#she got a wham

[jazzyvlogs]

No I am not simping for a fucking ROBOT

I MADE THIS MONTHS AGO💀

[purge-samauwu]

Lowkey need a "she got a wham" edit for laser hawk. I feel it in my bones.

[mipmoth]

It's only me and you in this cruel world walking radiator

[airyelbreezy]

Mr puzzle headcanons because im thirsty :(

____________________________________________

(I have way too many images of him...I have over 100../srs)

• headcanons! •

He loves how short you are compared to him (if ur not short I don't believe you. Your NOT taller than him.)

He HATES rock or metal.

Classical music gives him a headache

His antenna on his hat are actually his (somewhat) ears :D

He can't ride a bike.

Does NOT take off his gloves.

Nasty bitch.

Wipes his screen every 30 minutes or so.

Has you see what he wears for the day, bonus points if you rate his fits in stars.

Sorry hut he loves ratings more than you.

Technically your his only friend.

"Uhuh! I have the bestest friend ever!!"

'Partner, puzzle.'

"EVEN BETTER!!"/ref

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

Whines like a little bitch when you turn off the TV.

Will not apologize for his poor behavior.

Is not a good person, do not love him.

Okay maybe he is a little touch starved but you can figure that out!!<3

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-__-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-__-PHOTO DUMP.

Not even all of them.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO REQUEST!!

[hierba-picante]

Made fun little cucumber blueberry snacks to go with my guinea pigs' brunch today! :D I still have a habit of making 9 or 10 of things, but I have 8 piggies rn :]! I got a few cute pics to share below :D!

My girlie Slurpee loves both blueberries and cucumbers, but she has more of a sweettooth- so I'm not surprised she ate her berry first hehe >:]

Then there's pigs like my boy Beelzebub here- he loves berries! He just gets distracted very easily and was more curious about the crunch from his cucumber :]

Sippee needed help with hers, she got bored with her cucumber before she could reach her favorite part- the berry! She left the snack right by her sister's butt :[

She figured it out once I put the berry under her nose :]

I wasn't able to grab pictures of the others, mainly because they sometimes like to hold it right under their chins or they just didn't want their snack as much! I love my piggies :']

[fulfillingbineeds]

this is so stupid lmaoooo- shower thoughts come to life.

[chewablepebbles]

One of my moms has a CAT that likes to rough house with me, which I readily obliged to in the beginning, but now she's starting to set traps using bait to get me down to biteable level and it's honestly impressive and very scary to me.

[ahollowgrave]

Once bitten, twice shy (idiom): used to mean that a person who has failed or been hurt when trying to do something is careful or fearful about doing it again. // i keep my distance but you still catch my eye.

There is a spark of flame not far from you. You close your eyes so you don’t roll them. You make a mental note: pray for patience.

“Please, don’t smoke in here.”

From the shadows of the hallway of the house your Aunt left you is a particular silence. A certain stillness that asks: ‘What the fuck?’

The flame is snuffed out.

And when no glow of embers is forthcoming:

“Thank you,” you are pleased with how soft your voice is. How pleasant. Despite the way your stomach twists in on itself.

Then, as coolly as you can: “Oh, great Aunt, I wish you would stop looming in the hallway.”

A grunt.

With the click of a heel, and another, and another, your Aunt Odile steps into your office. She leans against the doorway in that precisely nonchalant way that makes you certain she’s practiced it. Her raven’s wing hair is pulled up and stuffed into a perfectly mussed bun.

You are annoyed instantaneously.

“Hello, blessing,” she greets you. Her voice is a sun-warmed drawl and you adore the way she drags words out. Which irks you further. (You shy away from examining why.) Odile continued: “Sure wish you’d just call me ‘Odile.’ Picked it special and all. Or even just ‘Aunt’ if you must.”

Her head tipped down and her peculiar eyes watched you from beneath dark brows.

“‘Great’ makes me feel old,” she added and you watched her face - which is your face, but not - smirk in a way you have never. Would never.

You felt repulsed.

And guilty.

She was trying which you find outrageously frustrating.

She was only trying now. She could have been - should have been - trying the whole time. She knew about you the whole time. ‘Watch from afar’ she said. Why? What was so dangerous about a child that she had to watch from afar whilst you --

Your jaw is clenched painfully tight and you work it lose with a smile. “I’ll try, Aunt,” you put a heavy layer of false reverence on the title to imply the age anyway. It is a small and cruel gesture. And any pleasure you feel is lost in a rush of guilt.

Guilt that is wasted as Odile only looks amused, further vexing you.

You are left staring at each other. In the silence you watch Odile begin to do something horrifying: work her courage up. You panic.

“However, I’m exhausted. Could this wait?”

It’s not a lie, more a half-truth. You’re a terrible liar.

Odile straightens, expression folding into that too-easy smile. “‘Course. Was just swinging by to tell you night, anyway,” a lie and you marvel at the ease at which it is spoken. As she turned to leave she spoke over her shoulder:

“I am a patient woman, little niece,” there is emphasis on ‘little.’ A shot returned. “Walls fall down. ‘Tis one of the only things they can do.” It should sound like a threat, and it would, were it not for the thread of hope woven between the words.

Your smile if only to bare your teeth.

Something inside you growls in satisfaction.

As the click of her bootheels retreats down the steps, you decide that anything Odile has to work her courage up to say is not something you want to hear. Not now. Not yet.

Your anger cools immediately, freezing crystal clear and precise. Carved of ice. It sits heavily at the bottom of your heart.

[quixtrix]

the way yall were talking abt ly the fairy had me thinking she was built like megan thee stallion why is she built like stickman woman. the body is jus average. shes beautiful, jus not a leg queen.

[pebblezone]

succumbing to the illness. becoming a hater. anyway look at this building they’re fucking destroying

[i-heart-danielle]

[nereidprinc3ss]

bambi

in which spencer reid and fem!reader fuck like they missed each other (because they always do) and he teases her for her shaky legs

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom spencer, piv sex (riding, a first for nereidprinc3ss) /oral f receiving (in that order) mentions of him accidentally grabbing her hips too hard, slight somno SORT OF like he starts going down on her while she’s sleepy and then she kind of goes in and out but its all consensual, sorry haters i fucking love sleepy sex and I always will, teasing, lots of praise, fluffy, established relationship, he loves her badddd, aftercare, literally nothing bad happens no angst for once they just are having sex cause they are in love which is arguably the most superior kind of sex! a/n: I don’t think I’ve ever written smut that is so wham bam thank you ma’am like really we just get RIGHT into it!! also no gif no pics we r going old nereidprinc3ss on this one I hope you loveeee!!!

You roll over onto Spencer and kiss once, long and deep and sweet. He hums into it, too whipped to pretend like he’s got self control or respect, hands finding the soft skin of your bare waist and settling there. 

How it got to this point so quickly, no more than fifteen minutes after he walked through the door, you can’t say. Usually the two of you are a bit more domestic when he gets home from a case, but eight days is a long time to be apart, and the trail of clothing leading from the welcome mat to the foot of the bed attests to that. 

So does the lack of teasing, of begging—at least, a lack up until this point. Right now, there’s only him, patient and content to let you play at being in charge. You pull back and reach down to grab him gently, aligning him at your entrance with a trembling hand. This part, you’re not usually responsible for. 

He assures you with a hand to the small of your back, rubbing soothing circles. “You got it. Slowly.”

You do as he says, brow furrowing in focus as you sink down an inch or two onto him. Spencer’s breathing grows erratic as you take more and more of him, and in a heroic display of overachieving, you take the rest of him at once with nothing but a squeak. He laughs breathily as his fingers dig into your hips. 

“Fuck—I said slow.”

You can’t think. The overwhelm of it all is too much as you crumple forward onto his chest. The subtle rocking you’re doing to try and alleviate some of the pressure in your core is apparently too much as he stops you by the hips, fingers pressing into those same tender spots.

Spencer’s breath is ragged. “Don’t… do not move.”

“Fuck,” you breathe into his shoulder, long and drawn out as despite his wishes you wriggle around, trying to get comfortable. “Oh my god.”

“My lovely girl, please… please don’t move,” Spencer gasps, a plead, and you try to stop for him, nuzzling even deeper against his neck. “I need a minute.”

“It’s too much,” you slur, dizzy as you try to adjust to the feeling. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for. Maybe relief from the sensation that he can’t offer you. Maybe more. 

Spencer is undone by you—the way you writhe on top of him, the way your voice shakes, the way you’re so totally and completely overwhelmed and he can feel it and he loves it. 

“Baby,” he breathes, and he meant to say a lot more than that, but it’s the best he can manage when he is this overstimulated. “Baby,” he whispers again, wrapping his arms around you in an effort to ground you, to give you something else to focus on as you both get used to the feeling. 

It’s going well—for a moment, before your back is arching. 

“Spence, I need to move, I can’t—”

“Okay, okay.” He takes a deep breath, returning his hands to your waist and mentally preparing himself not to cum early. He’s desperate to give you want you want, to feel you like this. “Go ahead. Move, honey. Please.”

By the time you slowly lift your hips up and drop back down with a low cry, Spencer’s lost. His head falls back against the pillow and his eyes squeeze shut. 

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh, angel, I missed you.”

You do it again, motivated by his praise, and he can hear your little gasps and desperate gulps of air. 

“I missed you so much,” you whine and clench around him, pleasure so intense it’s a resounding ache in the far reaches of your body. “Oh, fuck, Spencer.”

Spencer shivers. He loves when you make it personal, when you say his name like that and it becomes clear this isn’t just about the physical.

“My girl. Just like that. Doing so well, baby, just like that.”

Each pass of your hips has you whining. Your lips skim over his neck, not cognizant enough to actually kiss—only to know that you want the contact. 

“Please can I go faster?”

Spencer almost doesn’t realize you’re speaking to him he’s so lost in pleasure. The idea of faster is as compelling as it is troublesome. Spencer doesn’t know if he can’t take faster, not when he has you like this, but he certainly wants to find out. 

“Yeah, lovely. Do whatever feels good.”

You readjust and begin to pick up the pace, stumbling over a few false starts as it’s clearly more sensation than you’d been prepared for. 

Spencer, on the other hand, has his eyes screwed shut tight, and is attempting to draw a two-dimensional Császár polyhedron on your back, but he loses his place with every twitch of your hips, so eventually he decides to trace imperfect Mandelbrots down your spine—anything to avoid thinking about how the pH of your body interacts with sweet vanilla perfume to create a scent so deeply intoxicating he’d leave his entire life behind just to trail after it, or how you fucking feel against him, on top of him, around him, how miraculous it is that you keep letting him touch you—

“Oh—” you whine quietly, a strangled sort of noise that has his heart skipping. Your hand tangles desperately in his hair as you rock your hips faster and faster and he lets out a tortured groan. “Spencer, oh my fucking god.”

“I know, baby,” he manages, endeared by the fact that you feel so good you have to share it with him. Even now you’re trying to explain it because you want him to be part of it—as if he doesn’t know exactly what you’re feeling already. “That feels good, huh?”

“Mm—f—eels—” you cut yourself off with a cry into the crook of his neck, and he holds the back of your head, vision greying as he stares unseeing at the ceiling because if he looks down this’ll be over too soon. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”He hears you gasp at the same time as your rhythm falters, and presses a kiss somewhere indiscriminately on your head. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod desperately, rutting against him hopelessly as your thighs tremble from exertion. 

Even the smallest drop-off in friction has his head spinning like he stood up too quickly, so he gives himself enough leverage to start fucking you. You cry out and shift your weight like you’re going to try and evade the feeling—self-sabotage, you always do this—and he again has to hold your hips in an iron vice, just to force you to feel it. 

“You’re okay, I’m gonna get you there.”

“Fuck!” You very nearly yell, still trying to wriggle away up until the very last second like the tide going out before the tsunami comes. When you do cum, your demeanor instantly changes—you get heavy and clingy and whiny as you rock back and forth through your orgasm. 

“Good girl,” Spencer murmurs, being careful in the way he continues to fuck you until he reaches his peak as well, not long after. You shudder, and Spencer feels the way your entire body tenses the way it sometimes does after a particularly strong orgasm, and he fights his way out of the brain fog to rub your back with the skimming tips of his fingers. “Shh. You’re okay. Relax, baby.”

And you do, unwound by the dance of his hand and with a few shallow breaths that gradually deepen, until you’re once more slack on top of him. 

“You’re incredible,” he exhales, with his lips pressed to your hairline. 

So clearly overwhelmed, the only response you can muster is a soft squeak. Spencer laughs fondly, still mapping the soft curve of your back. He feels the way you’re still attempting to train your breathing and kisses your hair again. “What do you need, angel?”

“I’m s’posed to be taking care of you,” you slur. Spencer chuckles again and his brow knits. 

“According to who?”

“According to… I was on top…”

“Yeah. You did all the hard stuff. Your legs are shaking.”

You whine softly. “No they’re not.”

His hand slides down to your thigh, and he rubs the trembling muscles. 

“No? No Bambi legs for me this time?”

You squeeze them around his waist like you could shrink away from his touch. “Spence…”

“I’m teasing you, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “You’re cute.”

“Hm.”

“Look at me,” he murmurs, angling his head expectantly as you slowly raise yours. The look on your face is so sweet—eyes half lidded, lips swollen and much higher in color than usual. Your cheek is warm to the touch. His heart flutters like it did on your first date, and the first time he kissed you, and the first time you fell asleep on his shoulder. This view will never get old. “Wow. Look at you, beautiful girl. Can I have a kiss?”

And you grant him his wish, with a long, soft kiss that’s worth every second of that burning feeling in his lungs, every time. 

Eventually you huff out the remainder of your air against his well-kissed lips and your head flops to his chest. 

“I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep,” he murmurs, so warm from your kiss he feels nothing could be wrong in the world at this moment. 

“I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause you just got home ’nd I missed you and I wanna spend time with you.”

“We have three days to spend together. If you go to sleep now, we’ll actually get more time together tomorrow.”

“But it’s more about, like, how it feels—how much time it feels like we spend together right when you get home, and if I go to sleep now, it’s gonna feel like less time, and—basically you’re just not understanding my math.”

“What math?” He laughs, continuing to rub your legs all the way up to your hips, at which point you hiss and buck—a very visceral feeling when he’s still inside of you. “What? What hurts?”

“You tried to fucking tear my hip flexors from my body, is what hurts,” you grumble. 

“Tender?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m really sorry, angel. Tylenol?”

“Mm-mm. Can you kiss me better?” Sleep stains your voice. Spencer smiles to himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Lie down.”

Again you whine as you slip off of him, landing heavily on your back. He sits up, watches with so much affection the way you squeeze your thighs together and arch ever so slightly against the empty feeling. 

“Spencer?” You whisper as he cups the top of your knees. 

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

He pushes your legs apart gently so he can settle in between them and kisses you again. “I love you. So much.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

He presses a kiss to your head, down your neck, taking the scenic route to your hip bones, but you don’t seem to mind. 

The feeling of his lips gentle on the tender flesh has you humming softly, eyes fluttering shut as he showers you with gentle kisses. His traces every place his fingers had pressed earlier—feels the way you relax further underneath him. Nobody’s ever let him in this deeply before, but you trust him with everything you have; your body, your soul, in life or death, awake and in sleep. He’ll never take that for granted. He will never pass on an opportunity like this, to be the one who takes care of you, who puts you back together, as long as you’ll let him. 

Still dancing the line of consciousness, you part your legs, the slow drag of your bare thigh like a jumper cable to his heart. Fingertips trace desirous paths up your inner thigh and back down again. He recognizes this invitation for what it is, and he knows exactly how to give you what you want, but he asks first anyway. 

“Was that on purpose?”

“I d’know what you mean. I’m so sleepy,” you slur, and he believes the��second half of your statement to be fact. 

Spencer pushes your thigh a little higher, and you’re completely pliable for him, completely gorgeous. As soon as he skims your thigh with a barely-there kiss, exactly the way you like, you’re lacing a hand in his hair. 

“Please, Spence…” you murmur, and he can’t argue with that. He especially can’t argue when you widen your legs just that slightest bit more, and your arousal is opalescent between your legs. 

He hums, trailing more kisses up until he’s setting the softest one yet against your clit. “Beautiful girl…”

The following gasp is so tiny he could’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to your noises—and then he gets lost in you, making sure to keep his ministrations light as you already came twice recently and are sure to be sensitive. He doesn’t want to wake you from whatever twilight half-slumber trance you’re in, either, sensing that if he does you’ll fight all over again to stay up.

And admittedly, he adores being trusted to take care of you like this.

Your back arches as much as you’re capable of in this state, and he can’t help the way he just barely suctions onto you at that moment, coaxing a sighing moan so sweet and vulnerable and open it gives him chills. Fuck. He really wants to make you cum. But instead he practices patience, tracing you with the tip of his tongue, pressing gentle kisses everywhere you need them—he draws it out. For he doesn’t know how long. 

The first time you get close, your hips begin to roll, and you spout little ah’s, but he talks you back down again, laughing lightly at your angelic cooing, your little sounds of sleepy pleasure. Even now you’re so responsive, moving against his mouth as he slips a finger into your soaked entrance, fucks you for a moment, and then retreats. Maybe he’s being unfair, but you don’t seem to mind. 

In fact, you’re slipping in and out of sleep as he devours you for what feels like hours, one hand pressed lovingly to your stomach, stroking the soft skin there. Spencer’s never had this long to explore you with his mouth and he takes full advantage of every moment, but he keeps all his kisses and licks and touches gentle and reverent and so loving. 

You don’t know how long it’s been, or how many times he’s made you cum when he finally retreats—you half-wake just as he’s finishing cleaning you up. Soon he tosses the towel aside and presses feather-light kisses to each of your cheeks, tear-stained and warm with pleasure. You feel completely drained and completely loved. 

“Hi, sleeping beauty,” he murmurs, climbing into bed with you, at some point having gotten dressed. 

You manage an embarrassed little laugh. More tears crawl down your cheeks as you roll to your side. Spencer brushes them away and pulls you into him, slinging your thigh over his waist. He chuckles. 

“Shaky?”

“Stop,” you whine, embarrassed by his teasing, and hide your face against his chest. “That’s not my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. It’s sweet,” he insists as he rubs your back. And then, a moment later, “So—do you think we’ve spent enough time together for tonight?”

“No.”

He sighs good-naturedly. 

“You’re gonna wear me out, you know that?”

“’F you… can’t handle the heat… get outta the kitchen.”

When he next speaks you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Go to sleep, Bambi. Let’s see if you can��walk in the morning.”

[serafaina]

OK. OKAY. YOU GUYS.

I am LOVING the fucking chocolate guy’s netflix show! It’s FANTASTIC! Anf hold on to your fucking boots y’all cause it’s actually not what I was expecting at all!

Do you miss the gentleness of the Great British Bake-Off? THIS SHOW IS SO KIND AND GENTLE! For fuck’s sake, NO ONE GETS KICKED OFF! No. No, Listen to this! When they lose the first challenge (a pastry one), the punishment is... They get private lessons with Amaury to help improve what brought their scores down instead of competing in the second chocolate challenge. 

When the one black lady contestant messed up the first challenge I was super bummed and like, OF COURSE. But NO. She got lessons! She struggled! she worked hard! and she won a later challenge! GROWTH MY DUDES! They are there TO LEARN and GROW and Maybe Win a Big Prize!

They ALL get to stay and keep doing their best! and at the end the one who did the best overall is the one who gets the money prize!

Look at this lovely line up! they make COOL LOOKING FANCY THINGS! Amaury tells us how he does some of the fancy things he does! They OFFER TO HELP EACH OTHER WHEN THEY FINISH EARLY AND GET PROPS FOR THAT! (not taunted for not using their own time better). The set up even kinda makes the one who is like, I’m in it to win it, is the villain and doing bad. The rest who are like, I’m here to learn and grow and maybe make friends! AUGH YOU GUYS!

Amaury is soft spoken and kind, and has a pretty voice and a pretty smile and that’s nice to watch too. The chefs are talented and artistic and they actually give the THE TIME to make nice things! It’s not “Wham out some half-assed garbage in 2 hours so we can shotgun the production and laugh at your garbage” like most cooking shows nowadays. NO! 14 hour challenges! They’re still hard, but they get to actually make cool stuff! fancy stuff! Stuff I want to look at and cheer for them!

The episodes average 38 min and aren’t a huge time commitment, the first episode being the longest one, and there are only 8 total so it’s not like you have to really get in for the long haul. \

WATCH IT! Pump it! we need more cooking shows like this and less that are sad and mean!

[hairmetal666]

Eddie owns a record store, gets to talk about music everyday. Life is good. Great, actually.

He's consolidating the Christian rock section on a quiet Wednesday morning when it happens. A man with swoopy dark hair, tight dark blue jeans, and a plum Member's Only jacket walks in, and doesn't take his Ray Bans off even once he's solidly inside.

Eddie is awestruck. This dude is gorgeous. Heart stopping. He watches him browse in quiet astonishment, unable to say anything until he blurts, "Can I help you find something?"

The man smiles--Eddie's heart stops--and he says, "Nah, just browsing. Your sign caught my eye."

And he's still not quite with the program, the rich honey of the man's voice taking him totally by surprise. "Ah, oh, it did?" He manages after a few long beats. "Painted it myself."

"No shit? It's great."

"Thanks, man. I also think it's some of my finest work."

The guy laughs. "How can I know unless I see some of your other pieces?"

Eddie's face heats, but he's never been known for having good impulse control. "Maybe you'll get lucky."

Spots of pink bloom on the man's cheeks and the tips of his ears. "And here I was, thinking I was getting special treatment."

Eddie cocks his head, smiles big. "Well, the day's still young." It's so risky and stupid; no way this guy is queer, but he grins at Eddie, laughs a little too.

"That right? Well, tell me your latest recommendations."

"For you?" Eddie eyes him up and down. "Wham!"

The guy's laugh is warm and rich and Eddie wants to drown in it. "Big of you to say for a someone who's only listened to Enter Sandman for the last four months."

Eddie cackles, points a be-ringed finger. "It's a good song! A great record."

"Hey, I've got no problem with Metallica. I just don't think you should be casting aspersions on Wham!."

"Casting aspersions, do you have a word of the day calendar or some shit?"

"No! It's toilet paper."

Their snickers grow until they're both hysterical, needing to lean against a display to stay upright.

It's like he's living in a dream, hitting it off with a beautiful man who just happened to stumble into his store. They catch their breath and Eddie uses the time to grab a record off a nearby shelf.

"Here," he says. "Try this."

"Joni Mitchell?"

"Don't tell me, Wham! fan, that you're too cool for Joni."

"Nah, she's my best friend's favorite. How much do I owe you?"

"On the house," Eddie shrugs.

"Shit, that's generous. Thanks, man. Now, about your art--" He glances at the shiny watch on his wrist. "Fuck, is it really 3:15? Goddamnit, I gotta get going."

And Eddie wants to call him back, doesn't want this dream encounter to end, but he's dashing to the door--

And just like that, the man is gone, the only evidence it ever happened the lingering chime of the bell over the door.

The bell clatters again, and his head wrenches up hard enough it hurts his neck.

"Was that Steve Harrington?" the customer shrieks.

"No," he scoffs. Except. Except. The hair and the clothes and sunglasses and the face and his lips--

"No!?" He feels the way his eyes have gone wide with panic. He didn't just flirt with Steve Harrington. Of course not. Not ever. He would've recognized--

He runs to the racks of magazines in front of the register, grabbing the latest issue of People. The cover features a glossy, polished photo of the man who just left the store. The one who had the highest grossing movie of the summer alongside his co-star, Julia Roberts. The one who, according to the article within, is in Chicago right now shooting a new movie. The one who Eddie flirted with. The one who flirted back.

He groans and covers his face with his hands. At least he'll never see Steve Harrington again.

---

Harrington comes back.

The second time, he's wearing a jewel blue polo and fitted slacks, Ray Bans nowhere to be seen.

"Got anymore recommendations?" Steve asks.

"What?" Eddie's still trying to accept that Harrington came back.

"I finished Joni. It was good. Recommend something else for me."

Fully with the program, he reaches to the rack behind him, handing the vinyl to Steve without ever taking his eyes off him.

"Seriously?" Steve deadpans.

"Tell me you don't deserve it after last time."

Steve studies the cover of Metallica, a complicated look on his face. "Fine, but you have to listen to the album George Michael released last year."

He mimics getting shot in the heart. "After my magnanimous first suggestion, you dare to punish me with Freedom?"

"Think of it more as an opportunity."

"To regret every decision I've ever made?"

"To expand your musical horizons."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Fiiiine. It's a deal."

Steve beams. "Good! Ring me up."

And Eddie, he'd comp it again, but Steve gives him this look that tells him not to try it.

As they pass the magazine racks, Eddie points at one featuring Steve on the cover. "That thing you wore to the Vanity Fair party last month was hideous."

Steve snorts, then laughs. "Thanks. My stylist decided to go for something--"

"--terrible?--"

"Avant garde."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

Steve pays, throws Eddie one last smile, "next time?"

Eddie nods, already certain this time is the last one.

---

He keeps coming back.

Eddie tries not to read into it.

Steve is straight, famously has a girlfriend. former horror movie child star turned cinema wunderkind, Nancy Wheeler. They're always on the covers of the tabloids, in ever more improbable stories about affairs and secret babies and french countryside weddings.

But he keeps coming back. And eventually, they grab dinner. And that dinner becomes lunches, movies, clubs, concerts. Eddie's in paparazzi photos, and there's no speculation about their relationship. Steve has a girlfriend.

But sometimes. Sometimes Steve will rest his hand on Eddie's nape, his lower back, let it linger. He'll trace a finger down the tattoos on Eddie's forearms or the patches of his battle vest. He'll lean too close when they talk, unafraid to press their bodies together. And he catches Steve's eyes on his mouth more than once, his pupils wide.

Over the next few weeks, Steve's gaze on Eddie's mouth gets hotter, his looks longer, and it's killing him. All he wants to do, all he ever wants to do, is close the distance between them, appease the gnawing beast of desire in his chest.

But Steve has a girlfriend.

They don't talk about her, not even when he knows all about Steve's best friend, Robin, and the gang of kids who adopted him, or Joyce and Hopper, his surrogate parents. Never Nancy.

He tries not to read into it.

---

They're supposed to meet for dinner. Steve scored reservations at a trendy new restaurant, but Eddie's late. Astronomically, horrifically late. It's pouring rain, it takes fifteen minutes to get a cab, traffic is a nightmare.

Out of patience and time, he decides to run the last few blocks to the restaurant. By the time he reaches the building, he's soaked to the bone, spluttering harsh breaths through mouthfuls of rain.

Steve is walking in the opposite direction, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

"Steve?" He calls.

He turns and this is the first time Eddie's seen him angry. "You're late," Steve's eyes rake over him, and his face softens in an instant. He takes Eddie's wrist, leads him into an alley where the buildings are close enough to block some of the rain.

"What happened?"

"Traffic."

Steve's gaze go all soft and gentle, and Eddie's knees buckle a little. "You look like a drowned rat."

"Yeah, well." Eddie scoffs. "We can't all be beautiful movie stars."

"You're more beautiful than I could ever be, even soaking wet."

He shakes his head, ignoring the cascade of butterflies; Steve shouldn't say things like that. His vigorous movement sends wet strands of hair slapping him in the face.

Steve reaches out, softly brushes it back.

Eddie stops breathing.

Steve closes the distance between them.

What a thing, to be kissed by Steve Harrington. What a terrible, glorious thing.

He breaks it fast, face red, can't catch his breath. "Nancy," is all he can say.

"Nancy?"

"You have a girlfriend."

Steve's face scrunches. "She's not my girlfriend."

Eddie's mouth drops. "Yes, she is." They went to the Oscars together.

"Eddie." Steve takes a few steps back. "Eddie. I'm gay."

He laughs, an ugly honking thing. "C'mon. What could she possibly get out of that?"

Steve's eyes widen, eyebrows reaching his hairline, mouth pursed in a bitchy line. It takes Eddie a minute but, "Ohhhhh. So, it's all--?"

"It was the best way."

"But you're--?"

"I thought you clocked me immediately! Wham!???"

"That was because of the jacket!"

"Have you ever met a straight man who dresses like I do and likes George Michael??"

"That describes five dudes I see a day!"

"And you thought they were straight??"

Eddie stares into the middle distance, replaying some of those interactions, and--"Huh. Okay. I get hit on at work waaay more than I realized."

"For fuck's sake, Eddie!" He's shaking his head, but Eddie sees the way the corners of his mouth shake with suppressed laughter.

"I'm sorry! You have a very public straight relationship!"

Steve giggles, pulls Eddie close. "Is this okay?"

"So okay."

"You do like me back?"

"Are you kidding! Thought I was going insane, how much I want you."

"And now?"

"Come back to my place?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

And Eddie, he's seen Steve playing at love dozens of times, but this--right here, in a soggy, smelly alley where they're both soaking wet--it's more perfect than any movie.

[r3starttt]

WARM LIKE A GUN

jealous ex ! Ellie

CW: toxic and obsessive behavior. stalking. strap-on sex (r!receiving). use of names like whore, slut, good girl. toxic relationship. spit. clit slaps. cum eating. jealousy-hate sex. teasing. dom! mean! el.

It had become a ritual, a perverted quotidianity. Hands burning at the emptiness, aching to get the smallest tact of your flesh. Tongue sticking out at the tought of you and fingers desperately scratching every fold of her skin pretending it was you.

Not even the cigarette abstinence had such effect on her mind, on her body, on her life. Maybe because that didn't involve skin to skin contact, maybe because that was a sin she didn't actually care about.

She was always this insane, always too focused on the next victim instead of enjoying the achievement of getting what she so much wanted. Obsessively wandering her eyes at the women on the street to find the new target, unconsciously flirting with waitresses and nice ladies at every place she stepped in.

But you made a mess of her.

Ellie really tried to get over you, after all that's wham she wanted - in the very, very first beggining. The result was some half-lided eyes looking for you in every crowd, for an ass like yours, tits as deliciously shown as yours. The image of when she first met your persona never disappeared, and kept on playing with her.

Her mind got so traumatized she kept on looking trough photos and pictures of you to make her remember the real you and not the perception she'd built of you - same she got from when she first met you.

Hands over your hair, running down your body at the beat, a drink in hand and the widest smile she's ever enjoyed of. You approached her first.

Maybe that's why she never forgot about you, because you've chosen her as your target, and not the other way as Ellie was- is, so used to do.

And probably that's the reason behind the violent though of ripping your skin off your body, well, she wouldn't, not literally.

Those same hands that caught her attention for the first time now touching someone else's body. Gripping at a ridiculously short dress to get a taste of someone else's ass. Is that what you've become now? She's not even hot, or nice, or decent. She's a whore, do you like whores now?

No blame on her tho. You yourself wanted to rip your own skin off- same reason, the sight of her.

The woman in front of you wasn't bad. Nice ass, breasts bouncing at her every move, doe eyes trying so desperately to catch your attention by batting her pretty long lashes. Red lips running out of color and painting the glass in hand instead, wandering over your neck in another desperate attempt to get a taste of you.

She was nice, just not your type.

She would've, in any other moment of your life. Just not now, when you have ellie eye fucking you as you so much missed.

You were equally insane, target over target until you got to her. The thing is, she wanted to get rid of you and you never planned on fighting her back.

You regret it now, you should've played a little bit more.

Drink and drink and drink, you were beyond lost on your thoughts the heat and the music. Some feminine hands deliciously dancing over your body, you've got over ellie once again.

Or so you thought because you had to excuse yourself moment later before you got a little bit of councsiousness back. Getting rid of the roaming hands over your body and the multitude of gorgeous women that caught your attention at you every step.

Purse in hand, heels making your feet bleed and your dress barely covering your body anymore. The air hit your skin, made your hair dance a bit and your eyes open wide to make yourself at home as fast as possible.

The sight inf front of you wasn't knew though, a sort of new expensive motorcycle you somehow knew was standing right in front of you- well, resting near a wall, being lightened enough by the fluorescent lights outside the bar.

Was it a neighbour's?

-

It wasn't

It wouldn’t make sense since it's resting again in front of you, now at home.

It would be a psychotic coincidence, Ellie to be more precise. You had no one else in mind.

Not that you actually care either, you looked for her on those hands at the club, on your drink and those red lips that got to touch your skin eventually. You really wished it was her, but not really, you were fine without her and if she got another taste of you, even when you wished it happened, she would go insane. And you weren't in the mood to deal with her.

Or so you thought.

Because the way your hands are intertwined on her hair, tugging at it- says otherwise. The way the palms of her hands are gripping at your flesh also says otherwise.

There's a mix of alcohol and cigarette on your mouth, a tint of weed too. You can feel your lipstick all messy over your lips, you can see it on her face. There's drool connecting both, it's all so desperate and stupid. Humiliating.

Your legs are around hers, keeping her still. Ellie's doing the same, with her hands on your ass, spanking it whenever you try to make this go faster.

Your arms are locked around her neck, scratching it oh so slightly. Her nose tickling your neck, your clavicle, breathing in and out all of you.

You're both aware this is a once in a long time thing, because yes it's gonna happen again just not any soon.

"You've find yourself a new whore to fuck?" Her voice echoes out of nowhere, causing a knot on your stomach. You simply shake your head, enjoying how the tips of her digits dance along your stomach, up your chest. "no?" She whispers once more, her breath hitting your neck, accompanied by her saliva just some seconds later as she leaves wet sloppy kisses along your shoulders.

"You mind it?" You hit back, relentlessly. In response there's only a chuckle. One of her hands keeping its place on your ass, the other one gripping at your breasts, individually and so desperately it hurts. "You're mine" her response rebounds in your mind, too proud yourself to let her hear what she wants, but "you think so?" Her palms let go of your body, her touch getting deeper on your stomach just to push you. "I know so"

"Oh, is that so?" Your fingertips pass swanning over the hem of her shirt, just the perfect amount to get a taste of her stomach. "Want me to prove that to you?"

Her hands get fully off your body, now placing her palms over her her waistband to get rid of it. You already know what she wants, what you'll receive from her. There's no way she wasn't planning on going back home without fucking someone and fuck it makes your skin burn, what if it wasn't you the one she'd fuck tonight? Maybe you do like- "such a whore williams"

"Sit on it" she avoids your latest mock, simply making herself comfortable and doing you a favor by opening her legs enough for you to fit on her lap.

Her hands roam over your dress, naturally pushing it up your waist. "I'm the whore?" The tip of her digits rubbing circles over your already damped cunt. Your mouth opens very slightly at the touch, trying to contain yourself from giving her what she so much wants, failing.

"Make yourself ready f' me, yeah?" you swear you discern a mocking smile on her face, becoming more visible the more you pass your clothed cunt over her dick. Her hands rest on the sides of her legs, getting the privilege of watching you lose all that attitude you've won the pass minutes.

You whine at the sensation. Thrilled every second, every move- desperate to bounce on her, clenching oh so hurtfully around nothing. Her lips pressed eventually over the crook of your neck, sucking, nibbling or kissing every inch of skin she could reach.

You kept on grinding onto the buldge, letting out small pleads here and there. Whining and mumbling nonsense, helping yourself to keep your body in place by ressting your hands anywhere over her body.

"You think she could make you feel like this?" At the absence of your response, well, a poper one that wasnt lol by a whine out of that pretty mouth of yours, she spoke again "havent even started and you cant speak? Mhm?" One of her hands moved again, down your body. Her palm shoved down the hem of your dress, touching very slightly the tip of your clit, giving it some slapps before actually making small circles above. "So?"

"The fuck are you- fuck" cut off by a sigh, you tried to speak once more "the girl at the bar?" Your legs started to lose their strength, you had to slow down.

"Is there someone else?" If anything, you despised her stupid teasing, her nonsense questions and how she always had her way with humiliating you. "No" you simply whined, feeling the palms of her hands restrict you from moving anymore.

"I'm gonna make you mine" her lips pressed over yours in such aggressive kiss. Underneath you, her hands worked on getting rid of your underwear, getting rid of anything keeping any distance left between both. "m' gonna stretch you n' fill you up" giving the situation your mouth simply let out a whine, letting her know you were beyond thrilled by such idea. Being hers forever, making this games between both end.

Her thrusts start slow, giving you the chance to even ride her. She was getting something else in exchange of course. Her mouth being filled by your nipples, licking and sucking absolutely senseless. That until her hips started to slam into yours. "think anyone else can make you feel like this, hm?" She whispered in between your breasts, eyes fully fixated to your closed and clenched ones. Such delightful scenery for her.

“you can play cool, but I've been watching you" she interrupted herself by the desperate need of getting a taste of your lips. Harshly grabbing your cheeks to pull you closer. Instictively you opened your mouth, giving her all those pretty noises as closely as she wished. "No one's ever got you soaking their fucking cock" there's a mess going in between her and your mouth, everything so wet and messy, and fuck your pretty voice driving her insane.

Her hips kept on diving thrusts into you. Bouncing you up and down onto the soaking plastic, making a mess underneath. Her thighs being equally wet and her clit being hit just perfectly at how you clenched and bounced around the strap.

"Gonna cum f' me?" You nodded, feeling the knot on your stomach get yourself all weak and numb. You could still taste your lipstick, the outline of your lips wet down your chin. Fucking humiliated by her once more.

Ellie started hitting into your cunt with harsher bucks, desperately to make you cum, she felt close. Wet and obscene sounds filling the room. Smacks that splattered the slick shared, groans and a stoic figure wuickly replaced by whined and shacky hands roaming over your body, playing with your ass, gripping it so harshly.

Her eyes wanderer over your face, down your body, enamored by the creamy arousal that drowned your pussy leaking down her cock so deliciously. "Can't- Ellie" and just like that there was such pretty mess down your thighs. Your unsteady breathing accompanied by whines. Fuck she would never get over you.

Her fingers quickly plugged inside your sensitive cunt, clenching around her for one last time. All to stuff you back in and get a taste of her hard work.

Months of watching you fuck with random girls, wanting to get rid of them the moment they came outside your house. Months of wishing it was her making you feel this nice. She'd achieved it.

Her fingers popped into her mouth, kissing you next, almost instantly. She had to share, didn't she?

"Always such a good girl f' me, aren't you?"

[miffysite]

໒ྀི she got a wham ♱

you slap his ass then run away ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

︿ ⠀gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna