#I think it's pit solely because that would be funny as fuck

[12neonlit-stage]

Some kid icarus doodles cuz I got fixated on Pit... ft. extra doodle of pit hugging Pittoo cuz they the twins ever

[sunboki]

⎯ caught in the webs. ⟡ featuring han jisung

🕷️ : Spider-Man! Han Jisung x implied! fem. reader

TROPE. Spider-Man! au, nerd Jisung! au, high school! au, pining, confessions (somewhat), slight self-doubt, a little angst, nervous sungie :(

WORD COUNT. 7.4k words ⭑ 35min read

WARNINGS. cursing, mentions of an existential crisis, (not actually) ghosting, insecurity, slight anxiety/degradation of oneself, dubcon(??) kiss

AUG'S NOTES. although i initially planned for this to be a mere 4-5k word fic… yeah. got a little carried away, oops. funny enough i’ve been seeing so much spider-man merch everywhere—got me thinking this fic was meant to be :) please enjoy and feel free to leave your thoughts in a reblog!! have a lovely day everyone <3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. To everyone else in high school, Han Jisung is just a nervous, somehow ingenious chemistry nerd. And yet, beneath the glasses and long hours studying, a secret lies. Because Han Jisung isn’t just a nerd, but Seoul’s one and only, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. But what happens when he finds himself head over heels for no one but you? No less scrambling for the courage to ask you out before the Valentine’s Dance? Between the fine-line of his secret identity and the more he falls for you each day, he finds himself hoping you feel the same way.

or alternatively :

In which the tangle of webs makes for complications, and love.

“And- I mean, it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man so,” Han rationalizes, hands flailing about in an awkward manner of both panic and hope, currently spilling his worries out to a luckily, ever patient Chan.

That is, opposed to Minho (Han’s official roommate) whom the two both know would nod his head and eventually (bluntly) tell Han he’s thinking far too hard before going back to studying. 

And yet, at this very moment, Minho might be the sole reprieve in calming said boy’s nerves with his no-nonsense attitude.

Because in less than three weeks their high school’s annual Valentine’s dance will be here, and if anyone knows something about Han Jisung, it’s the borderline pitiful way he pines over you like some neglected puppy, a factor it seems only you don’t notice.

As for the thing nobody knows of apart from some greatly trusted compadre’s, Han Jisung isn’t simply a dorky high schooler, but Seoul’s one and only, (trying-to-be) friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. 

Who.. is having a heart attack merely thinking of your face, your laughter, your smile, your— ugh.

Three weeks to gain as much style and confidence as he can muster and, first and foremost, the balls to even ask you out when the time comes. 

To put it simply, he’s fucked.

Completely, utterly, fucked.

Biochemistry with Mr. Jang is the pits when it comes down to his hour-long lectures, but it isn’t the boredom itself grasping his attention so deliberately, it’s you.

Two seats ahead, one seat to the right. 

And oh, if Han isn’t smitten.

You’re smart, stupidly smart. With your pretty hair and pretty face and crinkling eyes when you smile, where your lips curl in delight. You seem to glow, as if an ethereal fae he’d learn of in childish folklore, come alive amid his wildest daydreams.

So it’s the shrill ring of the dismissal bell that has him jumping from his seat, palms slapping against the wood of his desk with a stinging force effectively gaining the attention of most everyone in the class.

And the harrowing silence.

Trust, his face goes beet red, and Jisung had never choked on an apology faster in his life beneath Mr. Jang’s scrutinizing stare.

Though, from the corner of his eye, he can see it: that breathtaking smile of yours hidden behind a hand as you laugh. 

Jackpot.

Han Jisung has just hit the lottery.

Even if it was his scolding earning your laughter. But he’d brush off the matter a thousand times over to see that smile again. And again and again, like a selfish itch incapable of being satiated.

He really is hopeless.

.

.

.

“No you don’t get it! She smiled at me and—“

The rest is a series of groans and oddly unintelligible sounds, ones the partner of his decides not to inquire about.

Now squirming around the hallways, Jisung buries his face into his hands, whining loudly. Third period leads both him and Minho to Physics together, the decently spaced walk across campus to the classroom allowing leeway for (currently-kept-secret) Spider-Man’s groveling. 

Funny story, actually.

The way Minho found out, that is.

Having grown used to his webs over the few months of adjusting, he’d been ignorant in forgetting his roommate would be home as well.

Which.. ensued the piece of bread he used his webs to beckon over—while making the glorious concoction donned as a grilled cheese—met with Minho’s furrowed, evidently confused brows and an equally, albeit slow, acceptance whilst continuing on to the fridge.

A predictable reaction, Jisung would’ve supposed.

If not for the fact he downright begged the boy to not tell, dread forming in his stomach merely watching that sly, mischief-filled sneer curl at his roommate’s lips. 

Laundry and dish-duty for a week.

Thanks, Minho.

As for Chan’s introduction to Seoul’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two had been approaching each other after Chan’s football practice when the older of the two tossed a football at the younger counterpart, under the (accurate) impression Jisung couldn’t catch to save his life.

That was correct.

The unable-to-catch part, yeah.

But of course, per his luck, if Han couldn’t catch it, that damned radioactive spider would help him catch it.

And he did. Both hands, firm and fast.

Quick enough to freak the quarterback out and, given a few weeks time, unveil his secret after one too many tests on his reflexes and a downright scary amount of footballs thrown at his head.

“So you’re diseased.”

“I am not, we’ve been over this.”

“You’re walking on the ceiling.”

Fair enough, he’d admit if not for the cereal (that he currently figures out how to hold upside down- or right side up? It’s hard to tell) stuffed in his cheeks, feigning a glare matching Minho’s where his roommate pokes his nose indignantly prior to beginning off towards the bathroom.

Nearly 8am, and he’s aiming to keep comfy pajamas on as long as possible before having to exchange for school clothes.

Curious, observant umber irises waste time peering at the expanse of his torso visible where he hangs upside down, lips forming into an ‘o’ of awe seeing the defined lines descending down his belly flex with every move.

Those are new.

Perks of a spider bite, huh. 

Of the few.

Eventually resorting to doing forgotten dishes, he patiently waits for the grumpy roommate of his to finish in the bathroom, rumbling echo of the hairdryer synthesizing with the morning news’ daily report.

Weather, local updates. But the portion gathering his attention comes in the form of the headline: Creeping villain, Lizard, once again detained by Seoul’s mysterious vigilante, Spider-Man.

And simultaneously, listening in on the story, he finds a glow of pride settling in his chest.

He did that. With a few bruises and scrapes sufficing as evidence but, overall, his doing.

Nevertheless, with the rising pride comes the rising stupidity.

Apparently. 

Resulting in, while lost in the throes of his inflating ego, the reckless unleash of webs upon random surfaces as fast as he can manage, failing to notice the risky positioning of a web by his foot until—as if from a cartoon—he trips over it. 

“Ow! My foot- and my coffee..”

The shatter of his mug and Minho’s exasperated sigh seem to speak for themselves.

Most days it’s simply him and his thoughts in classes, and he enjoys that. Sometimes. 

The serenity, the ability to focus with ease, his headphones as his only companion—in which he tries pinpointing a suitable theme song for himself with. 

Embarrassing, he knows, but the aspect is exciting, having his own theme song.

He is a hero, after all.

Or.. one in training, after all.

A thumb and index tap along the surface of his desk, scribbling into his notebook. 

Web Fluid, consists of the topic at hand, scrawled on the top of the page.

A matter he knows he can create easily per his spider-like abilities, but finds himself pouring over regardless, curiosity gnawing at him with each formula jotted down on the lined paper.

Until you come along, and every sensible ounce of brain power goes aloof.

“Hey, what would you think about tutoring— web fluid?”

Your initial offer, from what he could tell, is swift to change, and Jisung feels his ears burn.

“Oh, yeah- I was just- web fluid, y’know? ‘Cause I, like everyone else, hate spiders (sorry radioactive spider) so I just-“

“That’s interesting, actually. You’ve got a real good grasp on chemistry.. huh.”

Lips puckered into a puff of contemplation, you’re slow to nod, gaze scanning over the wild bullet points, numbers too overwhelming to even consider.

So easy, he makes it all: the calculations, the math.

So easy, you make it all: the interactions, the conversation. 

Envy strikes him like a lightning bolt.

Why can’t he just calm down? Behave as he would if he were Spider-Man? 

Capable, assured.

“Think you could tutor me? I can pay you?”

This was not what he expected. 

“Tutor?” Han repeats, as if to clarify whether he’s hearing things. Not a belittling sort of echo, but one to console his inner panic, hope, bewilderment.

Emphasis on the bewilderment.

The nod of your head affirms all he needs to know, and, while suppressing the urge to shout with joy, he offers a small smile, waving a hand synonymously.

“Sure, yeah. Tutoring would be great. I think I’d have time between my internship with Stark Industries- not that I’m like- bragging or anything- just Mr. Stark can be kinda pushy and—“

He takes a moment to calm down before continuing to ramble on.

“We can work in your dorm? Or- if that makes you uncomfortable I totally get it-“

A big breath, flushing further beneath you patient smile.

“And you don’t have to pay me,” These words are quieter, his eyes flitting over the web fluid formulas below. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, Jisung.”

Jisung.

He has to cough into his hand to keep from choking, screaming, leaping like a rabbit and shrieking with accomplishment. Mainly because you called him Jisung, and secondly due to the number in his phone, your number in his phone a few minutes afterward.

This is Jisung, hi. Comes out as the most suitable first text after around twenty minutes of hesitation.

Yet, despite his exhaustion that following morning from swinging around the majority of the night in some way of expressing his happiness, he still glows.

And.. freaks out Minho in the process. 

That isn’t new. 

“Ugh…”

The ring of his alarm earns a low moan of irritation, slinging an arm over his face in feeble avoidance. His muscles ache, head thrumming frustratingly hard. 

Then again, he still gets up, still makes breakfast and dresses—however long that took between trudging steps and obnoxiously long yawns.

Though, there’s a minuscule facet of motivation keeping his eyes bright, his actions swift and steady.

You. 

Tonight, you’ll tutor at the library. Chemical equations, something he luckily excels at.

Together.

Cupid’s bow had long-since struck, leaving Han Jisung to drift away into a love-stricken labyrinth he had no chance of escaping from. 

And gosh are you pretty, the boy swearing he ends up lost gazing at you too many times to count.

There are days he can tell you’re tired, days you drag yourself to tutoring amid a likely hectic schedule where he simply wants to give you the biggest hug possible.

He can’t say his schedule looks any better, but will admit making time to both tutor and hang out sits at the top of an endlessly accumulating list.

In which beckons small notes scribbled between the margins of your textbook, sticky-notes attached to your folder for the next day.

A little extra motivation within the: “You can do it!!” or the silly messages like: “Imagine Mr. Jang as a giraffe!” that he pumps his fist seeing you laugh at that following day.

From then, a routine starts. 

Someone bringing coffee one week, the next the other’s job. Studying that turns into conversation, turns into him relaxing around you, able to communicate without slipping over his words, where you pitch in and he does too. 

Jokes, idiotic ones, he adds in just to watch you smile. Silly remarks you both laugh over until your stomachs hurt.

Even if this labyrinth isn’t one he can escape from, he finds himself not minding.

“And it’s not like she knows I’m Spider-Man.”

“Are you Spider-Man?”

Those words echo in his head, practically a wicked enchantment on replay.

Fu—ck.

Of plenty tutoring sessions, it had to be now that things suddenly went to shit, huh?

With his head running a mile a minute and the sensible words leaving every ounce of headspace, the genius of a boy manages one sentence.

One. Stupid. Sentence.

“Spider-Man? Who’s that?”

Great going, jackass.

Your awkward chuckle makes him want to crawl into his own skin, makes him wish so terribly the library would eat him up, that he could dissipate out of sight.   

“I’m kidding, you know that, right?”

Oh. He’s saved. 

“I mean,” A pause, and for a split second Jisung’s heart plummets once more, feeling as if he’s trapped on a nonstop roller coaster and not a decrepit library chair instead.

Do you know? Did his roomie snitch?

No. Remember the dishes-for-a-week deal, he mentally reassures.

“Everybody wants to know, yeah? I think he’s pretty cool, actually,” Eyes flickering back to your book, his face pales.

A good kind of pale, if that exists.

Ah. 

A light at the end of the tunnel.

It must be some sort of miracle, because Han Jisung hasn’t felt this elated since being presented with a new bicycle for his birthday when he was seven.  

“Thank y— Oh! Yeah. He’s.. yep, cool. Really cool.”

Stammering. Han Jisung, the boy who made a pact to end each night with beer pong come his college days (something that likely won’t happen), who makes dirty jokes bad enough Minho snorts at them, stammering. 

It’s beyond embarrassing, but he’s never felt so alive. 

Nonetheless, his tutoring voyage continues (although almost painful with how often he savors watching your face light up upon getting a question right), compiled in chatter he somehow gets through and small jokes here and there you exchange as if you’d known each other forever. 

And somewhere in between the lines of Stats and multiple-choice-answer hell, he thinks about it. About asking you out, about the dance, about spilling it all right here and there—with your two coffee cups steaming warm tendrils and the quietness of surrounding bookshelves making everything feel safe, comfortable.

“Hey, would you,” He finds himself hesitating, finds your kind gaze flickering to him from the review paper in clutch.

Baby steps. 

“Would you want to do this again? Tomorrow? Like, maybe at a café? The one by campus? Or not, if you’re busy or, don’t want to or whatever-“

“Sure.”

Sure.

He wants to resent you for the relaxed nature you adjust to an atmosphere with, your natural ability to pull him closer and closer, to make his heart thump hard enough in his chest he fears it might burst.

Because you’re far too much for his heart, and he’s giving you a run for your money with those wide globes for eyes and round cheeks bunching up in focus when explaining a concept.

But that’s a secret that’ll remain untold.

For the most part.

“Okay.”

He tried replying with the same fashion of nonchalance, but the words come out shaky and nervous and he nearly winces.

Although, come the finale of this almost-disaster, you still said yes. And to his knowledge—however meager when it came to the matter of love—tomorrow you’d be going on a date. Technically a study-date. Even still, a date.

So predictably, as the semi-idiot he is, he spends his night swinging through Seoul once more and swimming in consequential drowsiness the following day.

Worth it.

Under-eye bags be damned, it seems the way Jisung nearly radiates energy so early in the morning unsettles more than motivates for a second time these past few weeks, understood in the grunted: “turn it down!” received from Minho in response to his music.

..In which he currently serenades an invisible audience using a spoon as a microphone in the kitchen.

A date a date a date a date. 

He keeps the anxiety from settling in for the time being, knowing his kryptonite would take domain the moment he allowed himself in his mind.

What should he wear? Should he style his hair differently? It’s Saturday, maybe he should wear something less school-oriented?

No. 

Enough. 

More serenading, more bad-singing mutes the chaos bouncing around his skull.

He’ll take what he can get.

.

.

.

Each passing minute edges closer to noon, his bag hauled over a shoulder and a mumbled pep-talk recited where he paces his room—the fretful introductions he goes over in the mirror falling short upon his overthinking becoming all too much, prompting him from the dorms for fresh air.

Just be natural.

He scoffs at the thought.

Yeah right. 

The flutter of birds soaring from overhanging trees captures his attention, then the rustle of leaves, then the distant shout of children squabbling over a ball. Peaceful, if only temporarily. 

Eventually, the quiet provokes a hand to reach for his phone, clicking on your number with a ruminative hum, head bobbing to the melody in his eardrums.

The Cure plays, Friday I’m in Love’s familiar beat soothing his indecisiveness while walking.

Tongue pressing to his cheek does the feeling grasp him almost instantly. Tight and inexorable, noise in his eardrum numbing to a buzz. 

The Jisung Tingle.

Chan’s words, not his. 

Too far for a regular person to hear, he discerns the shout of a woman, and Han’s already finding his trusty alley to both dump his bag and simultaneously change into his suit in before scaling the wall.

“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Comes his hurried babbling, technologically adept sensors in the costume’s eye-divots adjusting to better locate the source of commotion, danger.

A bank robber about a hundred feet away catches his attention first, the idiot scrambling for as much cash as he can muster into an already pitifully minuscule bag.

This guy’s gonna ruin my date!

Ah yes Jisung, ever the optimist.

Skillful deployment of his webs sends him straight to the problem, checking his phone for half a second.

Eleven fifty-two, and eight minutes doesn’t sound like nearly enough time right about now to both apprehend a criminal and turn into an unsuspecting Jisung attending his first date with the girl he really, really likes.

“Y’know,” He shouts, a sharp kick to the back of the leg forcing the perpetrator on ground so harshly he even winces at it, muttering a “sorry!” he scolds himself over after restraining the man.

Reminder: don’t apologize to criminals.

“I’d give you the credit for trying this in broad daylight, but this bag man.. it’s tiny!” He can’t help but chuckle, placing his hands on his hips matter-of-a-fact-ly.

“Lemme guess, it’s your mom’s bag,” Leaning forward, he grants some leeway to crack funny comments.

Deadpool’s funny, right? Can’t he be like Deadpool? That’s okay, yeah? People like funny Superheroes.

The unimpressed scowl from the robber earns a sheepish, squeaky giggle, waving his hands frantically.

Gotcha. No funny Superheroes.

“Not that your mom’s bag’s ugly! I mean it’s just, kinda small. Wouldn’t you wanna use a big bag, like in the movies?”

Alright. No humor, period. Got it.

“Yeah Spider-Man!” Suddenly, a person’s voice resounds from the onlookers, eliciting following cheers he can’t help but preen at, mouth agape beneath his mask.

“I have fans! Oh my gosh I fa—“

Han Jisung has one minute until his perfect, amazing date.

The memorandum is abruptly voiced from his suit’s inner audio system, and he both thanks Mr. Stark for the high-tech features and curses his ability to get distracted. 

Additionally cursing the beyond-cheesy way he typed in that reminder, by the way.

What’s up with the “perfect, amazing date” part?

Moving on.

Unfortunately, the time crunch calls for his equally time-crunched behavior, calling out a: “call the police please!” to the amassing crowd and using his webs to keep the robber’s hands behind his back moments after propelling himself upwards.

You.

He can’t afford to be late, witness your disappointed face.

Han would rather take off the suit for good than have you think he stood you up.

Unbeknownst to the awkwardly redressing hero in his beloved alley, you’re also running late, a factor he remains oblivious to.

Until he doesn’t. 

It’s true, time and time again, that a person’s instinctively compelled in locating the person they favor in a crowd. That even when hundreds of bodies surround, one’s eyes travel solely to their special person.

His special person, whom he involuntarily lands in front of without a single thought in mind. 

Great job, dude.

“Hey, um-“

No wait, he can’t just start a conversation like this. You don’t know he’s Spider-Man.

Right.

Deepening his voice (rather horribly), he waves a hand about, summoning this painfully fake, certainly-not-teenage impression. 

“You seem lost, ma’am. I could, y’know, give you a ride? I’m a very classical gentleman-“

Yikes, the voice crack. 

“..Alright?”

The way you tilt your head, the way your hair cascades around your face like a perfect frame.

Oh my gosh you’re pretty.

How many times has he thought that now? 

Heck, not just Jisung, but Spider-Man has to take a deep breath, more so when you loop an arm around his shoulders and he both struggles (and excels) at avoiding touching your bum, simultaneously pretending to be oblivious about your destination in mind.

As if he wasn’t just rushing there moments prior. 

Although it’s easy grinning at the mixture of screams and laughter bubbling from your lips with each practiced extension of his webs, savoring the manner you cling close while he bounds overtop Seoul’s cityscape, expression transforming into that of excitement after the first few nerve-wracking seconds. 

Alive.

He knows the feeling, the freedom coming with being above the crowd. 

The other thing he’s come to know the feeling of? The panic upon arriving at the café, followed by another bout of panic trying to subtly change in the tiny bathroom without making a racket.

Slightly sweaty, but durable. 

No less, crazily enough, the date goes well. You continue to look darling from your spot across from him, he rushes to behave the most manly he can, and the both of you merely.. talk.

About anything, everything. Plans for tomorrow, for next year. Family, friends, pets. Bbama (his dog) and how much he misses him, and quips he prides himself in earning your laugh at, progressively mellowing out.

Understandably, you’ve both long since abandoned the aim of “studying” in this excused study-date.

Then again, there are the moments. The brief notions where you're both out of breath, whether it be from laughter or hurried conversation altogether that he swears if he asked that perilous question you’d say yes. 

Want to go to the dance with me?

Or maybe that’s too laxed.

Gone just as fast as the chance arrives, he’s alternatively left trying to play off spacing out, flushing in response to bemused laughter.

Easy.

You’ve always made it easy.

This time, it’s his turn to level out the playing ground.

And while you’re effectively charmed by his antics, a little boy a few tables over wonders why he’s catching glimpses of Spider-Man’s suit beneath a high-school boy’s pants leg.

In all the years of Han Jisung’s life, he never pictured himself as a taxi service.

And no, not working for a taxi service, but being a taxi service.

You heard that right, yes.

So it’s a “new kind of whipped” (according to Chan) that more often than not he’s slinging himself over to your dorm after some not-so “coincidences” in which he ran into you on the street, eventually pretending to learn the whereabouts of your dorm.

“Sour gummy worms orrr— Sour Patch Kids?” 

Which leads to very intelligent conversations.

Obviously.

The Jisung less than a month ago would’ve screamed himself silly if he saw him now, currently combing his fingers through your hair where you sit leant against the side of the bed, popping a gummy worm in your mouth before lifting the bag to share.

Recently, most of his nights have been spent lingering around here after tutoring, the matter ignorant to you that the same boy in his glasses and flannel shirt minutes earlier now stood as Spider-Man.

Expectedly, you talk. And talk and talk and talk until he knows a curfew officer would knock him out cold if he was found sneaking from your dorm, till you forget about time altogether.

Of your many conversations, the ones where you end up crying are his least favorite. 

To say it broke his heart the first time he watched you break down in front of him was a severe understatement, thanking the courage his hero-identity provided him with to usher you into a hug he never wished to let go of.

And he didn’t, not until those sniffles subsided, those glossy eyes lost their heart-wrenching factor.

A week from the dance, you fell asleep in his arms for the first time since these meet-ups, the boy barely sneaking through the window before you came barreling him over in a hug.

He had an inkling you weren’t feeling up to tutoring that night from the start, the failure to focus not going unnoticed.

Of course, with being able to provide you security as Spider-Man, so came the insecurity as Han Jisung.

Was it this version of him you wanted? The strong, capable soon-to-be-eighteen-year-old known as Seoul’s helpful vigilante? A hero?

Was Han Jisung not enough?

However much the doubt struck him electrified, for now he’d savor being able to be your consolation, your confidant. To hold you close when you needed to feel something, someone, for his head to rest in your lap when his own day sucked.

Someone to rely on, so this world wouldn’t seem so lonely. If only for a little while.

.

.

.

Still, the downsides had to persevere.

That night’s headline was definitely a downside, more humiliating than anything.

Spider-Man’s clumsy apprehension of Chang-dong bank robber.

The knowing snicker he can practically hear from Minho’s dorm followed by an assumed-to-be equally smug text from Chan lighting up his phone is returned by a childish whine.

Yeah. Not proud of that.

“I’m going to file a stalker report, y’know.”

Four days from the dance, he decides his nightly escapades could use a bump up, lowering himself upside down with his webs where you passed by a crevice of two buildings.

A little scare wouldn’t hurt, right?

…Right?

Number one? Don’t do that, he learned. Number two? Your smacks really hurt.

“Jerk!” Irritated in manner, it’s the small grin tugging at the corner of your lips giving away your true feelings, a matter Han can’t help but giggle cheerily at despite the stinging of his cheek.

Ouch.

It has his head going for a loop both hanging upside down generally and acknowledging the fact you still look good from this odd angle altogether, head tilting quizzically.

“Actually, I think I deserve a thank you,” His haughty reply, channeling your earlier accusatory energy, beckons a laugh.

“Don’t you know it’s dangerous out late? Gotta have Spidey here to keep the creeps away.”

“My hero,” Comes your own haughty reply, placing a dramatic hand to your chest before dissolving into shared smiles.

A pause interrupting the flow of speech, he fills in the blanks searching your face for any indication of the thoughts swirling in that head of yours to no avail.

“Well I’ve got to reward you in some way, yeah? You’ve given me free rides,” Arrives your too-sweet of a response, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

That perfect knit between your brows.

Cute.

“Say, ‘been thinking you sound similar to somebody I know. We study together.”

Oh. 

Whoops.

If his eyes were visible, you’d watch them grow the size of saucers, his mouth gaping.

“Ah, just a thought.” 

And with a wave of your hand do you dismiss an upcoming heart attack, only to stir up yet another upon reaching for his mask, earning what meager observation would conclude as a squeal.

“Wait- wait! Wait!” 

Thankfully, you do in fact wait, and Han Jisung, with only his mouth bared, breathes a sigh of relief.

“Please don’t take it off.”

For a moment, the man sounds remarkably like Han Jisung, but you shake the thought as soon as it passes. 

“Okay,” It’s a whisper, but heard nonetheless, the appearance of storm clouds bathing the alleyway an even darker shade, clouding your vision to the mere white of his teeth, the parting of soft lips when he speaks, breathes. 

“I dunno I just- I thought between you in my dorm and the way we- I thought it’d be-“

This time you’re stammering, something he’d initially be starstruck regarding if not for the guilt gnawing at his chest. 

Understandable.

Friends don’t just cuddle at night, visit each other just to be held.

Not the way you two do.

“Would a kiss work? For a ‘thank you’, I mean.”

Somewhere in between, you saw Han Jisung in this stranger, this hero.

Whether it turned out as him or not, a part of you wished when you closed your eyes, that sweet, studious boy would be there when you opened them. 

A little inkling in your gut tells you more than you catch onto.

The bob of his throat beckons a small snort of sheepish, pained laugh on your end, the boy fearing he may suffer a head rush the longer he dangles upside down.

“I’m sorry— that was too forward, right?”

A beat of silence ensues. More stifling than ever.

Though it’s the precious manner your lips wind tight, expression filling with hesitation compared to a previous playfulness that has him speaking before you say something along the lines of “forget it” and leave the seemingly invincible Spider-Man to cry in this horrific-smelling alleyway like a child.

“No! No. That’s- yeah. That would be okay.”

Again, he scolds the wobbliness of his tone, schooling it into that playful cadence his identity as a hero calls for instead.

Because he’d be a liar first off saying he didn’t ache for more, and an ever bigger liar denying himself from your kiss after such arduous pining. 

“Just one though, can’t have too many, alright?”

Liar, for a second time. 

You could kiss him till he passed out and he’d wake up grateful. 

But the ego’s got to be kept up, right?

Yet, before another sly quip can fall from his tongue he’s nearly spellbound, your lips finding his shutting off both all brainpower and erasing the retort he’d planned to fill the quietness. 

And oh if Jisung doesn’t just melt, chasing after your lips instinctively, savoring the silly bump of your nose against his chin from upside down. The laughter between too-short of contact, the warm touch of your fingers against his cheeks as cold rain pelts the city from above, droplets tickling his skin.

Pulling away, he finds his hands instinctively reaching out, tenderly smoothing away strands of hair stubbornly sticking to your forehead just like what he’d do to soothe when you’d cry—giggling at the messy mascara tracks scoring your cheeks upon detaching his webs, suit-clad feet thumping on the sidewalk below.

Alas, right side up.

“Hey, don’t make the people think I made you cry, hm?” He cracks a smile, adjusting his mask back over his face. 

Well, that’s seconds from coming to understand the price of the rain, the effect of the rain in drenching your t-shirt see-through.

Oh how fast that smug facade vanishes, Han’s palm jutting out to shield both you and his eyes. 

“Your- I’ll be right back- I’m not looking!”

Because beneath the hero-suit, he’s only a teenager. 

And a gentleman, he prides himself in believing himself to be.

Luckily, this just so happened to be the alley he’d ditched his initial clothing in, exchanging for his suit moments prior. 

Gotta love his trusty alley.

Thanking whomever above, an extra “Stark Industries” t-shirt of his suffices in calming the situation at hand.

Trust, Jisung wants to groan with the sight of you in his t-shirt, one he assures you can keep for as long as you need on the ride back.

Ride, as in, web-slinging, an occasion definitely not as fun beneath the downpour of thunder and rain.

Ensuring you get back safely, he practically catapults himself into his own dorm, running to the shower like a wet rat seeking shelter.

Yep. It’s a great look.

But gosh does that shower feel like a slice of heaven.

Though not as heavenly as your kiss.

From inside the shower, a loud scream of realization rings out, previous events raining down on him like the warm water sifting through his hair.

Seems it sunk in.

.

.

.

“So.. what should I do if I see a girl's bra?”

Fairly normal conversation between him and Minho, per usual.

“..Did you sleep with someone?”

“Wha- no! It was an accident!”

“An accident that you slept with someone?”

This is going nowhere.

“No! An accident where I saw her b-“

“Then congrats.”

Congrats.

“What am I supposed to do, celebrate?” Han demands incredulously, giving his roommate a nonsensical stare.

“.. Butter chicken?”

Unfortunately, his stomach argues against any more squabbling, voice like that of a mouse.

“Yes, please.”

And the two enjoy their butter chicken in relatively harmless terms, The Bachelor playing on the TV, Minho taking the floor with his sparkling cider while Jisung occupies the couch above, notebook in hand.

In less than three day, I went on my first date and kissed the girl I’m in love with. Except, she doesn’t know who I am, he writes, hand stopping after that final period before closing the forbidden contents away with a loud exhale, head tipping back to rest against the couch.

One thought failed to be written down? A little extra something, bouncing around in his skull.

I want to tell her the truth.

This is met with another sigh.

What a day.

“Who knew I’d be hanging around thee Spider-Man. Or that he kissed me.”

The last sentence is barely audible, but Jisung catches it all the same, a lopsided grin nudging at his cheeks. 

From your view on the rooftop, the sunset illuminates her waning rays, painting the sky an effortless canvas of crimson and amber hues. Your feet dangle aimlessly from the edge, an action you would be horrified of if not for the man’s presence beside you.

Han’s presence, though you didn’t know that just yet.

All you’ve gathered of his identity were the momentary occasions he’d roll up his mask, like now, where the superhero gnaws at a granola bar, seated beside you. 

“I’m pretty normal though,” Comes his reply, a lilt in the last word hinting at his confusion. 

“Pfft- normal? You’re Spider-Man! Everyone in a quarter radius of Seoul City wants to know your identity. Either that or they run some secret fan account for you.”

A pause before his masked-face slowly swivels to you.

“..Do you run a fan acco—“

Jisung’s pondering was quick to be choked upon (literally) when you smack his back, provoking a chaste gagging fit on his granola bar. 

Yeesh your smacks hurt.

“No! I was just giving an example!”

He finds himself laughing anyway despite the dull throb of his shoulder, feigning a pout whilst rubbing over the skin in feigned hurt. 

It’s nice, he thinks. To be sharing this little corner of the world with you. Away from the hustle and bustle of life. 

Most days he’d swing his way here for a late dinner, peeling layers of tin-foil from his wrapped burrito, legs swinging over the edge, headphones blaring some slow tune while watching the moon make its entrance past a setting sun.

For once, his world as Spider-Man isn’t so.. isolated. 

Dangerous, risky with the prospect of you discovering his identity, but for now he’ll embrace the possibility, embrace your presence beside him.

He doesn’t care if it’s momentary, fleeting. 

Being a Spider-Man, having these abilities, this random probability in a billion of becoming a hero, has taught him to hold onto each opportunity with both hands.

Without a chance of letting go.

And somewhere during those consistent weeks of tutoring, you join each other on the dorms’ rooftop on random occasions when he can’t slip into your dorm undetected. 

Him under the ecstatic impression he gets to see you again outside of the library, you believing the boy from tutoring had gone back to his dorm, now meeting a totally-separate, definitely-not-Han-Jisung Spider-Man.

Or so he thought.

Frequency, predictably, beckons familiarity. Opening leeway to deeper, more meaningful conversations within those nights more than ever before, the uncovering of sensitive, intimate layers that almost provoke Han to speak, to reveal himself.

Guilt, ever so slightly, in regards to your obliviousness to the truth.

A guilt unnecessary, he had yet to know of. Because you’ve come to notice that, when rolling his mask up just enough whenever eating, a chocolate-chip looking mole rests on his cheek, one oh so signature to yet another person.

Two strangers, turned friends, turned kiss-don’t-tell, turned foolish secret-keepers chasing each other’s tails after a love requited all along.

As for tonight, his hands brace himself upon rigid brick, the month and a half span of adapting to your companionship enabling him to not freak out (unlike the first time it happened) when you rest your head against his shoulder. 

One earbud in his ear, the other in yours.

DEAN plays, the title “Half Moon” quite befitting for that same moon rising above two high schoolers. One hopelessly having fallen first, the other finding themself falling harder.

“Can this be our song?” His whisper’s barely divisible against a gust of wind, but you hear it anyway.

“Mhm.”

The nod against his shoulder is enough.

.

.

.

“Alright, it’s about time I head out, hm? Got homework to do.”

It’s a small peck, one placed chaste and tidy against his cheek. However, no matter the size, Han transforms into a tomato beneath his mask, ever so grateful for the coverage provided.

“Just one, you said. Wouldn’t want it to be too much.”

Cruel, he thinks, watching you go, watching that teasing smile on your face.

Using my words against me.

“If a weird guy shows up, tell them Spider-Man will hunt them down!”

Per a greater confidence beneath the mask, he felt obligated in getting the last laugh, chuckling at the dismissive wave of your hand before you disappear down the stairs, the roof’s access hatch clunking closed behind you.

Following your absence, a glance at the sky and its brilliant stars elicit a weighted breath in response. 

Two days from the dance, proposals having started up left and right in the halls, the classrooms.

Ah, this is getting bad.

Who knew love could be so troublesome?

But then again, the intervention of hesitation snakes its way between the lines, and Han Jisung finds himself cast-away to a deserted island within his head during the one class he’s usually most attentive in, Biophysics. Too busy thinking of you, of the “something more”.

Because what if who you kissed that night, Spider-Man, was who you were into? What if the Han Jisung beneath the suit wasn’t what you wanted, but the hero, with his brave facade and unbreakable spirit?

And Han Jisung was just a nerdy high schooler. 

A hard shake of his head futilely tries discarding the gray clouds of worry, appearing incessantly come this past week. 

Foot tapping against the tile floor, he jams the endlessly clicking tip of his pen against an unfitting, empty notebook.

You deserve the hero.

The thought, somehow, makes his heart break a bit. Sends his mind into a frenzy of existential questioning.

Was Han Jisung Spider-Man? Or simply the man behind the suit? Two lives, completely different and yet all the same coming down to the person responsible.  

Is he that hero? 

That night, he lets people down.

He doesn’t respond to his call from Mr. Stark (and the following one from Happy), disappears from his dorm, and fails to show up for tutoring and his daily drop-in to your dorm.

Han Jisung can’t be perfect, can’t live up to every expectation, every stereotype a hero is portrayed as.

There are lives that’re going to be lost with or without his interference, people he can’t save, circumstances he can’t change no matter how hard he tries.

But today is now. Nothing will change unless he changes it.

Spider-Man can’t be without Jisung, yet, Jisung needs to be able to be without Spider-Man. 

There is no sacrifice if it all relies on the suit, no heroics. 

Just a scared little boy hiding behind fancy technology, behind a confident facade unable to be replicated without a media-ridden title attached to it, a suit to cover himself with.

The boy that kissed you? That was Jisung. Jisung’s voice, lips, laugh. His nervousness, his cockiness. 

It’s always been him.

Just Han Jisung.

And he’s okay with that.

Because if he can’t be without the suit, what is there to be?

Texts left unread, it’s one pebble knocking, then another against your window at 6am the day of the dance that alerts you from your sleep, cursing under your breath as you make for the window—left without a trace of the sender other than a sticky note smack-dab in the middle of the panel.

No other could’ve left that than him.

The reasoning earns your sigh of disbelief.

Climb to the rooftop, please.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he prays you’ll comply.

It’d make plenty of sense, your pensiveness. He let you down, held you to a predictable standard left unpredictable after oh so long.

However, feelings always have a way of choosing things before the mind can, and even your spitefulness works futile against the two feet guiding you up the stairwell.

What awaits you leaves every ounce of anger simmering into nothingness, because the familiar sight of Mapo Bridge miles off says something.

A sharp inhale.

Intertwined across the arch and guardrails, webs spell out such a peculiar assortment of words.

I love you.

A smaller writing off to the side.

I’m sorry.

Oh he makes you angry.

Angry thanks to this boy throwing your life for a loop, angry thanks to the foolishness this love seems to have infected the both of you with.

The ignorance, the insecurity, the childishness. All so messy.

What a fool you were to stay quiet about the truth, to pretend these feelings weren’t to be acted upon.

And from his place seated atop the bridge’s arc, the shout of yours faintly reaches his ears, the words sounding remarkably like “I love you.”

He doesn’t return until later that night, watching parents drop off their kids, couples gliding up the stairs in throes of laughter, hand in hand.

Suit-adorned legs dangle from the streetlight a block or so away, chewing at his lip in thought.

Until his thought is abruptly interrupted by the clearing of a throat, your throat, he verifies upon turning around to look, significantly paling.

“Fess up, loser.”

Oh you’re mad.

Dressed up all pretty for the dance and yet fuming.

…Why is it hot?

Quit that, he internally berates, slow to hop down to ground level.

“Look, I can-“

“No you can’t! You- you what, randomly decide “oh I’m just gonna go off the grid for two days, let’s not notify anybody and everything will be alright”? Huh? You don’t respond to anyone’s texts, calls, the school couldn’t even find you!”

Furious steps stomp forward, feebly pounding your fists against his chest.

Shaky hands find your wrists to hold, his breathing nearly painful to listen to within his mask. Stifled, shuddering. 

And he can tell, oh he can tell. You’re going to cry.

He’s just made you cry.

There’s never been a moment Jisung hated himself more.

“Hey hey hey- no no don’t- don’t cry-“

Another scream of yours makes him wince, makes his hands originally reaching for your face to cradle flinch back.

“I hate- I hate this! I hate that I’ve let you worm your way into my heart and- and that you tell me you loved me and-“

A sputtering breath before his mask is not-so gently hoisted up to catch onto the hook of his nose and he’s dragged into your kiss by the collar, dissolving into mumbled “I’m sorry”’s repeated into your lips before you pull away, out of breath.

“You scared me half to death,” Scolding, one hand comes to brush off your clothing after letting go, impressively calmed after such a whirlwind of emotions, or maybe he’s simply reading it wrong.

“I forgive you.”

This mumble is much softer, muttered beneath your breath. 

Sometimes you truly do behave like a child.

A tiny quirk of his lips betrays his fondness.

“Just.. don’t ever do that again, okay? Or I’m breaking up with you.”

The threat is feeble and certainly not sounding sure enough to believe, your brows furrowed in conviction the only remnant of insistence he’d chuckle at if not for the lingering fear of being yelled at again.

A fair yelling, he’d admit.

“Wait.”

On his part, a delay.

“We were dating? I thought we..”

“I mean we kissed but would you count that as…?”

High schoolers, to the core.

Sort of funny, actually, trying to uncover a label.

For a moment your attention flickers to the dance-attending students, retreating back to Jisung in response to his heavy sigh, the seriousness returning.

Merciless, it is.

The truth.

“I can’t be there for you how I want to be, you know that. My life.. as Spider-Man, I mean, it’s too unpredictable. Risky. I can’t make promises. A life at risk isn’t scheduled, arranged. I’d put you in danger and let you down and—“

“I know what I’m getting myself into, okay?”

Easy, you always make it.

This time, he’s grateful.

“I love you, and I think you heard it.”

Synonymously, he scorns the gradual wobbliness of his lip, the tremble in his hands returning full-force, breaking any earlier pretense of strength put up.

No barriers, you both know this.

Not anymore.

“I’ll um,” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t wince, turning his back to you as if to slip away. “I’ll come by your dorm tonight. Dance your heart out, okay?”

He nods to the auditorium, flashing lights and blaring music echoing from the closed doors.

Shifting from foot to foot, it takes every ounce of willpower to speak, to keep him from drifting off once more.

“Well if Spider-Man can’t go to the dance.. Can Jisung?”

To say his jaw dropped would be an understatement, each muscle in his body turning into stone, as if having gazed at Medusa herself.

“I knew you were.. you for a while now.”

Your voice, awkwardly explaining, aids in the wild gesturing of hands, admiring his messy hair where the mask is pulled off the entire way, unveiling a rather shell-shocked Han Jisung underneath. 

“It’s your mole um, right here?” Pointing to his left cheek, a small smile tugs at your lips. “I saw it one time when you were eating that granola bar on the roof. Kinda just.. put two and two together-“

“Why didn’t you say something!”

Now it’s Han’s turn to sound like a petulant child, causing you to bite back with the same kind of vigor.

“I was nervous, idiot!”

Hurried gasps for air fill the empty street, catching your breath after screaming at each other from mere feet apart.

Couldn’t get more mature than that. 

Observing his face, you find it only a matter of time before whatever frothing idea brewing past curly hair becomes audible.

“C’mon.”

“Wha- WHAT?!”

Swept off your feet where Han runs to scoop you up, it’s oddly difficult in whacking his shoulder from so much laughing, whisked away to somewhere you couldn’t name.

Fools.

And now, having understood this idea of his to be on your ordinated rooftop, you simply take to watching from afar as he flits around, having disappeared for a few minutes before returning back with what eerily appeared to be a speaker hidden behind an arm.

Before you can inquire, the melody of a song begins to strum.

Your song, together.

Half Moon, by DEAN.

Han pretends to know how to dance and you pretend to take him seriously, extending a hand your way where he waltzes over with clumsy steps.

The silliness earns a giggle, hand reaching for his hand anyway.

And beneath the stars, your own Valentines dance comes alive.

This stage is made for two.

Fools.

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[garez19]

unsent

yandere streamer x loser reader: [part i]

notes: female reader, not proofread, english is not my first language. have a very lovely day everyone!!! wc: 1.6k

alden, he called himself. he didn’t have lots of viewers, though you remembered some of his clips going viral once or twice. he still seemed content with his lack of fame though, and you could guess he wasn’t expecting to be popular anyways as the games he played were very niche, and did go unnoticed by the mainstream. you, however, liked exploring the pits of the internet, finding weird websites and lurking abandoned forums everyday. being an unemployed loser let you know all about the media. and for some odd reason, your favorite part about this addiction was when you got a notification from his channel. “denonthebeat IS LIVE NOW!” how you liked clicking on it in a heartbeat. how you liked listening to him ramble about his not-so-funny life stories. you couldn’t help but think how similar you two were most of the time—considering your almost identical music taste and the way you laughed at the same things, how his audience kept calling him a socially inept loser that needed a life.

he was the man in your dreams, and it was a tragedy he didn’t know your existence. hell, he probably didn’t even know your nickname, let alone the adoration you had for him. but, there was nothing you could do except being a ghost and watching him interact with a bunch of people who seem to like consuming the sort of content. because deep down, you know him acknowledging you wasn’t going to change much except that he would be familiar with your nickname maybe.

but the point was, your obsession over him wasn’t decreasing. you didn’t seem to grow away from him. and that was the one and only problem as for now —except getting a job and moving out, of course��� and there was nothing to do about it. you couldn’t go and tell him you liked his content, or that you would like to get to know him on a deeper level. you were close friends in your world, maybe even closer than close friends. in reality, he was just another loser with a questionable digital footprint.

and when he answered one of the questions on live, your whole world turned into a dystopia, an unfamiliar bitter taste left in your tongue. you were making it too big of a deal, you knew it, yet, this screen was all you had—-a small utopia you have created. it’s full of suffering, but you’ve always considered yourself a girl full of hope. this world, the screen, was too small for you to explore, but he made it seem bigger, full of colors. so when he answered, you didn’t know what to do.

“oh, well, love is confusing, you see.” he shrugged. “there is this girl I’ve had the biggest crush on, and I can say that adoring someone often leaves you confused. but it makes you more ecstatic.” he said. there was a different kind of light in his eyes, or so you assumed. “so ecstatic that you get the urge to create. like, when you cannot get your feelings reciprocated, you just, well, you just go and create something out of that love.” he added. a heavy ache on your chest, the urge to vomit. the urge to tell him to fuck off and report his account for bullying. as if. as if he knew you. as if.

“anyway. if you feel like they show some signs, I’d say go for it. my situation is rather different though.” he smiled. he seemed hurt though, that much was recognizable, even through the screen. “or create something, if it feels too heavy to carry. I mean, I solely make content because of her— since I can’t seem to distract myself from being a sappy loser.” he laughed. hell, this was your favorite part of him, the way he wore his heart on his sleeve often made you admire him. this was what you hate him about the most, he wore his heart on his sleeve.

the comments calling him a loser and making fun of didn’t seem to affect him, as he was reading some of them and sneering.

“what is she like? oh… well, I don’t want you to clip this and upload it on youtube calling me a loverboy, pass.” he said. this could’ve been a fun topic if you weren’t oh-so-fucking in “love” with him. others were having fun though, as they kept spamming questions about it. “why the fuck is everyone so nosy with it?” he laughed. and you agreed. why can’t he just shut up about it and play your favorite game? or watch stupid videos and react to them? this was the first ever time you contemplated leaving the stream. the first ever time you didn’t have fun. “where did I meet her? take a fucking guess pal. over the internet, of course.” he, once again, answered another question. fucking loser, you mumbled, as if your situation was any different. as if you didn’t live on the internet. “we live in the same city though, she’s just too much of a loser to go out,” he added. you frowned. you weren’t going to listen to him ramble about this person any more, so you just closed the tab. you had better things to do anyways, like replaying your favorite game. the one he also seemed to like a lot.

“what the hell?” he cussed out, seeming puzzled. “she fucking left.” he kept clicking on random buttons as the chat went crazy over the whole situation. “dumbass.” he said, clearly annoyed. questions from the followers didn’t seem to stop. “oh my god, of course it’s not her,” he answered the allegations, “I was talking about my sister who was supposed to be a moderator.” he lied quickly. he didn’t even have a sibling to begin with, but he didn’t want you to have any suspicions as he had a very little follower list. “well, that’s all for today anyway,” he got ready to end the stream.

“have a good day, everybody.” click.

is she not having fun anymore? he assumed, his mind running miles. he had planned his schedule very carefully, and he couldn’t watch it go to ruins. not when he calculated every single interaction he could have had with you.

and well, it was true that you “met” on the internet. but that wasn’t the only time you did, nor was it the first time.

he was running out of time, he believed. when the teacher was asking dumb questions to how to get to know someone and pairing students up. “ask your partner how you break the ice.” she said, putting you two up. it wasn’t the way to strike up a conversation, that was for sure, and in an ideal world he wouldn’t have to do that anyway, since these people kept blabbering about their hobbies and stuff he couldn’t care less about. so when he turned his seat so he could talk to you, he wasn’t expecting anything. 5 minutes left.

“well, in my o—“ he was interrupted when you stood up. he looked up at you as you asked for permission to go to the bathroom. 4 minutes left. at least you were also on his side in this battle. well, socially awkward kids were everywhere, no? he knew you weren’t going to come back, realizing you’d been looking at the clock and contemplating leaving. you had squinted your eyes, hand on your chin— you decided to leave.

3 minutes left. he took a peek at his classmates, their awkward glances darting towards each other. the other pair next to him was doing fine. the girl –though she looked wimpy at first– was holding her own, keeping the conversation going and checking in with her partner’s opinion. 2 minutes left.

right then, you came back to the class. ready to pick up your bag and get out of here. you sat down, collecting your stuff. and although you two were on the same side, he still wanted an answer. he was not having fun here, and might as well make it everyone’s –everyone he had to interact with, to be precise– problem.

“what do you do to break the ice?” he asked.

you can’t escape from your fate, you thought to yourself.

“well, try to find hobbies you both share, ask them questions, stuff like that,” you answered, not hesitating to give the most cliché answer. “how about you?” you asked, repeating the question. 1 minute left. “you wanna go grab a coffee?” he offered.

“valid answer.” you replied, thinking it was just another example. you were ready to leave the class, and he couldn’t help but give a quiet chuckle. you weren’t sure what to make of it. “yeah, yours wasn’t exactly ‘valid’ though,” he snickered.

“why not?”

the second he opened his mouth to answer, the bell rang. you didn’t even wait for an answer, and there was an unbreakable ice there, or maybe unmeltable in a sense. but, either way, he was having fun. maybe he was really wasting time in this class, in this school, but maybe, he could make it at least somewhat enjoyable. the following days were as dull since you had been absent for the week. the next week, when the class was finally familiar with each other, you attended the lesson. socially awkward kids everywhere, yet he wasn’t sure if you were shiesty or just didn’t care about the situation. you still didn’t put any effort, that was the only recognizable thing about you. and you didn’t appreciate it when he tried to help you out here and there. you gave out a fake smile, thank you, you muttered, and go on with your simple life.

you reminded him of himself, the only difference being you didn’t try to make fun of socially awkward kids. and you weren’t as curious about him as he was about you. your goddamn phone and that one notebook you kept scribbling in made it hard for him to reach out.

good thing he had lots of time to waste.

[shadowwolfmemes]

Criticizing @8iid

This has got to be fucking satire, bro! 😭

I almost want to laugh myself into oblivion because there's no fucking way! 🤣

@starcrezt Look at this shit.

"We aren't evil, the world made us that way 😔" ahh asks.

I'll have to keep a lookout for a future post that goes "Together, we will all prevail and rise above the antis" ahh speech.

Girl please, you shouldn't be talking. You literally talk like a rejected super Marvel villain. No wonder why Marvel won't accept you because of this.

Also, what's your deal with adding random 8's in your sentences. That's like me adding "shadow" or "wolf" in every sentence I type out.

Again, look who's talking. You're lying if you claim you have self awareness.

"O-oh, I have OCD, so I can't block people."

Yeah fucking right. I'll take anything you say with huge mounds of salt. I have signs of OCD (possibly) and even I have no problem blocking people. I have a feeling you're lying and just saying that because you want to troll people more.

I said it once and I'll say it again, I am highly certain you're sending yourself those asks. Wanna know why I think that way?

Because for one, anyone can switch up their speaking patterns. Two, you're sending yourself that to make yourself feel like the mighty bigger person whilst standing at the very bottom of the muddy pit.

You can't say it's true if you don't have proof.

"You don't have to say something for it to 8e true."

Wouldn't that defeat the sole purpose of it being true? Yeah, it's safe to say you completely lost that argument. Don't say shit unless you got actual back up.

That's the most least intimidating threat I've heard. In fact, none of your threats are scaring anybody.

You can try as much as you want, nobody is shivering in their timbers.

It's funny when you do it, but when someone does the same to you, it's harassment?

Interesting... /sar

I only got three words for this...

Delusional Zoophile Check.

Calling everyone weird while also sending death threats, weird spelling, fucking your dog, telling people to kill themselves, sending one of my mutuals actual gore (my mutual is a minor btw), sending my mutual your SH cuts, etc.

Shall I continue on?

8iid, you realize no one's scared of you either, right?

You think you're intimidating, but you're less scary than a baby tiger trying to roar for the first time.

Again with the hypocrisy, I see. I shouldn't be surprised because that's all you're known for.

Also, if you feel suicidal and blocked Starcrezt, that means they won the argument. So much for the tough act, @8iid.

What is this grammar? I know what you're implying, but still...

Fix your spelling at least...

But you can get banned off Tumblr, whether you get sued or not. Even if you come back, we'll still pray on your downfall. When you do, we'll be the ones laughing and mocking the fuck out of you.

Actually, we can. I'm autistic yet I'm criticizing almost everything you're doing right now. So, what point are you making? Also, being autistic and physically disabled doesn't give you the right to be an asshole. Just saying.

Also also, criticizing you is not the same as having zero reading comprehension. Complain as much as you want, it's true because you're making it true.

I mean, the way you're typing is proving my friend they got a bigger brain. So, what now?

Not sorry to burst your bubble, but TransID's fit into the ableist category. How, you ask?

It's simple, really. It's because you're trying so hard to be something you're not or something you don't truly have.

For example, I'm an African American. If I said I wanted to be Asian even though I came from the USA and decided to "transition" to be Japanese instead, don't you think that'd make me racist? The answer is yes.

Also, mocking a disorder is ableist.

So, let me get this straight. You're sending death threats and calling my friends "retards" because of... what? Because one of my moots said your paraphile is bad? I think the easiest solution would to block, but of course, a simpleton like you couldn't possibly know how to locate the block button.

"This isn't an anime"

Also you: *Proceeds to laugh like you're in an anime*

14 yet you're acting like a spoiled, edgy, cringelord. But what else do I expect from 14 year old's?

More like a shame to society as a whole. It's funnier how some radqueers want nothing to do with you.

"Avengers! Rise!" ahh post

Yeah, because it's so cool to harass people instead of blocking. Look how cool and edgy I am, guys! 🤪 /j

CUT MY LIFE INTO PIECES, THIS IS MY LAST RESORT. 😔

We get it, you're so emo.

Aight, I'm done. Let's see what you say. I ain't scared of you.

[sunsetno4]

Blue+green for Jayne and red+orange for ven? :3

Thank you, thank you! ^^! It's oddly fun getting to talk about Jayne, ngl. I do love him dearly with all his self-made and isolating flaws~~

For Jayne:

🔵 Blue- How would your OC spend a single day of interrupted peace? Where would they go or who would they be with?

Interrupted peace is such a funny mental visual, lol. Are people jumping out of brushes every hour or so to interrupt the peace? I love it, Jayne less so.

Jayne though… Mhmm! He'd say he'd like to spend the day alone, and if given the chance, he probably would. People are exhausting to be around. As much as his new smiley mask is becoming more and more a second nature to him, it's still exhausting to wear around his old so-called friends. Part of him misses being the stoic dick of the group, if only because smiling hurts his face.

He'd sleep in to start. He's not a morning person by any means, and then probably enjoy the day by going to an museum, especially if it had an interesting exhibition happening (triply so if it's around puppets, dolls or something along that line). They're normally quiet and people don't rush you about, and it's nice being lost in a crowd sometimes, learning and seeing interesting things.

Afterwards, he'd just grab some cheap food and some cheap drinks and spend the night in his fancy little tower, probably binging some old documentaries about gods knows what. It's just there for background and make Jayne feel a little less lonely. Maybe he'd work on his weirdo telepathy puppets too. He does enjoy playing with them a lot~

But if we're going off what Jayne would want, apropos needing any words or actions, a trip to dog park with Spoon would be very lovely …and Chen if he wanted to come along too and all (even getting Jayne to admit that much is like pulling teeth, this fuckin' child, I swear). It would be nice to have an old game of chess too, Jayne misses those games a lot.

But that shit would require words and actions, and Jayne is very much like 'no! fuck that shit! :)'

🟢 Green- What is considered a weakness in your OC that is actually a strength? What is a strength in your character that can be twisted into a weakness?

Jayne’s stubbornness, on both sides really. Once Jayne decides something just is, it’s near impossible for anyone to change Jayne’s mind. He (thinks he) knows what's best for himself, so fuck off kindly if you ever try to convince him otherwise. You caaaaaaaan’t~~~

On the one hand? It has saved Jayne a lot of grief and he is not someone who can bullied into basically anything (Ortega loved trying back in the day, but his success rate is pitiful). Peer pressure? Jayne never heard of such a stupid thing. But I do think that's a lot of strength is standing your ground, and Jayne knows nothing but.

On the other hand, Jayne's stubbornness is building a massive jenga tower of self-reliance at the moment and it will fall and Jayne will have no experiences on how to ask people for help. After all, he's already declared to himself that he knows what's best, and what's best is that no one needs to involved with his damn life. So, fuck you kindly (and take your damnable pity with you).

Jayne, oh Jayne. One day, you'll learn.

For Vendetta:

🔴 Red- What is a trait your OC has that those around them don’t see very often? Is it seen by a rare few or completely overlooked?

Ignoring Vendetta's perfectionism (for the moment), let's go with nir inherent fatalism? o: There's an odd comfort for nem, thinking certain things were simply destined to happen. The Nanosurge breaking nir brain, Void rewriting what felt like nir whole code, Heartbreak, getting the weird Handler ne got, hearing certain lines and verses on the right day, meeting people who solely you go to stay when you should've left a place… It's a lot of small tics that shouldn't matter, but when you look at a whole picture, it feels so damn inescapable. Like ne's been standing in the tar pit, and it's been slowly tricking nem into sinking deeper.

Because that's just kinder to think than Ven admitting how many mistakes ne has made, how fucked up and cruel life just is. If it all leads to something, even something damning, that feels better than just the blind cruelty in the face of uncaring universe. Better to be a chew toy than a forgotten thing.

And I'm sure people have has seen it in shades, Ven likes looking for patterns too much, it's mostly overlooked by others given Ven simply doesn't talk about it. It feels like a weird thing to talk about it and acknowledge, Ven barely acknowledges it to nemself, so it's easy to overlook. Especially given nir more outwardly sarcastic, cocksure and go-with-the-flow mask?? Fatalism just feels at odds with someone who has so often stared unblinking at the void and did the impossible.

🟠 Orange- What is a trait your OC hides about themself from others? Do they refuse to acknowledge it or begrudgingly accept it?

Oh! I answered this before! :D Since this is so long, I'm just gonna vaguely steal my old answer since it still fits, lol. It's nir perfectionism, hands down.

With Ven's more trollish and dramatic tendencies, ne definitely comes off more of a goes-with-the-flow than ne actually is. Because Vendetta stresses and overthinks constantly. Because ne's an actor and a performer, and the role is to be convincingly human. So ne spends a lot of time stressing over every word, every sentence, every decision ne makes. Was I good enough? Was I convincing enough? Was everything keep in place? Will I be safe tomorrow?

It's hard work, being a perfectionist. But it must be done, and it has to hidden. No one needs to know how much Vendetta practices and tries. It would defeat the whole idea of being convincingly human.

But ne does accept it, begrudgingly, but ne does. That’s just the cost of being able to be nemself (however filtered that person ends up being), double-guessing everything ne does and spiraling badly when nir plans and intentions eventually do fail, and everything feels like a burning five-alarm fire in nir head.

But ne will keep smiling, because humans aren't supposed to be just loud emotional wrecks~ That's just who ne is on the inside, broken little delusional re-gene that ne is.

[klbwriting]

Broken Prism

Chapter 10

Fandom: Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Toddxfemale!Reader

Warnings: lil'bit of fighting

Summary: Jason goes home and it's not a great time

Waking up on the floor of the Bat Cave was the last thing you’d thought you’d ever do. But here you were, groggy with a massive headache, sitting up to see Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and another boy, barely old enough to drive, watching you. You stood slowly and groaned, swallowing. Your throat hurt and you touched it gently, knowing the bruising was bad. Bruce looked down ashamed, as he should be. You glared at all of them.

“He’s not going to come just because you’re keeping me hostage,” you said. Dear God, never in your entire career of running around Gotham had you been kidnapped and in the six months since Red Hood came into your life it had happened three times. Maybe Jason was bad luck. The others ignored you, going about their business, whispering to each other. You caught snippets of the conversation as you paced around the Cave, trying to figure out where you could leave from.

“Told him she was here…” the youngest said and you stopped pacing. You noticed then the fragile way he stood, like he might have a bruised rib, and his chin had a nasty gash on it, liked he’d been hit with something like brass knuckles.

“He kicked the shit out of you didn’t he?” you asked, making them all turn. The new Robin glared. “Can you blame him? You did replace him, probably had something to prove.”

“Ya, that he’s an asshole,” the boy said. You chuckled. “What’s so funny?”

“You make it sound like you wouldn’t do the same thing in his situation,” you said back. Could any of them really say that they wouldn’t react badly if they had been in Jason’s boots? “What’s your name? I know the rest of them, might as well add you.” The boy looked at Bruce who nodded that he could say something.

“Tim,” he said simply. You smiled at him.

“It's nice to meet you Tim, now can I please go home? Honestly, he’s not coming,” you said, waving your hands around to show that no one else was there. Then you heard footsteps from behind you and turned, seeing the familiar glint of a red helmet. “O fuck me, for crying out loud, you didn’t have to come here, not like Batman is going to take prisoners.” Jason stopped next to you, looking over you before taking the helmet off. Despite Bruce, Alfred, and Dick knowing that Jason was Red Hood they still gasped at the sight of him. Jason dropped the helmet, and you wondered what they must have been thinking, especially Bruce. He had seen Jason after Joker had killed him, his face and body should be covered in scarred, disformed until he was unrecognizable, but here he was, almost pristine with just a few new scars and eyes that didn’t seem to know what color they wanted to be all the time.

Jason faced his old family for the first time in seven years and he couldn’t lie, he had missed them. He felt a surge of emotions and couldn’t settle on one, anger, happiness, despair, all of them intermingling and fighting for attention. He turned to look at YN and noticed some bruising on her neck that had definitely not been there last night. He turned, gently taking her face in his hand, tilting her chin so he could see better.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, focus now solely on her. He felt the rage building, the pit urging him to find who had done this and hurt them. Her eyes flicked towards Bruce, and he turned, snarling. “Did you do that?” he demanded. Bruce held up his hands.

“She had information I needed…” he started, but Jason wasn’t going to let him finish. He could have used his guns, but he had been waiting for a moment where he could use his fists to tell Bruce how angry he was. He threw fist after fist, Bruce dodging half of them before laying an attack of his own. As much as Jason would have liked to prove he had surpassed his mentor, he hadn’t. He came close in the moment, but the rage blinded him to an easy opening, Bruce saw it. Bruce threw the jab right at his sternum and the wind was knocked out of him even with the armor still on. Another shot took his stomach, doubling him and giving Bruce the time to upper cut up, sending up sprawling on the floor. It was clear Bruce was about to throw a kick when suddenly YN was in front of Jason, body over his as it lay on the floor, shielding him.

“ENOUGH!” Alfred cried, freezing Bruce before he could throw the kick. Jason panted, the rage quelling at the feeling of YN’s arm around his waist. He noticed that the rage ebbed and so did the laughter of the Joker that had been haunting him, the look of disappointment from Bruce that he saw when he closed his eyes, those thoughts all seemed to flee at the feeling of her holding him. It was freeing and it was terrifying.

“You know what, I’m starving, can we order pizza before we decide to do more fight club?” YN said, sitting up, keeping herself between Bruce and Jason, her hand on his knee as he pushed himself to sit beside her. Dick came forward, putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as the man looked down at his former protégé and the woman protecting him. Jason couldn’t read his face but figured he must be thinking of a way to use YN against him. Not like Batman could let Red Hood exist. YN was becoming a problem, again, but Jason desperately didn’t want that to be the case. The other three headed towards the elevator and Jason moved to stand but the hand on his knee stayed him.

“What?” he snapped, trying so hard to sound angry, to sound like she should run from him. She just turned to face him and sighed.

“Don’t take that tone with me, what are you doing here? You don’t have to follow me around falling into traps like an amateur!” she said. Jason was taken aback, mouth falling open for a moment.

“You were kidnapped…again,” he said back, standing finally, retrieving his helmet only to have it snatched out of his hands. He didn’t feel he needed his guard up around YN but maybe he did. He tried to take it back but she held it out of reach.

“Stop! Today they kidnapped me to trick you into coming. If you had just stayed away they would have let me go. I don’t see any cells down here to keep me in,” she said. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Ya, their cells have plush mattresses,” he grumbled. He snatched at the helmet again and this time she let him have it. He looked at it but didn’t put it on. “You don’t want me as a soulmate, I’m sorry you’re stuck with me but it’s dangerous.”

“So? I wonder around the streets stealing information from supervillains, not like I’m inept. I’m not a vigilante but I protect myself fairly well. And Jason, I do want you, not as a soulmate yet though, I just want to be your friend. You look like you need one,” she said. He looked at her, trying to hide the truth behind that statement but she held his gaze and he sighed, letting himself slump a little. “Get out of here, I’ll be at my apartment tonight, my roommates both have dates so how about you come hang out? Do you have anything you desperately need to do?” He had to admit he didn’t. His calendar was empty tonight, he had secured the weapons he needed to take down Two-Face’s bank heist that he was planning for two nights from now, so Jason was going to rest anyway.

“Maybe,” he said. She smiled wide. “That’s not yes.”

“I know, I’ll leave the window unlocked for you,” she said before she followed where the others had gone. He hoped she knew how to explain him leaving because he was not going to sit around having pizza with those assholes again ever.

[seoafin]

I think it's truly just the saddest thing that none of Ur anons have rlly gooned out in here over the Gojo footfetish truth you have so graciously tried to promote and put out there. How r ppl not talking about this. he'd absolutely have one, he'd nut so hard over ripmcs dainty lil' toes strokin his shit don't let him go near her when she's wearing tights bro that silky sole combo would have him spermin so hard shit would leap into her eyes. Like tbh I'm sawrry if it's tmi but that guy has no shame he'd be telling her to lift up her arms after walking around in town all day so he can jerk his cawk and sniff her pits like wtf do u think he keeps doin w the panties he and suguru keep stealing girl he is wearing that shit liek a COVID mask I don't understand how we as Gojo gaggers have such limited content on satoru being a literal fucking sex pest like this is a man who acts like he's hopped up on coke at least once every 24 hours he's not gonna be normal about ripmcs body dude probably wants to lick inside her ears too or some shit he's a weirdo lol (yeah suguru too tbh but that's mostly because he finds it fun to make ripmc rlly uncomfortable lmao)

thank u....my footjob gojo agenda lives to see another day.....this is so fucking funny because you've read my mind for the exact type of sex fiend gojo is. he is that tumblr post that says "men will fuck anything...you could throw a plate across the room and a man will fuck it before it lands" except replace men with gojo and make anything specific to you. he is such a little freak in bed. he also wants you to full on stomp on his dick. might even say please. you could poke his dick with a toe and you'll get a full body shudder. he's so unashamed about it too. Idek if ur joking abour the armpit licking ear stuff but he'd be into that too he's just so horny but like. in the really weird way 😭

[queercodedvillains]

If you can I’d love to hear the outline/tldr of your Claire’s AU because the posts under that tag are always so funny to me

So the claires au tag started because I wanted to collect all my modern au inspo posts in one place. Since it all gravitates around my beloved little terrorist Deidara, and I think he'd do great at a dead end low effort retail job with a bonus perk of bullying giving piercings to tweens and a sick employee discount, the claire's au was born. In hindsight, I wish I had called it the mallrats au, but since the fics came after the tag, we're stuck with the consequences of my choices smh.

It's expanded significantly, to the point that its sooo hard to summarize, but I'm gonna try my best here!!

My general goal is to transcribe everything we know from canon as closely/creatively as I can to a modern/90s setting. Tbh this started because I just was not emotionally prepared to handle canon!akatsuki levels of fucked up war criminals and I just wanted to put them in low stakes shenanigans that keeps the core of their characters without all the murder and angst and action (I hate writing action. Horror is fun and dandy, but spin kicks and explosions and puppets are beyond me for now).

So in the claires au/mallrats cinematic universe, the Akatsuki are just a gang of queers doing your run of the mill criminal activity. Drug dealing, car stealing, chop shopping, gun running, book cooking, you name it. They all ended up kicked out of society for one reason or another, banded together, and became mundane villains of polite society.

For example, Sasori is always depicted as tinkering with his puppets. So I decided that tendency to methodically pull someone apart and back together, that special calculating mindset that it takes to look at a body and come up with twelve different secret weapons to hide in their limbs, would make the perfect fodder for a chop shop mechanic. Stolen cars instead of stolen corpses. He seems like he got the obsessing-over-cars brand of autism and I love him for it. He's weird and reclusive and pretentious and insufferable and genius.

Deidara likes explosives, duh, but guns are so boring imo so I wanted to dig deeper into his love of temporary beauty, and how that meshes perfectly with drugs. They're ephemeral, transient experiences that fade quickly but leave a lasting impact on a person, changing their life, etc. He's also. Super fucking pretentious about it. Don't let him corner you at a party. Sasori might be the chemist but Deidara is the real brains behind the operation, and also the very willing test subject. I see him as a club kid, always on one in the middle of the crowd, and entirely responsible for the Akatsuki's branding. He designed the clouds and the patented pressed pills (we got blue teslas, they got white owls, etc) and also is solely responsible for word of mouth advertising. He's always got a can of spray paint and/or a black business card with nothing but a phone number and a red cloud. He's always bright and loud and shiny and looking for attention in seedy places, always in the middle of the mosh pit or the dance floor or some sketchy back alley or the skate park (skating is kinda like riding a giant flying bird, right?) Either way, everyone wants whatever the fuck he's on.

Together they're a power couple. Absolutely nasty, insufferable to talk to, impossible to be around unless you're just as pretentious as them about their very specific interests AND willing to listen to them bicker endlessly about their arts. Naturally, they only have two friends. Kakuzu and Hidan.

I want to dig into their backstories and relationships later, narratively, but the barest bones of it is that Hidan is Deidara's childhood friend and professional pain in the ass. Class clowns in detention together, bullying the local nerds, weirdo queer kids with serious mental issues from broken homes, a scrappy sort of friendship born out of desperation for someone Like Them etc. I mean Hidan's got a nasty sadomasochistic streak, a propensity for self harm, and an obsession with the occult so don't get me started on him as your local satanic bad influence. Their whole thing could be its own post tbh.

Kakuzu and Sasori are like crotchety old men on the porch. They like to sit in some booth at the club talking shit and looking menacing while Deidara and Hidan are busy 'advertising'. I also see Kakuzu as a bit of a mentor to Sasori, being a bit older and wiser and seeing Sasori get dragged into the Akatsuki after dropping out of med school and being disowned by his grandmother (a whole other post as well) and spiraling into shitty coping mechanisms (alcohol, mostly). Kakuzu smacked some sense into him and got him sobered up because he loves that sad pathetic wet cat of a man they got money to make!!

If and when Sasori and Deidara split up to work, I see them pairing up with Kakuzu and Hidan, respectively. Every artsy twink needs their burly body guard, yknow?

I'm maintaining their age differences to some degree, although pinched closer. At the time Mallrats is set, Deidara is 25, Hidan is 26, Sasori is 32, Kakuzu is 40. Itachi and Kisame are also mid 20s, Konan and Pain and Zetsu and Tobi are in their 30s.

Deidara centric timeline wise (and trying to stick to canon as closely as realistically possible) he gets kicked out of his house for being fruity at 14, ends up couch surfing with Hidan (having 'sleep overs', or sneaking into his room when Hidan's mom said no but didn't care enough think to look under his bed/the closet/that pile of laundry) and when he can't pull that off, staying in the mall til after closing and posting up in there all night. After a while, someone in the Akatsuki notices him kicking rocks in a parking lot and realizes they need some scrappy kid to run a backpack from one end of town to the other without getting noticed. One thing leads to another and he ends up catching Konan's attention. She (30s, forgery and embezzling specialist, dyke and mother of the house) shuffles some papers, gets him his own apartment on the condition that he works for her and the money goes from their business associates to him to her to his landlord.

I have a soft spot for Konan doing this for anyone she can. Queer kids in the 80s and 90s didn't exactly have resources, and she did what she could with what she had, handing them a way to earn their own money and a safe place to live, even if its seedy and illegal. Beats the streets! Most of them were runners for a few years and aged out, she signed their SRO apartments off to them at 18 and they moved on with their lives. There's a whole host of people who only know her as Lady Angel (winknod to canon again) because she did what she could to save em. Deidara just happened to be too good at his job and got pulled higher and higher, until he landed in Sasori's shop.

That's about caught up to what I've gotten so far in Mallrats and The Waiting Room (with so much more to go. My muse is wildly overactive for the amount of time and attention span I got). I got head canons on like all the main characters from Konoha/Suna, all the Akatsuki, and the Sanin. Where they work, how they interact, how their relationships translate to mallrat/clubrat shenanigans, etc.

Every detail Sasori and Deidara falling in love? DUH. But also........... A complete dossier on everyone's kinks? Hidan and Deidara's gay awakening? Sasori's history with Orochimaru? The absolute fuckery that is any of their home life before the Akatsuki? Brazilian Kakuzu? Jashinism in a neopagan satanic context? Kakuzu and Hidan's perfectly vicious relationship? Konan as Lady Angel? Itachi darling son of the police chief working for the mob to spite his homophobic dad? Kisame... well, idk about Kisame, but if you care enough to develop it with me I could be convinced to!! The list goes ON.

I could go into heavier detail about so much more but this is already so long T^T. If you read this far thank u ilysm and I would be so delighted to get into more if you're interested!! The ask box is always open and I am foaming at the mouth over them at the drop of a hat <3

[himbosandhardwear]

"Steve," Eddie's voice filters in but only after he shoves Steve in the shoulder, snapping him out of his spiral.

"Huh? Sorry."

"You scared me there for a second. You good?"

"Yeah. Yeah." His stomach is still threatening to erupt from his mouth but he's not sinking into a panic attack anymore. "Just... figured something out."

"Good or bad?" Eddie asks, looking him over, not trusting that Steve's all there.

"I don't know." He looks down at his watch. Eight forty five. "Can I use your phone?"

He snorts at Steve. "Gotta run it by Robin first?"

"Shut up." He jumps up and marches to the phone, making a pit stop to grab the screwdriver Wayne dropped as it skids across the linoleum.

"Thanks, kid."

"Yup," he answers, rudely he knows but he's on a mission. He grabs the phone off the cradle and stretches it into the bathroom, closing the door and sinking immediately to the floor.

When Robin picks up he doesn't greet her, just blurts out, "Pick up downstairs, go to the bathroom."

"Oh shit, it's happening."

"Hurry." He's already starting to breathe heavy again.

"On it, gimme two seconds."

He tries to settle himself while he waits but it's difficult to get a full breath when his chest won't expand right.

"I'm here. Are you okay?" She asks softly, calming him in an instant. "Are you at home?"

"Eddie's bathroom. Wayne is down the hall." He's not sure why he felt the need to share that part. Maybe because there's a good chance he can hear every word. He's about to be Involved.

"Okay. Okay. So."

He chuckles even though nothing about this is funny. "You knew."

She sighs. "I suspected. But...you can't just tell someone they might be...you know..."

"Flaming."

She giggles at his deadpan delivery. "Yeah. That. I was waiting on you to bring it up first. Just in case, you know, I was wrong."

"You weren't. Unless it's totally normal to fall asleep thinking about your guy friends and then wake up excited to see them."

She hums thoughtfully. "Could be. But you're also looking at 'their' hands a lot, for a supposed straight guy."

"Awesome. Glad to hear I've been hiding it well."

"If it makes you feel better, you're still pretty butch. No one else would notice. Especially Eddie. I mean'them.'"

"Oh god." He bounces his head off the door. "What the fuck do I do, Rob? I can't have a crush on Eddie, he's my friend."

"Dingus," she huffs. "I'm only going to say this once and then I'm going to go back to pretending both of you are sexless eunuchs... You hit the queer crush lottery with Eddie. Trust me. I'm saying this with one hundred percent certainty, that man wants to eat you for every meal."

"What?" He whispers, in shock.

"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, Steve."

He blinks at the ugly yellow shower curtain. "How do you know?"

"You want one example or five thousand? You came out of the pool yesterday, swim trunks all stuck on you like a gender bent Phoebe Cates, and he did a spit take. A literal spit take."

"Oh." That's kinda awesome. He's pissed he missed it.

"Yeah. So, uh, go get your man or whatever."

"But..."

"What, dingus?"

God, it's so embarrassing. "But I like him."

"Duh. I thought we established this already?"

"No, I mean, I like him. A lot. Like, Nancy-levels-of-like him. What if... What if he just wants to do casual? I can't do casual, Rob, I'm way past casual."

"I can't believe I'm the one who has to explain this to you, but if he wants to bone you and he likes you as a friend and you already spend nearly every waking moment together, you have a non zero percent chance of bagging him as a boyfriend. Even if he somehow thinks he wants to do casual, you're going to seduce him into a backyard ceremony within five years, an opinion which I've based solely on how I've seen you plan your stupid dates with girls who don't even count as options."

He absorbs that like a sponge. "Yeah. Okay."

"So go get your man, dingus."

"Okay."

"And tell Wayne I said hi."

"Okay."

"Call me tomorrow if it goes well. Crawl through my window if it doesn't. Which won't be necessary because he is gonna burst into tears as soon as you confess."

He snorts. "We'll see. Goodnight."

"Good bi. That's you. A good bi."

"I'm hanging up now."

He presses the plunger and heaves himself off the floor. After hanging the phone back up, he stands in the kitchen, just staring down the hall at Eddie's door. It's slightly ajar and he can hear that Eddie's turned on Motörhead, which is knowledge that is pleasing for its recognition and its ability to drown out any stray bits of his conversation.

"Steve," Wayne calls him, startling him out of his head.

He assumes Wayne needs help again but when he shuffles over, Wayne just looks up at him with a twinkle in his eye and says, "'Bout time."

Yep. He closes his eyes with a long sigh. "Robin says hi."

This is coming to me in bits and pieces, so bear with me, but I have a good idea how I want the confession to go, so we'll see.

Tagging those interested @ravenfrog @disrespectedgoatman @grtwdsmwhr

Steve is rifling through Eddie's collection of magazines, while he's waiting on Eddie and Wayne to get done fixing the dryer(Wayne's fixing, Eddie's getting in the way it sounds like), when he realizes how insane the assortment is; Heavy Metal, Car and Driver, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, OMNI, MAD, even a copy of Good Housekeeping. It's all so Eddie though, to have so many varying interests. He's a little jealous, if he's being honest with himself.

"You have a lot of stuff," he comments when Eddie comes back, closing the copy of Rolling Stone.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just..." He starts kicking a pile of clothes under the bed.

Steve huffs a laugh. "No, I meant you have a lot of interests." He waves the magazine. "Hobbies and stuff."

Eddie nods, continues to shove piles of stuff under the bed anyway. "I guess, yeah. I tend to jump from thing to thing though. Last night it was painting miniatures, tonight it could be writing a song. I don't really get a say in which one. Oh, nice, I've been looking for this," he says, holding up a random T-shirt.

He watches Eddie get distracted by the new discovery and leave the rest of the pile where it's at, smiling to himself as Eddie goes on a tangent about merch vendors at concerts being the real enemy of the people.

"How do you know what you like?" Steve inadvertently blurts out during a gap in Eddie's tale.

He turns toward Steve. "What do you mean?"

What does he mean? "I guess... It's just, I like cars and sports and girls. That's, like, kind of it. And since I started being friends with Henderson and Robin and you I've figured out that's, like, the most basic shit a guy could be into. Level One Dude Interests. So, I guess I just want to know how you find other things? And how will I know if I'm interested?"

"Hmm." He frowns softly. "I've never had to think about it before. I kinda just...fall into things. I like it or I don't."

"Okay, but what's it feel like?"

Eddie puts the shirt down, forgotten again in a moment, and sits. "What does it feel like when you think about cars and sports and girls?"

Steve really thinks about it. Nothing is as consuming as when he was younger, but he does remember a vague sense of excitement, a feeling of connection with the people he surrounded himself with, who shared his interests. But he hasn't felt that in a while. Maybe he wasn't as into those things as he thought, was only into the connection.

"You're having very deep thoughts over there," Eddie points out with a grin.

"Shut up." He grins back. "I think maybe I don't actually know what it feels like to like something because I like it, not just because everyone else likes it. You know what I mean?"

"Well, yes but no." He waves both hands to indicate his person and also the chaos of the room around them.

"See? This is why I'm asking you. If anyone can help me figure out what I like it's you."

Eddie slaps both hands together and rubs. "A project! Excellent idea!"

Wasn't his idea but sure.

"First we have to get you exposure to new things. Movies, TV, music, culture. Then we'll rate how you feel about each demographic. Your music taste is already improving so that's good. Movies, I'm thinking 12 Angry Men to start. Food? Authentic Mexican. We're gonna get you excited about shit!" He seems excited enough for the both of them, which is great. "Excitement is key! You want enthusiasm, yearning even. Your interests should consume your every waking thought. When I'm consuming a new hobby, I'm focused like a shark, I'm obsessed. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it. Excited to get back to whatever it is. I wanna talk about it, share it with other people. Complete and total immersion. You wanna marry that interest. You know what I mean?"

Steve blinks at him, stunned into silence. Eddie's just described how Steve feels about him...

Oh.

Oh.

[minetteskvareninova]

Minette Rates Love, Death & Robots, Vol.1

(Because I just watched it so why the fuck not. As spoiler free as possible.)

THREE ROBOTS - A darkly funny little tale with entertaining protagonists, but the twist ending landed with a thud. Sticking to a generic "foolish humans and their wars/enviromental destruction/whatever" would insult my intelligence less. 6/10

BEYOND THE AQUILA RIFT - This is the first one with the video game-esque hyperrealistic animation, which doesn't work for me, and I might in fact take off points for it if I am especially annoyed. I cared more for the characters than in some of the others, but as we'll see, the bar is in hell here. Still worth it for the bang-up twist, even if I am still not sure about the motivations of the... Entity. I'd like to think it is basically benevolent, although I might've missed something because I am a dumbass. 7/10, 6,5/10 if the Entity is in fact evil and I didn't notice.

ICE AGE - I don't have much to say about this one. A cute little story with an interesting twist, even if I rolled my eyes a bit at the T-Rex hunting the ancient hominids, also woolly mammoths did not in fact go extinct in the Neolithic. The Wrangel Island population survived untill 2500-2000 BC, which is, in fact, fucking Bronze Age. If you want to be pedantic, at least get it right. 8/10

SONNIE'S EDGE - Well, "edge" is certainly a word to describe this one... That said, as a story, it was actually quite a banger, not gonna lie. The cyberpunk monster fighting pits are an interesting setting, and though I didn't connect with the characters at first, boy did the twist change my tune. 8/10

WHEN THE YOGHURT TOOK OVER - I don't why, this one just... Worked for me. The animation, the humor, the bizzare story. 10/10

THE SECRET WAR - I am sure someone would have a lot of fun with this very generic shooter. Why do I have to watch all the cutscenes I have no idea. Seriously, this one had more layers of cliche than Dune has layers of secret plots. 2/10 and even that is solely for the decent monster designs and the balalaika scene, a teensy tiny light of genuine humanity in this droll mess.

SUCKER OF SOULS - The animation was worked for me and I liked the cats, but there really wasn't that much cat action here (well, except for that kind of cat action, to the misfortune of us all). This one was the point where I was starting to get pretty sick of the wisecracking tough guys protagonists that mistake banter for genuine connection. From then on I decided to take off points for them. It has just as much edge as Sonnie, but with a much weaker story. This is just every Archeologist Unearths A Monster and Evil Monster Vampire story ever - except for the unintentional comedy of using Romanian as the Ominous Ancient Language and Romanian Cyrillic as the Ominous Ancient Alphabet. It's the ignorant Western equivalent of using Early Medieval "barbaric" scripts for that purpose; hell, even they are more terrifying on account of how absolutely fucking unreadable they are (at least before the Carolignian Miniscule comes and saves us all). Also, they killed the twink. Bastards. 3/10 solely for the animation.

THE WITNESS - I still don't know how to feel about this one. The characters are extremely weak and like 30% is gratuitous nudity, including a Totally Necessary erotic dance, but I loved the twist, so. Also I'd be lying if acted like I am not the target audience for the Totally Necessary scenes. 6/10

SUITS - Okay, I do not care much for the mechs fighting alien bugs genre, but tight-knit farming communities, those I can get behind. Like the characters and their connections were actually kinda dope. Also the ending is open to the interpretation that humans destroyed this planet by terraforming it and the alien bugs are actually just trying to survive by eating the cattle, like some kind of OTT alien version of red foxes. Either way, it's neat, I liked it. 7/10

GOOD HUNTING - This one could make for a genuinely awesome movie if it was a full feature. The animation, the worldbuilding, the themes, the story outline, everything just Works... Unfortunately, this kind of story relies heavily on its characters, and these ones just didn't have much time to develop, and neither do the really heavy themes of colonialism and misogyny this story is trying to tackle. Still, 7/10 for the sheer potential.

THE DUMP - I really don't know what to say about this one. It very clearly set out to be as hateful and disgusting as possible, and... Well, it did a good job, so. What am I going to do, get mad at it for doing exactly what it aimed to do? You might like it if you have a higher tolerance for dark and gross-out humor than me, but for myself? 0/10

SHAPE-SHIFTERS - I don't like American war dramas from the Middle East. This is a generic American war drama from the Middle East. I enjoy urban fantasy worldbuilding. This is an urban fantasy with the lamest fucking worldbuilding I've ever seen. It doesn't even have a lame saving grace a la the balaika scene. 1/10 for not being actively offensive.

FISH NIGHT - The ending could've gone on for like half a minute more, to let us really sit with it, but otherwise? Amazing, no notes. 10/10

HELPING HAND - Another one I don't have much to say about. It wants to be a gnarly little survival tale in a mildly sci-fi setting and it very much accomplishes that. 8/10

ALTERNATE HISTORIES - This one isn't much to talk about, it's an unambitious animated short that is there to just be funny. It wasn't very funny. There were actual serious attempts at Hitler's life more humorous than this. 3/10

LUCKY 13 - I don't care for military sci-fi, and the fact that the whole story hinged on my emotional attachment to a piece of military equipment made me roll my eyes, but I'd lie if I didn't find the main character's fixation on the damn thing mildly endearing by the end. 4/10

BLINDSPOT - I was aggressively disinterested in the main characters. I don't vibe with their character designs and "banter as a substitute for character" problem is at its worst here. The somber ending almost redeemed it, but the short went back on that one too. Also there were way much convoluted sci-fi machinery shenenigans for me to even follow the action scenes. 2/10

ZIMA BLUE - Now we're cooking! This is the kind of high-concept good times I came here for. I didn't entirely vibe with the animation and Zima's backstory is a teensy bit too convoluted for how short this is, but still, this series really ended on a strong note. 9/10

[cdyssey]

Yellowjackets 2.06 Reactions:

TW: Cannibalism; Traumatic Birth Experiences

Coach Ben teaching Health Ed class!! This man has suffered through so much.

TAIVAN WITH THEIR DESKS SHOVED TOGETHER!! Lolololol, at Misty being the only one who is paying attention and Ben clearly not caring that no one is paying attention.

“Poppies, Jeff. Jackie likes poppies.” She says this to get people to stop whispering about them, but God, I love the intimacy of this line too—the way that Shauna knows Jackie’s favorite flower.

THIS BLUR SONG. WOW, WOW, WOW.

Lmao at Misty emptying all her pockets.

Lottie’s shocked expression when she clocks that it’s Misty for the first time. The almost immediate steeliness, the barely controlled rage. The height difference between Simone and Christina is so fucking funny. Misty is a tiny little bean.

“And I won’t call the IRS about what I assume is your routine tax evasion.” AKQKWNWKSN

Lottie gets a visible headache and asks Misty to stay a while; she possibly had a vision?

“She is the one who decided to act out by dating a cop.” SO FOUL, SHAUNA SNSNDNWNWJDNS.

“It honestly would’ve been better if you just had sex with him.” FOUL FOUL FOUL.

Baby girl is so fucked up!!! Callie and Jeff’s horrified expressions when they hear this shows us that they’re registering this, how off kilter Shauna is.

The girls desperately scrambling to figure out what they should do to help Shauna, and it’s moments like these when you remember that they’re children, and it’s awful.

Tai being right at Shauna’s head, holding her shoulders, wiping off her head, encouraging her. They make me so fucking tender.

Misty has entirely shut down.

“WILDERNESS, I HOPE SHAUNA DOESN’T DIE.” MARI WOQKOQJEWJWJRJNWJEJWNWNENWJS. YOU KEEP DIGGING YOURSELF INTO THAT PIT, GIRL. I LOVE YOU.

Tai holding Shauna’s face reassuring her over and over again that she’s not going to die.

Nat being a fail girl at rifle practice.

“I’m poison. I ruin people.” God, my heart aches for her. She genuinely believes this.

“I killed my best friend… the only person that I loved.” FUCK. 😭

Natalie and Lisa’s relationship is so, so good. The vulnerability between them, the care.

“… we did so much fucked up shit out there. And yeah, maybe it was to survive. Maybe. But I don’t think we deserved to.” GOD GOD GOD. Two things haunt me about this particular line. That second maybe—we’ve known from the start that they did things out there that weren’t solely about survival. Pit Girl. Her ritualistic consumption. But also the fact that this is the condemnation that Nat hangs on them all. None of them should have made it out of the woods alive, and maybe, just maybe, that would have been penance for what they had done.

Tai looks like a peak lesbian in Van’s clothes. <3

Van reminding Tai of her FAMILY, and Tai is just like, lmao, fuck them. It’s you and me, baby.

She is so awful. <33

“You’re married, Taissa. There’s no us anymore.” God.

Tai sees all the overdue bills in the trash can; Van is struggling.

Misty is utterly broken about Kristen. It’s easy for us to say she’s the “well-adjusted” one between all the adults because she’s been able to compartmentalize so well; she’s out there girlbossing and murdering!! But she’s just as fucked up, just as traumatized, even if she invited so much of that trauma on herself: breaking the transmission box, telling Kristen, inadvertently killing that innocent girl.

Nat appealing to Ben, the adult, Ben, the health ed teacher, for guidance, BUT HE IS A FAILURE TOO. “I just pressed play on a video.” AMQKQKKEWKKDOWKSSK

“Women have been having babies for millions of years.” 😭 Nat, I fucking love you. These girls care for each other so fucking much.

GETTING COMFORT FROM HER POCKET MOUSE. AKILAH, I LOVE YOU AMQMQDNJWNS.

Not the cult performing blood offerings in the corner. My God QNKQKQMWNRKWKWMWMWKWJREK.

POV: Ur having a baby in the woods and all the goth kids are being weird about it.

God, Lottie needs to fucking get a new psychiatrist. This lady is the worst.

Simone is such a fucking good actor.

“We did… terrible things in Its name. And I thought when we were rescued, that we left It there, but now I realize… we brought it back with us.” The subtitles are really lending an emphasis to It now. God, I need a side-by-side of all the ladies talking about the terrible things they did in the forest: Shauna talking to Callie, Natalie and Lisa, and now Lottie and the psychiatrist. The horror on all of their faces when they admit this truth aloud; for all of them, it’s almost too much to bear.

“I mean, if you’re done crying, I could tell you some stories.” QKQKKWOWJEJDJ

Ben, ur such a failure. Ily.

The antlers behind Ben in the flashback…

THE PLACENTA FUCKING COMING FIRST. AND THE VIDEO. AND TAI REMEMBERING IT’S SUPPOSED TO COME AFTERWARDS. I’M FUCKED UP.

Crystal and Misty were gonna sing a song at Shauna’s labor. Lmfao.

“You can save our baby.” LOTTIE WTF

“You’re so close to being on the other side.” The double entendre is absolutely there. Shauna is so fucking close to death.

Taissa crying because she cares so much for Shauna and she already knows, from that placenta coming first, this fucking isn’t going to end well.

“Aren’t you probably the last person who should be giving me legal advice right now?” AQQKEMFMEMS, drag her ass, Callie. (Callie and Shauna both wearing that forest green because they are so alike.)

I fucking hate Matt the Cop. Smug fucking bastard!!

Tai fucking with Van about the sorting. 😭 I love them so much.

“No, Tai. You came here for help with your life. If I need help with mine, I’ll let you know.” TELL HER, VAN. One thing I’ve really enjoyed about both Taissa storylines is that they’ve consistently portrayed her as someone who can be judgmental and hypocritical. It’s such a good character flaw for her.

Tai’s entire tone changing when she hears that it’s Lottie.

“It’s a bunch of granola losers, but the food is great, and the BO factor is surprisingly low.” QKQKFNWKOWKEQPJEN

All of these children are crying, and I’m so fucking upset. I care about all of them so goddamn much. Nat and Tai and Misty being right there for her means so much for me. That’s my core four.

Shauna is dying right in front of them.

THE SUBTITLES SAY MISTY, BUT THAT WAS JACKIE FUCKING TAYLOR’S VOICE.

The entire scene is lit differently. The baby is too big and healthy. The placenta came first. The crying is repetitive. This is a goddamn dream.

“… but no, I’d rather keep the past in the past.” / “Van, you run a video store. […] You practically live in the past.” POT CALLING THE KETTLE BLACK, MA’AM. YOU WERE RECENTLY CAUGHT SACRIFICING YOUR DOG IN THE BASEMENT!! YOU CHASED AFTER YOUR EX AND GAVE HER A BOOBY PEN!!!!!!

Taissa is so judgy, lmfao. Never change, girl failure.

“Don’t fuckin’ judge me because I know you’re too evolved for online dating.” GET HER!! Lauren has inhabited Van so well. Like, sometimes I can hear Liv in her delivery of lines.

“But don’t flatter yourself. It’s not because of you.” Vanlottietai triangle in the wilderness when

Natalie, ma’am, I know you have, like, seven different infections from wearing those pants for so long. SEVEN.

Lisa giving Natalie the Fourteenth Gilly, so she’s responsible for something other than herself. 😭 Sobs.

If anything fucking happens to Lisa, I will lose my shit. I love her so much.

Shauna not being able to feed the baby. I’m so fucked up. The other girls can see that starvation awaits.

JEFF PLAYING “FUCK THE POLICE” WITH THE WINDOW DOWN OUTSIDE THE POLICE STATION. I LOVE THIS MAN. HE IS THE FUNNIEST FUCKING HIMBO. ALQWKQODJKWKW

QKQOOWWKMWKDNSNS, JEFF SAYING IT TAKES A WHILE FOR SHAUNA TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. THE LOOKS TAI AND VAN GIVE EACH OTHER. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS MAN

He is such a weirdo.

Misty talking about Nat with such love and affection. Girlfriends. <33

“We’re all like this. Aren’t we?” Nat looking at Misty for the first time with sympathy in her eyes. She fundamentally sees that Misty is fucked up too.

I’m fucking crying at this baby starving.

“Your kid doesn’t like you too much, does she?” RIGHT ON THE HEELS OF THAT LAST SCENE. THAT’S SHAUNA’S GREATEST FEAR, HER CONTINUALLY BLEEDING WOUND.

Melanie Lynskey is so fucking pretty.

“You really did a number on her.” God, God, God, God. Shauna and Callie really eff me up. They were doomed from the start, from the moment that Shauna nearly died from having that first baby in the woods.

“And you do not have to be like your mom.” It’s too late, Kevyn. She already is.

“I never even wanted to be a mom. In fact… I did not sta… start out a bad person, but in case you haven’t noticed, life doesn’t tend to turn out the way you think it will. You have a kid that you… you don’t want… to save a marriage that you got into out of… guilt and-and shame. And, and you just… you can’t really let yourself love either of them. But, of course, you do. You-you love them despite yourself. You’re just incredibly bad at it.” I HAVE LITERAL TEARS RUNNING DOWN MY FACE. MELANIE GODDAMN LYNSKEY.

This isn’t Shauna lying. We know that Shauna is a piss poor fucking liar. This is the truth from the bottom of her goddamn heart. She didn’t want Callie. She had her to save a marriage that she only got into because she felt so guilty—about the woods, about Jackie, about what she and Jeff and all the girls did to her. But she loves them. She loves her husband. She loves her daughter. And she knows that she hasn’t done them their due. And this has also been a truth from the beginning. Shauna absolutely loathes herself. She self-destructs partially as a punishment that she thinks fits her endless crime.

The music shifts when she does start lying. What came before it was sincere.

“But leave my kid out of it.” SHE LOVES CALLIE.

I fucking hate this cop!!!

CALLIE SINGLE-HANDEDLY SAVING THIS ENTIRE INVESTIGATION WOQKQKWOQOKWIDJDJEJEJEJEJEJEIEKEMDJD. I FUCKING LOVE HER.

“Especially when they ask me to describe his weird ass balls.” WKQKWOQOOWIWJEJDIEJENWKIRIRIFKDKWKDIDIFIEIWKDJDJWJKSJE.

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO HATE CALLIE SADECKI.

Lottie feeding the baby. ☠️

JEFF SPITTING HIS DRINK OUT EVERYWHERE DJWJDNDN.

Shauna’s voice break when she says “Yes” about the gun. She’s unraveling and unraveling.

“I am really worried about you. You are, like, out of control, Shauna.” / “Yeah, you think?!” And she actually cries in front of Jeff.

Jeff’s like, “Go, honey. Have a well-deserved mental health vacation with your wilderness cannibal girlfriends. 🥰” He didn’t say that, but I’m paraphrasing.

Callie and Shauna had a plan all along. :/ But Shauna screwed it up. Both of the Sadecki parents trying to reassure their daughter.

NAT TRYING TO, UM, SPARE THE FISH FROM THE COLD CRUELTIES OF THIS WORLD. GOD????

“It’s all a goddamn prison anyway.”

GOOD. THE FOURTEENTH GILLY LIVES.

I’m no fish expert, but um, is that bowl just a wee bit too small?

Shauna talking so tenderly to this baby. This episode is not going to fucking end well.

Shauna saying that she wants the moment for herself, and that’s such a core part of her ethos. This (dream) baby is hers and hers alone, someone she doesn’t have to share, someone that no one can try to control, even though they might try.

LMAO, AT SHAUNA GETTING THERE SO FAST. SHE MUST HAVE BEEN SPEEDING.

Nat has finally changed out of those goddamn leather pants!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Shauna and Nat hug. Oh, God, yeah, yeah, yeah. Natalie was there for Shauna during one of her darkest times, and now they’re both in ruts again. There’s so much solemnity in the gesture, so much pain.

Taimisty joy hug. 😭

VANLOTTIE HOMOEROTIC CRY STARING!!!

THE FUCKING SYMBOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The tea was drugged. 😭 Shauna calling out for Tai and Van.

FUCKING EATING IT. I KNOW IT’S A DREAM. I KNOW. I KNOW, BUT GOD

AND THEN SHE FUCKING WAKES UP, AND THEY’RE ALL CRYING.

“We thought we lost you.” Tai holding her face. I’m fucking unwell.

I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS. I CAN’T

SOPHIE FUCKING NÉLISSE.

“Don’t you hear him crying? Why can’t you hear him cry?”

Taissa holding Shauna and that dead baby, blood on her hands.

“Why can’t you hear him?”

This is the most upsetting goddamn television I’ve ever fucking seen in my life.

“The infants lungs will fill with air, signaled by a cry.” And at the end, it’s this line from the video documentary that comes back to haunt us all.

[beesmygod]

is 9/11 funny? 🤔

im putting a rare CONTENT WARNING on this post for frank discussion of 9/11. there are no pictures (they are linked and no gore), just words.

i feel compelled to answer this since 9/11 was on my mind lately. very american thing to say lol. anyway: i was thinking about the emotional/social disconnect between generations and how difficult it is to convey how vastly and terrifyingly different things became almost instantaneously. american has been in a freefall since, we've all just become accustomed to the perpetual pit in our stomachs.

9/11 is the point i think most people can point to as the moment when america became completely bugfuck insane

in a complete failure of leadership in a time of legitimate fear and confusion, the american right-wing government used the loss of civilian lives as casus belli to start a war predicated on a complete lie with the sole intention of lining their own pockets. 9/11 has been invoked countless times as america's free pass to run roughshod over the middle east, eliminate personal freedoms, RUIN AIRPORTS FOREVER, and enforce a narrative of victimization in which we were attacked by people we trained and armed ourselves. it's insane how fucking bad the bush years were culturally and its honestly hard to convey to a generation that doesnt know what it was like before all of america started suffering from a gas leak. as such, the attack has come to been associated with opportunists, grifters, warhawks, racists, and the biggest monsters in modern, if not all of, history. no exaggeration.

its human nature to want to sully the sacred. for 20 years it was a surefire way to hit ANY conservatives berserk button instantly. then i guess when trump had to account for one of his classic bangers, conservatives decided they didnt give a shit any more

the older and more cynical/internet poisoned i get, the more i start to sincerely believe that the ongoing attempts to shield people from the gruesome reality of what happens to the human body during a violent death has not done much to improve the human psyche. there are plenty of (good) resources and first-hand accounts about how unhealthy it is to repeatedly expose yourself to human death (like, i dont think its good to sit on ogrish and likeleak all day. it is bad to jack it to human suffering and mutilation lol), but now we completely refuse to engage with it at all. this is the part thats complicated for me lol. i dont think people should be FORCED to look at gore. i dont think it makes you a stronger or "better" person. but exposing myself in small doses to The Horrors has given more more of a uhhhh...understanding. as someone who was a kid and lived literally 3000 miles away, the way the culture shifted around me was significantly different than on the east coast. there really is a lot of information that deserves to be known by more people as common knowledge.

dont worry im not 9/11 truthing lmfao. im talking about things like the oral history of 9/11 book which includes an account from an EMS worker who had to argue with a woman who was just lungs and a head over putting a black triage tag on her. the new york times has an enormous archive of survivor accounts detailing how, in the middle of evacuating the second tower after the first plane hit, they were told to go back to work and stay in their seats, leading to an unforgivable number of needless deaths. there's the families that refuse to accept that their loved ones are "jumpers" in attempts to identify them because jumping to your death is suicide and bars you from heaven. can you fucking imagine? the idea of being forced out of a window because of the unbearable heat and into certain death freefall is horrifying enough to even have to contemplate but to have your family members pass judgement on you for it after would be beyond mortifying.

there's a lot i think about when i think about 9/11, even when i clown on it. the man who tried so hard to climb his way to safety and fell to his death while the camera watched helplessly. the scream of the man on the phone with 911 for almost 20 minutes before the tower fell on him. the sheer, impossible to comprehend scale seen in the photos of people hanging out the windows for air. or what it felt like to see the second plane hit; the ice cold terror of realizing this was not a horrible mistake after all.

ehhh but on the other hand

lol lmfao

[nihiltism]

1. it was very surprising for me to learn that moshpits don't happen solely in pit seating! in fact the concerts I've been to that had pit seating didn't really have much going on in there! in retrospect it makes sense, if you're closer to the stage you wanna pay attention and soak everything up, but. tbh. I don't go to concerts for the music I go for the people. if you go for the music, sit in the upstairs section. if you go for the band members, be in the pit. if you're there for the Experience, GA is fine.

2. if you go to heavier concerts for the music you are losing the game!! in concerts with Loud ass instrumentals I'm gonna be completely honest the sound quality is soooo much worse than just listening from home. you have to accept this. if you want to sing along you need to study up ahead of time because DUDE I KEPT MIXING UP ARCH ENEMY SONGS BC I COULDNT PARSE THE VOCALS TO SAVE ME. I WOULD HAVE LOOKED LIKE AN IDIOT IF ANYONE COULD HEAR ME.

2.5 to add to this you are not missing any sound quality by putting in earplugs. please put in earplugs you're not gonna parse anything anyway.

3. there's a reason battle vests are a thing! pockets are So handy!!! I usually also bring a purse, but purse + vest pockets can carry so much in them. my go to is packing some band aids, some very basic sewing stuff (don't bring scissors though that will get taken), tylenol, pads, deck of cards, pencil and mini sketchbook, earplugs (maybe a pack of disposable ones too if anyone else needs em), power bank, mini chargeable fan, and a screwdriver! plus my wallet and phone and maybe a power cord (though I have this cool bracelet that doubles as one so I don't need it) and I still have plenty of room for silly stuff like prunella (my funny little pink sheep I bring to metal concerts). might also be worth bringing some masks for others / in case you fuck yours up

4. I'm considering also investing in like. one of those good metal flasks. bc venues do not carry just straight up water and I can't fit a water bottle into a pocket. bro the last concert didn't sell bottled water but did sell Liquid Death^tm at a higher price than the fucking soda fuck RIGHT off and die. anyway yeah do that too you have pocket space for it.

5. put squishy insoles in your boots please.

6. don't be that guy. don't bring spikes into the pit. anything I spike from here on out is with screw-on spikes specifically so I can swap them out before a concert because I was really stupid my first time and I'm not doing it again.

7. uhhhhh be careful going into pits if you're short you might lose a tooth. not saying you shouldn't but be careful.

I think that's it ??? also eat beforehand and get peoples numbers.

as a fairly new concert goer I learn so many new things with each concert. I'm making a list mostly for my own reference but if anybody else finds it helpful that works too. also I'm very much a metalhead I have no idea how moshpits and crowds operate in any chiller genres

[sco07ut]

bbc ghosts,,,, i love u,,,,,

ok ok so my mum n i finally finished watching ghosts and i’m completely insane so erm. rvb ghosts au

carolina is alison (funny) and wash is mike (i don’t ship carwash, in this au im imagining they’re sibs just living together bc the economy’s fucked yk how it is) they inherited the house from their estranged dad, dr leonard church and after a near death experience carolina gains the ability to see ghosts

delano house (ok . if i was going by Actual logic with the character assignments it would Technically be called gene house but i don’t think he deserves that much credit, and i’ll explain this when i get onto simmons little introductory section) is inhabited by eight main ghosts (and a plague pit of zealots in the basement but dw about those guys) from a bunch of different time periods and they all sort of hatelove each other bc none of them can leave (unless they, by some miracle, ascend) so they kind of jst endure each others’ presence

anyway, without further ado: caboose is kitty (georgian noble), simmons is thomas thorne (victorian poet), tucker is julian fawcett (modern day mp), donut is stephanie button (edwardian noble), doc is patrick butcher (1980’s scout leader), sarge as the captain (ww2 captain), grif as mary (stuart era witch trial victim), lopez as humphrey bone (tudor noble) and locus as robin (caveman)

(more in-depth character stuff under the cut !!)

caboose:

caboose as kitty! i jst think their characters align really nicely, they’re both loveable idiots who follow their best friends around. i def think carolina reminds him of church (who is annie in this au who basically ascends a few hundred years before carolina is even born) so he follows her around like a miserable little duckling. the ‘sister’ that bullied him is fuckign miller from rat’s nest

simmons:

this pathetic worm is thomas !! he isn’t in love with carolina the way thomas is in love with allison, instead he sees carolina kinda like a big sister figure and always asks her for dating advice. his backstory is where things r interesting tho i think. in the show, thomas is in love with a woman called isabel, however her father is against the two of them being together, so when he attends an event where isabel is also present he wants to converse with her to make sure the two of them are still secretly an item but can’t find the opportunity to do so. his cousin, francis button, offers to deliver a letter to isabel with his feelings but backstabs him by faking the letters (saying they basically don’t love each other anymore) then tricks thomas into engaging in a duel that gets him killed (he then also denies thomas’ last request to see isabel by telling her he’s already dead). yikes. anyway. in this au, gene is francis button, and instead of simmons being in love with some woman he hears some guys slandering his own dad’s name (hargrove) and engages in a duel with them over it. the reality behind the situation, however, is that gene essentially orchestrated his death. the people he ‘heard’ talking shit abt his dad weren’t actually, gene jsut told him they were. when he then begins the duel, gene tells him it’s 20 paces when in actuality it’s only 10. once simmons is shot and requests to see his father one last time gene pretends to go do that but actually tells hargrove that simmons was dead when he got to him

okay !! so i mentioned that delano house should technically be called gene house if we were to go by the show’s lore. once francis tells isabel that thomas is dead, he then essentially woos her and marries her, moving into her home and which then becomes button house. so in the au ig it would technically be called gene house however i don’t rock w that because it would then later mean donut is called franklin delano gene which is wrong on so many levels. so instead, gene just takes the existing name of the house, delano. yk i’ve just typed all this up and realised that i’m probably the sole person in the world who actually cares about it. darn

finally moving on, tucker!

self explanatory, julian dies in the middle of shagging someone and is now doomed to spend the rest of eternity wandering round with no pants on. it’s so ridiculously in character. plus ig the whole ‘being able to interact wit the real world’ thing ties into tucker’s whole main character schtick

donut:

the lady of the house ! in life his mother, chrovos, was very insistent about marrying him off to a richer family to try make up for all their debt but all he wanted to do was become a famous fashion designer. maybe if his mother had let him follow that passion he might’ve made a brand famous enough to claw them out of debt but instead he got an early death from an adulterous husband (genkins)

doc:

pat my absolute beloved. he had taken out a group of kids (the ai) to the house’s grounds for a day of archery, however while going through the safety protocols o’malley accidentally let an arrow loose that got him straight through the neck. he then managed to traumatise the entire group by dying slowly in front of them ❤️

sarge:

again another character that’s just a perfect match, sarge doesn’t have a name, the captain doesn’t have a name, they’re both obsessed with a war that’s long gone, they’re both fruity asf. not even joking, the lieutenant that the captain has a crush on is one butch flowers in this au, sarge misses him but has started to find a new object of affection in wash (despite the fact that wash cannot see, hear or interact with him at all)

grif:

burned at the stake for being a witch ! in reality he was just a man passing through the town and everyone Thought was some sort of woman who was harbouring satan in her throat or something. his long hair and curvy form Tricked them all n he paid the price. his death kinda did a number on him though, and it took a while for him to come back out of his shell (essentially after church dragged him out kicking and screaming)

lopez:

the noble that managed to survive a coup only to immediately accidentally behead himself with a pair of decorative wall swords. unlike the show, lopez is the one that doesn’t speak english while his arranged wife shiela Does and planned the murder of the monarchy under his nose. he still loved her tho.

and last but not least, locus:

i definitely hc that his name was actually locust/lotus but the first few ghosts that met him kept getting it wrong until he eventually just settled on locus (in the same way robin is actually called ‘rogh’). he’s been there the longest, definitely took a Long time to warm up to other humans after being betrayed before his death (felix and sharkface, or lick and face, pushed him into what they Thought was a bear den so that they could escape but ultimately it lead to their deaths while locus managed to get away, only to be struck by lightning immediately afterwards)

i think that covers everyone who has a canon death thus far ! sorry for going a little insane over simmons

[hyunjilicious]

smut blurb [bucky barnes]

A/n: I have absolutely no idea where this came from, but daydreaming about was satisfying as fuck, so I thought I’d share

Summary: you and Bucky haven’t been dating for a long time, and a meme from Instagram helps him discover your submissive side KINKY 1.6k

Warnings: D/s dynamics, implied smut, spit play (main topic - don’t like it, don’t read this!), innocent reader, Bucky being smug as hell. I don’t think I have to mention this, but 18+ please!!

I know it’s a Bucky fic, I chose the gif for the tongue, don’t @ me!

Curled on the couch beside Bucky, you sat and scrolled through your phone. You had your cheek squished against his chest as his right arm was draped around your middle, his eyes on the TV and yours on the memes on your Instagram home page. 

The documentary he was watching had bored you about ten minutes in, but you knew he waited months for it to be released, so you kept quiet, only rarely actually paying attention to what was going on on the TV. The room was fairly quiet, none of you moving or saying anything as the minutes passed by.

At one point, you involuntarily broke the silence when a dismissive chuckle slipped past your lips. You didn't think much of it and continued scrolling on your phone, but Bucky's attention was now on you.

"What?" he asked, playing with a strand of your hair before tucking it behind your ear and kissing the top of your head.

"Nothing" you mumbled, "Just a stupid meme"

"Show me" he softly commanded, leaning his head down to see. 

You looked up into his eyes, his face dangerously close to yours, "It's nothing" you laughed.

"You know I love my memes, come on" he pushed, and in the end, you scrolled back up. 

When you reached the post in question, you raised one eyebrow and waited for him to realise that there really was nothing interesting about it. But then he chuckled.

"That was funny to you?" you giggled, amused solely by the fact that he found the meme good.

Bucky averted his gaze from the screen of your phone to your eyes, "Yeah"

"Why?" you laughed, "It's not funny, it's gross. I don't get why people keep saying that. No one thinks that's hot"

"I do" he nonchalantly said, throwing in a shrug to prove just how serious he was.

For a second, you had no reply, but then you pushed yourself up and rolled your eyes. "But that's because you're a guy. No girl would ever ask her boyfriend to spit in her mouth"

"You wouldn't?" Bucky frowned. He didn't seem offended, or surprised, it just seemed like he didn't believe you.

"I-" you opened your mouth to contradict him, to tell him that you can't see yourself asking him to do that. But as soon as you spoke the first word, you froze, closed your mouth and decided to rethink your words. But nothing came to mind. You just looked into his awaiting eyes, and mumbled a shy "No"

"Why not?"

He was so calm, it bugged you. And kept you on your toes. You felt a familiar kind of excitement build up in the pit of your stomach, but you still tried to convince yourself that that was not something you'd ever want to try. 

"I don't know, Bucky" you sighed, "I don't understand why someone would ask for that"

"If you knew I like it and wanted to do that with you, you still wouldn't ask me to?" 

The way he pushed you. Just how smug he was while doing it. There was some kind of weird satisfaction he was getting from grilling you like this. He loved seeing you all flustered, to push your buttons, especially after seeing just how easy it was to control you.

As you thought of an answer, the corner of Bucky's mouth lifted up, eagerly waiting to see if you were ready to give in yet. 

"I don't-" you said, nervous and embarrassed, palms sweating as he looked down at you, "I don't know, I don't think I'd-"

"Open your mouth" he commanded, placing his hand on your hip and giving you an encouraging pat. "Now" Bucky added after seeing you hesitate.

It was not like you were afraid of him, he never lifted a hand or had ever been aggressive in any kind of way. The reason you obeyed in an instant after he asked you again, was because you wanted to please him, to show him that you were good, and entirely his.

You kept your eyes trained on his as you opened your mouth, your heart beating out of your chest. Rubbing his hand across your thigh, Bucky urged you to close the distance between your bodies, "Come here" he calmly commanded.

And again, you obeyed.

"Closer" he repeated, until you were mere inches away from him.

He grabbed your cheek into his palm and pushed you down until you were facing his chest, and then he tilted your head up. You felt his thumb softly rub the skin below your eye, as you boiled with anticipation.

"Push your tongue out, doll" 

After you did so, he sent you a sweet, proud smile, before spitting in your mouth without any kind of warning. Your whole body clenched with nerves, your pussy trembling as your mind started to uncover a new, hidden part of itself. Why did that turn you on so much?

Softly, Bucky placed his fingers under your chin and closed your mouth, "Good girl" he nodded, "Now swallow for me"

As you swallowed, a new wave of ecstasy washed over you. And it came out of nowhere - the instinct to open your mouth again. It made him chuckle, but the embarrassment didn't make you reconsider. You just sat and waited, tongue out.

"I take it you enjoyed that?" Bucky laughed, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead.

"Mhm" you nodded and sent him a sweet pout, somehow confused with what just happened, but mostly disappointed that it was over.

"Now you understand why some girls ask their boyfriends to do that?"

"I guess, yeah"

Bucky grabbed your chin again, but this time he kissed you. He went all in, consuming you until you melted in his hold. His hands roamed your body until his fingers reached your ass, lewdly sinking into your flesh. His grip kept tightening, threatening to bruise your skin, but you loved it. So when he pulled away, you whined and tried to follow him, but he stopped you.

"Nah-ah" he shook his head, "You know what you have to do now"

Oh no, you thought, he couldn't be serious. Your cheeks caught on fire the second you realised what he expected of you. Bucky watched you closely, a wicked grin on his perfect lips as he saw you fidget and struggle. And on top of this, he held you close, rubbing his thumb along your jawline, making it so much more difficult for you to focus.

"Bucky?" you eventually called.

"Yes, doll?" he nodded, his hand traveling lower to gently caress your breasts.

You took a deep breath, your chest expanding against his palm. You knew he could feel your hard nipples through your shirt, but the thought only made you needier.

"Can you-" you asked softly, "Can you please spit in my mouth?"

"How did you manage to make that sound so cute?" Bucky shook his head in disbelief, chuckling as he licked his lips, but you stood your ground, begging him with your stare. "Of course, angel," he regained himself, "Open up for me"

This time, things went more smoothly. You swallowed proudly and sent him a genuine smile before you leaned in and pecked his lips. "Thank you"

"You're welcome, baby" he hummed, gathering you close. He brought you with your back against his chest, his arms tightly wrapped around your frame as he whispered in your ear. "Let me see how much you like that"

You didn't even get a chance to say anything before he forced his hand down your leggings and into your underwear, his fingers instantly meeting your core.

"I honestly did not expect you to be so wet" he confessed.

Embarrassed beyond words, you hurried to hide your pained expression behind your hands. 

"Don't do that" Bucky urged you, using his metal hand to grab your wrists and uncover your face, "Not with me, ok? Don't ever hide from me"

After he tilted your head to get you to look at him over your shoulder, you faintly nodded.

"Good" he smiled, kissing your temple, "Now why don't you let me take care of that for you?"

As he spoke, one of his fingers slipped past your folds, slowly sinking inside your cunt, knuckle deep. 

And you couldn't have been happier to accept. With ease, he helped you off of him and placed you down on the couch, swiftly dragging your leggings and underwear off. As he settled between your already trembling legs, you reached out and touched his cheek to stop him and get him to look at you.

"Is everything ok?" Bucky asked, traces of concern visible in the blue of his eyes.

"Yeah" you giggled, "Everything's perfect, I just- um, can we do that again?"

He raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"You know?" you rolled your eyes, "That?"

"Now?" Bucky laughed, visibly relieved.

"Not now" you mumbled, "Like... whenever?"

"Yes, darling. Whenever you want. Just say the word"

"But like-" you pouted, "I don't want to have to always ask you. Like you could tell me, too"

"Oh," Bucky nodded, finally understanding what you've been trying to say. He crawled up your body and stopped above you, his breath fanning against your lips as he spoke. "So you want me to just come and tell you to open up for me, and you'll do it, like the good little girl you are?"

"Yes" 

"I like that" he said, kissing your lips, "Deal"

[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 -?”