay. Like… a blanket, or a comforter or something?”

“Kind of…”

//

Omega Louis has a secret nest. Alpha Harry keeps losing his clothes.

8.) sleeping on our problems by @falsegoodnight (67k)

I’m in love with you, Louis thinks. He feels empty, weighed down by his sadness and the loss of Harry inside him just moments ago before his knot finally went down.

There’s moments where he’s sure Harry feels the same. Like now, when he’s gazing down at Louis with so much adoration and tenderness. It’s like they’re both on the cusp of something more, but neither of them ever say a word.

His confession is on the tip of his tongue ready to slide out like honey, and yet he remains silent. They both do, looking at each other and recognizing the reluctance mirrored in each other’s eyes. It’s then that Louis realizes they’re both scared.

-

Or Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

7.) like it’s a game by @soldouthaz (32k)

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

6.) before we knew by @falsegoodnight (39k)

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

-

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

5.) Mine Would Be You by @crinkle-eyed-boo (114k)

Louis blinks his eyes open, his eyelids fluttering as the room swims around him. He takes several gulps of beer once he confirms that he’s definitely not hallucinating, that the very first portrait Harry Styles ever painted of him is hanging on that wall.

Louis stares at the wall, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest as he realizes that there’s not just one painting of him, there’s five, the portraits lined up like they’re some sort of storyboard depicting the rise and fall of his deepest love. His greatest heartache. A pain that cut him so deep that he left the fucking country, severing all ties with his life in New York, now suddenly surrounding him as if he’d never left.

Fucking shit motherfucker fuck.

Louis returns to New York City five years after he left it – and the love of his life – behind. He didn't intend to see Harry again, but fate has a funny way of pulling them together, whether they like it or not. After making a begrudging truce, they both start to wonder: Would it be so bad if history repeated itself?

4.) You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by @harryrainbows (95k)

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

3.) The Space Between by @lads-laddylads (39k)

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why.

Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

2.) Nothing But You On My Mind by @absoloutenonsense (83k)

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

1.) Collision by @tequiladimples (224k)

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)