#honestly i'm not sure if i SHOULD but listen.

[esotericbluntbaby]

indelible

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: it's been a full year since you and hamzah broke up, causing you to go silent towards your whole friend group. after rekindling at a grocery store, mandy invites you to a party she's hosting. you go, noticing a familiar set of eyes staring at you throughout the night.

mentions: reader heavily loves pickles, angst and yearning (obvi), she/her pronouns, slight argument, ex!hamzah (who will be back for a lottttt of different fics), sfw!

blood orange is so freaking good i was listening to blood orange and got the idea for this fic <3

--

"martin, is that..?"

you turned around in the aisles messily stacked with assorted jars of pickles and olives, revealing a guy and a girl of your past: the faces behind the whisper. you gazed at the couple in front of you with a certain whimsical, yet surprised stare. martin and mandy were the two people who, at one point, helped toronto feel like home after moving there from the states. meeting mandy at a frozen yogurt stand after she complimented your outfit with welcoming radiance, you soon met martin and became apart of their small, yet comfortable and familiar group.

it was only until you met hamzah that they remained the people who created warmth for you to take in. you and hamzah had a specific energy, tying your souls together as if they were forever meant to be intertwined. chemistry erupted from the first interaction between the two of you; a nostalgic, childlike sense of happiness emerged between you guys similar to high school football games and puppy love. with hamzah, you were never scared. in fact, risk and excitement amplified itself within you every time you took your friendship with him a step further.

it wasn't surprising when hamzah decided he'd kiss you in front of martin, mandy, claire, and chase while at martin and mandy's abode. it also wasn't surprising when you two popped out as a couple a day or two later. the relationship your friends observed was one they rooted for; you knew in that moment that none of your friends would pity you at your wedding, which was new to you after trials and errors of different relationships with different guys.

it was definitely not a fairytale of your childhood dreams with him, actually, the complete opposite. you enjoyed the fact that your days weren't always fast-paced and full of moments that felt like it should be posted on some social media to get a thousand likes. sometimes, your days were slow. your days were filled with laundry baskets piled to the top and a race to see who gets to sort clothes faster. your days were filled with morning breath and uncomfortable, yet cozy positions in bed with hamzah. your days had occasional arguments, yet, they were always solved within a day or two. this was the man you wanted to marry.

however, you've always had the mindset of fairy tales always containing an ending to them, happy or not. you saw him less and less as the relationship went on, as his channel with martin was slowly but surely taking off the mainstream media. he began to hermit inside of his office, sometimes even sleeping there for days, almost as if the job was a ball and chain tied to his leg. yet, he also didn't want it off of him no matter how many times he's found the key. he would spend days without seeing you, seemingly by choice, leaving you worried and lonely. it was after a full two years and three months that you decided to end things with him for the sake of your own mental health, sanity, and wellness.

it was hard at first; honestly, you wanted to curl into a ball and hide away from everyone. martin and mandy were supportive, as they noticed all the times hamzah ditched you to edit or to film or to email. yet, each time you saw their faces, all you could see was him. so, slowly, "yeah, you can come over later," turned into "i'll see if i have plans," which eventually and gradually turned into, "sorry, i'm busy." you felt guilty, but you needed to erase him from your mind, like white paint to a canvas, in order to fully heal. it was never going to be a permanent thing, yet it's also been a full year since you last spoke to them. this was probably one of the most awkward things you could've ever encountered and on this fateful thursday night, you did.

"oh, hi," you softly greeted, rubbing the back of your neck with your free hand that wasn't holding the grocery basket.

mandy's gaze was as surprised as yours was, "wow, it's been ages."

"yeah, y'know... i've just been busy..."

"are you doing anything tonight?"

the guilt of being gone for so long finally decided to show up, chasing after your stream of consciousness like a dog chasing a bone.

"no, no i'm not."

--

without fully realizing until you were sitting in their dining room chair, you were now at martin and mandy's amicable apartment. a cup of tea accompanied your hands; for warmth or for comfort, you weren't really sure. it's been small talk for the past twenty minutes since you've arrived. guilt, as it always does, was still biting at your chest cavity like a parasite. so, to ease it away from you, you decided to speak about the elephant in the room.

"look, martin, mandy, i'm really sorry i haven't spoken to you guys in ages and just stopped responding. honestly, i guess i kinda saw hamzah every single time i saw you two. it hurt too much and i couldn't take it anymore."

mandy held your hand in her palm, "no, i get it-"

"are we pushing you too far by, like, bringing you to our apartment right after seeing us again without it being planned?" martin asked, genuine worry laced in his vocal infliction.

"no, no, definitely not. i've healed, already," you sipped your tea, "i was planning on contacting you guys soon. i guess soon ended up being, y'know, today."

"how have you been? or, like, have you healed from you and hamzah" mandy asked hesitantly; almost as if the mere mention of his name would've broken you like fine china being dropped.

"i've, uh, i've been alright- i guess, sometimes, i still think about him. it's inevitable. the mere thought of him chases after me to this day. it's weird, like, as soon as i got rid of his stuff, i felt okay; i felt fine and i didn't cry, but then there are days where i stumble upon an ad for fantastic mr. fox and i end up crying for weeks straight. i'm not really sure, y'know, when it'll end. hopefully, soon."

mandy's grip on your hand tightened as martin listened to each word you said, processing every emotion and memory held onto your words.

"would you ever get back together with him?" martin asked, as mandy lightly slapped his shoulder, "sorry, was that too blunt? or, like- fuck- sorry you don't have to answer tha-"

"maybe."

mandy's eyebrows raised inquisitively, "really?"

you placed your cup of tea down and started fidgeting with your hands, "i mean, i've always believed in that whole fate thing. destiny can't be changed and that type of shit. i don't hate him. i guess i- what's the word- resent.. him..? i couldn't hate him if i tried. i guess what i'm saying is if the universe decided to bring us back together, i'd probably be scared, but i also wouldn't oppose it completely. i don't know; we were young and i didn't know how to communicate and he didn't know how to balance. it's obvious that it wouldn't work out, then. i don't know about now."

"you seem to have thought about this a lot, to the point where you can talk about it in that way," mandy mentioned.

"so, you would give him another shot?" martin added.

you thought for a moment, "it depends on how that shot happens."

looking at the clock, you realized that it was now almost 10 pm. though you didn't have work or plans tomorrow, you didn't want to overstay your visit and leech onto them and their house. after all, the three of you just reconnected after a full year of absence and silence.

"i didn't even realize it was 10; i should probably get going, now," you got up and scooted in your chair.

mandy reached out to give you a hug, to which you returned, "wait, me and martin are having a get-together tomorrow. it's not a rager, but it's also not, like, lame, i guess. come. chase and claire are visiting and they've been asking about you lately too. everyone misses you."

the whole day was filled of taking chances and playing with the fate you previously thought you were aware of. what's one more game of odds?

"sure. i'll be there."

--

the house was dark, yet also thoughtfully lit with ambient lighting. shades of oranges and blues lit everyone's skin with a contrasting hue, reminiscent of a sunset on the ocean. there wasn't too many people there; if anything, you knew a good majority of them. yet, the thought of why you knew them, or the thought of hamzah's many introductions to get you used to his crowd, made your heart hurt a little. you arrived late, letting yourself in since mandy, nor martin weren't answering their phones. greeting a couple of familiar faces on your way in, you finally found your way to martin and mandy, speaking to chase and claire.

things felt normal for the first time in a long time. you were not alone, in fact, you were with the people who created what "home" was, in the first place. for being in a room with so many people who helped create the best atmosphere for you to thrive in, you still felt lonely. you didn't know it was possible to feel this conflicted; how could you feel lonely when you know you aren't alone?

suddenly, hamzah walked through the kitchen doors to the dining table you were sat at. a red crewneck and baggy, black jeans adorned his body, as well as the black sambas that were years and years old. the beanie that adorned his head, revealing tiny, black curls peeking out of it, complimented the silver chain on his necklace; you recognized it. it was yours.

"i could not find the cups, mandy, where are the cu-"

his eyes locked onto yours as if your pupils were magnets destined to be pulled together. you, then, saw what you witnessed when you first fell in love with him: nostalgia. childlike wonder. puppy love. the table went silent, watching this encounter unfold. everyone's eyes were widened in shock. in that moment, you couldn't hear the music, nor the people around you speaking, nor the drinks being poured or dog barking outside. the only thing you were focused on was the boy in front of you. frozen in space, you hoped you wouldn't have to be the first to speak. yet, you also never were the first one to speak.

"can we talk?"

you nodded, not knowing where this conversation was going to be headed.

--

you were both outside on martin and mandy's rooftop. you mentioned to him that you find it easier to talk when gazing at the stars and being in his presence, though, you were also dating at the time. you wondered if he remembered or if this was a coincidence. currently, you were sat in silence, waiting for him to break it.

"that wasn't the first time i saw you, tonight."

your gaze turned from the stars of the sky to the ones reflected in his irises, "what?"

"this whole night, i've been staring at the door. i wasn't really sure who i was waiting for, but i just felt the need to. now that you're here, i know now. i saw you when you entered and had a mini-panic attack in the kitchen. i don't even know what to say to you now that we're out here."

it became silent again, as you didn't respond.

he continued, "i miss you. i don't think there's a single day that went by where i don't fuck myself up for losing you. fuck, baby, i miss everything about you."

"you do?"

"there's so many texts i wrote you, but i just never sent them. i almost send, like, three of them a week."

"what do they have in them?"

"y'know, updates, my life, asking how you are, apologizing for being a total fucking ass."

"you were a total fucking ass," you teased, laughing ever-so-slightly, "it's okay. it's obvious you've changed and most likely grew."

he laughed as well before his face morphed into something more serious, "if you let me, i'll spend the rest of my life making everything i did up to you."

"and remind me what you did?"

"i didn't treat you the way that i was supposed to- the way you deserve. i'm sorry, i promise i'll fix things," he grabbed your cheek gently and nudged your head towards him, "please, baby, let me fix things. i'll beg, if i have to."

you sighed, "hamzah, i'm scared."

hamzah took out his phone and put in his password.

"my birthday? you haven't changed your password from my birthday in a full year?"

"yeah, uh, i just didn't want to."

he clicked on his notes app and gave you the phone, then turned to the sky and gazed at the different twinkling lights up above.

"what is this?" you asked.

"i write you letters whenever i think about you so much to the point where it gets overwhelming.

you read the first note titled "1/19," which was a couple of days ago.

1/19

hey, baby. how are you? i miss you a lot. i went to the store today and i got the pickles you like. i don't even like pickles. or, i guess, now i do. ever since we ended things, i go to the store just to get a jar of the pickles you liked. i think every time i eat them it makes me think about that one time you forced me to try one and i literally almost threw up because of how disgusting they are. i think i just eat them because idk they make me think of you. i hope you're doing alright. i hope your studies are going good. you're graduating in, what, like a year? that's crazy. i hope i'll be able to be there with you. i'm sorry, for everything, again. i say this in every paragraph. i fucked up. i know that, but please, please let me fix it. i'll be a good boyfriend, i'll even be a good husband one day. i promise. i'll talk to you again soon.

by the end of the paragraph, you teared up. looking beside you at him, a worrisome look entered his face as he gazed ahead of him; a second chance is the most desirable thing to him. he doesn't care about money, or fame, or sex. he's been yearning for you.

you copied his move; your hand made its way to hamzah's cheek, nudging it slowly but surely towards you. the twinkle in his eyes held hope, as did yours as it mirrored him. you sat there, simply looking into each other's eyes and possibly each other's soul; there was no rush, there was only love. your lips made its way onto his, softly, for a mere second. you pulled away as his lips chased after yours, kissing once again with a certain firmness and desperation laced into it.

"i'm sorry again, baby," he admits as he pulls away, "please, please let me back into your life. i don't care how hard or how long i have to work for it; let me earn you back. i can't live without you."

you smiled one of the most genuine smiles you've had in ages, "i trust you, hamzah."

"is that a yes?"

"i dunno. what do you think, idiot?"

--

author's note

goodnight guys! <3

[talkorsomething]

I get to spin in the parade for realsies btw 🥰 only had one (1) minor breakdown at practice !

[quadrantadvisor]

Alright new Jason Todd headcanons in a dpxdc setting:

Danny is a "liminal" ghost, rather than a "half" ghost. He's alive and dead at the same time. (He's like Jesus Christ (in the church denomination I grew up in), fully ghost and fully human.) Danny, in human form, can go through a ghost shield, because he IS a living human.

Jason, however, is a reanimated corpse. He isn't a ghost, wouldn't have a ghost core, etc, he has a normal human system that runs ON ectoplasm. Jason CANNOT go through a ghost shield, because he is always an ectoplasmic entity. Danny can go through the Fenton Ghost Catcher and be split into a ghost and a human; if Jason went through the ghost catcher, he would straight up die.

(For my purposes I'm gonna say that Jason became an ectoplasmic entity upon his resurrection, but wasn't very stable. Dunking in the Lazarus pit stabilized his system but also poisoned his ectoplasm.)

I do think that Jason could learn certain ghost abilities if he learned to harness his ectoplasm, especially if they detoxed him off the Lazarus waters. He's probably already enhancing his stealth and strength in ways he hasn't really noticed. I think he's held back by the amount of physical matter he's lugging around, so maybe he couldn't fly, but I'm imagining temporary invisibility, or intagibility of like, a limb at a time. Maybe he can't walk through walls, but in a fight he can dodge by instinctively making the targeted part of his body intangible.

[taffywabbit]

I've been thinking about this song a lot again since yesterday, and if you'll indulge me in being overly wordy and a bit sentimental, I kinda wanna share some of my thoughts here:

so I alluded to this a bit while rambling on bluesky earlier, but early in the process of composing this song I REALLY wanted it to have lyrics. I tried writing some, and having looked at them again this morning, frankly they're kinda garbage and I stand by my decision to scrap them and let the music just speak for itself. but I only really wanted to write lyrics in the first place because I got ONE specific line (and subsequently a chorus, or at least one version of it) stuck in my head and wanted the rest of the song to kinda revolve around it.

the scrapped verses were sorta loosely about how, when you're younger, you tend to have a very straightforward and simple sense of optimism and justice - kids generally believe that things WILL just work out somehow, and often have surprisingly obvious and on-point responses when they learn about societal issues, but adults will often talk down to them and tell them they just don't understand how the real world works yet. and as you get older, that optimism gets conflated heavily with childlike naivety and kinda gets metaphorically beaten out of a lot of people over time, until they're just kinda consigned to the status quo and thinking of societal problems being too large/permanent for them to fix or influence.

this song was meant to embody a sense of rebellious optimism - a stubborn belief that we have a say in the kind of world we live in, and furthermore that our inner child would never forgive us for shrugging and giving up now that we're finally Adults and Adults are supposed to be the ones with the power to actually Fix Things. it was meant to evoke some nostalgia too, sure - thus the title "Grass Stains", which came from the scrapped first verse about childhood, and also just the general musical style being reminiscent of pop punk music I really liked as a kid and still tend to associate with summertime and old video games from that era. but more than that, I wanted to convey the idea that, sooner or later, we have to stop waiting for the Adults to decide how to fix things and get a hand on the ball ourselves; the idea that growing up should empower us, not make us cynical and detached and too tired to care anymore.

anyways, I will spare you most of the unfinished lyrics because I really do promise they're not interesting or good at all, but here's the chorus part and the specific last line that I was really fixated on back then and (for reasons that are probably not hard to imagine) thinking a lot about again now:

you keep pacing

so sullenly facing

away from the task left to you

why can't you see it?

if you want hope, then be it

those gears aren't just going to move

you gotta change the world, before it changes you

so yeah. shit's rough out there right now. shit's been rough for a while and it's gonna continue being rough for the foreseeable future. like I mentioned in the original caption, i wrote this song when I was feeling pretty awful (both mentally and physically, actually - I'm pretty sure I had covid for the second time when I made this lol) and needed something to perk up my mood, and it... kinda worked honestly? and now when I listen to it again I still kinda get a boost from it, especially if I let myself think back to the original message I was trying to imbue it with. it's hard for me to feel totally hopeless or unmotivated while I'm listening to it, and I hope that energy sorta comes through for other people too (though I would obviously be just as happy that people like the music I made anyways, without deeper context or ideas attached to it).

I guess i just wanna say this: remember that the world's gonna change one way or another, but your contributions to it are never meaningless, and their absence would be felt. and you also have the power to embolden and support those around you to become a stronger force for good together. the only real way to fail in all of this is to give up and lay down and let whatever happens wash over you, to believe them when they treat you like you're too small to be a threat or a challenge. and even if you don't believe your efforts matter to anyone else, let them matter to you. if you want hope, then be it. strive to be a force for good in spite of all opposition, and that goodness will in turn continue to propel you forwards.

ok I think that's about as sappy I can stand to be, I'm going to bed lol

hey i finished a new song!! check it out!!

my prompt for starting this was essentially "i'm in a bad mood and i want to make music that'll fix that". apparently what that translated to was whatever genre "music that would make 9-year-old me think they could do a backflip off the swings at the park" is, but like... it DID cheer me up? so, mission accomplished? i hope you enjoy it too!

♫ made with OpenMPT! ✎ cover art by me!

[giantkillerjack]

Me: I don't like when shows queerbait me.

Other Fans: Well then just watch other shows, dummy!!!!

Me: 👍👍👍 wow what a tidy way to dismiss and invalidate a legitimate reaction to homophobic story tropes! 👍👍👍

The "just leave then" response to people wanting more inclusivity from the stories they love is not just emotionally invalidating - it is also one of the things that keeps storytellers from feeling that they need to improve in the future by making fans feel stupid for demanding better representation in the first place.

This kind of response doesn't just make you sound like a conservative (since this is a VERY popular response that conservatives have when confronted with leftist media criticism), it also fundamentally ignores the fact that there may not BE an equivalent story with good rep to go to after leaving the queerbait-y one behind.

Delicious in Dungeon is special and unique; that's why I genuinely love it. It is that love that makes me want it to do better.

When I see that Shuro is allowed to openly express romantic love for Falin, but Marcille/Falin is relegated to mere implication, it makes me really sad. It may not be a romance manga, but there ARE straight couples, and hetero desire IS on display - which makes the lack of open queerness all the more noticeable.

So when people say "just go watch something else" in response to my genuine sadness and irritation that a beloved story is excluding people like me..... Are you telling me there's a nearly identical queer show - with a similarly active fandom - all about found family learning to cook beautiful foods in a dungeon? Is my favorite-guy-ever Senshi going to be there? Is there actually a place for me to go to??

OR is there only one Delicious in Dungeon, and that's what makes it great?

I think actually folks who respond this way just want me to leave, and they don't really care where I go, so long as their favorite thing doesn't have to stand up to criticism.

Because I don't want lesbian media elsewhere. I want it here, with my friend Marcille. Here, where the seeds of queer romance were purposely planted to hook my attention. What's so wrong with being disappointed if those seeds never grow to bear fruit??

We can like good art and still demand it does better. And we can validate people who are sad it isn't doing better without getting defensive. Critical analysis is healthy and important. It's how good and bad stories are fully understood, and it's how better stories get made.

And while I will try to enjoy the plentiful delicious crumbs I am being served (since it is more than most shows give me), just because I CAN squish a bunch of crumbs together into the approximate shape of a muffin, that doesn't mean I've been served a meal.

More on this topic because I love a good analogy

My original post about queerbaiting in Dungeon Meshi (that inspired this one with the replies I got from it)

[onehopefuldreamer]

So I think I just figured out the optimal order of events for Stray Gods Act II for me.

Thanks to some very kind people on the Stray Gods Discord I was made aware that if you don't immediately go to Aphrodite's party but visit the Reliquary and Medusa's lair first you get completely different information from Aphrodite and Eros than if you'd first gone there. By some stroke of luck I had just done The Ritual (because I'm pretty much always replaying this game...) so I went back and redid things. And my gosh, am I never going to do The Ritual first again!

It's not only the information Grace receives that is much better, but also the flow of events actually feels much more natural this way. Especially if you romance Persephone because this gives her extra time to get to know Grace a little before you trigger You and I and it just feels so right. This also gives Grace a chance to tell Apollo she's worried about the way her investigation is going when he checks in with her instead of lying and saying she's fine. I love that! But also - you get a slightly different conversation with Pan after visiting Medusa which I liked heaps better personally.

What I ended up loving the most was that if you'd been naughty like me and flirted with everyone but Apollo when you talk with him about suspecting Pan after The Ritual he actually tells Grace to give Pan the benefit of the doubt and is very supportive of her which is completely adorable. Then, because I had been flirting with Pan, Persephone made Grace choose between her and him which was also a really nice touch and had me giggling and kicking my feet. I had no idea I needed to hear Persephone say "And what of Pan? Is he also 'incredible'?" but it gave me so much joy, you have no idea. I also ended up testing the option where you choose Pan over Persephone and she was very understanding and supportive while also shutting down any flirting from that point onwards. The only thing that disappointed me was that Persepone didn't seem to care that my Grace was also flirting with Freddie. That wasn't mentioned at all.

And now I need to do yet another replay after I finish this one and go for Pan because man, the dude has charm in spades and I love him and I wish I could romance Persephone, Freddie and him all at once. I might even like him more than Freddie which probably makes me a bad lesbian but it is what it is. His song is my favourite romance song right after You and I too, it's so catchy and joyful. Damn, I really need to romance him soon, don't I?

Fun fact: because I stopped my replay right before doing The Ritual after going to the Reliquary and visiting Medusa last night I ended up dreaming of an alternate version of Persephone and Grace's talk leading to You and I which had Persephone more open and forthcoming about Calliope and Grace very supportive and understanding. Then I'm pretty sure I dreamed a whole alternate version of You and I where Grace and Persephone actually sang together. I'm pretty pissed I don't remember any details because damn... I wish that were real. And I wish I could have recorded it. It was so good.

[propenseverbosity]

Honestly thank you for doing these, it's great to see people participating in the act of creation 🥺

Today I'm working on a prequel fic for my Rook! I love the Shadow Dragon backstory and wanted to add in my own twist to it.

-----------------------------------------------

Minrathous was no Kirkwall, but the violence, anarchy, and blood magic that plagued Dock Town certainly reminded Varric of home. Petrichor from the near-permanent rainfall only barely managed to cover the scent of stale liquor and low tide.

He arrived at the Cobbled Swan around mid-day, as instructed by the letter he received from Maevaris. Her invitation mentioned nothing more than a casual lunch, but the concern on her face as Varric sat down across from her suggested otherwise.

“Well, this feels ominous…” Varric chuckled, attempting to mask his own worry. “What’s the matter?”

Mae glanced around the room to see if anyone was listening, before leaning in close to whisper, “Dorian is missing.”

Varric tried his best not to panic, but the fear in her eyes really wasn’t helping the situation. “What exactly do you mean by ‘missing’?”

“He was over in Nessus to investigate a potential slavery ring-”

“You let him do that alone?”

Mae rolled her eyes. “You know what he’s like. He refused to wait for backup. Said the longer he waited for the Magisterium to do their jobs, the longer those people would continue to suffer.” 

“Damn…” Varric breathed, knowing he was right. “Alright, when did you last hear from him?”

“A few days ago. He was supposed to contact me on the crystal once he was on his way back, but I haven’t been able to get in touch with him.” Mae reached for the thin silver chain that housed her own sending crystal, a teardrop-shaped aquamarine. “Last night, the crystal activated on its own, and I overheard some Venatori talking about leveraging a Magister for information on the Inquisitor.” she added, turning the gemstone over in her hands, as if waiting for Dorian’s voice to suddenly call out to her.

“I suppose that’s good news? In a way? It means they won’t just kill him.” Varric pointed out. “They’ll probably have him under heavy guard, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to smuggle him out of there. I’m on it.”

Mae shot him a stern look. “Varric, you already have your hands full with Solas.”

“Neve and Harding can handle things for a few days.” He argued, casually. "Besides, I could use a break."

“I have people we can send to get him back. I just thought you’d want to hear it from me first. We should let the Inquisitor know as well.”

“No way. If the Inquisitor finds out his husband is missing, all hell will break loose in the south. Whoever you're sending, I need to be there to make sure Sparkler comes home in one piece.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” Mae asked.

“Hey, I love the kid, but he’s got too much of a soft spot for Tevinter mages.” Varric added, hoping to lighten the mood. “Seriously. If Aramil finds out what’s going on, he’ll drop everything to be here, and the Inquisition needs him a lot more than it needs me right now.”

“Fine.” she sighed. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Varric said, with a polite nod. “So, what’s our first move?”

“Come with me.” Mae said, as she stood up from the table. “I’ll introduce you to the Shadow Dragons.”

Good mystical morning, everyone!

It’s WIP Wednesday Thursday!

Just:

Reblog this post with a snippet of (one of) your current project(s) and I’ll reblog it again with commentary/encouragement !

It doesn’t need to be DA related, you can share whatever you want!

Very chill, no pressure at all! Hope you all are having fun writing/drawing/creating!

[girderednerve]

sorry i saw a long post complaining about iphones & i am compelled to remind everyone that you can just buy a cheap android phone? figure out what your personal dealbreakers are, google around a little, read some reviews. i have a unihertz phone that cost $200, has expandable storage & a headphone jack, & also just for kicks has an IR blaster & FM radio receiver. you can have a good life! you do not have to buy iphone!

[deaderthandoubledead]

I find it hilarious that at first Jonny Sims' presence appears serious and somewhat intimidating and then you see/hear him on a stream and in turns out he gives off major cool&chill uncle vibes.

Alex J Newall on the other hand, at first glance, has that innocent puppy look but then you see/hear him on a stream and realise this one is the one you should be afraid of.

[watching-constellations]

I meant to go to bed early, but instead I fully accidentally ended up at a rave. This happened within twenty minutes of leaving my friend’s house. Phenomenal. I have several questions.

[citizensun]

Okay listen listen

I can respect Lula's attempt at putting Brazil on the diplomatic leadership of the global south countries.

My guy is known for talking out of his head at occasion, but I 100% believe this speech was planned beforehand. It's a rhetorical strategy. It's good for what it is: very impactful.

The post above contains a small mistranslation, though. Lula's original speech said something closer to "what is happening to Gaza and the Palestinians hasn't happened in any other historical moment. Except that it did - when Hitler decided to kill the Jews."

He's not only comparing the Gazan Genocide directly to the Holocaust. He's saying that what's happening in Gaza is literally only comparable to it.

But I'm really not comfortable at him comparing human suffering. Human suffering is not quantifiable.

Let's not talk about the historical veracity of this affirmation: what makes the Gazan Genocide (and isn't that important, a global leader calling it a genocide) and the Holocaust so similar to each other and so different from literally any other genocide that's happened in the past 100 years? Like I said, it's a rhetorical strategy. And I'm no historian.

Politically, though, what made this speech so controversial is that it put the Brazilian government at odds with the Israeli government's, and particularly Netanyahu's, characterization of the Holocaust as an unique and incomparable phenomenon - If Israel is a special State created due to special, unprecedented conditions, then it is more difficult to criticize. Like I said, I can respect the intention.

However. The Holocaust is unique because every genocide is unique in it's own way; which in this case can be characterized by some factors such as 1. the German bureaucratical-industrial machine, 2. the fact that it happened in Europe, as opposed to the Congo, Namibian, and other colonial genocides (even if not to whom would be necessarily considered white people at the time) (see also the public sympathy towards Ukrainians vs. Palestinians), 3. the fact that it was directly what caused the typification of Genocide under the UN Genocide Convention.

Similarly, what's happening in Gaza right now is also unique in it's own way. It's happening in a post-UN and UNHRC ethnic, colonial, western State. It might be getting unprecedented first-hand evidence in the form of social. media. posts. Who knows what kind of historical impact it will have.

There is a fact: Palestinians in Gaza are being wiped out of the map.

The fact that the same thing happened to the Jewish population 70 years ago is absolutely no excuse to the instrumentalization of the Holocaust by Netanyahu's government, but it's also absolutely no reason for it to be reduced to Lula's foreign policy discourse strategy.

You know what? What's happening in Gaza right now never happened before. It also happened many times over. (see what I'm doing here? It's rhetoric).

Every genocide in history has been unique. Congo was literally Leopold II's private property when the genocide happened. Rwanda was so bloody because it mostly happened at knife-point. The Irish and Indian famines. The Khmer Rouge and the Armenian Genocide.

Every genocide in history has been the same. People suffered. People died. People had the culture, their history, erased and for no other reason than being who they were.

We will not compare human suffering. We will not quantify human tragedy. Please.

[michaelmilligan]

Kind of fun, kind of puzzling to figure out what about Jon and Martin is 'word of god' (Jonny Sims) and what’s pure fanon.

Not that it MATTERS, ultimately, because I can just ignore whatever Jonny Sims says ever as I chew through his drywall, but also as an SPN fan, it’s kind of interesting to come across a 'fanon' that makes actual sense for the character and then discover that it’s. Actually something the literal writer came up with.

[firebirdsdaughter]

Oh no…

… I thought about the horrible romance plot in The Hobbit and now I'm angy.

[canigetahuuuuu]

Hey dude, I wanted to talk to you. I was changing by you in the locker room, and I couldn't help but notice, uh well, that you're trans. I swear, I wasn't trying to be a creep! But listen, I just want to let you know I support you. No matter what anybody used to think, you're obviously a dude now. But hey, if it's not too weird, I was wondering if, like, you have a dick or not? I saw you have those scars on your chest, and I was just curious. You know, it's cool if you don't. I just, I can't picture what it would be like, a dude. You know, it's all good, but hey, if it's not too much to ask, would you mind showing me? I want to be supportive and learn more about you. Hey, I'll show you mine if you show me yours. I'll go first. It's not that big, but I wouldn't call it small, either. I bet yours is awesome, dude. Just pull down your boxers for a sec. I just want a quick peek. Oh wow, you have a mini dick. It's got a head and everything. And it looks so soft. Can I touch it? I just want to feel it. Damn dude, it twitched when I put my finger on it. No, dude, don't apologize, that's totally normal. You want to see mine? Go ahead. Touch it. See? One little touch, and it's moving around like crazy and getting stiffer. Hey look, yours is getting kinda stiff. You're getting hard, too! That's cool. Yours looks wet, too! Mine gets wet a little before I cum. It tastes kinda salty and bitter. But you definitely smell different than how mine usually smells. Can I get closer? I'm just curious. I want to know the difference between your dick and mine. Mmmmm. You smell nice. Can I lick? Just one small one? Just to compare us, that's all. Ok, here we go. Holy shit bro, you taste good. So much better than mine, for sure. Want to try mine? It's starting to get a little wet, like yours. You can see the clear liquid on the tip. Get your mouth on there. You've gotta get the whole experience. It's only right, since you let me get my mouth all on you. Oh wow, man. Your mouth is so warm. Damn, I wouldn't mind if you keep going. Honestly, you should. You'll get a chance to taste my cum. And then after that, I want to try you again. Your dick looks even harder and wetter than before. And hey, I definitely owe you. You're sucking mine, so it's only fair that I return the favor. I'm your bro now. That's what friends are for.

[freedomfireflies]

You Again*

Summary: The one where Harry is your sister's ex-boyfriend and you finally get to see him again after 5 years.

Word Count: 11.4k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, age gap (6 years), sir kink, choking, use of a toy, exhibitionism if you squint!

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Your eyes widen as you look up toward the man making his way into the diner. You'd recognize him anywhere. The dark curly hair. The tattoos that bleed through the fabric of his light shirt. The rings on his fingers.

Just like that, years' worth of memories come flooding back to you all at once.

"Harry," you shriek, sliding off the stool before practically flinging yourself into his arms. 

He smells exactly the same. Like teakwood and spearmint. A rather odd mix, yet subtle enough to remind you of home.

Of him.

His chest vibrates with a deep laugh as his arms wrap around your frame to keep you against him, prolonging the hug a minute or two longer than socially acceptable. 

And when you finally lean back to see him, your cheeks begin to warm.

It's been...four years? Five? Since you last saw him? Just days before he and your sister broke up, effectively removing him from your life for good.

It had been a hard time. You wanted to be there for your sister. To comfort her through the grief of losing such a long and meaningful relationship. 

But you wanted to be there for him, too. After all, he was one of your best friends, age difference or not. He had always been the comforting, influential figure in your life that you relied on. That you counted on to get through different hardships in your life.

He had picked you up after your first day at your new job. Had held you in his arms as you cried over your first break-up. He had even listened to you talk about the boy you had fallen in love with.

Losing him felt like losing a part of yourself.

And now, five years later...that part of you has come home.

"Hi, Dot," he beams, reaching out to take hold of your chin and squeeze. "Shit, look at you. When did this happen?"

His eyes rake over your figure and you feel your skin grown hot under his appreciative gaze. "Stop, it hasn't been that long."

"The last time I saw you, I was helping you move into your new apartment across town,” he recalls, arms crossing in thought. "And now...now what? You’re still at your job, I assume?"

"I am. I just got a promotion, actually. I’m an assistant editor now.”

His eyes seem to light up, that soft green sending chills up the back of your neck as you glance down at your feet. "Dot...that's amazing. I'm so proud of you."

You wave the compliment away. "Thanks."

"Really," he insists before following you back to the counter where you'd previously been sitting. "I know how badly you wanted to pursue a career in publishing, and this...this is really amazing. Do you like it?"

"I do," you tell him as you settle back onto your stool. "Yeah, it's really nice. The people are great, the work is fun. Plus, the promotion came with a raise."

"That's amazing," he sighs, head shaking like he can't believe it. "Really, that's so...I honestly can't believe it. I can't believe it’s been so long. You’re so…adult now.”

You snort to yourself as you twirl your straw around your milkshake. "Yeah, I know. Though I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

"You should." He smiles, and it's big and beautiful. "You’ve always been grown up. Even before, you were mature for your age.”

“Well…yeah. I was twenty-three. That does make me an adult.”

“And now you’re twenty-eight.” He shakes his head again. “I can’t fucking believe it.”

You glance down at the rim of your glass. He’s right, it almost doesn’t seem possible. It feels like only last week that you were following him and your sister around town, begging to be included. Traipsing after them to bars, the mini golf course, and to any and all dates. Even though you knew your sister couldn’t stand it.

But Harry was nice and always inclusive. After all, he was your friend before he was your sister’s boyfriend. And he was determined to make sure that didn’t change, no matter how many times Atta rolled her eyes.

"I don't know how you put up with me," you finally admit. "God, I was so annoying. Atta used to get so mad at me for never leaving you alone."

He shrugs one shoulder up. "You weren't annoying to me. I liked it. I mean, I liked that you still felt so...safe? Around me? I guess?"

"Yeah, I did.” You smile. “Honestly, I think you were my best friend.”

He laughs as he looks back over. "I better have been.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Cause you were mine.”

"Good."

He smirks. "Remember how you used to fall asleep on my shoulder every time we watched a movie?”

"That's right," you groan, burying your face into the palm of your hand. "See? Annoying."

"Not annoying. Cute."

"It was not cute, it was annoying. And you know she hated it.”

“I don’t care. She fell asleep on my shoulder, too. It was nice.”

You snort. “It was weird, let’s face it. But I swear I've outgrown such habits."

He seems to hesitate for only a moment, eyes flicking between yours. "Too bad."

A beat.

You feel your stomach flip as you look away, breaking you both free of the tension. "So...what, um...what brings you to town? I was a little surprised to hear from you."

He takes the cup of coffee the waitress had poured him and slides it closer. "Oh, yeah, I'm...I'm here on business. And I remembered you lived here, so...I thought I’d reach out.”

"I see."

"Yeah.” He hesitates again. "And...I missed you."

You can’t fight the flutter in your chest. "I missed you, too, Har."

The conversation lulls as the busy diner continues to bustle around you. And despite how glad you are to see him, something feels...off. Different.

You aren't sure what. Can't quite put your finger on it. It almost feels like it used to, but something has changed. He looks like your Harry. He sounds like your Harry. He feels like your Harry. And yet, he feels like a stranger.

Maybe it's because it's been so long since you've seen him. Maybe it's because you aren't twenty-three anymore. Or maybe it’s because now he’s no longer Harry, your sister’s boyfriend.

Now he’s just…Harry. Your old friend.

When you notice the way he’s staring, your eyes narrow. “What?”

"Nothing." He shrugs again before chuckling under his breath. "No, nothing. Sorry, I just...I don't know. It's just...so strange to see you again. Like this."

"Like...this?"

"Yeah. Just us. Alone. No Atta.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Right.”

“It’s not…weird, is it? I mean, it is weird but it’s not…uncomfortable, right?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. “No, I wanted to meet you. What happened with you two has nothing to do with me.”

He glances down at his lap. “Right.”

There’s an edge to the memory that wasn’t there before, yet despite your curiosity, you bite your tongue.

“What about you?” you say instead. “What have you been up to in the last five years?”

He smirks. “Oh, not much.”

“Uh-huh. You think I’ve grown up, you’re basically an old man now.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right. I’m only 34.”

“That’s still six years older than me, which makes you old.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m serious. You're not that idiot on a motorcycle anymore. Now you say things like, 'I'm in town on business,” and you wear expensive suits, and ridiculous watches."

He glances down at the aforementioned object on his wrist. "In my defense, this was a gift.”

“Sure.” 

“It was,” he insists. His eyes flick over your face. “Look, I would have reached out sooner, but…after we broke up, I figured you wouldn’t want me to. I mean, you had just started your new job, and I knew it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to be a side, so…”

“There were no sides,” you argue softly. “You both just…grew apart. You wanted different things.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a sigh. “But I know it hurt her. It hurt me, too. And it was weird having to say goodbye to all of you. And leave all those memories behind. You were both such a huge part of my life."

"Yeah," you whisper. "You were a huge part of mine, too."

"Does Atta know you're meeting me?"

"No. Didn't really think it was any of her business. This is about us, not her."

His brow raises. "Would she be mad if she did?"

"I don't know,” you admit. “Probably not, but...would it really matter?"

"Of course it would. I'd never want to get in the way of your relationship."

"You aren't," you insist. "Look, she's dating somebody anyway. And I'm sure you are, too. You've both moved on. We're just...old friends catching up, and she'd have to understand that."

He seems to consider this before saying, "Yeah. I'm not, though."

"You're not...what?"

"Seeing anybody," he clarifies, tongue coming out to swipe across his bottom lip. "Haven't really dated anybody since she and I broke up."

"Oh, Harry," you murmur. "I'm...I'm sorry—"

"No. No, don't be," he insists. "It wasn't...I've just been busy. Working at the firm and renovating my house. I've gone on some dates but nothing serious. I just...haven't met the right person, I guess."

"The right person, huh?" you muse teasingly as you take a sip of your drink. "Okay, and what does Harry Styles' right person look like?"

He exhales an amused chuckle. "God, I don't know. I don't really think I'm that picky. Just...anybody I can get along with, I suppose."

"That's it? No, 'They need a fat ass and the ability to make me a sandwich?'"

He grins so big, the corners of his eyes crinkle. "For fuck's sake. No, nothing like that. Look, I don't know. Call me old fashioned, but...I think sometimes you meet somebody, and you can just...tell. You know? There's this energy, this shift. You look at them...and it all just makes sense.”

And as he looks you, waiting for you to consider this…the air shifts.

"Yeah," you agree quietly, allowing your attention to fall down his features and land on his lips. "Yeah, that's...you're right."

He seems to notice the way your focus has wandered because he quickly clears his throat and looks back down at his mug. "What, um...what about you? I'm assuming you're seeing somebody."

You look away as well, willing yourself to calm. "Oh? And why do you assume that?"

"Come on," he nearly snorts, eyebrow cocking. "Look at you. You're beautiful and you're smart and you have this effortless ability to make anyone around you feel good. Who wouldn't want to date you?"

"Well...pretty much every male in the city," you retort. "I don't know. I've tried dating but...there's always something missing. It never really feels quite right."

"Yeah. I know what you mean," he hums. "There's this...disconnect. Like you're forcing something that you know isn't right."

"Exactly! It's not that I don't want to find somebody, I just...haven't. It's not as easy as it is with you."

His head tilts. "With me?"

"Yeah, you know," you sigh, hands waving about the air as you try to explain your point. "I haven't seen you in five years but we still, just...picked right back up, you know? As if no time had passed. We're still just us. We can talk, and we can laugh, and we don't have to force anything."

He nods. "Right."

"I mean, honestly? Sometimes I think it would be easier to date somebody I already know. The problem is that all the guys I know are assholes. And too immature, I guess. They've got no sense of purpose, no drive. And it’s not like I need to be taken care of, but…it’d be nice to know they could. You know?”

"Yeah. You need someone with a good head on their shoulders."

"Exactly. I need someone who feels more like an equal than this thing I need to take care. I want to date a man, not a Tamagotchi."

He laughs again and the sound brings the butterflies back to your stomach. You feel proud to have amused him. And even more proud of the way he casually places a hand on your arm as he takes a deep breath. 

When he lets go, you look down at the spot on your skin as if you can still see outline of his fingers. 

"You'll find somebody," he tells you, and you do your best to ignore the sparks dancing up the back of your neck. "You will. And they'll be perfect for you. Old enough to know better and wise enough to do it right."

You place your palm over the spot he once touched, squeezing it gently. "Yeah. Hey, and you, too. Anybody would be lucky to have you."

His eyes linger on yours. "Yeah?"

You smile. "Yeah."

The next few minutes are devoted to sharing stories about your families. He asks how your parents are, you ask about his. He tells you about his job and you tell him about your roommate. You recall every detail of the past five years, and once you've finally caught up to today, he pays for your drinks, and offers to walk you home.

You make your way along the busy streets of the city as Harry tells you that he's thinking about getting a cat. You laugh and tell him that he'd make a wonderful cat dad, and he seems to flush.

You wonder why.

Fifteen minutes later, you're walking up the steps to your building, already apologizing for the messy state of your apartment before he's even stepped foot inside.

He snorts the implication away, assuring you that no matter what, it can't be worse than how Atta used to keep her place.

And the mention of your sister breeds an odd feeling in your chest. Unease, and this strange tinge of jealousy. Like you're almost peeved at him for bringing her up. For reminding you that he's seen the inside of her room before.

But you shake it away as you push the door open, refusing to linger on the thought.

"Well...this is it," you declare, stepping aside to let him enter. "Probably looks smaller than you remember, but…it does the trick.”

He takes a moment to glance over your knickknacks and decor before he grins. “I love it.” 

"Really?"

"Yeah." He shoves his hands into his expensive coat pockets and nods. "Yeah, really. It feels...fitting."

"What do you mean?"

"I don’t know. It just feels like you.”

Your teeth gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you walk to the kitchen. "Well...thanks. I think."

You offer him a glass of water, to which he declines, before you join him back by the door. You're not sure that you’re quite ready to say goodbye, but you know he can't stay forever.

You wonder if you actually want him to.

You wonder if it would be so bad if you did.

"This was…really nice," he says as he takes a half-step through the doorframe. "Really, Dot. I'm proud of you. And everything you’ve done. And I'm really glad that I can still call you my friend after everything."

Your heart starts to pound a little harder inside your chest. "Yeah, me too. I really missed you, Har. I hope we can catch up again soon."

The side of his mouth curls up as his eyes soften. "I'd like that."

With that, he moves into the hall, and you close the door behind him.

The feeling that follows is...strange. Overwhelming. Like something is wrong. Like something has just been ripped away from you. 

Like something is missing.

You feel on edge. Off-balance. Confused and unsure and you have no idea why. There’s a pain in your stomach that wasn’t there before and a hollowness in your heart that didn’t exist before you saw him.

Suddenly, there's a sharp knock on your door. "Dot?"

He's back.

Confused and slightly excited, you swing it back open to find him braced against your frame. He’s quiet as he studies you, brows woven together in what appears to be deep thought before he strides back inside your apartment and begins to pace your floor.

"Okay," he begins. Strained. "Okay, tell me...tell me this isn't just me. Tell me this isn't just in my head."

You shut the door.  "What do you mean?”

He looks at you before frantically gesturing between your two bodies. "This. This thing we’ve been doing all afternoon. Tell me it's not just me. Tell me you feel it.”

And you're almost certain you know what he means, but the implication of it scares the shit out of you.

So, you simply tilt your head. "Har...feel what? I don't know what you're talking about—"

"Us.” He stares at you. “Us, there's something...there's something different here. Something that wasn't here before."

"Like...?"

"Like...like the way you look at me," he says, eyes on yours as you feel your heart begin to race. "You never used to look at me that way."

Your lashes flutter, and suddenly, you feel acutely aware of the way you've begun to gawk at him. Have you been looking at him differently?

"And the way you speak to me," he continues. "Talking about needing someone to take care of you. Someone older. Someone...more mature."

You swallow.

He takes a step closer. "And all day, you've just...you’ve found a way to brush your hand against mine. Or your arm. And you laugh at everything I say, even when it isn't funny. And I know you. I know this can't be what I think it is, but...you gotta tell me I'm not going crazy. You have to tell me it's not just...me."

And you realize now that you have an easy way out. You could brush off the accusation and tell him that it is just in his head. That he's your sister's ex-boyfriend, and he's your friend, and that you would never make a pass at him.

But then you say, "…what if it wasn't just you?"

He goes still, lips parting as he leans back. Almost as if struggling to understand what you've just said.

Truth be told, you're struggling to understand it yourself. You hadn't realized just how differently you'd been acting toward him. Or that you’d begun to wonder what would happen if he was your Harry instead of hers.

Because he’s not hers anymore. He’s just a man. A very attractive man. With a job, and a house, and enough emotional maturity not to make a fart joke every three minutes.

And it's not your fault that you're starting to see him in a different light. It's been years. Five whole years since you've spoken to him and you're both adults now. Completely different people, and would it really be the worst thing if you wondered what could have been?

"Dot…" he begins slowly, clearly wrestling with what he wants to say, "…you don't…I don't think you really know what you're doing."

You take a step as well, challenging him. "What am I doing?"

"You're...you're—" His fingers find the bridge of his nose as he squeezes. Hard. "Fuck, Dot. Don't…don't do this—"

"Do what? Flirt with you?"

His palms fly to his ears with a wince. "Stop. No, you didn't...you didn't say that. You're not flirting with me. You're not flirting with me—"

"What if I am?" you retort, following after him with a surge of confidence you didn’t realize you had. "Why would that be so wrong?"

"Because,” he scoffs, shooting a stern look your way. "You’re Atta’s little sister. And we’re friends. And you’re basically a child—"

"I'm not a child," you remind him. "I'm twenty-eight. I've been making capable decisions for quite some time now—"

"But not this," he hisses, the muscles in his neck straining. "Not…shit. You can't do this. You can't—”

"Why not? You said it yourself, there's something different here—"

"But not this—"

"Why not?"

"Because…you're you," he huffs. "You're...you're my best friend, and my ex’s little sister, and I’m…I’m just this big, bad man come to ruin you.”

And somehow, the idea goes straight to your cunt.

"You're not ruining me, Harry," you say, even though you wish he would. "We’re adults. Old friends catching up and realizing that maybe things can be different now."

He takes in a breath. "But they can't be. They can't be different—"

"Why—"

"Because it's not right—"

"What's not right? What?" you argue. "Is it just the age difference? Is it Atta? Is it that you aren't attracted to me, because I know you were flirting with me, too—"

His entire face twists into a grimace as he inhales sharply and presses his hands back over his ears. "God. Don't say that—"

"You were," you insist. "Like it or not, I'm not the little girl you used to know. All right, and there's...there's nothing wrong with us testing the waters—"

He steels himself, arms dropping back to his sides. "We can't."

"Why?" you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time. "Why can't we? Huh? We're not breaking any rules. We're not doing anything illegal. I don't see what's so wrong with just trying—"

"I'd ruin you," he says again, with so much conviction that it makes your stomach drop. "I would ruin any chance you had at a normal relationship—a normal life. All right, being with me...it would complicate everything. And I'd never do that to you—"

"I'm not asking you to marry me. I'm just asking you to try—"

"Try what?"

"Try seeing." You take another step, making sure you have his full attention. "Just…try seeing if what we think is here is actually here. If maybe we were meant to find each other again after all this time. If this is where it all finally makes sense."

He considers this for a moment. Considers you. And you aren't sure when you suddenly became so enamored by the thought of Harry, but you’re here now. And he’s here. And there’s a shift.

And it feels right.

Then, his head begins to shake. "No. No, I know better. I have to know better. I have to do better than this. I can't...God, I can't believe I'm even...no. No, you mean too much to me for me to ruin this."

You feel your chest deflate as your lips press into a thin line. And you stare at him. You stare and you see the indecision and anguish on his face. You see the way he wrestles with the idea you've given him. The way he wrestles with himself.

The way he wrestles with you.

You don't want to push him. Because you know this is something you can never take back. And maybe there's just too much adrenaline in your veins right now. Maybe you aren't thinking straight, and once he leaves and the moment passes, you’ll wonder what you were so worked up about anyway.

But right now, all you feel is disappointment.

"Fine," you whisper, and his eyes soften. "No, fine. You're right. You're right, this is...I never should have said anything. I was…confused. I was just happy to see you again and I thought it was something else, but…you're right. It's nothing. And I don't wanna be your mid-life crisis. I just want us to be friends again.”

Your tiny apartment falls silent as you both settle onto this conclusion. As you let your heartbreak dangle in the air.

Then, his fingers between to flex and his teeth begin to grit, and watch in real time as he starts to change his mind.

Then, he murmurs, “Oh, fuck it.”

Next thing you know, he's closing the gap between you, taking hold of your face and kissing you hard.

You don’t have time to process it. Don’t even care to process it. But you don’t care. Because everything makes sense now.

So, you feel him. Surrender to him. Indulge in the dominate pull of his hands on your jaw as he takes a taste of you on his tongue. As he presses his hips so hard into yours that you feel your knees go weak.

You make a noise in your throat as he goes deeper, and he growls. Like he's fighting himself. Fighting the urge to take as he begins roughly walking you back until you’re slammed against the wall.

He knows exactly what he's doing in a way that younger men never have. He makes you feel both taken care of and somehow, still completely helpless. You don't have to think about anything with him because he does everything. 

He presses his strong, tall frame into yours until he practically disappears into you. His large hand grips onto the back of your neck as you whimper, taking control of the moment—of you—until the only thought left in your head is just more.

And you don't doubt that he'd give you more if you asked, but before you can, he pulls back, and puts the moment on pause.

You feel breathless. Dejected. Wilting in his hold as he meets your eye and looks for your reaction.

But he won’t find it. And you bite back a whine as you wait for him to come back.

He sweeps his thumbs along your cheek before sighing to himself. "Dot..."

You feel your stomach turn at the nickname. At the way it comes out raspy and desperate. "Don’t say it."

But he does, anyway. "We shouldn't do this."

"I know," you murmur, fingers disappearing into his hair while he seems to nestle into your touch. "I know, but I want to. I want to, Har. So…please don’t make me lose you again.”

Another beat passes before he groans and presses his forehead to yours. “God,” he nearly growls, and the sound makes your thighs squeeze together. “Dot—”

"I won't tell," you promise while his jaw clenches. "I won't, I swear. I'll be your secret."

Just like that, the hand he placed on your thigh tightens. Squeezing until you're squirming beneath him. He’s losing his conviction and you’re losing your patience.

"This is wrong," he mumbles. "S'wrong, Dot. I can't do this to you. Can't do this with you...I can't...I know better. I have to do better.”

You tug on his hair as you straighten up, whining beneath a strained breath. "I don’t want you to do better. I want you to do me.”

He exhales deeply with this, nose running down the side of your face as his lips travel to your neck. He seems to take refuge there, subtly pressing kisses to your throat as he thinks. "I want to," he tells you softly. "You have no idea how badly I want to. How badly I want to do everything for you. Show you how a real man fucks. Until you see stars.”

"Har," you just about gasp, anxious to have him do just that. "Please...please—"

"Fuck." His thigh slots between the both of yours and you writhe against him, searching for anything you might find. "Be so easy to take you. Be so easy to show you what you're missing. To wreck you until you’re begging for more—"

"So do it," you plead, pulling on him until his mouth meets yours. "Do it, Har. Please. Just once. Just once, and I promise I'll be so good. Be so good for you. Won't ever ask you again—"

His hold on you grows more determined before he's ripping you away from the wall and slinging you toward your bed a few feet away.

He’s on you in seconds, hovering about where you lie as you greedily grab for him. "Promise me," he hisses as his palm slips beneath your shirt, and a needy whimper bleeds from your throat. "Promise me that this is what you want."

"I promise," you repeat quickly, arching into his touch. "Promise—"

"Promise me...that you'll be good," he says next, fingers brushing over the material of your bra. "That you'll behave. That you'll do exactly what I tell you."

"Yes," you breathe, eyes falling shut.

"Fucking promise me..." he continues as he scratches down your chest, "...that you won't tell. That you'll be my dirty little secret. That you'll be mine. That you'll let me ruin you and that you'll fucking thank me for doing it—"

The last domino falls. Crashes to the ground as you tug him down to you so you can kiss him. So, you can prove your loyalty. Prove that this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

You feel him smile.

"You little fucking minx,” he purrs.

Your skin warms as Harry's stunned but unceasingly enthralled gaze lingers on the red lace of your underwear. However, his fingers move instead for your hips. His hauntingly empty touch ghosting across the fabric of your underwear as you anxiously await contact.

But he doesn't give it to you. Not quite, not yet. He just wants to look at you. Wants to drink you in. Allow himself the privilege of seeing what he never has before.

"Did you wear these just for me, little one?" he asks in a gravely drawl, eyes flicking up to yours from where he lays between your thighs. 

You swallow as you look across your stomach at him. You're not sure why you picked out this particular set today. Perhaps it was a subconscious choice or perhaps destiny was simply on your side.

"Maybe," you murmur, nails curling into your palm as you work in shallow breaths. God, you need him to touch you. Need him to do something about the mess that's sitting two inches in front of his face.

The very same mess he's pretending he doesn't notice.

Your response encourages a smirk as he hums and glances back down at the little white bow placed delicately in the center. "S'cute, Dot," he says softly, pinching the ribbon between his thumb and forefinger. "Fucking precious, actually. Knowing you got yourself all dolled up. Just to see me."

He pulls his lip between his teeth and glances back over your face. He's amused by the weary and desperate expression you wear and you're two seconds away from groaning.

His touch moves down. Down, down, down until the pad of his finger brushes over your clit. 

You tense before releasing a shaky exhale. 

Satisfied with this reaction, he moves even lower. Until he finds that growing wet patch that's beginning to hurt.

"What's this?" he coos, looking down toward the darkened red fabric. "Oh, darling...s'this for me, too?"

You're not sure where your quippy attitude from before has gone because now you can do nothing but nod mutely as you shift beneath his hand.

"Yeah?" His eyebrow raises as he grins at you. "Is this what has you so anxious?"

You give him another nod.

He hums. "Think I need to see for myself, hm?" He smirks and pats his palms against your hips. "Take these off for me."

You quickly reach down to hook your fingers around the hem of your underwear and drag them down your thighs. Once they've been pulled from your body, you get ready to toss them onto the other side of the bed. But before they can be flicked from the tips of your fingers, Harry snatches them with his fist.

"Uh-uh," he tuts as he tucks them into his suit's breast pocket. "These are mine now."

You suck in a sharp, eager pant. "Har—"

"Shh." He settles back onto his stomach, hands curling around your thighs to guide them apart and allow him a better visual. "M'busy, little one."

But it’s nearly impossible to stay quiet as his warm breath fans across your pussy, making the mess that much more obvious to you both. In fact, you can practically see the glistening reflection in his eye as he studies your cunt in the most intimate of ways.

You're not sure what he wants. What he's doing or planning or thinking. And you don't know why, but the way he stares at you does more for the apprehensive coil in your gut than him actually touching you has.

Finally, he makes another satisfied noise deep within the back of his throat before he brings his fingers back to you.

Two are placed just above your clit before he teasingly drags them down. However, when your hips buck up, he merely shoves them back down with a tsk.

Once you’re still, he starts again. Easing himself through your folds as he spreads you with the utmost glee. Fascinated by the way your body feels, the way it reacts to him.

His tongue sits between his lips as he ventures down, and the moment he finds the pooling of arousal waiting for him...you see the muscles in his neck contract.

"Darling…" The nickname is whispered across your body as he scoots closer. "Bet this hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes," you reply instantaneously, straining around the singular word as you resist the urge to whimper. 

He circles the tip of his finger around your aching hole, almost as if to test you. "Oh, precious girl...how long, hm? How long have you been in so much pain?"

Truthfully, since you hugged him at the diner.

"All day," you say aloud, hands gripping onto the duvet beneath you. "All day, Har. Been thinking about you all day."

And that is the honest answer. You'd been anxiously awaiting your meeting from the moment you woke up.

But he smiles as if he knows better, despite the way he seems to bask in your response. "All day, hm? And what were you gonna do if I never came back? Were you just gonna sit here and rub your pretty thighs together?"

Your heart skips while your hands gather atop of your stomach.

His brow raises. "No? Well then how were you gonna take care of it, hm?"

For a moment, you think this is simply rhetorical, but the longer the silence stretches, the more obvious it becomes that he expects an answer.

You swallow the odd lump in your throat. "How do you think?"

"Uh-uh," he chastises again. "I wanna hear you say it. Want you to tell me exactly how you were gonna fix this little problem of yours had I not been here."

Your head flops back against the pillows as you glare at the ceiling. He's always been rather infuriating but now he's a menace.

"Dot..." He's warning you. Calling you back. Urging you not to be so bratty.

With a tentative sigh, you look back at him. "My...vibrator."

He perks up. "Yeah?"

You nod faintly. 

"Tell me how," he instructs next, jutting his chin toward you. "Better yet...show me. Show me how you've been taking care of yourself all these years."

Feeling rather embarrassed under the spotlight of such an intimate request, you shyly look over toward your nightstand and outstretch a hand. After pulling the drawer open, you slip inside and find the purple wand that's just small enough to fit snugly inside your palm.

And Harry watches with a certain wonder in his eye as you bring the dainty toy closer. Yet, he says nothing while you slowly guide it toward your stomach and down to your thighs.

But he does, however, shift in order to make room, scooting back by a hair to allow you the space you need to place the head right above your aching clit.

For some reason, doing something so private in front of him feels...odd. Strange and almost unsettling. And perhaps that's just nerves, but you can't deny the heat that rushes to your face as he looks between you and the vibrator.

"S'this it, then?" he murmurs, a hint of teasing laced within the remark. "Don't even have to turn it on?"

Your thumb taps against the power button, a nervous tic, although you refrain from switching the toy on just yet. "No..."

His smirk is borderline haughty. "Then what do you do, little one? How do you use it?"

You say nothing. You hold his stare, and you hold a deep breath, and you hold the wand to your glistening cunt.

Then...you flip the switch.

The soft, dainty vibrations echo across the room, across your bodies, and across your clit as it's met with the instant stimulation of the pulsating wand.

You choke on a gasp as you return your eyes to the ceiling, allowing for the feeling to take control of each remaining sense.

And as you do, Harry's hands make themselves known to you as they begin to smooth up your legs, helping guide your thighs further apart once again.

There's an ever-so-slight stretch that follows as your muscles are pulled, and the distinctive burn makes your lashes flutter shut.

"There you go," he whispers. "So pretty, darling. God, could watch you do this all day."

Truthfully, you imagine you’re quite a sight. After all, you’ve watched yourself before. You know how it looks. Know exactly the kind of visual fantasy Harry is witness to right now.

So, you play it up, give him a show. After all...he's got a front row seat.

You rotate the head slowly, circling down and around your hole before retreating and dragging the object back up and through.

And you shiver every time it brushes against that particular sweet spot. Every time the pulses slow just to speed up once more. It's almost torturous the way your body is being bent to such salacious desires. And cruel the way you're forced to do this while he only watches.

A whimper slips free, and you arch off the bed, pressing the toy as tight against your body as you can stand.

You hear Harry chuckle. 

"Easy," he warns before you feel his fingers curl around your wrist, encouraging your grip to relax. "Take it slow, Dot. Not in a hurry, are you?"

"No," you breathe, head shaking zealously. "No, m'just...feels good."

"Does it?" He almost sounds surprised. "Hm. Interesting. Seeing as you're doing it wrong."

Your head lifts.

He glances toward the vibrator. "May I?"

You nod.

Pleased, he slips the toy free from between your fingers and clears his throat. Focused eyes landing on your body as he readies the bullet. 

Then...he begins.

It meets your clit—an innocent, familiar touch—before it's instantly being dragged down. He's slow with it. Giving you enough time to feel each particular flutter and twitch. 

Your soft gasps and grateful sighs carry him further, until the tiny head of the toy is swimming through your arousal. You fall still, attention locked on the man by your knees. 

But he’s still focused. Soft, green eyebrows weaving together as his pretty cherry lips stretch into a smile.

Something changes—everything changes—when he slips the head inside. Your entire body ripples from the vibrations as you stumble over his name and squirm across the mattress.

He only laughs before placing his arm overtop your stomach to keep you cemented to the bed. "None of that. Stay still for me."

"Har," you whisper, depleted of any strength. "Please..."

"What, little one? What do you want?"

"I need...please, I'm..."

"What? Does it feel good?"

"Yes. Yes...yes, feels so good. Please..."

"Please what? What do you want, sugar?"

More. Everything. Anything. "Fuck, I'm—don't stop. Please don't stop."

"Oh, darling," he breathes. "I'd never dream of it."

He takes the toy out and moves it back to your clit, circling gently a few times before pressing down hard. 

And you almost miss the full feeling it provided as it was eased into you, but before you can dwell for too long...Harry's extending his fingers and slipping them into your cunt.

Not one, but two of those beautiful digits push past your walls and begin to stretch you, ripping a gasp from your throat at the simultaneous stimulation. 

"Attagirl," he murmurs from below, and you can hear the smug undertone. "That's what you wanted, hm? Needed something to fill you."

Your chest heaves, the red lace of your bra lifting and falling as you roll your head back. "God, Har—"

"Tell me, darling," he continues, easing himself out just to push back in. "Were you gonna use your own fingers? If I wasn't here? Gonna ride your pretty little hand?"

You can't tell if he already knows the answer or if he just wants to picture your hand between your thighs.

Either way, you pant out, "Mhm."

"Yeah? How many, honey? How many were you gonna use?"

"...two."

He tsks, seemingly disappointed with this answer. "Just two? Hm. And would it have felt like this, darling? Would they be able to do it for you the way mine can?"

To accompany this ask, he curls upward, nearly yanking the pleasure out of you as you choke on a cry and writhe away from him. 

"Fuck—" Your teeth tug on your bottom lip. "Shit, Har—"

"Is that a no, then?" He thrusts his fingers out and back in again. "Would you have gotten yourself this wet...with just your own hand?"

The sound of him slipping through your arousal meets your ear as you groan and look down.

"No?" He adds a third finger while making sure to keep the wand of the vibrator exactly where it needs to be. "What about when you thought of me? Would that have done it for you, sugar? Thinking of me while you soaked your sheets? While you dripped down your knuckles as you fucked yourself?"

You've never heard a man talk to you this way. You already knew his experience superseded that of any man you'd been with before but this. None of those other boys ever knew how. But Harry...God. He knows just what to say. Knows exactly what you need to hear, and it overwhelms you.

"Har...Har—"

"Need an answer," he reminds you, but when you refuse to offer him one, he takes himself away. His fingers, the toy, his body. Leaning away completely as your pussy goes completely quiet.

"Harry," you just about moan, pushing up onto your elbows to leverage the playing field. "You...I'm...I was just—"

"Disobeying," he answers for you. "That's what you were doing. And I don't think that's fair, do you?"

You frown. You know this tone he's taking with you. Authoritative and condescending. It makes you huff. "Fine. I'll try again."

"Good girl," he murmurs, nodding at you as if to encourage confidence.

"I...wait, what was the question again?"

He smiles at this, releasing an amused chuckle beneath his breath before crawling back to you. His hands find the mattress beside your hips and he settles between your parted thighs, lips dangerously closer now.

And you can smell him. Smell his cologne, and his aftershave, and his shampoo. Can feel the heat radiating off his body, even through the expensive suit. Can see how much he wants to take care of you—ruin you. As promised.

"Do you get yourself this wet...when I'm not around?" he repeats, and the tip of his nose brushes against yours.

Your breath hitches. "No."

The answer was always obvious, but you know he needed to hear you say it. 

"Do you touch yourself...the way I touch you?" 

"No."

"Can you make yourself come the way I can?"

"God, no—" you gasp before taking hold of his face and smashing his mouth against yours.

His lips are perfect and his kiss is perfect and the two of you are perfect together. A connection so seamless, so effortless...it's as if you were always meant to be.

A ridiculous notion, you think to yourself, but right now...it's quite nice.

He pulls himself back just enough to meet your eye and offer a devious grin. "Then let’s find out, hm?"

Rough fingertips travel up the length of your inner thigh, forming goosebumps in the wake. You shiver, ready to receive his touch once again before he dances right past your cunt, and up your hip. 

He moves for the lace on your chest, tugging on the wire between your breasts with a disappointed tsk.

"I want this gone," he decides, plucking it from your skin. "Need to see all of you, Dot."

And before you can even reach back to undo the hook, he's looping an arm underneath your back, lifting you up, and flicking the clasp free. 

Once done, he yanks the bra down your arms and body before flinging it somewhere behind him.

Your eyes shut as your naked chest is revealed to him, heart hammering against your ribcage.

But then, you feel those lips again. He wraps his mouth around your left nipple before you can even whisper his name, sucking on you as though he's determined to make you see stars.

Which you do the moment his teeth pull on the sensitive skin. And you can't help but mewl as his tongue flicks cruel and merciless patterns against before moving for your collarbone.

He groans as he goes, situating his knee between your legs and pressing it directly against your cunt. His other hand gropes at your right breast, kneading at the tender flesh until his mouth reaches your neck. He nips at a vein just below your jaw and you arch up into him, chest knocking into his.

He sucks sweet bruises into the curve of your throat before licking apologies over the newly ruined skin. It's slow and painful and beautifully good.

Everything about him is beautiful and good.

His entire body seems to cater to yours as he cages you to the mattress and easily pulls whimpers from your throat. As he touches you, and pleases you, and knows you in a way nobody else ever has. 

You grind yourself against his leg before glancing down. And that’s when you notice the way your arousal has begun to soak through his nice pants. The way a dark little patch seeps into the fancy—and expensive—material. A sight both erotic and humiliating.

Your whimper forces his eyes to where yours reside, and he smirks when he sees your mess.

"What's the matter, little one?" he asks, taking his hand from your tit and using it to grab onto your jaw. "Are you embarrassed?"

You nod, despite his hold.

"Oh, my dirty little girl,” he hums. “I don't mind you soaking my trousers. But I'd rather you soak my cock."

You'd rather that, too, and you're more than grateful when he leans back to undo his belt. You don't know where this will lead you. If you’ll fuck him and then lose contact for another five years. 

Or if you’ll fuck him and change everything.

But right now, you don't mind. You'll happily exist in this moment with him. In these bad decisions until you're coming so hard, you forget your own name.

He leans back to begin ridding himself of his clothes and you scramble upward to help him along. Your greedy hands grab at his jacket and his shirt, wrestling them down his arms and off his broad chest. Wanting to see him the way he can see you.

You nearly moan when his inked skin is revealed to you. You knew he'd gotten a few tattoos in college, and even some a bit after. But seeing them now, painted across such a tan, toned canvas makes your head spin.

"Easy," he laughs, reaching out to swipe his thumb beside your mouth to collect the pooling drool. "Save some for me, hm?" 

But you can't. Instead, you take his finger between your lips and bury it beside your tongue.

Surprised, his lashes flutter. But once you realize he won’t be able to undo his pants without both hands, you regretfully pop his digit free. Allowing him to slip out of his briefs until his cock springs free.

He’s…perfect. Still. Somehow. Red and swollen and leaking just for you. And you clench from the mere thought of having something so beautiful inside you.

You crawl closer, eager for a taste, but Harry simply grabs hold of your chin.

"Yes, little one?" he murmurs, using his other hand to hold his cock. "Did you want  something?"

You nod and lean forward another inch.

"All right," he concedes, pumping himself before subtly tugging you down. "Just a taste, honey. Since you've been so good."

He leads your mouth to him and without a moment's hesitation, you outstretch your tongue, and drag it along the underside.

You revel in the way you feel him twitch. In the way he exhales a deep breath through parted lips while moving his fingers to your hair, guiding you closer but not too close. Just enough to get him on your tastebuds.

You hum when you reach the tip, eager to indulge in the pre-cum already beading in pearly drops. And the vibrations from your eager appreciation make the muscles in his stomach quiver as he curses your name.

However, you barely get the chance to wrap your mouth around him before he's yanking on your hair, and straightening you back up.

"What did I say?" he hisses. "Don't be greedy, Dot."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, swallowing the bit of him still lingering in your mouth. "M'sorry, won't do it again."

"No, you won't. Or I'll go back on my promise."

"No," you whine, needy fingers wrapping around his wrist to keep him close. "No, won't do it again. I promise."

You know he’s amused with your desperation, and even though you're slipping fast, he can't help but be entertained. "We'll see, little one."

With a fervent motion of your head, you scramble back to the pillows to lay down, legs spreading as if to invite him in.

He smirks as he strokes his cock a time or two more while settling himself between your thighs. You imagine he could have you in a number of ways, a plethora of positions. But he chooses this. He chooses to see your face this first time. To see every ounce of pleasure etched within your features.

And truth be told, you don't mind. You could stare at him forever.

"Do you have any condoms?" he asks next, dipping down to press his lips to yours for only a second. "Or would you prefer to go without?"

You consider this. You're on birth control and you do have a bit of a creampie kink, so you shake your head. 

"Without," you answer quickly before lifting an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like to?"

"No," he chuckles, placing a kiss to your nose this time. "Just wanted to make sure. Promised to take care of you, and that's what I plan to do."

Your heart flutters.

"Okay, gonna need you to be good, honey," he tells you now, large palm landing on your hip to steady you. "Gonna need you to take me and do as I say, all right? And I'll make it worth it."

"I will," you agree quickly, fingers traveling up the dips in his arms, ghosting over each muscle until you reach his shoulders. "Be so good, Har, promise."

"Uh-uh." His hand smacks against your inner thigh in warning before his thick eyebrow cocks up. "S'not my name, darling. Not right now."

Curious as to what he might mean, you study him for only a moment before you realize.

"I'm sorry, Sir."

Just like that, something in his demeanor switches. 

Truth be told, the name doesn't do much for you. But you revel in the way he feeds off it. Find absolute euphoria in the way he lights up at your obedience until you want nothing more than to please him again. To call him anything he wants as long as he keeps looking at you like that.

"Good girl," he growls beneath a deep breath before he's bringing his cock closer.

He starts by dragging it along your clit, making you jolt and buck before his hand splays across your stomach to force you back down.

"No," he says simply, eyes fixated on the torture he's currently implementing. 

He does it again, letting your swollen, puffy clit jump from the slight brush of his tip while he drags it through your arousal and shifts forward.

"Breathe," he orders next, stealing a quick glance at your puckered lips and wide eyes. “All right?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He slides in slowly, pushing past your tight walls, coaxing the muscles to stretch to his size.

At first, it's nothing more than a soft, easy sensation. Relaxing, in a sense as it aids the ache and fills the void his fingers left behind.

Then...he goes deeper. 

And this is what you'd been waiting for. The slight tension and subtle burn as your body is forced to accommodate him. You're thankful he goes slow. Not just because of the pain. But because you both want to watch.

You want to watch the way he pulls your body apart. Wanna watch him disappear into your tight hole that pulls him in. Wanna watch the way you flutter and clench and claim him the way he’s claiming you.

"Oh, that's my fucking girl," he groans to himself. "Fucking hell, Dot. Didn’t think you’d be so tight."

"Yeah, well…never had someone like you before," you tease, gauging your body's reaction by slowly rolling your hips up. 

"Yeah?" His hand lands on your throat, smoothing up the sides of your neck until he can squeeze a gasp from your lips. “Never, huh?”

You shake your head and with one quick thrust, he bottoms out, forcing a strangled cry as you arch into him.

“Never had someone stretch this pretty pussy the way it deserves, yeah?” He tsks again. “What a fucking shame.”

He rears back, and the pain and the pleasure that follow him out make your chest cave in.

However, he’s quickly driving himself back in before you can complain, pushing past the fluttering muscles once more as you keen and rake your nails down the blanket.

"Harry," you breathe, his name like a lifeline as you drown in his sin. 

But it earns you another firm smack to your outer thigh as he grunts his disapproval into your neck. "No," he warns before nipping just below your jaw. "You know better."

But really…you don’t. "Sir...please," you amend.

"Hm. S'a good girl," he praises. "Knew you'd behave for me, yeah? My perfect little toy—"

A rather debauched moan rips from between your gritted teeth as his hips ram into yours. You can feel him everywhere. In your stomach, in your head, in your heart. His legs against yours, his chest against yours, his entire body against yours until you're almost convinced he's gonna become one with your bloodstream.

Not that you'd mind.

His arm slips beneath you once more in order to lift you up and provide him with a new angle. Then, he thrusts himself into you again as your mouth hangs open in a silent gasp for air.

"There she is, that's what you needed. Yeah, little one?' He does it again, brushing against that one spot that makes your toes curl. "The other boys never did it, did they?"

You whine, knees bending besides his hips as you attempt to follow after him when he pulls back. 

But he's quick to tut and knock you back down onto your ass. "No. You don't rush me, darling. We do this my way. On my time. If I wanna stay here and fuck you nice and slow, then you’ll behave, and you’ll fucking take me.”

You’d like to agree, but he’s thrusting himself back in before you can.

"You will thank me for taking my time," he continues in a coarse cadence that seems to reverberate from his chest. "You will thank me...for being so goddamn good to you. And you will thank me…for doing it right."

"Harry, please—" you just about wail, hands finding his arms as you grasp on for dear life.

But the fingers around your throat tighten until the edges of your vision begin to blur.

"There you fucking go again," he growls, stilling his rhythmic attacks as he meets your eye. He seems to enjoy watching your focus go fuzzy. "Starting to think you like to be punished, hm? And here I thought you had a praise kink."

You clutch onto his wrist, nails scratching along the veins in his arm as he pounds into you at a harder pace.

But you don't mind. You enjoy watching him give into the voices inside his head. Enjoy the way his chocolate brown curls sweep across his forehead, the way his eyebrows weave together and the muscles in his jaw constrict.

For a 34-year-old man, he seems to possess quite a bit of stamina. He'd mentioned earlier his enjoyment for running and exercising, detailing his rather excessive and diligent routine.

And you'd smirked because you'd assumed he was showing off or because he was trying to stay ahead of the inevitable "dad-bod" in his future.

But now you understand why he's really so meticulous. He's a long way from looking his age. Apart from some subtle, but soft crinkles near his eyes and a few gray hairs that peek through the auburn waves, he looks rather youthful. 

And his body. You swallow another noise as you let your hungry gaze trail over every inch, every muscle, every quiver in his thighs as he braces himself above you.

Sir feels like a more appropriate title to you now. Because he is. He is your superior in this moment A man to be respected and revered. Someone who not only knows better,.but knows you. Knows your body and how to play it like an instrument. 

There's something exciting about submitting to him. Something tantalizing about being at his mercy. Most of the other men you've been with have felt more like your equals than anything else. Which you haven't minded in the least bit.

But the way Harry has managed to fit you into the submissive, subservient role so quickly suggests that perhaps...this is where you were always meant to be.

Beneath him.

"Oh, honey," he coos, a mix of condescension and amusement. "Can feel you squeezin' me. Need it so bad, don't you? Need to come, hm?"

"Yes. Yes," you whisper, nuzzling your face into his neck, lips eagerly pressing into the salty skin at your disposal. "Please, Ha—Sir. Please let me come. Can't...can't hold it—"

"You will,” he says before he’s grabbing hold of your wrist and hosting it above your head. Burying into the pillow and preventing you from reaching for your clit. “Forget it, Princess. Told you to take me. So you will. Exactly how I tell you.” 

"Sir—"

"I said no. I plan to keep you here for quite some time. Plan to feel you coming around my cock as many times as I see fit. And I expect you to behave for me the way you promised. Can you do that? Or do I need to stop?"

"No," you gasp, tears springing to your eyes at the very thought. "No, no, please—"

"Then what are you going to do?"

You swallow a moan and lift your chin proudly. "Take it."

A pleased smile crawls across his face as he hums and dips down to press his mouth to yours. "There she is," he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip. "My good girl. Try to remember that, yeah? Or I'll keep you here all day."

However, that’s something else you wouldn't exactly mind, and you shiver as he pushes your knee into your chest.

"Fucking hell, Dot," he mumbles, eyes falling back down to where you're coating his cock. "Oh, my perfect toy. Look at the way you treat me, honey. Treat me so well, fucking soaking me, aren't you—"

"Yes, Yes, please…"

"I know. I know, little one. Feels so good to be filled, yeah? To be fucked the right way—"

"God, yes. More...please—"

"More, huh? Need more? Need me to make it better? Need me to fucking take—"

Suddenly, your phone rings.

The soft, melodic chime cuts through Harry’s vulgar response, bringing the moment to a close as his thrusts falter and he glances over.

God, you hate that stupid, evil, sadistic machine. Right now, you wish you'd never bought it. You wish you could throw it again the wall until it shatters into a thousand fucking pieces so as long as he just keeps going.

Instead, he searches your nightstand for the small device before he's releasing your leg in order to reach for it. 

"No, Har," you plead, attempting to grab onto his hand. "Just let it go to voicemail, it's fine—"

"But that wouldn't be very polite, now, would it?" he tuts, glancing over the screen. "And I think you need to take this, darling."

"Harry, please—"

"Shh," he says sharply. “You're gonna take this phone call and you're gonna use your word. And then, and you're gonna come for me."

His thumb hovers over the green button and he guides the phone to your ear. 

"And you're not gonna make a fucking sound," he adds, dropping his voice to a threatening hiss before pressing the receiver to your ear. "Or I fucking stop. Do you understand?"

You do your best to nod, and he smiles before tapping the screen.

Through a slight quiver, you say, "Hello?"

"Hey! Long time no talk, babe. How are you?"

Your eyes just about pop out of your head.

Atta.

Her cheerful tone and eager greeting make the blood drain from your face as you look up at the man hovering above you.

"Speak," he mouths with a wicked grin while nodding his chin at you. 

But you can't. You physically cannot get the words to come out of your mouth as Harry keeps the device glued to the side of your head.

"H...hi," you stammer, forcing a more confident cadence. "I'm...good. How...how are you?"

"Oh, I'm good. Good, yeah," your sister replies, and you hear a bit of shuffling. "Been working a lot. Got today off, which is nice. God, you'd never believe how much shit we have to go through since we changed our filing system—"

"Mhm," you reply right as Harry rams his hips into yours.

You gasp and quickly turn your head away from the phone in an attempt to keep the excitable noise from making it into the microphone. 

However, he uses his other hand to grasp onto your jaw and force you back. "No," he whispers, shooting you a stern look of warning. "You know better."

"—which is wild because we've been using the same program since '08," Atta is saying, although you can hardly hear her over the imminent pleasure rushing through your veins. "But...whatever. Once we're done, it'll make things so much easier. Which will be nice. I can cut back on my hours—"

"Yeah, mhm," you repeat, and it's outrageously strained as Harry pulls himself out, leaving you depraved and so goddamn empty.

You have to fight the urge to cry out for him, glancing down at the string of arousal that follows his cock. And it's almost too much for you to handle as you greedily reach for him once more.

However, he bats your hands away and brings his free fingers from your chin to your clit, rubbing into the sensitive nerves until you arch up.

"—so, yeah. What about you?"

Your eyes squeeze shut as that tightly wound ball of pleasure in your stomach expands. "I'm...I...good. I'm...good. You know, not...not a lot going on. At the moment."

Harry smirks to himself before sinking all the way back in and thrusting up.

Your lip fights its way between your teeth and you writhe beneath his chest while praying for the strength to stay quiet.

"Well...I guess no news is good news, yeah?" she chuckles. "Oh, hey, speaking of which...I heard that Harry's in town."

That's not the only thing he's in. 

"Oh?" you squeak, placing a palm on Harry's chest almost as if in retaliation. "He is?"

"Yeah. Saw it on Facebook," she answers, and you hear her move around. "Figured he might try to reach out. I know you guys are still on good terms, right?"

"Me and Harry?" you repeat pointedly, garnering a curious look from the aforementioned man. "Uh...we're...yeah. I guess. But we’re not…that close."

He grins.

"Well...I just thought I'd let you know in case he does," she says, and your lashes flutter shut as the guilt begins to find you.

"Would it be weird...if he did?" you ask before the patterns being traced against your clit make you whimper.

Terrified, you quickly cough in an attempt at burying the sound, but Atta doesn't seem to hear. 

"I mean...maybe? I don't know. He and I are fine, I think. And I know you two were friends. I guess you could at least...check on him. Make sure he's doing okay."

"Yeah," you breathe, sneaking a glance up. "I'm...I'm sure he's doing just fine."

Harry smiles once more before moving his palm to your thigh and pressing it into the bed to spread you at a different angle. 

"I hope," Atta sighs. "Anyway, I wanted to call and check in. Just to make sure everything is going okay for you—"

"Mhm, yeah. I'm...I'm glad you did," you blubber while attempting to send Harry a pointed look. You're close. So fucking close, and if he keeps going...

"Are you sure you're all right? You sound a bit flustered—"

"Yes. Yes, yes, I'm..." Your head shakes quickly, nails scratching down Harry's chest in warning. He needs to stop. He needs to stop or you won't make it. "I'm fine. I'm...a little under the weather, but I'm—" 

Suddenly, he sheathes himself inside your cunt, face burying in your neck with a groan as your entire body shivers.

"Are you sure? You kind of sound like you're in pain—"

"Listen, Atta, I...I gotta go—" you gasp, so close to your orgasm that you can practically taste it. “I’m sorry—”

"Oh, yeah. Hey, text me, okay? Just let me know that you're all right—"

"Mhm, yeah, I will—fuck—"

It happens before you can stop it. Ripping through every muscle and fiber in your body as you rake your fingers down Harry's back and choke on a moan.

Thankfully for you, Harry has already ended the call and thrown the phone to the other side of the room so he can loop his arm beneath your hips and tug you up into his body.

"Go," he breathes. "Give it to me. Come on, little one. Just like that. Good fucking girl, just like that. Let me feel you—"

Your room fills with the sound of his name, dancing effortlessly between the whimpers that follow.

It feels like you've touched heaven. A sensation so overwhelming and euphoric that you don't even realize his hand has returned to your throat. Don't realize he's squeezing your neck in his tight fist as he comes, filling your cunt with everything he has to give you.

You don't even realize you can't breathe, but you love it. Love the way he presses his teeth into your shoulder and presses his body into your chest. Until you're trapped against the mattress while you live through the high. 

Every joint in your body aches. Radiating pain and pleasure all at once as you hook your leg over his hip and snake your arms around his neck.

And you keep him inside of you for what feels like hours. Even after you've regained a bit of consciousness. And a bit of common sense.

Perhaps the moment he pulls out, you'll realize the mistake you've made. You’ll realize that this isn't a secret you can keep. Or a choice that you can ever choose again. And maybe he’ll realize it, too.

But until then…

You’re happy to have your Harry back.

~ Masterlist

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@cinnamonone @triski73 @lemoncrushh @vamprry @lady-lamb21

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[queeniewithabeanie]

Yes I Have Parents, No My Mom Isn't Poison Ivy

Dpxdc Prompt #15

Fact: Danny Fenton has dark hair, blue eyes, an insatiable need to protect others, and (as of recently) lives in Gotham.

This fact makes him prime "adoption bait" for The Batman.

Fact: Danny Fenton is not an orphan.

This fact is.. a bit of a hurdle, but didn't stop B with some of his other kids.

Fact: Danny Fenton's mother has auburn hair, green-tinged skin, a PHD, and has a tendency to make things a little more animated than they should be.

This fact leads the Bats to make the perfectly logical conclusion that Danny Fenton's mother is none other than their very own Pamela Isley.

Fact: Danny Fenton's mother's name is Maddie Fenton.

This fact is the only one on this list that the Bats aren't privy to.

Dick: Black hair, blue eyes, honestly Danny you look like prime adoption bait for my dad. Danny: Huh really? Well my sister and mom have red hair and neither of them have blue eyes. Dick:...hmm

Tim, noticing that Danny's skin is actually a pale green: Hey uh did you know that your skin is green? Danny: Oh yeah, my parents work with so many chemicals it practically runs in the family at this point. Tim:...hmm

Jason: going on a rant about literary themes Danny: Listen man, while my parents have PHDs I'm a highschool dropout. I'm from a science-y family, we didn't really do language arts at my house. Jason, pausing for a second:...hmm

Damian: Now Fenton, do you know how to care for living creatures or do I have to postpone you meeting Titus to be certain you won't immediately do something disgraceful. Danny: Oh yeah I totally know how to care for animals. Well not animals exactly, but my mom and pops are real big into reanimation. Damian:...hmm

Tim, staring at the file for Danny who for all intents and purposes just appeared one day in Gotham with no history: He's totally Ivy's son isn't he? Damian: I do believe that is a probable assumption. Jason: Oh yeah, 100%. Dick: For sure, doesn't mean we can't get B to adopt him though!