#Dead Solid Perfect

[whywishesarehorses]

Two Lives Long Harnessed Together, Until One Could Not Go On

Rush may have been the longest-lived thoroughbred in American history when he died at 39. For three decades, his owner said, “He would fight for me, and I would fight for him.”

A New York Times Article, written by Mike Wilson, published on Nov 22, 2022.

WINDSOR, Conn. — Bridget Eukers paused in the barn, her thoughts seemingly far away, and touched her horse’s halter like an amulet. On the floor just outside his empty stall lay a scattering of yellow chrysanthemums left by a sympathetic friend.

Eukers explained she hadn’t often used the halter on the horse. She and Rush had an understanding.

“I would only really put it on to exercise him because we could go in and out of the barn without it,” she said, her fingers lingering on a strap. “I would just put my hand on his mane and we’d walk in and out.”

It had been just over a week since Rush had died on the concrete floor a few feet from where she stood. Eukers was still grieving, but also celebrating Rush’s extraordinary legacy. He was 39 years and 188 days old when he died, making him perhaps the longest-lived thoroughbred ever in the United States.

The record is hard to pin down. The Jockey Club, the industry’s breed registry, does not keep longevity statistics, so people in horse racing go by word of mouth. The horse thought to be the previous American record-holder was 38 years and 203 days old when he died in 2016, according to the racing publication BloodHorse, which first reported Rush’s death. An Australian thoroughbred lived to be 42, according to Guinness World Records. A typical thoroughbred lives into its late 20s.

Whatever Rush’s rank among senior horses, his death marked the end of a 30-year partnership — Eukers’s word — with horse and owner showing a level of dedication to each other that would be extraordinary for any two beings, equine or human.

“He would fight for me, and I would fight for him,” Eukers said. “Whether it’s your relationship with your horse, with your friends, or with your life partner, that’s what it comes down to. You’ll fight for me, and I’ll fight for you.”

They forged their relationship competing in equestrian events. Six days a week for six years, separated only by a saddle, they honed their skills, moving fluidly together and soaring over obstacles, three feet high at first and then three and a half. For Eukers, being with her horse became a way of life.

She attended college close to home so she could stay near Rush, turned down jobs that would have cut into her time with him, didn’t socialize much and never went on vacation. The longest she ever spent away from Rush was one week, for a school trip.

In return, he gave her joy by carrying her on his back — around show rings and across Windsor’s quilt of farmlands, often at a thundering pace fit for a racetrack. “It really is a special thrill to feel a racing thoroughbred at full speed underneath you. It’s just magic,” she said.

Beyond that, he gave her a purpose, and a measure of peace. The simple routines of feeding Rush, cleaning his stall and giving him medicine made her feel useful and freed her mind. He was a job she loved doing. “It’s one of those Zen things,” Eukers said. “You have that rhythm, and it somehow centers your life.”

Through all of life’s challenges — angst about the prom, hard days at work, dates that didn’t happen, her father’s death — Rush was there for her. Eukers said she occasionally wept into his neck. He actually didn’t love that.

“He would sit and listen,” she said, “but he would get to a certain point that was like, ‘OK Mom, you cried. We’re good. I’m going to go have my hay now.’”

The horse who became known as Rush was foaled in Kentucky on May 4, 1983. He was sold as a yearling for $60,000 ($170,000 today) and registered as Dead Solid Perfect. He ran 16 times and won once, in 1986 at the Meadowlands, according to the horse racing statistics site Equibase, with the Hall of Fame jockey Julie Krone up. After his racing career, he was sold to a new owner and trained in dressage.

Eukers’s parents bought the horse for her when she was in her early teens. Already named Rush, he was a beautiful athlete, Eukers said, with massive shoulders that swayed like a lion’s when he walked. He was also a scaredy cat, unnerved at different times by flowers, squirrels and a mosquito lamp.

“His mission in life at that point was to worry about things and he was really good at it,” Eukers said.

They grew to understand each other. She fed and groomed him and protected him from everyday objects. And when she asked him to clear a fence, he did, even though he was afraid.

“If I asked him to try, he would always try, and he would try and try,” she said. She still keeps the ribbons they won in riding competitions.

Eukers believes Rush’s diet contributed to his longevity. At 30, he indicated that he wanted a change from commercial horse feed. (“He started to tell me: ‘You know what? This just doesn’t work.’”) She began giving him organic meals of alfalfa pellets and whole grains. When the grains were too hard for Rush to chew, she turned them to mush in a slow cooker.

Last week, she still had two bags of bright green hay in the back of her car. It was made for guinea pigs, but Rush liked it.

Eukers stopped riding Rush when he was 35. He was still able to carry her, she said, but she now had a different priority: Her father had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Caring for Rush had to be balanced with researching treatments for her dad and just being with him. When her father died in 2019, she said, Rush was no longer fit to be ridden.

The once-brown horse was now mostly gray. He spent his days at Windsor Hunt Stables under an apple tree, communing with dogs named Wilson and Lola, red-winged blackbirds, wrens, a yellow barn cat and a quarter horse called Cowboy, who stole his hay.

Day after day, Eukers walked Rush up and down the little hill next to the barn, steering him away from the gravel path because the stones hurt his feet. She massaged him with essential oils while he napped. She tied a rope to him and had him trot in a circle around her. She experimented with all kinds of dietary supplements, and Dr. Michael Stewart, Rush’s veterinarian for more than 20 years, gave him steroids to keep him strong.

People would ask Eukers how old Rush was, and when she told them, they would follow up with what she considered an indelicate question: “How long do horses live?”

Last summer, Rush somehow hit his head when he was alone. Eukers could tell by the swelling and his behavior. It took him a long time to recover. He also suffered from an abscess on his left front hoof and persistent breathing difficulties. Amid it all, Cowboy, his companion of 14 years, died at 26, leaving Rush bereft.

About that time, Eukers, who worked in administration for an aerospace company, began receiving frequent texts at work alerting her that Rush was lying down, and she’d have to hurry to help him.

It is fine for horses to lie down, Dr. Stewart said in an interview, but because of the way their digestive systems work, they must get up to survive. Eukers always managed to get Rush back on his feet, often with help, but as time passed she felt less and less comfortable leaving him alone. She began to spend nights in the barn, placing a chair outside Rush’s stall and wrapping herself in horse blankets as she listened to his breathing.

“You and I would be lucky to have somebody care for us like she cared for him,” Dr. Stewart said.

On the night of Nov. 7, Eukers stayed with Rush until late, then went home to get a couple of hours’ sleep in her bed. When she returned at 5:30 a.m., Rush was down, spilling out of his stall onto the cold barn floor. Eukers called her mother, then Dr. Stewart. For hours they worked to get him up, but the cramped space and the slope of the floor worked against them.

In recent years, Eukers said, people often told her that animals can sense when they are dying. He’ll tell you when it’s time, they would say to her. But Rush didn’t do that, she said. Even after she rubbed his forehead and told him, “You’ve done enough, you don’t have to try anymore,” he kept struggling to lift his head and scrabbling to get his feet under him.

Finally, Eukers asked Dr. Stewart if he thought this was the end, and when he said yes, she made her decision. She had fought for Rush as long as she could. She knew that even if they got him up, they would be back here again soon, and Rush would be suffering, and he would try for her again.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

finally colored that Eddie scribble <3 rough day p.2!

[casiavium]

I really need to be cleaning my room but. fanfiction I'd write if I had time but I Do Not

There are several ghiralink fic storylines that are along the lines of "Link gets exactly what he thinks he wants and turns out it isn't really what he needs" (whether real or a dream-state) that have him taking Ghirahim's sword and gaining complete control over him and the themes are of personhood and power and complacency. be careful what you wish for type things. A few that are Ghirahim killing Link/Link losing and realizing he would rather have him alive and fighting instead of dead/given up because it was more fun than way, but usually end up being sad. oh well I guess for the former and teaming up with Link to defeat Demise for the latter.

What I want to write is the themes of scenario 1 but role reversed so it's like scenario 2 with Ghirahim having the "this isn't what I wanted" moment. Ghiralink adds, usually as a joke, a level of "if I can't kill you, maybe you could join me ;)" and I want to write more or less Link doing that, Link being a perfect subservient extension that does everything he wants him to and he doesn't regret it (he can't), but Ghirahim having the realization that he doesn't want someone who is nothing more than an object for him to use. A doll. A sword.

And then, how Link has guilt over Fi and the Master Sword and his role as hero and how Hylia controls him but he's no better than her, Ghirahim realizing Link is now what he is to Demise and rethinking his own position. Is this what Demise thinks of me. Is that why he treats me the way he does. And he takes his anger out on Link but Link can't fight back anymore. Link doesn't want to fight back anymore, and not in a depressed it's hopeless kind of way, but in the same way Ghirahim accepted Demise pulling the sword out of his chest.

When Ghirahim is empty and goes isn't this what you wanted, Link can genuinely say no because he has a hero's heart and conscience and never meant for anyone to get hurt. When Link goes I am what you made me, Ghirahim has to face that fact that yes, he is, and he is made in my image, and I do not want this anymore.

[designernishiki]

I feel like I liked yakuza 5 a lot more than most people for some reason

[porto-rosso]

brother where is the charles appreciation

[ibrokeeverything]

I'm so sad that zom 100 got screwed over by production issues. I have no idea what happened or why, but it always hurts to see a good show be dragged down by outside influences. Is it a perfect show? Of course not. Some episodes are better than others and I don't love the way they handle female characters and romances (kencho and akira have infinitely more chemistry than akira and shizuka and I will die on this hill) But it's a good show! It has so much heart and the themes of making room for joy, standing up for yourself, and the value community are heartfelt, impactful, and well-done!

You can feel the passion and love poured into the show, and the concept is novel despite its simplicity. A fun, colorful, bright, and joyful zombie anime is genius! It's such a great twist on the genre that paves the way for stories that other zombie media just can't tell with their grim and dark tones.

Zom 100 isn't perfect, but I'm really glad it exists and I hope it's audience continues to find it! (I'm aware that it made the rounds after it's first episode and the last three episodes were the only ones particularly egregiously affected by the production issues in the form of a lengthy delay, but my point still stands 😅)

[namtanlovesfilm]

looking at all the mess with mew and some other messy "break-ups" of certain ships, it really makes me wonder how gmmtv managed to keep their ships alive for so long. or maybe they are just better at hiding it. like i know some of them had their ups and downs but none of them ever had such a messy situation as far as i am aware.

well, to be fair gmmtv ships have had their fair share of drama & break ups, but I really think the fact that overall most of gmmtv actors & ships are quite healthy is not a coincidence. I think the sheer size of the company makes it so the actors have better support, even though they're running out of managers & should hire like 10 more, but the rest of the crew I think looks after the actors better than in practically any other thai company. moreover, I think the fact that gmmtv bl shows are rarely ever sexual, and even when they are it's done very tastefully & actually serves the story instead of being fetishizing fanservice, definitely plays a part in ships getting along better. they also do way less crazy fanservice than most other ships, and it's very clear that every ship set their limit for themselves, which is why each gmmtv ship act very different from one another which is nice. so yeah, I think the work ethic & family dynamic between the cast is just so much stronger at gmmtv which limits the drama, even though they have the most actors in the thai entertainment industry.

xxx

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

Look Chan I know we've all been single for a while here but I don't think you understand the concept of Valentine's Day

[fairy-ganj-mother]

this summer is going to be entirely nuts... I didn't mentally prepare for a cool life in my late twenties and now I'm caught off guard and burnt out lmao

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Like You Mean It | H.S

summary: you're tired of only ever meeting trash men, but your best friend and roommate harry shows you that there are still good guys out there, and what it really means to be a giver.

word count: 5.3k

reading time: 22 min

content warning ⚠️: housemate/bff!harry au, nonfamous!harry, friends to lovers, shitty men (not harry), smut, fluff, fingering, penetration (p in v), very light D/s dynamics (if you squint), softdom!harry, dirty talk, nicknames (baby, babe), very light degradation/humiliation kink (if you squint)

a/n:  i saw a text post that said “girl don’t text that man. make yourself cum and forget about him.”(solid advice lol)  and then this happened. also not to be an astrology girlie but he’s an aquarius with libra placements….this man is the perfect fwb.

“Harry, can I get a man's perspective on something?” you ask, turning to Harry next to you on the couch. You had begged Harry out of his room for a movie night as a ruse, but your nose had been buried deep in your phone the whole night. Re-reading and overanalyzing old text messages between you and the object of your anxiety.

You don’t often go to Harry for help with men, but his advice on other areas of your life is always sound, and you respect his opinion.

“If you’re asking me for help, he’s not worth your time.” He sighs, not looking away from the movie, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

“I’m serious, I need your help.” you whine, tugging on his sleeve. He turns and looks at your dramatic pout, “Please.” 

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He huffs. “What is it?” 

“As a man, do you prefer texting or like a call? Or maybe FaceTime?”  

Harry barks out a laugh at the ridiculous question, before looking over at you, and realizing your dead serious. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, tossing his head back against the couch. “I mean I’m more of a talker, and I like seeing who I’m talking to, so I prefer FaceTime. But I guess it depends on the girl and how long I’ve been talking to them. What our situation is, and stuff.  Which one of your boy toys are we talking about?” he asks. 

“Cameron.” you grimace.

Cameron is admittedly your least favorite of the boys on your roster, but your most tenured member. And the one Harry hates most. In the beginning you thought it could be something real. He was sweet and did a decent job at wooing you. That is until - in Harry’s eyes - he coerced you into a friends with benefits arrangement. Harry could tell that you liked him, and to see him treat you as terribly as he did, got Harry’s blood boiling. You deserved better, that much you both could understand. What Harry couldn't understand however was why you would even consider speaking to him again after the last time you were in contact.  

Instead of saying what he truly thought, or giving you a hard time, he just pinched the space between his brow with an exasperated sigh. 

“I know, I know,” you grumble.

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from him?” 

“A while. But he reached out recently and - ” 

“I thought you were done with him.” he deadpans, eyes glued to yours. 

“I was, but we got coffee last week and he apologized.” 

“Coffee?” Harry groans in disgust at the low effort. He pauses the movie, and turns to you, “Don’t text him. Don’t call him. Go back in there,” he says pointing down the hallway towards your room. “Make yourself come, and forget about him. For your sake and mine.” 

“Harry!” you laugh, hitting him with a throw pillow.  

“You think I’m joking, but I’m serious.” he concedes with a chuckle, “You don’t even like him.” 

“I like him enough.” 

“He’s a terrible fuck.” 

“He…gets the job done.” you defend voice cracking. 

“Everytime he leaves, there's suddenly a consistent buzz coming from your bedroom.” He scoffs. You go to defend yourself with heat rising to your face. You stammer a bit but not quite getting words out before he continues, “I’m a grown man, I know what a vibrator sounds like.” He smirks, and you giggle covering your face. 

“Jesus.” you laugh, “Look, I’ve tried your way already…and it’s not doing the trick.” you pout, “So tell me, how pathetic would I be  if I were to reach out to him.”

“I don’t think you’d be pathetic, love.” he soothes 

“Then why are you so against me texting him?”  

Because you deserve better! Why can’t you see that? He thinks, These guys don’t deserve you. If I were them I’d - 

“Harry?” you ask, snapping him out of his thoughts. It’s in the glow of the television, and the small light on the side table that Harry is able to admire your adorable pout and curious eyes. He’s always had a little crush on you throughout the entirety of your friendship. One he knew you could feel and was reciprocated. There were a few drunken confessions of your attraction for one another that were joked about the following morning. Then there was the holiday kiss . One New Year for ‘good luck’. But there was also a promise. A pinky promise, to never risk the friendship you had. To keep things platonic.  It was a promise that was becoming more and more difficult for both of you to keep. 

When you two agreed to move in under the same roof for economic reasons, you knew it would be an adjustment, with both of you having been living on your own for years. But you were excited. Living alone could get lonely and overwhelming. So having your best friend of years, under the same roof and splitting responsibilities felt like a huge weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

But being in such close proximity meant that it was becoming harder to keep your promise. Especially when things just felt so domestic with the two of you. Cooking dinner together, movie nights, cuddling together on the couch. It was hard for both of you not to let your minds wander to a reality where you were more than just friends. 

But you were friends, and as long as that boundary was there, there was nothing stopping either of you from being young, wild and free. So there were parties, and one night stands, and situationships. All in an attempt to distract you both from the truth. Because no matter how pretty the girls were that Harry brought home, no matter how sweet and kind they were. The only face he saw when they were splayed out in his bed…was your. 

And after a very awkward Sunday morning breakfast with one of your one night stands meeting Harry, you stopped bringing guys home all together. Opting for spending weekends away. A change Harry didn’t like, and lectured you over. “It’s not safe. You don’t know these guys. At least if you bring them here, I’m here if you need me.” he’d argued. All that did was keep you from seeing anyone for a while.  Which is how you ended up even considering talking to Camreon again. 

“Look” Harry finally says, turning his body towards you, “if you’re that sexually frustrated I’ll… help you out.” 

You tilt your head, letting out a nervous giggle, waiting for his real response. But it never comes, he just…smirks at you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, heart beating against your ribs. “You’re serious.” Harry nods, biting his lip. The offer was…promising, and the way Harry looked at you was intriguing. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t give you butterflies.  That the last month or so things haven’t  felt different between you two, something less than romantic, but certainly more than platonic. It was messing with your head for sure. But you were friends. Regardless of how fit you thought he was, you didn’t have the right to blow up your over decade long friendship just because you were horny. You clear your throat blinking up at him, shaking your head,“Thanks for the offer, Har but -” 

“Yeah no…you’re right. It’s - dumb idea.” He stammers, “I do think you just need to let off some steam, and then you’ll forget about him.” 

“Yeah. I guess.” 

He sees you deflate a bit at his words, and he realizes you didn’t expect  him to give up so easily. So he tries again a little more directly “And not to be that guy but I’ve been told I’m pretty talented, and if making you come keeps you from making a repeated mistake then I’ll take one for the team.” 

“Gee, thanks.” you scoff. 

“I just mean. You’re my friend, and I’m trying to be a helping hand.” he says sweetly before the smirk returns, “And tongue.” He laughs, and you roll your eyes. “And on a serious note, you’re too special of a woman to have to deal with mediocre sex from a guy that clearly - and I’m sorry to say - couldn’t give two shits about your Love. If you need to…get your rocks off, why not with someone you trust? With someone that actually cares about you?” Harry says sweetly. 

“Really?” you ask, and he nods, “And if we cross this line, it won't ruin our friendship.” 

“Cross my heart.” He says drawing an ‘x’ over his chest. 

“What about Taylor?” you ask, thinking of the pretty blonde that you’ve caught making breakfast in your kitchen a few times. You're trying to give him an out. But he doesn’t take it. 

“Out of the picture.” he smiles, “Has been for a while.” He admits, and before you get a chance to offer your condolences, he asks “So what do you say?”  

“Okay.” 

“Alright.” he smirks, “Come here.” He says softly, reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You scoot closer to him on the couch, your knees touching his thigh.  Your breath hitches in your throat as his other hand rests on your cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb.

He leans in slowly, his breath fanning across your face, his lips inches away from yours. His emerald eyes dart from yours down to your lips, back to your eyes. 

“You’re sure?” he asks. You nod your head slowly, eyes glued to his lips as he speaks. You watch as they curve up into a seductive smirk, “Words, baby. Want to hear you say it.” He coaches. 

He wants to hear you say it because the truth is, he can’t believe this is finally happening. He gets why you both agreed to not cross this boundary for so long. For the sake of your amazing friendship. But being this close to you now, seeing the look in your eye, the want and anticipation. Feeling the way he lit up touching you. It all seemed so silly. Why deny yourselves the pleasure of giving in to such chemistry, when life was so short? 

“I’m sure.” you whisper, “Are you?” 

“Oh, I’m positive.” he purrs, before leaning forward finally bringing his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on yours. Immediately, the kiss feels different than anything you’ve shared in the past. What starts off as a soft sweet pecks, familiarizes yourselves with one another, quickly evolves into a hurried frenzy. Tongues swirling, teeth clicking, and with Harry’s hand having come down to rest on your neck, thumb caressing your jugular possessively your head was spinning. You gasp  into the kiss, trying to catch your breath but all you could do was breathe in more of Harry. It’s when he nipped at your bottom lip licking at the skin after, that you have a moment of clarity. Pulling away slowly you, run your hand through the hairs at the nape of his neck making him look up at you. 

“You okay?” he asks, worry etched into his features. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you begin, “ I have one condition.” 

“Okay.” he prompts 

“Want you to fuck me like you mean it.” you whisper, voice shakily. 

“Planned on it, Love.” He smiles, bringing you back into the kiss, lifting you up onto his lap to straddle him. You drape your arms around his shoulders and lean forward bringing your lips back down to his. Any nerves you’d had earlier slip away with each swipe of his tongue into your mouth, and grind off your hips down onto his hardening cock. He moans into your mouth as you grind your hips into his, and you couldn’t help but smirk into the kiss. 

He sounds so pretty, you thought. 

He lets out another groan, as his hands roam up your thighs to your hips, gripping them firmly and pulling you as close to him as he could. He pulls his lips away from yours in favor of kissing down your neck. His lips roam up and down trying to find your favorite spot, and when he does, you let out a lewd moan, pulling at his hair. He groans into your neck and continues sucking and nibbling. He licks a stirp up your neck, dragging your earlobe into his ear sucking at it. Before he pulls away looking at you with a proud grin on his face, watching you. 

“Why’d you stop?” you pout, leaning your forehead against his. 

“I’m not fucking you on the couch.” He chuckles and you giggle. “Your bedroom or mine?” he asks as he untucks your lip from your teeth with his thumb. “Wherever you’d feel most comfortable.” 

You didn’t have to think for more than a moment before answering. “Is it okay if we go to yours?” you ask nervously. If you were going to get the Harry Styles special, you wanted the whole experience. 

“Of course.” he smiles, giving you a quick peck, “Hold onto me.” he instructs and you hook your arms and legs around him as he stands up and makes his way down the short hallway to his bedroom. He leans in and kisses your cheek 

It is a little strange, how natural it all feels. How your lips seemed to slot perfectly with his, how he grabs your ass so dominantly in his hands, how you instinctually nuzzle into his neck, sucking just below his ear like he did for you. It’s as if  this whole thing, your dynamic, was sitting there all along, just waiting to come to the surface. 

He kicks his bedroom door open, kicking it back closed once inside. Breathy swears falling from his lips as you suck on a spot just below his ear. He sets you down on your feet as you pull away from his neck, bringing your lips back to his. Your hands move from around his shoulders to the elastic of his sweats. You pull at the strings keeping the material around his hips. But Harry stops you, pulling away from the kiss, holding your wrists in his hands.

“Hey, hey.” he coos, tilting your head up to look at him. “This is about you. Remember?” 

“Right.” you sigh, “Sorry.” It was a force of habit. Focusing on pleasing your partner, without much thought of your own pleasure. 

“It’s okay.” he smiles softly, “Don’t worry about me. Just let me take care of you.” He lifts your hands to his lips kissing each of the back of your hands,  “Okay?” you nod and he places a quick peck to your lips,  “Get up on the bed, for me.” There was something in his voice, a tone you’ve never heard before nor could you pin down, but it already had your stomach doing somersaults. 

You crawl your way up the bed, laying down amongst the mountain of pillows and it suddenly hits you what you’ve agreed to. Did you have some nerves about the possibility of ruining your longtime friendship? Of course. But the primary feeling was anticipation. You’ve heard Harry take many women to heaven in this very room, in this very bed through the thin walls of your apartment, dozens of times.  And now as you lay in his sheets… It's your turn.

He watches from the foot of the bed as you settle into his bed, admiring the sight of you there. You're quick to remove your shirt, but you keep your bottoms and bra on. You watch as he strips himself of his band t-shirt, and sweats admiring his tattooed littered chest and arms. Your eyes follow the trail of hair from his navel to the growing tent in his boxer briefs. He notices you admiring, watching as his muscles contract as he moves up the bed to you, a smirk plastered to his lip. 

“Eyes up here.” he jokes, and you snort out a chuckle, as he hovers above you with elbows on either side of your head. You bring your arms, sound his shoulders, pulling him down on you, enjoying the weight of him on top of you. 

“Shut up.” you smile, kissing him. You try to lead the kiss, but eventually give in to Harry, allowing him to choose the pace, too distracted and consumed by the feelings of his hands roaming your body. As he teases your mouth open with his tongue, you nibble at his bottom lip wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. You both moan as the tip of his clothed cock catches onto your clothed pussy. Your pussy throbs at the sensation and you roll your hips up into his, begging for some friction. But Harry holds your hip in the softness of his mattress.  He pulls away, caressing your cheek, running a thumb along your kiss bitten lips. 

“Let me take my time. Want you to enjoy this. I’m going to give you what you need. I promise.” 

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes, “Okay.” you sigh

“Just relax.” he leans down, kissing your lips, “Do you trust me?” 

“Yeah - of course.” 

“Good.” Harry smiles, his dimpled smile, before continuing your kiss, hungrily kissing your lips, down to your neck. Kissing and sucking trying to find your most sensitive spot. When he does,  he nibbles and sucks, groaning into you as he feels you relax in his arms, with each swipe of his tongue on your neck. His hand reaches behind you, fiddling with the hooks of your bra. “Can I take this off?” he rasps. 

“Mhmm, yeah.” you rush out, helping him shimmy your arms out of the annoying barrier.  Before you get the chance to pull him back down to you chest to chest, Harry pauses, looking from your chest to your eyes.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous” he whispers, a hand cupping one of your breasts, pinching the pebbled skin of your nipple. He dips his head down, drawing the other nipple into his mouth sucking on the nub, before releasing it with a pop. You couldn’t help the lewd moan that escaped your lips. It’s needy and breathy and if it were anyone else above you,  you’d maybe be embarrassed with just how desperate you sound. But the way Harry is worshiping you, and moaning into your chest, you knew he was enjoying this just as much.

He works his way up from your breasts back to your neck, sucking and kissing anywhere his lips could reach. You wrap your hands around his shoulders pulling him in, for a deep kiss, until you feel his fingers tangle into the loose strings of your flimsy lounge shorts. 

“What about these?” he asks against your lips. “Can I take ‘em off?” 

“Please.” you gasp into his mouth. Without breaking the kiss the best you could, you lift your hips, as you help him get the shorts down your legs. 

With nothing but the thin material of your underwear between you.  You could really get a feel of Harry now as he grinded his hips into yours. He was thick, and just as hard as you were wet. After a few nudges of his cock against your pussy, Harry snakes a hand between the two of you, rubbing you through the thin cotton of your panties in small circles. 

“Mmhm.” you moan, rolling your hips into his hand. 

“This okay?” he huffs, leaning his forehead on yours. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, pulling him back down to your face for a kiss. “More.” 

Harry smirked at you teasingly, but obliged. Sliding your panties to the side, his thick warm fingers making contact with your clit. 

“Oh, fuck.” you huff. 

Harry usually likes to tease. He tells the girls in his bed to be patient, to be good girls and wait for the inevitable earth shattering pleasure he’s sure to spring on them. But you're not just some girl in his bed. You’re…you. And he’s never not given you whatever it is you wanted. Because as far as Harry is concerned, you deserve the world. And the truth is, even if you didn’t realize it, you have him wrapped around your perfectly manicured finger. 

“That feel okay?” Harry asks, rubbing you in tight circles. He dips his fingers further down your folds, collecting  the wetness at your entrance to wet your clit. He rubs at your pussy,  up and down, until you start bucking against his hand. 

“Mmhm” you nod, “so good.” you whimper. 

It’s beginning to become harder to focus. All you feel is Harry. His fingers, between your legs. His tongue massages yours. His breath fanning across your face, when he rests his forehead on yours. His hardening cock pressing into your thigh.  His weight on top of you. He was completely consuming your senses. 

His fingers dip down, teasing at your entrance drawing out a deep groan from you as your grip on his shoulders tighten. 

“What’s got you so wet? Huh?” he smirks into the kiss, as he teases your entrance. Your cheeks warm to his teasing tone.

“You.” you whine, “Feels so good, Harry.” 

“Yeah?” he smirks, “And this?” He coos, as he slowly, finally, slides a long finger inside. “This feel good, too?” 

“Oh, god.” you whimper, arching your back into the mattress, gripping at his shoulders.

Harry kisses your check, pulling back admiring how sweet you looked as his finger worked you open, pumping in and out of you. 

“Look at me.” he coos, curling his finger inside to that spongy spot inside of you. “Let me see you baby. Look at me.” He repeats, sweetly kissing your cheek. Slowly, and with all the focus you can muster, you peel your eyes open to look at Harry. “Good girl,” Harry praises, “you’re doing so good, Love.” Your breath hitches at his words as you feel your pussy tighten around his fingers.  “You gonna come on my hand? Already?” He smirks. 

His light teasing, mixed with the pet names, only has you barling closer to the edge. You're so, very close and the way you're looking up at Harry all blissed out has him ready to bust in his boxers. 

“Har-” 

He can sense the frustration. See how close you were, but not quite. He needed to see you come for him. 

“What is it baby?” he coos, kissing your cheek. 

“More. Harry,” you whine, “Please, please plea-” you whine, through a pout.

“Shhh….Okay. You can have,” Harry slowly inserts a second finger, while his thumb circled your clit, “anything you want.” 

“Fuc-” Your moan gets cut off with a kiss, as Harry continues to work his fingers in and out of you.

“There you go. Better?” 

“Ye- yes. Oh my god.” you whine. 

Harry continues working his fingers in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit as you could feel your orgasm barrelling closer. 

“Come on,” Harry encourages, “come on my hand. Come for me.” he pants, through a kiss, fingers curling, maintaining their pace inside of you. 

“Shit!” you moan out, coming apart on his hand. 

“There you go. Good girl.” he praises, kissing you anywhere his lips can reach. You whimper, a shiver shooting through your body as your orgasm shook through you.  “Shhh, I got you. I got you.” he coos, slowing his fingers to a stop.   He withdraws his fingers from your center, eyes remaining on yours as he sucked his fingers clean, moaning around the digits. 

“You taste good.” he smirks, before leaning down, burying himself in your neck, sucking on the spot just below your ear. He pulls away, looking you in the eye admiring your fucked out state. He plants a kiss on each of your cheeks, and then kisses you deeply nipping at your lip. 

“You did so good.” Harry huffs into your mouth. You rake your fingers through his hair, still reeling from your orgasm, trying to use Harry to bring yourself back down to earth. “You’re pretty when you come.” he smiles down at you, kissing your lips, “Do you need a minute?” 

“No.” you mumble kissing his lips, “Just fuck me please.” Harry nods into the kiss, reaching into his nightstand for a condom. He’s quick to get rid of his bottoms and slip on the condom. 

“Harry.” you plead, rolling your hips up into his, as he slid his cock up and down your slit. He taps the head of his cock on your clit twice.

“Shhh, relax. I got you.” He coos stroking your cheek with one hand as he runs his cock more deliberately up and down your slit with the other. Harry kisses the corners of your mouth, and then places a kiss to your lips. He looks at you, eyes aflame with lust. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your face, as he slowly pushes inside. You gasp, grab his shoulders, dig your nails into his skin. Harry hisses, tucking his face into your neck as he slowly worked you open with his cock, little by little thrusting in and out until he was fully settled inside. 

“Fuck, babe.” he sighs. He stays still for a moment, deep inside of you relishing in the feeling of your tight  walls wrapped around him. 

“Oh my god.” you gasp as swears fall from Harry’s lips above you. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls, drawing out more groans from him. “Move.” you whine, rutting your hips up into his. “Please, Harry.” 

He slowly begins to grind his hips down into yours, pulling back only slightly before driving back in, allowing you to feel every inch of him. “Fuck, you feel so good baby.” He praises. He’s quick to find a decent pace, his arms bracketing your head, forehead leaned against yours as he pounded into you with deep strokes. 

“Har- oh my god.” you moan, your pants of pleasure, fanning across Harry’s face, eyes screwed shut. 

“Look at me.” he rasps, kissing the corner of your mouth, “Please. Need to see you.” He moans. And he does. He needs it. You can hear it in his voice, and feel it in the way he caresses your hip. He must be closer to you. He needed to see you, all of you. 

So you grant his wish, peeling your eyes open and looking at him. And your pussy clenches at the sight of him. You don’t remember why you’d close your eyes in the first place. He was beautiful, like this. All kiss bitten lips, and flushed cheeks, curls glued to his brow and lust filled eyes. You threaded your fingers in his curls, brushing his curls away from his eyes. 

“You feel so good.” you gasp. 

Harry smirks, twirling his hips, “So do you.” You pull at his curls, a loud moan rips from your throat,  as a particularly hard thrusts hits your g-spot. Harry’s eyes flash with a new kind of focus, and lust as he hits it again. 

“‘S that it? ‘S that your spot, babe?” he huffs. You nod frantically, eyes glued to his lust filled ones as he continued pumping into you. “I want you to come for me again. I want to feel you. Please,” he pleads, “Need it.”  

“Oh god!” you cry out. The more he talked the closer you could feel yourself approaching your peak. “Harry -” you 

“Breathe through it, Love.” He instructs, keeping his rhythmic pace. As he grinds his hips down into yours, he demonstrates a breath, taking a deep breath in and out. You follow suit, feeling the heat pool in the bit of your stomach warm, as your orgasm grows closer and closer. 

“Harry - oh my god.” “I know, I know.” He gasps, “Let go, Baby.” And you do. Just like that, you coming around Harry’s cock, tightening around him as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. “There you go,” he coos, dropping a kiss to your forehead, before tucking himself back into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “Good girl. Fuck baby.” 

Harry’s thrusts become sloppy as he struggles to hold himself up above you, feeling his own climax quickly approaching. “I’m gonna come baby.” Harry pants. 

“Please.” you whimper, holding his face in his hands. You bring your lips up to his, moaning into the kiss, “I want you to.” 

“Fuck.” He huffs, and with a few more deep strokes, Harry comes apart above you. 

He grinds his hips to a stop, burying himself into your neck, kissing your shoulder, as you run your nails up and down his back, trying to catch your breath. 

You stayed like that for a while, enjoying the weight of him on top of you, and Harry enjoying your hand in his hair. Once he heard your breath slow, he slowly pulled out of you, kissing your forehead, and rolling off of you.

“I’ll be right back.” he smiles.

“Okay.” you whisper with a sweet smile.   

Harry drags his boxer briefs up his legs, looking back at you with a smile before he’s out the door. 

“Shit.” you giggle, looking up at the ceiling. You look over at the clock on his nightstand, and smirk.  Nearly an hour and a half  has passed. I really got the Harry Experience ™ you muse, to yourself. 

Sitting up in bed, you scan the messy bedroom floor to find your clothes. Before you get a chase to put your bra back on, Harry is back with bottles of water, some snacks and a towel. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks,  He sets down the two bottles of water, snacks on his nightstand.

“Getting dressed.” 

“What for?” he pouts, crawling into his bed, lifting his sheets for you to follow,  “Come back here.” you allow him to pull you back into his side, resting your head on his chest.  

“I don’t want to overextend my stay.” you whisper 

“You’re not.  Let me hold you for a bit. Not done taking care of you.”  

He kisses the crown of your head, and it feels almost too intimate, but still you relax in his arms, letting out a deep breath, allowing the gentle motion of his hand stroking your back to calm you. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Promise me that we’ll still be friends.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment. A little too long for your liking before he finally speaks. 

“I don’t think I can do that.” Harry says, and there's a slight panic at his words until you look up at him and see he’s smirking down at you. 

“I got you pussy whipped that quick, Styles?” you joke, poking at his side, and he laughs. 

“Maybe.” he smirks, before looking at you earnestly, “Or maybe hearing you moan my name made me realize it’s something I've wanted for a long time.” 

“Oh.” you sigh. 

“Or maybe I’m just selfish, and I don’t like the idea of anyone else seeing you that way. Especially if they aren’t going to treat you right.” 

“And you want to treat me right?” you smile

“I do.” He says firmly, “Give me a chance. Just one date. A real one. Ideally one where we stay clothed, and vertical.” he smirks.  “And if you don’t want to pursue anything, then…I’m happy to stay friends. But I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t try.” 

You look at him, trying to find a hint of dishonesty, but you couldn’t find it. 

“Okay, Styles. One date.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” you smile, snuggling back into his chest. 

Everything between you two has changed. That’s for sure. But maybe it’s for the better.  And maybe this is just the beginning. 

a/n: imagine harry as your fwb *deep sigh*

✨masterlist✨| ✨yap & request box✨

[monstersholygrail]

Late to the Event

Bull Hybrid x fem!reader— fingering, rough sex, spanking, aftercare

Now it’s been proven myth that the color red makes a bull get riled up. But that doesn’t mean that seeing you all dolled up looking drop dead gorgeous in that deep red dress he bought for you doesn’t make your CEO Bull Hybrid bf feel nothing.

In fact, he can barely contain himself at the sight of you. And when you look up at him with those fuck me eyes, softly asking if you look alright he feels his restraint hanging on by a thread.

“You look like a million bucks, sugar,” he purrs. His nostrils flare as his tail flicks sharply behind him. Trying to keep his mind sharp and focused on the event tonight. But you are just so tempting.

Especially as you twirl around. Seemingly trying to get an even bigger rise out of him as you stop with your back to him, showing off your delicious curves.

“I don’t know, is the back too short?” You ask innocently. But he can hear the coy tone in your voice and his hands clench, a loud snort of breath leaving him.

Your bf is practically vibrating on the spot. His ears twitch and he leans forward, shaking his horns your way, completely unknown to you. The way you look in that dress has his cock straining against the seam of his slacks. He’s so fucking turned on by you that he can’t take it. He paws at the ground, subtly stomping down his hoof and pushing it back as if to charge.

A moment later with another rough snort he’s doing exactly that. Charging straight for you until he wraps his arms around your waist and pin your body against his, allowing no chance for escape. His massive bulge grinds into your back and you gasp, arching into it.

“What do you think you’re doing? Teasing me like this when you know we have to go to this event tonight,” he growls in your ear, his breath so hot and husky that it has chills rising up your arms.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Don’t you lie to me, sweetheart. I think you need to be taught a lesson on what happens when you do,” he threatens you with a smirk on his lips. Not minding any consequences when it comes to you. Taking care of you, in any way, always comes first.

He shows you exactly what he means as he slips a hand under your dress, delving into your panties and checking to see how wet you are. Seeing just how much you were lying to him. His fingers slide through your folds and collect your slick, swirling his now soaked digits around your clit until you’re crying out.

“B-but we’ll be late to the event,” you try and rationalize. Not quite sure exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into. Your stomach a ball of nerves and undeniable arousal.

“They wouldn’t dare start until we’ve arrived now will you be a good girl and bend over for me or does your punishment need to include the rules on following orders?”

Without another word you bend over, resting your arms on your dresser. You whimper as his hands immediately drop from your clit. The clinking of a belt has you jumping out of your skin and you gasp as a moment later you feel your bf’s large tip nudging at your entrance.

“There’s a good girl,” your bf breathes as he slides his dick all the way inside your pussy with one solid stroke.

You moan loudly but before you can fully adjust to his size a hand cracks down on your ass and you yelp. It takes you a moment to realize your bf just spanked you but when you do your cunt immediately clenches down on his length and he growls. Knowing you’ll need a much firmer lesson.

With another slap to your ass right where he got you last that causes an even harsher sting, he starts up his pace, completely unrestrained as beast takes over man. His cock relentlessly pistoning in and out of you and his hand delivering in equal blows.

A symphony of pleasure rings throughout the room between the wet smack of your hips and his hand, the shaking of the dresser from the pure force of his thrusts, and the strangled moans ripped from your throat. His cock and his hand working in perfect harmony.

With every few brutal jerks of his dick comes a resounding blow to your aching bottom, and each time it sends you higher and higher. The pressure in your belly growing with every strike to your senses.

Your orgasm blows through you, taking you completely by surprise. A fierce shriek falls from your lips as your body seizes, desperately meeting his erratic thrusts and silently begging for his hand. Your bf roars, his hand swinging back and delivering a final thwack just as buries himself inside you to the hilt. He explodes inside you, filling your core with his hot semen till it overflows and begins dribbling down your thighs.

The two of you slowly rock, basking in the aftershocks as you work each other through your release. Your bf nuzzles into your neck, pressing affectionate kisses to your skin. But after a moment he gives your butt a playful pat and pulls out, his cum immediately gushing out of you. He’s right there to help you clean up without a word. When he’s done he kisses your cheek and gives your waist a gentle squeeze.

“Right then, now let’s get moving,” he rasps into your ear before turning and walking off to fix himself up as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just completely rock your world.

All while leaving you leaning heavily against the dresser and weak in the knees. Not knowing if you even can walk at the moment to get to the event. You stare after him like he’s officially gone insane.

“Baby!” You call out with a scolding tone.

Your bf chuckles boisterously and immediately swings around. A playful glint in his eye as he jogs back over to you.

“Yeah, I got you, love,” he rumbles in that sexy low voice of his as he picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder with ease given the huge monster he is. You shriek and scramble to hold onto him. He can’t help but laugh again before giving your bum a little bonus pat that has you squirming on his shoulder.

Luckily the limo ride to event is a long one…

[hairmetal666]

Eddie's a mechanic, has a shop in Indy. It's only got two bays, but he owns it, he saved up the money, it's his. He runs it with Wayne, is building up a customer base. He loves it.

Within the year, a bakery opens up next door, separated from Eddie's shop by a narrow alley. He has a perfect view into the bakery's kitchen from the shop's office, and almost immediately catches a glimpse of the drop-dead gorgeous guy behind the mixing bowl. He's got sun-golden skin, swoopy brown hair, wide puppy dog eyes, the poutiest mouth, and a face dotted with freckles. Eddie gapes at him for a solid two-minutes, salivating over the bunch and pull of his muscles as he kneads a ball of dough. A wet dream come true.

Eddie's always sneaking glances at the shop next door, can't seem to keep his gaze off the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Over the next few months, he becomes familiar with this herd of kids that hang around the bakery at all hours. There's one, curly-haired and mouthy, who often makes the baker frown with his hands on his hips, but as soon as the boy walks away, the baker smiles all wide and fond.

It's a silly crush, no big deal. He has a weakness for brown-eyed pretty boys, so what? It's not like he's going to do anything crazy, like make a move.

It's past midnight, a few months after the bakery opens, and Eddie's in his little office, doing the monthly accounting. He's exhausted, tired of calculators and numbers, when a flash of light catches at the corner of his eye. He blinks a few times, sure it's the exhaustion setting in, but it doesn't go away.

Instead, there's a light on over at the bakery. It's a kitchen light, and the baker is standing at the stainless steel counter, looking unlike Eddie's ever seen. His hair is a soft wave, swooping onto his forehead. He wears grey sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt. Tonight, his movements are less precise and practiced; he's slow and contemplative as he gathers ingredients and mixing bowls.

It's been long enough Eddie should look away, but he forgets that it isn't a dream, that he's actually watching the baker roll up his sleeves as he whisks. It's inevitable that, eventually, the baker catches Eddie staring. He just smiles, though, and waves. Eddie manages to return the greeting before awareness smacks him in the face, and he flees the office and the building in acute embarrassment.

They share waves after that. Smiles. Laughter once when Eddie's reading over an invoice and walking, smacks face-first into the doorframe. Eye rolls after the baker gets into an impassioned argument with the curly-haired boy, one that involves a copious amount of thrown flour.

They exchange waves and smiles and goofy expressions, and it shouldn't escalate further, but one day Eddie steps into the shop's waiting room to find the curly-haired boy sitting behind the reception desk, flipping through Eddie's new dnd guide.

"What." Eddie says.

"You," says the boy. He's pointing and glaring and Eddie is a little scared.

"Me?"

"You like dnd?"

He hopes his sigh of relief isn't audible. "Best DM this town has ever seen." He postures and smirks.

"Doubt it," the boy says.

Eddie lets out an offended squeak, dramatically smashes his hand over his heart. "Insulted! Maligned! In my own place of business! Oh!" He falls into a dramatic swoon.

The boy snickers. "I'm Dustin," he says.

"Eddie." They shake hands and Eddie does not laugh at how overly serious this is all is. "Sir Dustin, what brings you to my fine establishment?"

Dustin shrugs. "Steve."

"Steve?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "The bakery."

"Oh," Eddie says. Steve. The baker is Steve.

He's having a little trouble breathing, sure he's done something wrong, a distinct feeling of doom settling on his shoulders. "Why?"

"He won't stop talking about the mechanic next door but refuses to introduce himself. Plus, I saw your D20 tattoo the other day."

Eddie's barely hearing him, reeling over the knowledge that Steve talks about him to his gaggle of children. He barely hears the rest of the conversation, but the next day Dustin shows up with the rest of the kids, Lucas, Mike, Max, El, Erica, Will.

They're loud, chaotic, wild, and somehow--before they leave--they've coerced him into running a one-shot for them. They come by in twos and threes for the rest of the week, eating all the snacks in the waiting room mini-fridge and talking at him and Wayne as they work.

It's Friday, it's sweltering, he's closing the shop for the night with the top of his coveralls hanging off hips, his sweat soaked undershirt tossed behind a tool chest. He steps into the waiting area and nearly jumps out of his skin to find a man there, holding a plastic container.

Steve.

"H--hi," he stutters. And fuck, he's shirtless. He's standing in front of Steve for the first time and his nipples are out. This is it, the moment he finally dies of embarrassment.

Steve's eyes are locked on Eddie's torso for a few seconds too long, cheeks flushing. He blinks, finally looking at Eddie's face. "I'm Steve. From the--the bakery next door?" He points. "I--uh--I wanted to stop by and apologize?"

"What?" Eddie asks. There's too much happening for him to keep up.

"Um, the kids?"

And Eddie can't fathom why he needs to apologize, can only stare at Steve in confused disbelief.

"It's just. They can be kind of a handful. I used to babysit Mike and the whole group of them started following me around, and--Anyway, I think Dustin took it upon himself to try to introduce us. I've been wondering where they keep disappearing off to, and Max told me today that they're here with you, and I thought I probably owed you an apology. You're trying to work and I know they can be a bunch of shitheads, and oh my god, I'm rambling, I really am turning into Robin, Jesus Christ."

Eddie is fucked. Oh he's so fucked. He's charmed, endeared, can't stop smiling at Steve who is somehow even more beautiful up close.

"I forgive you," Eddie says. "They're nice kids."

Steve lets out a hard breath. "They are, huh?" He smiles. "Don't let them hear you say that. You'll never get a moment's peace. And they shouldn't have been over here bothering you, anyway."

"It wasn't a bother. Though, they did eat all my snacks and swindle me into running a one-shot for them. Still not sure how that happened."

Steve laughs and his eyes crinkle at the corner. So fucked. So fucked. "I should've known that you play that game of theirs."

"Aw, not a dnd fan, Stevie?"

Steve blushes. "It's--there's a lot of math."

Eddie laughs, already knows he's never getting over this one. "You bake professionally."

"It's different?" Steve laughs. "Fine, fine! You got me, it's not my thing."

"Bet I could change your mind," Eddie says. He doesn't mean to be flirting, can't stop himself.

"I bet you could," Steve agrees. He moves his hand, like maybe he's going to run it through his swoop of hair, then seems to remember he's holding baked goods. "Oh, uh, please take these cupcakes as my apology for accidentally saddling you with my group of semi-feral children."

"You're already forgiven, but I'll never say no to a cupcake."

"You should stop by the shop tomorrow, then" Steve says. "On the house."

"You've already given me these." He wiggles the cupcakes in Steve's pretty face.

"I only save the free samples for the hottest customers." Steve does run a hand through his hair now, and it's dorky as fuck, but Eddie still feels like he's died and this is heaven. "See you tomorrow?"

Eddie can only nod as Steve backs out of the office with a cheeky little wave.

He goes to the bakery the next day, sure he just let his crush get away from him and imagined the entire interaction with Steve. Except, when he walks in, Steve smiles all big and pretty in his little blue apron, invites Eddie back to the kitchen.

And if they share their first kiss against the stainless steel countertops, it's between them, Wayne, and all the kids who spy on them from the shop's office window.

[ghouljams]

what sort of body hair & body types do you think the 141 boys have

So glad you asked:

Starting with pretty boy Gaz, He's absolutely got the gym body. You know the one with the perfectly sculpted muscles, tugging his shorts up to show off the flex of his thighs for the camera as he grins, rolling his shoulders back to show off the lats, flexing for the camera. He's more lean muscle than huge body builder vibes, like it's definitely tailored to his body type, but it's that instagram influencer perfect physique. He's got a well groomed smattering of hair. Not a ton on his chest but plenty of people are eyeing that neat happy trail as he does chest presses at the gym. Lemme get a peak at that man in the sauna...

Soap is a big lad, but it's all muscle. He definitely is going for more of the body builder physique. Packs on muscle really well, and tries to manage his macros so that he keeps his abs when he wants them. The man is stacked. He's also hairy. He's the motherfucker that you're hoping to death wipes off the gym equipment because you can see him sweating through that pelt he's got. Good dark hair on his arms and legs, and chest hair you just wanna bury your face in. You're not even into that stuff but when he raises his arms to grab the lat tower bar you kinda wanna run your tongue through his underarm hair. You just know that man doesn't even trim his pubic area...

Ghost is just naturally big, but he also packs on muscle like a motherfucker. Ghost has a solid strongman look, like he definitely works out, and you've seen him bench 400 lbs without breaking a sweat, but he also looks like he never turns down a slice of cake. Olympic dead lifter type. You could watch him run on the treadmill for hours with the way his pecs bounce. Doesn't look hairy because he's blond, so it's very light wispy hair, but he's got a nice map of curls at the base of his dick that just make you wanna suck him off. Always lets his towel sit too low in the sauna, when you die, you wanna come back as the sweat dripping between his tits.

Price... You wanna talk about a man that pass up a decent meal it's Price. That doesn't mean he isn't in the gym with his men, it just means he's the one in the mess at midnight grabbing that last cookie before bed. He's good at shedding the weight though. You see him before a mission and he's trimmed up, but once he's home he's a bear of a man. That goes for the hair too. That man is so fucking hairy. Thick dark hair all over his body, to the point where you're not sure he isn't a werewolf or something. You actually checked the lunar cycle once when he wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt in the gym, and you saw the thick hair trailing down the center line of his stomach. (What a man, what a man, what a man)

[alchemistc]

"Evan's not here," Tommy says, and Eddie scowls at him as he pushes past Tommy, already aiming for the kitchen as he hitches the six pack he'd brought with him up under his armpit. It'd been a - a thing. A 'my best friend and my new friend are too busy sucking face to spend every spare moment distracting me from my problems' thing, a thing where Eddie sort of finally understood exactly why Buck had hip checked him on the basketball court months ago. He wants his best friend back. He wants the ease of his friendship with Tommy back.

Which is - Christ, he's selfish, is the thing. A month without Chris there to keep him occupied and Eddie has had some startling realizations about himself. ("You're not selfish, Eddie, you're the most selfless person I know." from Buck and "So fix it," from Tommy, a rare night out with the both of them because he'd headed date night off at the pass by asking Tommy to go out for drinks before he and Buck could make plans without him).

"My world doesn't revolve around Buck," Eddie tells him, and screws the cap off a beer to hand it to Tommy. Tommy's doing that judgmental face he gets when he wants to say something bitchy but hasn't put the words in the right order yet. And - Eddie's not lying. Buck is a fixed point, an ever present life-line, but he's not the fucking sun.

Neither is Chris, apparently, which is news to Eddie and he's - spiralling, still. Quietly, calmly, and he's only punched one hole in the wall on a bad night.

"You ever go to Frank?" Eddie asks, like Frank is the only therapist in the greater LA area, and Tommy rolls his eyes, disappears long enough for the muted sound of the television to go quiet.

When he comes back Eddie's reading the label on his beer bottle

"Apparently I resent you," Eddie says, and Tommy chuffs a laugh.

"Apparently?"

"No, I -." The words had been just as hard two hours ago. This little trip was his own design, he'd been told specifically to sit in it for a while but Christ, an hour a week isn't enough time to talk through his issues and it's not like he can tell Buck he resents him for finding something he's happy and stable and solid in. So. Tommy it is. "You and Buck are good together. I'm happy for you both. I am."

Tommy settles against a countertop with his hip digging into the Formica. His kitchen has gained a dutch oven that looks suspiciously like the one Buck has been showing Eddie for like six months that he couldn't justify the cost of because he's not around enough to use it as much as he'd like.

"I'm not usually the one without his shit together," Eddie says.

"No offense, Eddie, but I thought the whole point of therapy was you realizing you rarely have your shit together."

Also true. He's - usually better at hiding it though. Kim was a joker stacked up on a wobbly house of cards and he'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that she'd bring the whole thing tumbling to the ground. Mass casualty event. No survivors.

"You make each other better people," Eddie says, which is the wrong thing to say apparently because Tommy scowls.

"If you wanna completely ignore all the work we've both put into ourselves," he snipes, and - yeah. Fair. Buck's been in therapy for years now. Every once in a while he'll pull something out of his ass that makes Eddie's skin itch - something so mystifyingly self-aware that it makes Eddie want to claw into his chest cavity and rip out his fucking heart. And Tommy - well, he doesn't know much but it's not like Tommy's the paragon of perfection. He's worked through some shit. Is still working through shit, if the aftermath of his and Buck's first real fight is any indication.

"I've never been with someone who makes me want to work on myself," Eddie admits, and the lines around Tommy's eyes shift. He sighs.

"Never gonna find that if you don't want it for yourself."

Yeah. Frank's said as much. It's just - Eddie doesn't have a starting point. Tommy had the whole hiding his true self thing, and Buck had the dead-brother-shitty-parents thing, and he's whittling them both down to the sharp edges of themselves in his mind, which isn't entirely fair but it's easier than trying to confront what the fuck his own problem is. Dead wife, his kid in another state, a contentious relationship with his father, a whole backlog of PTSD he's never really confronted head on. Weird feelings cropping up about a religion he thought he'd left in the dust and sand of Afghanistan and a hole he's been trying to fill up with other people since - well, he doesn't even know since when.

Tommy's got his dog tags laying in the bottom of an empty fruit bowl on his kitchen table. Eddie's never seen them before, and some part of him knows Tommy'd brought them out for a conversation with Buck he'll never hear himself, and he aches. He doesn't want them, but he wants what they have, wants to be able to talk about the difficult shit without closing in on himself, wants to have someone to come home to, wants -

"I spent six months imagining my therapist's head exploding every time she made me talk about something uncomfortable," Tommy tells him, and takes a long drag off his beer. For the first time since he'd knocked on Tommy's door, Eddie actually feels a little bad about interrupting his night, but that just leaves him spiralling some more because Eddie usually feels bad about everything, all the time, so why hadn't he felt guilty about this until now? And why does he feel guilty about not feeling guilty?

"I just want him to fix me," Eddie says, and Tommy laughs. Laughs hard and long enough that Eddie's feeling offended. Off kilter and pissed off and -

"You're not a single loose wire, Eddie. Can't just replace a cable and have a clean slate. You gotta change your oil and replace the spark plugs and top up the coolant, over and over again until you die."

It's the sort of metaphor Eddie'd like to lob across the field of engagement just to watch it get shot to pieces. It's apt, though.

"Feels like the whole engines gotta go," Eddie tells him "Transmission's shot and my catalytic converter keeps getting stolen and the mufflers been welded back on so many times that it's half-solder."

"Christ," Tommy says, which. Yeah. Exactly. "Well you can't exactly send yourself to the junk yard for scrap and buy a newer model."

"Buck does," Eddie snaps, and Tommy rolls his eyes. He'd been there the last time Buck brought up his 1.0 days.

"Half the time a system update patches ten bugs and creates twenty more."

"So Buck's buggy, is what you're saying."

He rolls his tongue over his teeth. "You are running off faulty software and you've been refusing to update to the new version because you heard it'd burn the battery faster, is what I'm saying."

Eddie doesn't have a whole lot of charge to begin with. And the metaphors are starting to muddle in his brain, too many different ideas battling around when he's already spent an ornery hour talking to Frank and another trying to convince himself he doesn't resent his best friend for accepting his own fucking flaws and working on them.

Tommy sets the beer bottle down. Eyes Eddie for a moment, and Eddie wonders how often he levels that look on Buck, how Buck feels when Tommy flays him open and digs through his insides. "You wanna go hit something for a bit?" he asks, and Eddie nods so quickly he nearly smacks his nose into the brim of the bottle in his own hand. He's about done feeling his feelings, for the moment. He'll probably end up being annoyed that Tommy makes him wrap his hands before he takes some aggression out on the bag hung up in the corner of Tommy's garage, but maybe when Tommy gets annoyed with him and does that takedown maneuver that knocks the wind out of Eddie's lungs when they're sparring he'll let that go.

Tommy flicks his forehead on the way to grab him something to wear. "That's for calling my boyfriend buggy, jackass," he says, and laughs himself all the way down the hall when Eddie splutters after him.

His bedroom door snicks shut by the time Eddie's recovered enough to remind him that he'd been Eddie's friend first.

[anantaru]

how would anemo boys act with someone who’s generally really quiet and just doesn’t make much noise? especially in bed 😏

including. scaramouche, kazuha

synopsis. you're hiding your moans from him

cw. [ex]plicit, lots of teasing, rough syx, fingering, scara doubts himself a little we love to see it, dom kazuha, fem! reader

— ꒰ SCARAMOUCHE ꒱

"huh, why aren't you saying anything?" scaramouche asks, staring at you while playfully blending in a few grinding movements on your cunt in hopes you'd just moan his name.

you see to scaramouche, to even get one single sentence out had been really fucking hard, so how come you're having no trouble keeping yourself silent?

all night, he was very sensitive, hissing through each thrust and alternating between rough, rushed ruts and deep, precise grinds that it was slowly getting to him.

"—fuck, j-just something," he mumbles through a tensed jaw, peering down at your perfectly arched body as you teasingly avert your gaze from his, pretending as if the desperate part of him wasn't turning you on a tenfold.

your boyfriend hesitatingly brings a hand to your cheek, "say something, come on," and lets go off a moan, deepening the sealed connection on your cunt and turning his hips slower, making you dart your eyes into the back off your skull when he buries inches after inches in you.

you grin in return, hoping you could at least put up with this game a little longer.

but your cunt was struggling viciously, being so adaptable with how quick scaramouche could change his movements that it left you short on breath— it's all rigid and solid at first, later he stretches you out piercingly fast, until your pussy was twitching on repeat.

your breath gets stuck in your throat as he snaps his cock in before you feel him twitch in you, the very moment you made a slight noise of surprise, "you're not answering my question," scaramouche hisses at you, having his hand stroke your cheek while he makes you take his cock well and nicely.

but whatever, right? it doesn't matter to scaramouche if you're being loud or dead silent— although pondering about the situation at hand, he's been so patient waiting for your flowery whines to bubble from your throat, to your tongue until he listens to them, biding his time and allowing himself to fuck you like he thought you enjoyed it.

what if you didn't enjoy it? everything happened so quickly and he found himself doubting his skills, it makes him go slow and rapid all at once.

to hear you was something he didn't deserve then.

but how much he wanted to hear you say he was doing a good job was ridiculous. as much as it was desperate.

you hum affirmatively in response, your mouth softly attached to his jaw before you rock your hips upwards in a repeated sequence, an electric-bolt snapping in your heat as you moan into his lips— granted, it wasn't the loudest noise you could push out, yet it was a genuine one, to the point where your head spins when you're moaning again, only emphasizing how deeply you were feeling his length pleasure you.

that alone brought scaramouche back to reality.

slick drips from your hole and he knows by the flinch of your touch that you're close. he was breathing heftily against your glossy lips as if it's a relief to have you sing for him now, his cock throbbing hard until he's spasming.

his face silently travels from your eyes to your tits flinging up and down with his shallow thrusts racing through your velvet walls, "I love everything about this," he whispers, slightly flustered, droplets of sweat slithering down his forehead, "you love it too, hm?"

scaramouche needs to know. he lays open mouthed kisses on your cheek and jaw, smearing his saliva over the heated skin.

your moans were euphonious, bird sweet and soothing to his ears, a perfect composition indeed.

"v-very," you cup his cheeks proudly, arching your back into his body as his cock drags across your searing walls,

you go on, pulling your hips up to meet his so he could slip into you deeper, watching how his mouth parts and brows knit together,

"you're doing s-so good, always,"

— ꒰ KAZUHA ꒱

"oh? doing this on purpose, aren't you?" kazuha grunts at the clench you have around his shaft, but then he smirks after you denied his questioning on your noises, or well, the sheer lack of them.

have you gone silent? or do you not like the way he stretches your pussy anymore?

the slow pumps on your cunt had always been precise. kazuha knows you like the back of his hand, in fact, he gets turned on in accessory to displayed a sort of filthy and twisted expression on his darling face, morphing his demeanor on his weighty thrusts on your pussy, so you could see and feel what you're doing to him.

he managed to not only target the places that made your mind rewire, but kazuha would also find new spots you never knew could be stimulated in that way.

"no matter," the man gasps at the rolls through your walls, his thrusts shocking each and every nerve in his body, "i'll just have to get them out of you somehow,"

he adds before pulling his body up so he could prance one hand down the area between your breasts, smothering over the sweat-stricken skin so softly until he reaches your stomach, teasingly pressing down as he cocks a brow.

you can feel how hard he was slotted in your cunt, and when kazuha pushes down on your stomach you thought your little game would end right there. little do you realize that this wasn't his original intention and that he's planned something a whole lot delicious.

he slides a thumb to your clit, leisurely and without a hurry, his erection barely moving now but twitching ever so often as he slowly digs through the delicate skin that was protecting the pearl, rubbing your clit softly to hopefully bring your mewls and whines to the surface.

a searing warmth runs hot in your cunt as your back arches when kazuha alternates between toying with your clit and pumping you of his cock again, slowly dragging his erection against your velvety walls with all he's got.

realize this now— it's that one special way he did it, moving his shaft in a slowed motion so your body could react on how full you've been getting with each inch slotted inside.

your head was above the clouds now, serving to diminish your previous attempts to fool your boyfriend. you needed this so badly right now, you wanted kazuha to make you cum so badly that you're beginning to gasp loudly, so loud in fact that it almost overturned the fast thuds of your heart.

opening your dazed eyes, you needed kazuha to listen and watch you, watch everything he made your body do— how he's bringing his cock in you easily, how he slowly pumps in your hole and meshes his shaft with your arousal, his erection aching, hot, slowly and teasingly spreading you apart.

a whimper slips through your lips when kazuha slants forward, swirling his tongue in your mouth but keeping things slow.

your body shivers under the lewd wetness of sweaty skin on skin rubbing against each other as it provided you with strong, electrifying tremors when your legs begin to clench around his hips, your pussy full of his cock.

"told you so," he hints at his previous declaration as your body combusts in a matter of seconds, your cunt pulsing at his words when your arousal slides over his length with pre dripping from his tip.

"not fair," you whine as he laughs breathily, nibbling on your jawline, the softness of his lips painted with the vivid hues of passion.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[yandere-romanticaa]

Darkness loomed over Penacony as you ran barefoot across the dimly lit streets, the drunk passerbys oblivious to your rushed footsteps and heaving chest.

It has been six months since you felt the cool fresh air on your own. Six long, hellish months of bizarre captivity that made your head spin. Boothill was the personification of a locked and loaded gun, constantly on the chase for his next IPC lackey to shoot, or if he was in the mood he would hop on a totally different planet which no one knew about, which naturally only made him want to go even more.

The pain of trying to keep up with him was horrid. Rancid even. Scrapes and bruises, hell, even broken bones became a mild concern once you started to see the plethora of wanted posters which had your face plastered over them.

Solid bounty to boot.

Whenever you would bring up these concerns, Boothill would let out the most hearty laugh, his head thrown back so hard that his hat would come off. He would then proceed to smack you across your back, proudly saying that it was his own personal little way of claiming you.

No person with any common sense would dare come for you.

He would just shoot them dead on the spot.

"That's not a threat pumkin'!" he would say as he casually drank his drink, the alcohol swishing and swaying in the pristine crystal glass. He drank it all in one swoop before setting it back down on the counter, his gaze laser focused on you.

"It's a promise."

From the corner of your eye, you could see the way his hand was resting on the holster of his gun and came to the wise realization that you believed him.

Through trial and error, you have come to terms with the fact that Boothill will keep his promises, particularly if they were related to you.

Running away from him in the overcrowded bar was... was most definitely not the brightest idea but it had worked. It was indeed still working, even with your aching feet and burning lungs. Your entire body begged you to just stop and take a breath, but that option was impossible, because you knew all too well what was in store for you.

As if on cue, you heard him before you saw him.

Endless echoes of shouts, yelps and strings of curses followed you as you continued to flee from him. Boothill pushed, shoved and kicked absolutely every single person onto the ground if they dared to stand in his way, not giving a flying fuck - oh how satisfying it was to curse in front of him since you knew that he could not - any of them were hurt.

"Come back!" he yelled, his voice heavy and hoarse.

You did not turn around, such a luxury was not possible. Against your body's wishes, you ran.

He pursued.

A chorus of shots rang in the air, all of which were too close for comfort. None of the bullets were meant for you as the Galaxy Ranger was being pursued by the Bloodhound family, each one barking orders and insults at each other as they did everything they could to keep your so called lover in check.

As if Xipe themself had acknowledged your efforts, you spotted a tiny alleyway which was perfect to hide in. Boothill had lost his momentum due to his own pursuers, giving you precious seconds to decide on your next course of action.

And with the way you could feel your feet physically give into the pressure, you made your way into the pitch dark alleyway, carefully tip toeing around any possible source of sound. With a sigh you sat behind a large dumpster, the ultimate coverage in this time of need.

A faint glimmer of hope formed in your heart. It was hard to focus on anything other than the fact that you were free from his grasp. You'd much rather take in the stench of trash than his robotic arms, the memory alone making you shiver.

Behind the safety of your dumpster, the streets sounded like a mini warzone.

How typical of him. Being subtle was never his style.

Everything he did, Boothill did to be the biggest menace and pest known to society. He would tell you stories of his escapades as his eyes trailed over your whole body like a starving wolf, his sharp pearly white teeth almost looking like knives in your eyes.

Oh how he loved to sink his teeth into your neck. The noises you let out only seemed to spur him, giving him more motivation to mar your skin. Even now the traces were there, nasty and crude. Tracing a few fingers around your throat, you felt the raging pulse point becoming heavier and heavier, as if it was getting ready to pop and burst right in this dingy alley.

If it were not for the sounds of gunfire, you would have believed that your own heart was going to betray you. There was no way that no one was hearing this, the sheer intensity so strong and dizzying. Hot white pain seeped into your lungs and quickly made its way into your veins, chaining you onto the ground.

That's easy prey, you suddenly heard his voice in your head.

The second they're too scared to move, well I'll be fudged, that's when you shoot pumpkin'.

And you had quietly agreed with him on that summer eve. You could still recall how he hid you both beneath some bushes as he went to scavenge some food for you, showing you some tips and tricks along the way. You could recall the way the thorny bushes had wounded you, pricking the soft flesh of your arms, fresh droplets of blood coating the mostly dry ground.

It hasn't rained in ages on that planet, if you recall correctly.

Rain. What you would give for the fresh scent of the rain. The harsh droplets would mask the yelling, the roaring thunder could perhaps comfort you in some odd way.

And just like that, you wish had come true.

A single piece of evening dew feel on your cheek, the liquid oddly warmer than it ought to be.

You could not be bothered to care.

Closing your eyes, you decided to bask in the first moments of glorious freedom you had managed to steal for yourself.

Boothill had taught you well, ironically enough.

There would be no more yelling, no more loud gun fights, no more long distance traveling. No more needy Galaxy Ranger who wanted you to pay constant attention to him 24/7. You already knew where you wanted to settle somewhere, a quiet and quaint place, a place oozing with peace and serenity.

Much like this dumpster, but a lot more pleasing to the senses.

The streets were quiet and the only sound that could be heard was the music in the distance, a sound so hauntingly pleasant that it made you feel -

Quiet.

Why had it gone quiet?

Like a phantom he emerged from the shadows, his all too familiar silhouette taking over the entire alleyway. His footsteps were slow, methodic. Well calculated.

And like a true phantom, he never left you alone.

His presence was dark and imposing, testing out the waters to see whether or not you were going to come out on your own or if he had to get his hands dirty.

However, he did not give you the luxury of thinking.

"Found ya." he said through gritted teeth, his red eyes gleaming like stars in the night.

Stars you would have a hard time looking the same ever again.