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xxsabitoxx · 3 months

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Gojo Satoru NSFW A-Z

Part of my 20k follower celebration (past due)

Warnings: if it isn’t abundantly clear, this is smut :)

A/N: in honor of hitting 20k followers a while back, I’m going to be posting 10 NSFW alphabets for JJK men — scheduled post 4 :)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Satoru is a mix between affectionate and exhausted. He’ll shower you in kisses and soft praises while yawning, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. He’ll mumble something about cleaning up after a nap, even if you’re squirming because you’re sticky he’ll assure you that after his nap, he’ll clean you up.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Satoru loves your thighs. He honestly loves every part of you but something about your thighs just draws him in. He loves to lay on them, squeeze them, hold them, feel the straddling his face… they’re just so soft. He can’t get enough.

Satoru is pretty proud of his hands. He enjoys the way you compliment them, the way they feel slotted in your own. He loves the way they make you squirm and whine, he loves it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Satoru can be a bit of a pervert, he has a fascination with cum. He’s very partial to coming inside of you or at least on your sex. Something about the sight of his pearly cum covering you or leaking out of your entrance drives him absolutely insane. Satoru is also rather fascinated by his cum staining your underwear, especially after a quickie. He’ll see his own release dripping out of you and hike your underwear back up before you can clean yourself.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Satoru is a panty sniffer and he tries to be sneaky about it. He’ll find your used underwear in the hamper and use them to get off, sniffing them while tugging his cock or using them to aid jerking off. What he doesn’t realize is you purposely leave your underwear around for him to “find”.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Satoru has a good amount of experience, enough to know what he is doing. But he can also argue that his consumption of porn videos and raunchy hentai aided his abilities. He’s a hands-on learner so it’s not surprising that he got a hang of things pretty quick.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Satoru enjoys just about anything but he likes positions where he can be really – and I mean almost suffocatingly – close to you. Mating press, missionary, spooning, cock-warming, etc. Anything where he can fucking squeeze you and keep you from getting away.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

Satoru is fairly serious but that doesn’t mean he won’t make sly comments or even joke with you a bit. He adjusts his own “humor” to what you like. He wants you to be comfortable so if you seem to relax more when he jokes around and talks to you a lot while fucking, he’ll do it. But he’s also capable of keeping the talking to a minimum, letting his body do the work while praising you endlessly. Though if one of you fumbles around a bit, he will not hesitate to chuckle. He thinks its really cute so don’t take offense.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Satoru’s hair down there matches the hair on his head, he rather likes that so it’s very rare that he’ll shave or wax it bald. Though, again, if you request him to, he’ll do it. Satoru maintains himself very well, cleaning himself every day and trimming every 1-2 weeks.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Satoru can be disgustingly romantic when fucking you, especially when he’d close to coming. He tends to blabber a bit, telling you how perfect you are, how much he adores you and needs you, that he loves you. He means every word of it too. He’s always down for less serious, playful sex, but he’ll still make sure to let you know how much you mean to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

1-3 times a week depending on his schedule and how long he’s away from you. He’s not shy about it, taking time out of his busy day to get off when he absolutely needs to. He claims it clears his head, sometimes he really can’t focus if he’s too worked up.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Satoru really enjoys praising (both giving and receiving). Truthfully, he’s really into bondage and shibari but he can get shy about it. He just likes the idea of restraining and being restrained. He supposes it can count as a kink, but he really likes fucking you while you wear his blindfold or eye wraps. He finds it hot, especially since you can’t see what's coming next.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Satoru knows himself and his body well enough to know he will knock out after sex 9/10 times. His favorite places to fuck you are all within your own home… and within range of your bed. He loves to fuck you on a bed of course, but he also enjoys just about any surface of your home. He even made it a little game once you moved in together, keeping mental notes of what rooms he had fucked you in and what rooms he still needed to.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He feels a bit basic for this, but cute clothing and cute lingerie really does it for him. He enjoys when you dress up, maybe wear something sexier, but he’s very drawn to the pastels and laces on the various lingerie you like to buy. Sometimes it’s just as easy as batting your eyelashes for him and Satoru will find his cock twitching to life.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will NEVER force you to do anything, but he is also willing to try just about anything you desire. Satoru draws the line at slapping and intentionally hurting. Even if you beg him to hit you, the most he’ll offer is a spank on your ass or chest but he’ll never slap your face.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Satoru is addicted to you going down on him. This man lives for blow jobs and he is not ashamed to admit that. He also adores going down on you, considering himself very skilled in that aspect. But fuck does he love it when you suck him off.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the mood and your preferences. Satoru will tailor your sex excursions to fit your needs perfectly while still taking himself into consideration. Naturally, Satoru falls into the rough category with his hips moving quicker than he can handle sometimes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Satoru is down for a quickie so long as you promise him caffeine or sweets after. I’m serious when I say this man will pass the fuck out after he blows his load. He prefers taking his time, not having to worry about being late for an event or being walked in on. Though he never really cared in the first place, people can wait on him.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Satoru will try anything at least once. He’s not shy with experimenting and isn’t afraid of risks. He understands that bodily functions can and will occur while trying different things (such as anal or pegging for example) and he understands things can… go down. But he’s fine with that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Penetration wise, Satoru is a one and done kind of guy but he can push two or three if he’s really worked up (both hormone wise and adrenaline wise). When inside of you, Satoru can last between 5-8 minutes. But he makes sure to get you off as many times as you desire before getting himself off and calling it a night.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Satoru has no shame in using toys, both on himself and on you. He thinks they’re fun, and he finds no competition with them. Rather he uses them to enhance the experience instead of letting it do all the work. He’s very partial to the “magic wand” vibrator he bought for the two of you to use. Going as far as to buy a backup for when the original stops working.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Satoru can and will tease you until you are sobbing but he makes up for it by making you come as many times as you can handle. He’ll never leave you hanging, even as a punishment. He’d rather overstimulate you than leave you with nothing because he knows how frustrating that can feel… and he just wouldn’t feel right about it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This man does nothing to keep his voice down or his volume to a minimum. He is moaning, cursing, whining, whimpering, begging, he has no shame in any of the noises he makes for you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Satoru has toyed with the idea of a threesome but would give you full reigns on who the addition would be. He doesn’t mind if it’s a man or a woman, he’s not picky. But the more he toys with the idea the more he realizes how possessive he is over you and can’t bring himself to approach the topic with you. He’s not self conscious, he just… he thinks nobody can satisfy you like he does so why waste their time for a mediocre experience.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

When soft he’s about 5 ½ inches (14cm). When it's hard, he’s just shy of 7 inches (around 18cm). He’s girthy, enough to need preparation before entering you but nothing too painful. He’s pretty straight, a slight curve to the right but it’s not very noticeable. He’s pale, a flushed pink tip with veins running along his shaft. He’s very pleased with his dick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Very high but he can control it well. Satoru can get a bit cranky if he doesn’t have sex at the very least four times a week. Even then he considers that to be too little. But with a busy schedule he’s not always home so it can’t always work out in his favor.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Literally within thirty seconds. He’ll keep himself up for as long as it takes to get you comfortable and settled in his arms and even then he’s out within two minutes.

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arachine · 1 year

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— ❝on this fateful night...two hearts danced.❞ ˚₊✩‧₊

ᥫ᭡ pairing :: neteyam sully x human! reader

ᥫ᭡ synopsis :: in omaticayan culture, a young na’vi male does not yet become a full fledged adult until he passes one of two rites of passage: 1) choosing an ikran, and 2) carving a bow from the wood of Hometree (and/or choosing a woman). reader is now 20, and the only man she’s ever loved is expected to choose a wife soon. one day when she overhears a rumor concerning neteyam and the first woman in line to betroth him, reader is struck with grief, ultimately venturing off deep into the forest where she knows nobody will follow her—somewhere forbidden. however, unbeknownst to her, a certain someone follows her trail…

ᥫ᭡ genre :: mature

ᥫ᭡ general tags :: 18+ (explicit sexual content, explicit language), angst, fluff

ᥫ᭡ content warnings :: characters aged up to 20, use of alcohol, inebriation, size kink (kinda), vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), male masturbation, overstimulation, riding (no penetration), m/f ejaculation, squirting…i took some things out but i think that’s it?

ᥫ᭡ notes :: what a long week this has been…but we made it! i cannot believe the first thing i post after being on hiatus for months is blue alien sex. anyway, i hope you all enjoy. also, be mindful that the dialogue switches between formal and casual. it’s something that i noticed neteyam and kiri do a lot in the movie. for what reason? idk…but the big font after the read more is intentional bc ik some ppl complain that the small font hurts their eyes :3

ᥫ᭡ word count :: 7.2k

— playlist :: spotify link

“You have been wandering off by yourself a lot lately…”

There goes that attentiveness, you could never put anything past her—Kiri, that is. She was just too good (to a fault), and though her keen eye and emotional intelligence were extremely useful, they were also the most aggravating traits about her.

Now, you could just tell her the truth about the place you’re always wandering off to, and you also could confide in her about the thing that’s been plaguing your mind recently—but you don’t, because you know better.

For a split second, though, you hesitate telling her. The lean girl tilts her head, eyes flitting between your face and the satchel in your hands. Smoothly, you pull the satchel across your body and shift it to rest behind you—out of sight.

Kiri seems to notice your apprehension, and so, she peels her eyes from the bag, offering you her full attention by resuming eye contact once again. If she has even the slightest hunch that you’re hiding something, she doesn’t voice her suspicions.

“Well, I won’t pry, sister. You know that I am always here to listen,” she reassured, reaching out a gentle hand towards your face. You let the tips of her fingers graze your cheek, the warmth of her hand providing transitory comfort.

The two of you exchange sweet smiles before you pull away. It was getting dark, and the longer you stayed here, the harder it’d be to avoid the very thing you were trying to get away from—the very person you were trying to get away from.

“I know, Kiri,” you grabbed her hand, encasing it between your own, “I know…but—I have to go. I promise I’m alright. I’ve just…been doing some thinking, and I think I gotta sort some things out with myself before I can be around the rest of you, you know?”

There’s a silence between the two of you, and you’re not exactly sure if she’s taken offense to what you’ve just said, or if she’s carefully choosing her words. You decide on the latter though, because the last thing you want to do is make her feel as if she’s done something wrong, or if anyone has done something wrong. This was entirely on you; you and your stupid, selfish human heart.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she replies, squinting her eyes. Again, there’s a silence, but you can tell she still has something to say, like she’s mulling it over. “Will you at least be here tonight? You know, for the big feast? Everyone will be here, even Neteyam,” the girl tsks playfully, shaking her head as she walks circles around you.

Immediately your body stiffens, and she responds to this by teasing you, “Or, I could just save you something…or maybe i’ll ask Neteyam to save you something since he’ll be the most important man tonight.”

“And why would you do that?” the words leave your tongue before you have the chance to process them. It reads rather defensively, but you ignore it. “I mean, why—why ask Neteyam?”

“Because he’s your friend…” kiri pokes you, “because you love him,” she whispers, only this time her voice is a lot more serious, a lot quieter—a whisper. This is when you get that feeling again.

That weird, achy feeling that leaves your stomach in knots and your throat all puffy. The sensation is debilitating—suffocating, and the only way you know how to ease it is by doing what you had set out to do in the first place (though, you were swiftly interrupted).

“Don’t be silly, Kiri,” your smile drops solemnly, “we’re…friends, just friends. Besides, he’s going to be spoken for soon. There are a lot of Na’vi women who would make fine mates…” Your voice decrescendos into the forest night air, the conversation lasting a lot longer than you’d anticipated. To stop your solemn mood from being expressed outwardly, you quickly turn around, looking back once to speak.

“Anyway, I have to go now. I’ll see you later.” Kiri nods and waves bye, her eyes watching as your small frame disappears out of her family’s tent.

A cacophony of voices and music fall on deaf ears as you make your way through the village. The preparation is beginning, but all you can think about is him. Him, him, him.

And ever since you overheard a rumor that Neytiri and Mo’at had chosen the next in line to become tsahik after Neytiri, your heart stopped beating…because you knew. You knew exactly what this meant—the end.

Neteyam was to be a future olo’eyktan, after all. And in Na’vi culture, the future head of the clan and the future spiritual representative were to be betrothed. You knew that, and yet, you couldn’t fathom it. Because then it’d be the end.

The end of your late night rendezvous, the end of your special talks, the end of your banter, and your clandestine glances—your whispers. The ones that were quiet, and innocent…the ones that tingled the shell of your ears. Meant for him and you only.

It was selfish, really. Stupid. You knew the day would come when he’d have to grow up and fulfill his duties as a Na’vi male. Just not this soon though, you wanted to hold onto him a little longer. And if drinking your pain away to preserve those precious memories could do that, then you’d do it.

Lost in your train of thought, you don’t register that you’ve walked yourself right into the heart of a crowd until you bump into a young na’vi child. Apologizing, you then attempt to squeeze through the sea of bodies, tapping lightly on people’s legs until you reach the front. The people were cheering, celebrating the hunters’ return and the game that the Great Mother had graciously given them.

Slowly, hunters had begun pooling in from the forest on direhorseback. Then, they started coming in clusters, all ululating, and pumping their fists in the air while holding their dead game in the other. Your head turned in awe as each hunter rode past you, the energy of the people so contagious that your sour mood was starting to dissipate, even if just a little.

Thinking that was the last of the riders, you begin walking again, but the sound of heavy hooves striking the ground halt your movements. Turning your head back to the trees, you see something moving behind the shrubbery, and then enters none other than the man of the hour: Neteyam. If the people weren’t cheering before, they were definitely cheering now—especially since he’d managed to catch an adult sturmbeest (which was a difficult feat).

The direhorse strides slowly through the crowd, and stops in the centre on Neteyam’s command. Nobody can take their eyes off of him, and neither can you. He just looks so strong, and masculine—like his father, even though he’s the spitting image of his mother. Neteyam puts his hand into the air before he dismounts his horse and ushers the people to settle down, and eventually, they do.

He points to the sturmbeest that his direhorse is carrying back to be prepared. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters…” a pause, “we dance! we sing! we feast!” His words excite the villagers again, uluations so loud that your ears begin to ring. Just as you’re about to turn away, his eyes meet yours—he smiles. And there it is. That achy feeling in your chest.

He wants to say something, reaches his arm out to you as if he were silently telling you to wait up, but then a girl strikes up a conversation with him. At first, you’re not entirely sure who it is—and you shouldn’t even care—but then you do a double take and your heart sinks a little more. It was Tsimandi, the girl rumored to be his betrothed.

From this distance, you can’t hear what they’re talking about, so you watch intently. He’s got his head thrown back in hearty laughter, and she’s touching him—actually touching him, her hands wrapped around his forearm in an attempt to pull him further away.

You think if you stay a second longer you’ll actually become a pile of liquid where you stand, so you take this opportunity to slip away while he’s preoccupied.

When Neteyam looks back, he notices your absence. Squinting, he looks around in search of you, and then he sees what looks like a person disappearing into the thick of the forest. Just what is she doing?

“I apologize, Tsimandi, but I must do something,” he begins backing away, a genuine expression etched onto his face, “I will see you tonight, at the feast!”

“Oh, o-okay,” she mutters but he’s already run off. Neteyam calls for his direhorse and waits at the edge of the forest until it comes running towards him. Before he can mount it and follow you, someone calls out to him.

“And where are you going?” the voice queries, tone laced with suspicion. He recognizes who it belongs to and sighs.

“Nowhere, sir,” he dismounts, meeting his father’s eyes, his mother also accompanying him.

“Yeah, I’d hope so. The people are throwing this feast for you, or have you forgotten?” Jake gives him a once over, eyes still boring into his son.

“No, sir. I have not forgotten,” the boy lowers his gaze in embarrassment.

“Good. Go get ready, knucklehead.”

With each trudge through the forest, you were losing more and more sunlight. You’d walked about halfway to your destination when you remembered the bottle sloshing around in your satchel.

Usually, you waited to drink the liquid there, but you decided given today’s strenuous events, you’d have some now. A reward, you tell yourself. Taking the bottle out of the bag, you lift your mask from your face briefly, twisting open the top and taking a big swig.

No matter how many times you did it, the taste always made you gag. Bourbon—is what they called it. It was equal parts bitter and pungent but it did the trick. Helped you to relax, to forget. The first time you came across it, it was by pure accident.

You’d been somewhere you shouldn’t have been, doing things you shouldn’t have been doing. But one thing led to another, and soon enough, you were inebriated for the first time.

By the time you drink half of your weight in liquor, you reach your destination. The old shack. After what happened with the Sky People, Jake’s first rule as olo’eyktan was to prohibit anyone from entering.

Even being somewhere remotely around the area was forbidden. But you were no stranger to disobedience, you’d come here once with Lo’ak (which was your first time actually).

Though, you didn’t get to explore much because Tuk had spoiled your fun by telling Jake. That day was one of your favorite memories, you think. Jake couldn’t stop yelling at the two of you, but all you could do was laugh. Nothing was really even funny, but you couldn’t help it. Seeing Jake’s eye twitch at your outburst only exacerbated it.

Lo’ak was getting the worst of it, and Neteyam fell victim to Jake’s nagging too for not ‘being there’. After a while, he’d dismissed the bunch of you from his tent and as soon as you were out of earshot, the three of you went into a frenzy of laughter. You think back fondly on those memories, all the ones that include Neteyam, that is.

“God, there isn’t a second when I’m not thinking of you…” you sigh in exhaustion, extending an arm out to open the shack’s door. Reaching in your satchel, you pull out two jars full of glow worms (you’ve found that two jars are enough to light up the shack). Ambling over to your favorite spot, you open a cabinet and reach for another bottle of that bitter liquid you willingly put into your body.

It’s still a wonder to you how well preserved these bottles remained over the years, and you’re pretty sure you’ve heard Norm or someone mention that the older the liquor, the better it tastes (which was a lie, but alas, you down another shot).

“Wooo,” a cough erupts from your throat, “yep, still nasty.”

At this point, the liquor is starting to take effect. Warmth radiates throughout your entire body, and you can feel your limbs gradually getting heavier. Being drunk had to be one of your top three favorite feelings.

It either made you: sad, tired, or giggly (maybe even all at once). But now? Now you were feeling sleepy, so you groggily trudge over to one of the beds in the shack.

As soon as your body hits the plush, a cloud of dust filters through the air. It was incredibly disgusting, but you’d slept in worse places. For now, you would lay here…succumbing to a sweet slumber.

Neteyam had gone home without fuss as promised. Go and get ready. Well, he was doing exactly that now, exchanging his previous attire for that of something more formal. He rolled his eyes and huffed. Sometimes his father could just be a…

“Son of a bitch,” the boy snapped, his frustration reaching its peak. He’d been standing in the tent for about 10 minutes trying to figure out this headpiece his mother had laid out for him, but could not for the life of him figure it out.

Giving up, he throws it to the ground and takes a seat with his head in his hands. Kiri slips in shortly after his outburst, bending to the ground to retrieve the item. Hesitantly, she walks over to her brother.

“If you needed some help, you could have called, brother.” Neteyam lifts his head up from his hands to see Kiri towering over him, his eyes breaking contact with hers as she sits down next to him. There’s a pregnant pause, but it doesn’t last for long because Kiri is already opening her mouth to speak.

“What is troubling you?” She asks, forcing Neteyam to turn his back to her so that she can place the headpiece onto him properly. He inhales deeply, then exhales.

“I do not know…I saw (your name) earlier and…” Kiri hums, encouraging him to continue, “and—she had this strange look on her face.”

“Look? What do you mean? Was she angry? Sad?”

“I have never seen it before, sister. She usually looks happy when she sees me…but this look was different,” his voice is almost inaudible when he finishes. Kiri ponders for a bit, tilting her head as if she were mentally putting the puzzle pieces together.

“How come you did not speak to her?” Kiri makes her final adjustments to the headpiece, ushering Neteyam to meet her eyes.

“I was going to…I tried to, but Tsimandi found me before I could,” he fiddles with his fingers. Kiri takes note of his disposition, and she frowns empathetically. Clearly, whatever was going on with you two was something you had to work out together. This wasn’t like either of you!

“But it was not just today either,” he continues, “she has been distancing herself for awhile, have you noticed?” She laughs at this, nodding her head.

“Yes, she has been acting a little strange lately. I think I might know what is troubling her, brother,” the girl takes his hand into her own. “But I cannot tell you. This is something that concerns only she and you…”

Neteyam squints his eyes in confusion, muttering a ‘what’. His mouth opens to speak but he is swiftly interrupted upon Jake and Neytiri’s arrival. He looks to Kiri for some clarification but all she says is: ‘go, go, you have a feast to attend’, followed with a, ‘find her later’.

“Well? Come on, the people won’t wait for your blue ass all day will they?” Jake teases. Neytiri slaps his arm, scolding him playfully.

“Ah, my son, my beautiful son,” she pads to where he stands, taking his face into her hands. “It is time to go, we must celebrate you.”

Jake nods, flashing a quick wink of approval. Together, they all walk out of the tent and through the village where they’re instantly greeted with colorful luminescence, loud music, and food. All things that have been so generously prepared for him. By the time they make it down to the Tree of Souls, everyone halts their cheering to hear what Jake has to say.

“Tonight we eat,” a pause, “in honor of Neteyam’s mighty victory!” Jake grabs his eldest son’s hand, raising it in the air. “He led his first attack against the Sky People and made it back without any casualties!” A sudden roar of praise erupts from the crowd.

Everyone is chanting his name, and clapping, but even amidst all this praise, he can’t help but to think about you. What does all of this matter if you’re not here to celebrate with him?

You’ve been by his side since the two of you could walk, so where are you now? The thought saddens him, but he can’t wear his heart on his sleeve tonight. Not when there’s so many people here just for him.

“For the past 20 years, my son has always been just a boy to me. But now I realize…he is a man—and he has proven himself in front of the eyes of Eywa,” The former marine glances down at his son, eyeing him in admiration. “Enough talking, let us feast!”

Laughter and songs fill the warm, breezy nighttime air. It’s been about two hours since the celebration commenced, and Neteyam has just about made his rounds to every important family.

He smiles warmly as he looks at the scene in front of him: children playing and dancing by the fireside, putting on elaborate performances for the adults still filling their bellies full of food. Everyone is lively—happy, a testament to tonight’s success.

Mo’at is pleased by this especially, she tells him that ‘this is what the people needed’—you know, to boost morale. At some point, when nobody is watching, he slips away from the party to walk around. Unbeknownst to him, someone has seen him.

“Getting tired?” a voice questions from the shadows. Out comes Kiri, revealing herself from behind a leaf.

“Yes, exhausted actually,” he jokes, disconnecting his braid from his direhorse. “No, but I need to find (your name). She has not come back and it is dark.”

“I figured you would leave early, that’s why I covered your ass and told Dad you were not feeling well,” the feline-like girl smirks.

“Do you have an idea where she might be?”

Kiri takes a moment before answering, “I’m not sure…but for some reason, I have a hunch that she’s at the old shack,” Neteyam furrows his brows in confusion.

“Why do you think she’s there?” he queries, “I mean, it is forbidden.” Kiri offers him a shrug.

“I don’t know but if you’re going to find her, do it now while dad still thinks you’re not feeling well.”

With that, he thanks her for the intel and mounts his horse, disappearing into the thick of the forest. On the way there, his mind conjures up just about every possible scenario that might explain your absence.

Were you upset with him? Did he do something or say something that you didn’t like? He wishes he could just read your thoughts because right now, his heart is pounding so rapidly within the confines of his chest, that he thinks it’ll explode.

This wasn’t like you two, everything was always so easygoing. Being with you was easy, like breathing. But this? His heart couldn’t handle this. Yeah, there’s been some distance between the two of you recently but not due to his own volition—it was duty. If he could spend every second of his life by your side, just being kids, laughing with you, playing with you, he would.

He’s trying to recount these last few days, weeks—months. Trying to pinpoint when exactly things got like this between you…pinpoint when you stopped smiling at him with that smile that made his head all fuzzy, and his heart race like a kid running for the first time.

“Ah, everything’s going to shit, buddy,” he sighs, rubbing the side of his horse, “I don’t know what is wrong.” His mammalian companion grunts empathetically, stopping in its tracks at the edge of the forest when it sees the abandoned link shack. Neteyam doesn’t bother scolding her, because even the animals know that this place is forbidden.

“Alright, I will see you later, okay? Stay here,” he pats her, disconnecting the bond. From this distance, he can see that there seems to be some sort of light illuminating from inside the shack.

That alone already confirms Kiri’s hunch. The closer he gets, the more his stomach feels uneasy. He doesn’t even know why he’s nervous, but he attempts to ease his mind (and body) by telling himself that it’s only you. He’s talked to you one on one hundreds of times, so what’s the difference now?

Noises in the distance rouse you from your ephemeral repose. When you stand up, your head spins with the room, causing you to instinctively reach out for the nearest surface available. Whatever was outside had better be non-threatening, because you were not in the condition to be fighting—let alone standing. When you were drunk like this, you couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“Fuck, I’m gonna have the worst headache soon,” you huff quietly, still aware that there might be someone or something outside. The noise is getting closer, and you’re running out of time to find a hiding spot.

Quickly, you grab the closest thing you can to defend yourself (which is literally a jar of glow worms), and crouch down below the window. When you lift your head just enough to see outside, the makings of a silhouette cloud your vision.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whisper-yell, tightening your hold on the jar. Lifting your head up again, you notice that the figure is not in the spot it was previously. Then, the knob to the shack twists, and now it’s opening, and—

“(Your name)?”

You pause your attack, slowly dropping your hand (that’s holding the jar) to your side. A flood of relief washes over you once you register who the voice belongs to. Rising from the ground, you open the door fully to see Neteyam standing in the doorway.

“I almost killed you, you know!” you raise the jar, pulling him inside of the shack.

“I think it would take more than a jar of worms to kill me,” he teases. Rolling your eyes, you continue ushering him further inside, leading him to an area where you can sit and talk.

“What…what are you doing here?” you finally ask, folding your arms across your chest. Neteyam towers over you from this height, so he accommodates you by dropping to his haunches.

“I was worried about you,” the boy confesses, “what are you doing here? Why were you not at the feast?” Suddenly, you don’t really feel like talking anymore. Even though the adrenaline from before was still pumping through your veins, so was the alcohol in your system. You’re not so sure you’d be able to keep your composure long enough to answer without exposing your truest feelings. So, you decide on deflecting.

“Aren’t you the man of the hour? I think you should go back to the party before daddy throws a fit. We both know how he gets when his perfect little son isn’t at his every beck and call…” As soon as the words spill from your tongue, you wince. It came out meaner than you meant, and the last thing you wanted was to give him shit for being a caring friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I didn’t mean that,” you apologize, sitting down on the bed. All he does is sigh, but he takes this opportunity to enter your space, gets all close until his body is nestled between your legs.

“I know…I know, but I want you to tell me what’s wrong, hm?” his fingers lift your chin, “so I can fix it.”

“Can’t fix this, ‘Teyam,” a saltine droplet ribbons down your face. Your head is tilted up with his fingers, but you can’t even force yourself to meet his gaze. God, how pathetic did you look right now?

Here you were, inside an abandoned shack, drinking your body weight in liquor…all while a celebration was being thrown in your best friend’s honor. And for what? Because you were jealous? Because you liked him—loved him?

You knew that eventually your relationship would shift. That he’d take on his duties as the future olo’eyktan, and you’d just be his human friend he hangs with from time to time. How stupid could you be to think things would stay like this forever?

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes, both hands now cupping your cheeks, “don’t do that. Do not shut me out. We’re not like this, (your name), you used to always talk to me about things.”

Things. You’d talk about things. But those things were not like these things. And if he knew what things you were thinking about, the things that involved him…then you two would never talk about things again.

You’re curious, though. What if you just told him? Just told him about all the days you’ve loved him, all the nights you’ve stayed up thinking of him—all the stars you counted wishing for him? At least then, the burden of keeping such a secret would stop weighing so heavy on your heart.

“I..” a breath, “I heard a rumor.” The boy hums, encouraging you to continue. “I heard your mother has chosen her successor.”

“Is that what this is about? Why does this bother you?”

“Because you know what this means! We both know what this means, don’t be dense, ’Teyam,” you droop your head in sorrow, coaxing him to just lift it back up. Only this time, his hold on your face is a lot firmer. His eyes are fiercer.

“No. I don’t, so just tell me.”

“You’re gonna be the future olo’eyktan, and we both know that the future clan leader and the chosen tsahik are to be betrothed,” you start, “there will be no time for me! No more late night talks, no more exploring, no more secret whispers…I mean, I get it, you have duties to fulfill but…I wanna be selfish a little longer. Can’t I be selfish a little longer?”

You say the last line while meeting his gaze. You’re teary eyed and shaking, but you try your best to keep any semblance of composure you have left intact (though, it’s failing). His expression is indiscernible.

It makes you nervous. Sick. And now you’re forcing yourself not to throw up because…the realization that you just told someone your deepest, truest, most vulnerable feelings makes you physically ill.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. Forget what I jus—“

“Are you serious? You don’t get it do you?” Neteyam’s head falls forward, a little chuckle slipping past his lips. His hands leave your head and slither down to your hands. He takes them into his own, eyeing you while kissing the knuckles of each.

The act is incredibly intimate, sends white-hot electricity down the column of your spine. Renders you speechless. All you can do is sit there, too scared that if you move or speak, you’ll shatter into a million little pieces.

“I have duties, yes…but my heart is already spoken for. Always has been.”

“What are you saying, ’Teyam,” your head snuggles into the warmth of his hand. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you want to hear him say—

“I see you,” he whispers in your ear, “you are my most beloved.” The warmth of his breath tingles the shell of your ear, it takes the strength of a thousand men to not scream.

But in this moment? In this moment you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him silly, actually, but you quickly remember the thing on your face preventing your lips from connecting with his. There are truly evil forces conspiring against you.

“I want to kiss you,” you admit solemnly.

“Oh, you don’t know how many nights I’ve spent dreaming about kissing you. Too many,” he jokes, “but I’m afraid if we remove this, you’ll die.”

“Then you don’t have to kiss my lips,” a silence, “you can kiss me anywhere you’d like. Anywhere.”

His green eyes flitter between your face and your body, and then his hands are on you, forcing you to lay back against the bed. You lift your head up and lean back onto your elbows, watching through lust-filled eyes as he begins his ministrations.

He starts from the bottom, works his way up real slowly—too slowly. He’s showing restraint, and while you appreciate the fact that he’s worshiping your body like a devoted follower worships their deity, you want him to ravage you. To eat you up until there’s nothing left but bones.

“’Teyam, please…” you breathe out impatiently. Like the cocky-brat he is, he ignores your pleas, only laughing into your skin.

“Shh, be calm.” The plush of his lips trail up the plains and pastures of your body, up your calves, your thighs (he spends the most time there), and then comes to a stop at the crest of your breasts. His fingers fiddle with the cloth covering your chest, lightly tracing the edges that rest just beneath your mounds.

A tease is what he is. And you didn’t have the time for a tease, so you figured you’d help speed up the process by removing it. Sitting up, you untie the makeshift top and let it fall to your lap, smirking deviously as if you’ve done something so naughty.

“Thought I’d help you,” you grin, wrapping your hands around his neck, “Please, no more going slow…I think we’ve been going slow for twenty years, don’t you think?”

And he gets the hint, once again resuming his assault on your body, but this time with more fervor. More urgency. He’s kissing you everywhere, licking wet stripes over your chest, and leaving love bites in the places where he’s kissed you. Right now he’s acting on his most basic, primal instincts—he’s claiming you as his mate—in the only way he knows how to.

The feeling of his hands on your neck, back, thighs and waist send you into oblivion. But then his hands are creeping up to your tits, deft fingers twisting and kneading, and oh god, you’re seeing stars. The addition of his mouth doesn’t help either.

“You’re so,” a kiss, “beautiful,” a suck, “perfect.” Neteyam kneads one breast while his mouth works on another. He plops down onto a pert nipple, using his tongue to draw circles around the area, his saliva acting as a salve.

A moan (that comes out more like a disgruntled sigh) vacates your throat, and his eyes widen in excitement. The sight of his tail swaying in the background makes you giggle. Cute, you think.

Even though what the two of you were doing wasn’t innocent, you couldn’t help but to feel all giddy. Reaching a hand out, you place a gentle palm on the side of his face.

You trace the contours of his nose, his cheekbones, smooth over his jaw, and then stop at his lips. Your thumb grazes them, first the top, then the bottom—learning. Committing them to memory, how they look, feel, and move under your thumb.

Neteyam is unmoving while you continue to run your finger across his lips—save for his hand, which slowly begins traveling south to your thighs. Experimentally, you push your thumb inside of his mouth, pressing the digit down on his tongue before tracing his cat-like canines. This moment is particularly special, because now it’s you who’s doing the admiring.

The free hand that’s not inching towards your core, skillfully removes the loin cloth around your hips. Immediately, he’s met with your bare sex. It’s smooth—wet, so incredibly wet that it has his cock twitching, and his hands eager to touch you. He wants to taste you. Feel you, all of you.

“I—,” a slender finger rubs your slit, “mmf, see you,” you mewl, cupping his cheek. Neteyam’s eyes widen, he wants to hear you make that sound again…and again, and again, and—

The boy repeats the action. Watches your abs flex and tremble from the touch, and your thighs close in on his arm. Using the other hand, he gently pulls them apart and leaves three open-mouthed kisses: one on your inner thigh, one on another, and then a final one at the top of your mound. The heat from his nostrils make you full body shiver; suddenly, being the only one completely bare is slightly bothering you.

“Do not cover yourself. I want to see you,” his hand finds your cunt again, a long finger pushing into you ever so slowly, “…want to hear those sweet sounds again.”

A soft sigh leaves your lips as you watch his digit push further into you, the drag of a knuckle against your slick walls aiding in the pleasure. You can’t help but to wince at the intrusion, because shit, this was a lot more than what you were used to—using your fingers, that is.

You also suppose penetration would be off the table considering humans and Na’vi were never meant to mate, but it doesn’t prevent you from fantasizing about it anyway. How big was it? Did he touch himself? Use his hands and picture yours?

The thought of him hunching over, rubbing one out, all slick with sweat and pre has your head all dizzy. Your mouth is practically salivating at the mental image you’ve conjured up in your head of him fucking your face, but you know it would never fit. There really are evil forces conspiring against you…

Neteyam’s finger reaching the hilt brings you back down to reality. A forceful thrust that coaxes you to gasp sharply and grab his forearm. After patiently waiting for you to adjust to his size, he begins to move. He sets a steady rhythm, pulling out slowly, then pushing back into you with the same velocity.

Eventually, his movements become less hesitated, and more calculated. Instead of steady and slow, he begins increasing the pace of his thrusts, then graduates from speed to incorporating force.

Every delve of his finger, every deliberate drag and prod has fire pooling in the depths of your belly. Squelches and whimpers ricochet off of the metal walls, and fuck, his dick won’t stop twitching.

It’s grown considerably harder in these past few minutes, and all from just hearing you vocalize your pleasure. When the stretch stops feeling like a stretch, and starts feeling like a ‘give me more’, that’s when you encourage him to add another. And of course, he indulges you.

The same time he pushes another finger in, is the same time he starts rubbing himself. He’s not even really aware of it at first, it’s mindless. He’s just so entranced by you, and the sounds you’re making, the things you’re saying, the way your cunt’s sucking in his fingers—

Fuck. He just finished all over himself. He doesn’t let that deter him though, keeps fingering you through his post-orgasm, taking care of you until you come undone on his fingers.

And the sight is amazing, he can’t stop gawking at the way your hole flutters around him, and the nectar-like liquid that drips down the length of his fingers and onto the bed. He wants to taste it.

“Can I taste you?” he asks. You’re in such a daze that the question doesn’t even register, suddenly too preoccupied with breathing like you’ve forgotten how to.

“Huh? Wha—ohhhh.” His tongue licks a long stripe up your slit. He concentrates the tip at the bottom, lapping at the essence that leaks from there, and then circles back to your puffy bud. Experimentally, he prods it with his fingers, rubbing it in tantalizingly slow circles.

The combination of his tongue and his fingers almost feel overwhelming, you feel like a puppet on a marionette with the way he’s maneuvering your legs around for better access. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was a starved man.

His mouth is slick with drool, and his hands are pressing down so firmly onto your thighs, that you’re sure a handprint will be there for you to discover in the morning. His tongue feels so good on you, so nasty.

The picture is obscene, unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed before. But the thing that’s really getting to you are the sounds he’s making. Grunts and groans, expletives and mumbles. ‘So good’, ‘perfect’, ‘beautiful’…it has your head spinning and your fists gripping for the sheets beneath you.

There’s a knot in your abdomen pulled taut like a string of twine. You can feel it twisting and pulling, ready to come undone at the drop of a pin. The more he works on your slit, the more the temperature rises in the shack.

Was the room always spinning? Did your body always run this hot? It feels like you’ve been thrown into a furnace, and the only source of coolness is the wetness that his tongue provides.

“‘M gonna, mmf, ’s too much!” you jab at his hand in an attempt to push him away. He’s relentless though, still sucking harshly, and teasing, ramming his thick fingers up against your gummy walls.

It feels different than when you touch yourself, more intense. Like something’s sitting heavy on your bladder. Then, snap. The string in your abdomen unravels, bringing forth a flood of ecstasy.

“’Teyam!” you sob, back arching to the ceiling. When he pulls his fingers out, a stream of clear liquid seeps from your cunt. He’s awestruck, staring in admiration as your sweat kissed chest rises and falls rhythmically.

“Look, your legs are shaking,” he points, biting down a laugh, “why are they shaking?”

“Oh my god, shut up!” you feign offense, pushing him backwards with a chuckle. He pretends to be wounded, rubbing his back dramatically, ‘oohing’ and ‘owing’ as he does so. When you finally sit up, your eyes naturally fall to his loincloth, a wet ringlet contrasting starkly against the beige textile.

“Hey…” your voice is hesitant, but teetering on the edge of curiosity, “Can I try something?”

The boy silently nods his approval, shifting his position on the ground when you amble over to him. A look of confusion molds onto his face following the events that involve you plopping down onto his lap and laying him down. He goes to speak but you interrupt him.

“Your turn, right? Can’t put it in, but…I can still make you feel good,” you say, tugging on the piece of fabric that separates your sex from his. Eagerly, he removes it for you and lets the item fall haphazardly to the ground.

It’s big, so big—and pretty too. A beautiful blue hue that matches the rest of his body, paired along with a blushing teal tip that’s oozing pre. You want to know what he tastes like on your tongue…

“So pretty.”

Heat rises to his cheeks, and his tail takes an aquiline form, quivering in rapid movements. His usual, over-confident disposition was slowly dissipating under your intense gaze, and you reveled in it by mocking his bashfulness.

“Awe, the little kitty’s shy,” you mock, tickling his side.

“Stop it, I don’t look like those Earth things,” he laughs, pushing your hand away, but to no avail. You continue to dodge his attempts to stop you, tickling him here and there until he accidentally bucks and pulls you down against him. Embarrassingly, you let a whine fall from your lips…still too sensitive down there, you guess.

There’s a shit-eating grin plastered on his face now, you hate it. “Who’s making noises like a kitty now, huh?” With this, he takes the liberty to do it again, pressing you down hard against his length.

The feeling of your bare cunt against him is electrifying, probably (definitely) not better than him being inside you, but the next best thing. This was supposed to be your thanks to him. But now he’s taken full charge—maneuvering you back and forth, gripping and kneading—it’s cruel.

For someone who’s never mated with anyone in his life, he’s sure moving you around like he has. His hands are all over you—thighs, hips, waist, breasts, it’s almost overwhelming. Every touch, addled with the buck of hips, brings forth a new sensation that is better than the last. You think this would be a good way to go out, right on his cock. One last hurrah before the morbid inevitable.

“You f-feel so good, (your name),” his voice is breathy, “r-really good.” Neteyam’s grip on your arms is vice, partly because he can feel his climax approaching, but mostly because he can tell you’re growing tired.

Swiftly, he changes your positions to where you’re laying on your back and he’s crouching over you. The tip of his head smoothes over your folds when he pushes up, and before he draws back, you can see just about where his dick would rest if he were inside of you.

“I’d be all the way up here,” he presses down just beneath your breastbone, “you’re so tiny.” It sounds so dirty, but you know ultimately he’s just making an observation—regardless, the comment has your stomach churning in excitement.

The both of you watch in fascination as he sheathes himself up and over your cunt, moaning in unison when the tip of his mushroomy head catches against your bud. Euphoric, he thinks. He never imagined that something could feel this good, let alone without connecting bonds.

Still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take too long for you to reach your peak. Neteyam knows that your arrhythmic breathing is a tell-tale sign, and he helps you get there by cooing words of encouragement.

He goes back and forth between ’I got you’s and ‘it’s okay’s, leaving trails of kisses down your body in his wake. The second you finish, you’re pulling him down onto you tight. Moaning and whining into his ear, whispering those same words of encouragement that he whispered to you prior.

“So good, ‘Teyam,” you claw at his back, “keep going, want you to feel good too.” And he does. Unrelenting in his attack against your sex, he comes with a few more pistons.

You eagerly welcome him into your arms when he drops from exhaustion, and hold him there until your erratic breaths synchronize. The both of you are disgustingly sweaty and sticky, but even so, you feel at peace.

You bask in the tranquil quietness of the night, just staring at each other. Soft caresses and soothing hums. Then, Neteyam speaks.

“On this fateful night, two hearts danced…” he whispers, grabbing your hand to hold it over his heart.

“What does this mean?” you smile at him. He ponders over it and then explains.

“My songcord…I want to tell this story,” he starts, “the night when two hearts became one.”

A crystal droplet cascades down your face, “that sounds beautiful.”

#neteyam x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam x reader smut #neteyam sully x reader smut #lo’ak x reader #lo’ak x reader smut #avatar x reader #avatar x reader smut #neteyam smut #avatar the way of water #atwow #awow #avatar smut #avatar the way of water smut

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joelscurls · 6 months

Text

give in to temptation

pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

words: 5.5k

summary: you're in a relationship now — a good, healthy relationship — that doesn't stop you from texting your ex Javi late at night.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, post Narcos s3, porn with plot, smoking, alcohol consumption, explicit smut, sexting, infidelity (I do not condone cheating, but unfortunately it's hot when it's with Javi), reference to masturbation (f), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, use of pet names (cariño, querida, baby, etc.); lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: hi! enjoy 5kish words of dubious morals bc I couldn't get this idea out of my head :)

Humidity clings to the walls, bedsheets strewn across your legs damp with sweat. You kick at them aimlessly, and the cotton grips tighter to slick skin.

In the curve of your palm rests your phone, ringer switched off and brightness turned all the way down — the last thing you want is to wake your boyfriend, dozing next to you as you text another man.

Your fingers are clammy where they wrap around metal, sweat pooling in the divots between your knuckles.

This is wrong; you know it’s wrong, just like every time preceding this one. But the guilt does nothing to slow the adrenaline racing through your veins. If anything, it makes your heart thump harder.

That, and the words pixelated on the tiny screen of your flip-phone.

Javi [2:03am]: I’ve been thinking about you all day, cariño. Got me so hard.

You’d met Javier Peña just over a year ago.

A young woman alone at the bar, you’d drawn him in like a moth to a flame. He had dark brooding eyes and a savior complex that’d been made more apparent with each story he’d shared about his time as a DEA attaché in Colombia, from which he’d recently returned.

Do you miss it? you’d asked, nursing a martini.

Like hell, he’d said. But I have nothing left to give.

I don’t know if I believe you, you’d countered with a wink.

Not an hour later, you’d found yourself in his living room, dress hiked up to your waist as he devoured you.

Sex with Javi was easy, mindless. For a while, his body served as a refuge for you after shitty days at work and arguments with your overbearing mother. A lone beacon in the fog, he was always more than willing to help you forget the stressors in your life. And your own name.

It was passionate, and filthy, and sticky — left your legs trembling and your head dizzy — each and every time.

With him, you didn’t have to talk. Didn’t have to think. It was just sex, with no strings and no labels. Your relationship, if you could call it that, was perpetuated by the transcendent pleasure you felt in the spaces between words, when your mouths were preoccupied.

But when your birthday came and went and you found yourself another year older, an aching feeling settled in your gut — a feeling that time had begun to pass more quickly than it used to. And on its heels came the desire for something more, something you knew Javi was not willing to provide: a relationship.

The decision to end things was mutual, amicable. It was the easiest “breakup” you’d ever gone through. Maybe because it wasn’t a “breakup” at all.

A few weeks later, you’d met Nathan, a law student with a polite disposition and an eagerness to settle down. He’d treated you well, the type to open doors for you and ask about your day. On all fronts, he was a good man — a little boring, but good.

After a month, you made it official. After two, he moved into your place.

And you stopped thinking about Javi, about the way his large hand had fit perfectly around your throat, the way he’d been able to coax you to orgasm in two different languages. No, you only thought about the man in front of you, the one with the steadily growing collection of argyle ties and the unstamped passport.

Sex with Nathan was admittedly different. He didn’t make you cum as quickly or as easily; your body didn’t crave his with the same amount of fervor it had Javier’s. But it was loving, sweet, what any woman would want…should want.

And it was normal that you thought about your ex sometimes when your current partner laid his weight on top of you, that you imagined a different mouth slotted against your neck or on your tits. Because certainly, everyone did that every once in a while. It was harmless.

As long as you never uttered his name out loud, he’d remain only in your head, lost to time to exist there forevermore.

But then came the day in the grocery store, on your date to the cereal aisle to restock Nathan’s favorite, bran flakes. He’d materialized like a ghost of good sex’s past.

You didn’t dare speak to him, didn’t trust yourself to. Under the bright fluorescent lights, you’d felt your palms begin to sweat, your throat constrict, eyes glued to the selection of boxes in front of you. But while Nathan debated between store brand and name brand, you’d snuck another cautious glance at him.

Javi’s expression was unreadable. He’d looked between you and Nathan as if he were trying to solve a rubix cube. One he was becoming increasingly frustrated by. He’d gripped the handle of his shopping cart so tightly, the skin on his knuckles appeared near translucent.

And then he’d disappeared, tiny wheels on the carriage screeching, noise barely audible over your pulse.

The first text came later that night.

Are you seeing someone? it’d read.

Yes, you’d replied. But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk.

You’d quickly established ground rules: messages would only be exchanged after midnight, never two nights in a row, no calls, and — most importantly — Nathan would never find out.

Okay, Javi had said. Just one more rule: don’t use his name with me.

To your right, Nathan snores, the singular catch of an inhale in his throat, and the noise jolts you, face heating as if you’ve been caught.

Then he shifts, turns on his side, away from you. You feel a strange wash of relief. A semblance of privacy that you shouldn’t be after.

You respond to Javier with your tongue between your teeth.

You [2:04am]: thinking about me doing what?

Javi [2:06am]: Riding me. Your tits in my face. My hands on your ass.

Your breath catches, attention abruptly pulled to the incessant throbbing between your legs.

You definitely shouldn’t sneak to the bathroom and touch yourself. Shouldn’t send Javi a grainy photo of your fingers in your panties. Shouldn’t make yourself cum with your ex-lover’s name on your lips.

Not for the third time this week.

But when your cunt inadvertently clenches around nothing, your judgment is suddenly clouded.

With one last glance at the sleeping form beside you, you clamber to your feet and tiptoe down the hallway, wetness dripping down your thighs as you go.

The bathroom door closes with a quiet click. You fumble for the lightswitch, eyes reflexively squeezing shut when the room brightens.

You hover over the sink, steadying yourself against porcelain with one hand while you type furiously with the other.

You [2:10am]: yeah? you wanna suck on my tits?

The mirror parallel you reflects something out of a thriller, your pupils fully dilated and your forehead glistening with sweat. You almost don’t recognize the woman staring back at you in all her depravity.

You slump to the floor. Rest with your back to the side of the tub.

Javi [2:11am]: Dying to. Always felt so fucking perfect in my mouth.

Desperate fingers slip under the hem of your shorts, into your panties. The phone balances precariously in your other hand, thumb stumbling over buttons on the keypad.

You [2:12am]: I miss your cock.

Javi [2:13am]: That’s right, querida. Best you ever had, huh?

You [2:13am]: Yes. Always made me feel so fucking good.

Javi [2:15am]: Fuck. Are you touching yourself?

You swirl two digits at your entrance, amply coating them in your slick before dragging them up to your swollen clit. You can’t stifle the moan that slips past your lips.

You [2:16am]: yes

Javi [2:16am]: good girl

The phone distractedly tumbles from your grasp, clinking against tile as you begin to work yourself toward the brink.

And then — there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

The room spins, walls suddenly shrinking in on you as you wrench your hand out of your panties. Nathan’s voice on the other side is muffled, by the exhaust fan and by the ringing in your ears. But you can just decipher his words, his voice laden with sleep.

“Babe? Are you okay? I thought I heard-“

“Fine, I’m uh, I’m fine,” you say, scrambling to your feet, wiping wet fingers on your shorts.

The doorknob jostles, and it dawns on you then that you’d forgotten to fucking lock it.

“No! Don’t come in,” you sputter. The door hitches, less than an inch cracked. “I just had a stomach ache, but I’m okay now. I’ll be back in bed in a minute.”

“Oh.” He yawns. Pulls it shut again. “Okay.”

You brace yourself against the sink, struggling to slow your racing heart.

With a flush of the empty toilet, Nathan’s footsteps recede down the hall and out of earshot. You wash your hands, then, fingers shaking under the stream of lukewarm water.

You dry them hastily, not bothering to pick up the towel when it slides off the rail and onto the floor.

You [2:21am]: gotta go. sorry.

Javi [2:22am]: ???

Nathan is far too kind the following morning. He sets a plate of buttered toast and a mug of peppermint tea out for you on the kitchen table, and presses a nauseatingly gentle kiss to your forehead as you eat.

His amber eyes scan you like he’s searching for any indicators that you’re still hurting, fingers anxiously carding through his sandy hair.

You’re sure he’s clocked the dark circles marking your undereyes — not that he knows the real reason for them.

“I’m fine,” you promise when you feel him staring.

“Are you sure?” he probes. “The noise you made was…intense; you sounded really pained.”

Pained? Not exactly.

“I know.” You stuff the last bite of toast into your mouth. Tilt the empty plate toward him.

“But I’m okay; see? Even have an appetite this morning. It was just a weird bug or something.”

The lie burns on the way out, scalds your throat. But Nathan buys it. Doesn’t ask any further questions.

Still, he tells you to take it easy today on his way out the door.

You can’t look him in the eye when you insist that you will.

You call out of work, too sick with self-loathing to show your face in the office. Instead, you mope around all day, attempt to distract yourself with the overflowing hamper of laundry in the closet.

It’s futile though, your brain paralyzed by thoughts of Nathan finding out about the affair, and the clothes remain unwashed.

He returns that evening with a plastic bag in his clutch, the local pharmacy’s logo printed on the front.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a brand new heating pad. “I realized last night that we didn’t have one of these laying around.”

You know, at that moment, that you need to end things with Javi.

Nathan is good to you. He loves you with actions, not just words. Thinks of you before he thinks of himself, in every situation. And you — you’re cheating on him. Taking advantage of him. Not even trying to be what he deserves.

You’ll try harder. To love him, to think of him. No longer will you give in to brainless, animalistic needs. Surely, you can mimic the passion you have with someone else if you just try.

Try, try, try. You can do it.

Sleep evades you that night, coming in brief stints and leaving you breathless when you wake.

In those conscious moments, the analog clock in the corner of the room taunts you, glaring red neon making your head pound.

After three straight hours of tossing and turning, you decide it can’t wait any longer.

You fish your cellphone off the nightstand. Snap it open.

You [3:23am]: We need to end this before things get ugly.

You’re sure he won’t be awake this late; not without reason. But then — the screen blinks.

Javi [3:24am]: Nothing’s going to get ugly. Please, cariño.

You [3:24am]: I almost got caught last night. I don’t want to hurt him.

Javi [3:25am]: Can we talk about this? Javi [3:25am]: In person?

Your heart palpitates. For a moment, you swear it stops altogether.

You [3:26am]: What the hell? No Javi, I can’t.

Javi [3:27am]: C’mon. Just talk. Don’t you think you owe me that?

Your eyes flit to Nathan.

You watch him for a long moment: the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slouch of his shoulders, the gape of his mouth.

He’s well and truly asleep. You’re sure you could sneak away without him waking. Slip out the door and get a cab to Javier’s, talk things through, and be back in bed before the sun rises — before Nathan even knows you’ve left.

And then everything will be just as it was before you messed this up. You can leave Javi in the past, where he belongs.

Of course, you’re not just going to talk. Deep in your bones, you know that. Know that when he’s there in front of you, you’ll be too weak to resist any of his advances.

Still, you play coy. Ignore the spring of excitement tightening in your abdomen.

In a move of finality, one which you know you won’t be able to come back from, you stand. Make your way into your closet to pull some pants and a t-shirt on, your cell phone clutched in your hand.

You [3:30am]: Fine.

Javier sends you his address — as if you’d have forgotten it. As if the name of his apartment complex isn’t permanently etched behind your eyelids, along with the wide slope of his shoulders and the plush of his bottom lip.

When the cab pulls up to the curb, the driver is visibly concerned. His bushy, gray brows thread together and his narrowed eyes catch yours in the rearview more than once on the drive across town.

It’s only when you reach Javi’s building and hand over your fare that the man speaks.

“Are you alright, sweetheart? Quite late for you to be out on your own.”

His voice crackles, the smell of cigarette smoke heavy on his breath, and it’s strangely comforting.

“Yeah,” you promise as you push the door open and step out.

He rolls his window down, anxiously watching as you maneuver your way to the front door. And then he’s driving off, headlights vanishing into the thick night.

Javier lets you up on the first buzz. He’s waiting for you in the entryway of his apartment, leaning with a large hand pressed to the doorframe.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him: shirtless, bronze skin cast in the dim yellow light of the corridor.

His eyes rake over you the moment you’re in front of him, lingering when they catch on your collarbone, your breasts, your legs. He looks so imposing like this. You find yourself unable to move; frozen under his silent, lustful gaze.

“Are you — can I come in?” you ask meekly.

He nods then, a slow lift of his chin. Steps backward into darkness. You will yourself to take one step, and then another, following him over the threshold and past the point of no return.

It feels so odd to be here, in his space, with the intention of doing anything other than fucking. If you look close enough, you swear you can make out the shape of your body imprinted in the couch cushions, can hear lingering echoes of climaxes reached with your face shoved into one of his decorative pillows — can feel them, too.

Arousal pulls between your thighs. You ignore it.

You wonder how many other women have been here since you, have taken Javi in their hands or their mouths or their cunts. How many names that aren’t yours has he chanted in the throes of passion?

And — moreover — why do you care?

You don’t. You definitely don’t.

Javi pours you a glass of wine, fills a crystal with whiskey for himself. He flicks a lamp on, casting the room in an orange glow, and settles into the couch You follow his lead, perching yourself on one of the arm rests apprehensively.

“So,” you start. “About what we’ve been…doing-“

He cuts you off with a quirk of his brow, a flinch of his jaw.

“Javi,” you try again. “This has to — we can’t-”

“You’re sure you want to break it off, cariño?” His voice comes out low, dark.

And the thing is — you’re not sure. You wish you were, wish you had the strength to tell him definitively that it’s over, to go home to your boyfriend and block Javi’s number on the way out.

But the flex of his bicep when he hooks his arm behind his head, the knowing smirk playing on his lips, his cock — which you can’t see, but know is long and thick under his jeans — it all makes your head feel heavy.

You let the weight of it drop between your shoulders, hang there as you silently search for just a particle of sanity left in your being. You come up empty.

“Fuck,” you hiss, claw your fingers into your scalp. “This is — fuck.”

Leather groans under Javi’s weight. He stands. Steps in front of you.

You don’t dare look at him, not until he pinches your chin between two fingers and forces your gaze to meet his. His eyes are charcoal-black, something devious swimming behind blown pupils.

“Baby,” he croons. “Why did you really come here?”

You play dumb. “What do you mean? To — to talk.”

His thumb skates along the underside of your jaw, soft and placating.

“We’re not really gonna talk — are we?”

Your head spins, mind clouded by Javier’s words, his touch. You sense yourself losing resolve just as he pulls you upright by both hands.

You’re so close like this; can taste the whiskey on his breath, can feel the warmth of his exhale against your skin.

His mouth moves to the shell of your ear, voice a mere whisper when he speaks again.

“Wanna know what I think, querida?” he asks, palm flattening at your lower back, pushing you flush against him. “I think you came here because texting wasn’t enough anymore, huh? Think you missed me.”

And the truth is, you have missed him — painfully so. You’ve missed the timbre of his voice, the caress of his hands, the stretch of his cock. All just in reach, tangible for the first time in so long.

Your need for him borders on carnal. The feeling snakes its way up from your stomach into the cavern of your ribcage, splays its weight across your delicate, pounding heart.

And then the rational part of your brain whirs weakly to life.

What are you doing?

“I have a boyfriend,” you say. You’re not sure who you’re reminding.

“Mhm,” Javi mutters, deft fingers peeling the fabric of your t-shirt up, up, up your body. You don’t stop him.

“And does your boyfriend —“ he kneels down, presses a kiss where exposed skin meets denim — “make you feel as good as I do, cariño?”

You can’t answer that. It wouldn’t be right. Because any of this is.

“Javi — I,” you try, cut off abruptly by dull teeth in the flesh of your waist. You yelp, the sweet sting quickly dissipating as he pauses. Pulls back.

“You can say it,” he goads with a wicked smirk. “I won’t tell him.”

“He — no,” the words leave you before you even feel them in your mouth, and then you’re cursing yourself. You can’t take it back — it’s too late. Javi knows, you know. The only one still in the dark is Nathan.

Javier says your name. His tone is different, soberingly serious.

“Tell me to stop.”

Fuck.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeats, “and I’ll stop.”

“I can’t,” you whisper, so quiet you barely hear yourself.

“Cariño-”

“I can’t,” you stammer, louder. “I — fuck, Javi. Please.”

“Please?”

He knows what you’re asking for; he just needs to hear you say it.

“Please fuck me.”

In an instant, he’s standing back up, grasping at your sides and impatiently guiding you onto the couch. He brackets you against the cushions, one hand splayed next to your head on the backrest, the other popping the button of your jeans open.

You lift your ass as he tugs them down your legs, pulls them past your ankles and leaves them in a heap on the floor. And then he’s moving down your body, kneeling at your altar and prying you open for him.

You surrender to him willingly, desperation growing when he pulls your panties aside and gazes at your glistening sex, transfixed by you.

“This gorgeous pussy,” he hums, leaning down to taste you.

“Yeah?” you breathe. “You miss it?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he groans. Dips his tongue into the apex of your heat, refamiliarizing himself with your nectar before licking a languid stripe up to your throbbing clit.

You writhe under him, beg with wordless whines and whimpers for more. He knows your sounds, knows their tells, soothes you with a gentle shh against your cunt.

His lips wrap around your clit, then, envelope it completely as he starts to suckle, and the sudden sensation makes you buck your hips.

“Javi — fuck, oh — holy-”

He retreats, mouth shiny with your arousal. “What is it, baby? Your boyfriend doesn’t eat your pussy like this?”

“He doesn’t,” you admit breathlessly. Javi clicks his tongue. Faux-pouts at you.

His lips reattach to your clit and you curse.

“Fuck, Javi, he — he’s never-“

The half-admission stops him in his tracks. He stares back up at you with narrowed eyes.

“Cariño, don’t tell me he doesn’t go down on you?”

Your face heats. “He — he says he doesn’t like to do it.”

Suddenly, Javi looks livid.

His fingernails dig into the meat of your inner thighs mindlessly. You watch his lip twitch and his eyes roll to the ceiling.

He’s unaffected by much these days — but Javi clearly doesn’t take kindly to a man not pleasuring his woman. Especially when you are the woman in question.

“Pendejo,” he murmurs.

“Javi,” you whine. “Please.”

Your pleading voice seems to snap him out of it. Or at least remind him of the task at hand.

He returns his attention to your dripping pussy with one final huff. “Gonna take care of you baby, don’t worry.”

You anchor yourself with fingers of one hand twisted in the dark, sweaty curls at the crown of his head. Two digits on the other pinch at one of your hardened nipples, just as Javier begins to swipe his tongue back and forth over your clit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, draping your trembling legs over his shoulders.

He licks your cunt like he fears you’re going to melt, lathes over your clit again and again with the wide flat of his tongue. The wet squelch of him slurping at you, eager to catch every last drop of your arousal, bounces off the walls obscenely.

You hope, fleetingly, that his neighbors are heavy sleepers. Better yet, that they’re out of town.

Maybe he’s putting in extra effort because he knows now that your boyfriend isn’t doing this for you at home. Or maybe he’s just better at it than you remember. Regardless, you find yourself completely overcome with ecstasy, close to falling apart on Javi’s tongue in a matter of minutes.

As soon as he curls two fingers into your cunt, you’re gone, cumming so hard your vision pulls and your thighs shake.

You sing Javi’s name like a hymn. It rolls off your tongue effortlessly, naturally. Like it’s made for you to recite.

He lets you come down, soothes you with gentle hands stroking along your thighs, soft lips pressed to your sensitive mound.

When your breathing evens, he lifts off of his haunches, motions for you to lay flat on the couch with your neck supported by the armrest. And then he shucks his pants off, his cock immediately springing up to his stomach, a trail of precum dripping down his navel.

You’d forgotten how gorgeous it was — the heady, pink tip shiny with arousal, veins running along the underside of the thick base prominent. It twitches in interest as Javier leans down to kiss you, prods against your slick inner thigh when his tongue presses into yours.

You hook your legs around his back, desperately attempting to pull him closer, attempting to drag him into your achingly empty cunt.

He grins against your lips, hand moving between your bodies to guide himself to your entrance.

“Impaciente,” he mumbles.

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please Javi, need it.”

“Yeah?” He pauses with his cockhead right at your seam. “How bad?”

“Fuck — so bad, need it so bad.” Your nails burrow deeper into flesh. He hisses.

“God damn, querida; that much, huh?”

“Yes, Javi,” you groan. “Please just-”

He bottoms out in one deep thrust, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. You moan in unison, his head falling against your shoulder as he slowly begins to move.

Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clenching around him over and over again. It’s intoxicating, the feeling of his cock nudging your g-spot with every roll of his hips. You wonder how you went so long without this. Fear you won’t be able to again.

He pulls all the way out and snaps into you before setting a new, brutal pace, one that leaves you babbling underneath him.

The room grows palpably warmer, white heat licking at your neck, your chest, your back — where it sticks to leather. You find yourself lost in the way your bodies move together; a dance you’ve done so many times before; one you’d perfected all those months ago.

“Shit,” Javi slurs. “Take me so well, cariño. Like you’re — ahh — made for me.”

I am, you want to say.

“Fuck,” you moan instead, “so good, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

And it does. You’re going to snap soon, going to cum for a second time, soak his cock.

You tighten around him, a silent warning. He slips out and you whine at the loss. But then he’s hiking your legs over his shoulders, spreading you wider for him and delving back in at a new angle that makes you scream.

You can feel it building now, like a snowball in your abdomen. You can’t fight it, can barely warn Javi, his name spilling brokenly from your throat as your orgasm crests.

He talks you through it with praises whispered in your ear. So beautiful, princesa — that’s it. So pretty when you fall apart on my cock. There you go; let it all out, baby.

Fucked-out and boneless, you beg for Javi to please cum inside.

He growls, low and primal, gripping tightly to the flesh of your waist as his thrusts begin to falter. “That what you want, querida? Want to — shit — want to go back to your boyfriend with me dripping out of you?”

“Yes,” you chant thoughtlessly, yes, yes, yes.

“Dirty. Fucking. Girl.” he grits, each word punctuated by a jerk of his hips.

He spills inside you with his teeth in the crook of your neck. There’s so much of it, filling your cunt, leaking out around his cock and onto leather. It sates you in a way you didn’t know possible, as if your womb needs to be claimed by him and only him. Nobody else will do.

You almost resent the feeling of your eyesight returning and your breaths steadying. You don’t want to come down — not if it means you need to go home.

But the sky outside is turning purple, bruising with the threat of a new day on the horizon, and you know your time together is nearly up.

“Javi,” you mutter, his chest still heaving against yours, cock softening inside you.

“Up.”

He shifts, pulls out in a devastating loss, and retreats to the opposite side of the couch.

You begin to knead the muscles in your aching calves, Javi fumbling with the pack of cigarettes on the side table next to him. He takes one out and lights it, the end glowing faintly.

“What do we do?” you ask. He rubs at the crease in his forehead, definitely set there by years of chasing after drug cartels. Maybe also by running away from meaningful conversation with you.

“You can’t go back to him,” he mumbles.

You scoff. “I can’t? I have to Javi, Nathan is my-“

“Don’t say his name,” he snaps, abruptly ashing his cigarette and turning to face you. He looks wrecked, his eyes wide and his lips downturned.

“What do you want from me, Javi?” you bite, pulling your panties back into place and reaching for your jeans where they lay on the floor. “You want me to be at your beck and call forever? Cheat on him until one of us dies?”

“I —“ Javi sighs. “No.”

“Then what?” You pull your pants on: one leg, then the other. Pull your shirt back down to cover your breasts.

“I — want you.”

You nearly choke on your own saliva.

“What?”

“All of you,” he clarifies. “When I saw you with him for the first time in that grocery store — my heart sank. I didn’t — didn't realize how serious my feelings were for you. Fuck, I shouldn’t have let you end things that day.”

He stands. Braces pleading hands on your shoulders.

“I know I’m an asshole,” he continues. “I thought I could never be someone’s partner. That I wouldn’t…wouldn’t be good. How could I be when I’ve done so much bad in my life?”

You sink into his touch. His words.

“Javi-“

“No, cariño — I need you to hear this. I want to be good for you, know I can be. I’ll do anything. I just — I can’t let you get away again.”

You feel as if you’ve just been struck by an arrow. Or, more accurately, a train. Your bones hurt and your insides twist.

You’re silent for a long moment, watching as his eyes desperately search yours. You know you need to say something eventually, put him out of his misery, but you’re too afraid to find out what happens next.

The undeniable fact that you want to be with him too is almost too much to bear. You’ll have to break it off with Nathan, split his heart in half. He doesn’t deserve it, you think, over and over.

But then, maybe you don’t deserve to remain unhappy. Unfulfilled.

Maybe you need to hurt him once in order to stop repeatedly hurting yourself.

“You’re good, Javier,” you say then. “You’re a good man. You deserve good.”

“Yeah?” his voice cracks. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes. He retracts them with a deep breath in.

You grab the sides of his face. “Yes. And I — I want you too.”

Javier kisses you, so deep you think your lips might bruise. There’s finality in it — you’re his and he’s yours — and no longer will you pretend that’s not the case.

He drives you back to your place, unwilling to let his girl get in another cab alone before daylight.

Laredo looks beautiful at dawn, all dozing buildings and empty roads. You pass by your workplace and groan at the realization that you’ll have to be back there in a few hours; you can’t call out again. A stack of unfiled reports will surely be waiting for you atop your desk.

That dread doesn’t last long, though, not when you look to the man in the driver’s seat, the one who makes your mouth water and your heart skip.

When he catches your gaze, corner of his mouth turning up at you mischievously, you know for certain that everything will work out just fine.

Javi turns onto your street slowly, moreso than he needs to, a possessive hand gripping your thigh.

“Will you let me know how it goes?” he asks when the car pulls up to the curb.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I mean, I think it’s safe to say it won’t go well, but-“

“I know. But if he gives you any more trouble than he needs to, you call me.”

Your eyes flit up to your bedroom window, blinds drawn up and curtains pulled aside. The room is still dark, Nathan no doubt still asleep.

You’ll go up in a second. After you kiss Javier one more time.

He seems taken aback when your lips catch his, maybe because it’s crazy to do this here, now. But you can’t help it. Can’t keep your hands — or your mouth — off of him now that you have him.

He relaxes into it after just a second, licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss, his hand moving from your thigh to the back of your head to hold you against him.

And then — he abruptly pulls away.

“Shit,” he curses, staring wide-eyed at the window.

You follow his eyeline, freezing when you see what he sees: Nathan, tall and shadowy, looking straight at you.

“Well,” Javi laughs nervously, “I think he knows.”

end notes: ty so much for reading! pls consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you enjoyed :)

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zriasstuff · 1 month

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Slytherin boys x reader (kinky shit vol.2)

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, orgasm denial kink (?), not proof read, long lost trashy & horny draft from my wattpad era (a moment of silence for that), cringe, enjoy ?

(not that anyone rlly cares, but i thought I’d at least pull this out since i haven’t posted actual writing in 1,5 weeks, vol.1 in case you’re curious)

Mattheo Riddle:

Mattheo was incredibly skilled with his mouth, knowing just where to flick his tongue and how hard to suck on your clit to make you melt. Shaking and squirming, you’d grab onto his curly hair, and he would hold your thighs over his shoulders and bury his face deep within your sweet cunt. Always licking up every drip coming from your precious cunt and sucking his fingers clean after stretching you out.

Eventually he figured that he could make you even needier by removing himself for a few seconds. In response you would desperately pull his head closer to your cunt and whine him “don’t you dare fucking stop now”, but he’d just tease your entrance by slowly licking stripes, so you wouldn’t be able to reach your climax.

It was torture, yet you have to admit he made it worth it. “Please Matty keep going”, you’d plea, “plea- please just pleasee”, you’d just repeat that as often as you could, but he enjoyed seeing you on edge.

Tom Riddle:

It’s his favorite form of punishing you for when you act bratty towards him, or when he’s in an angry mood in general, which is quite frequently. His practice of orgasm denial involves painstakingly long teasing until your cunt is all worn out and until you basically can’t think properly anymore. All your thoughts just revolve around one thing, riding out your orgasm completely without feeling as if something was being ripped away from you instead. Tom always fucks you first, pulling out just when you’re about to cum. Instead he releases himself all over your thighs, and leaves you to your own devices. The more needy you become, the longer he’ll torture you to see your breaking point. He has a dildo his size, which he’ll fuck you with, always pulling out just when you’re about to cum. It was an endless circle, even bringing out tears in you because it’s too unbearable and you just desperately want to experience that intensive orgasm. Usually he doesn’t let you have it though. Because of that you become unbelievably horny during the next few days, wanting Tom to use you and fuck you in any sort of way, but of course he’d rather watch you squirm and whine under him. “Should’ve thought twice before being a brat”/“Only good girls derserve to cum”/“You look so pathetic, begging for my cock”

Theodore Nott:

Instead of the popular silent treatment you gave to Theo sometimes when you were mad, you also enjoyed seeing him all fidgety and out of control. “Please don’t do this”, he’d beg, but it would all be in vain. Once you decided to bounce up and down on his swollen cock, he couldn’t keep it together anymore. You didn’t allow him to grab your tits, nor to cum. Once you rode his cock long enough to get you close, you got off of him and fingered yourself in front of him until you made a mess of the sheets. His cock would just leak precum from watching you get off, but he was gonna try to not disobey you. He wasn’t allowed to cum until you gave him explicit permission. After you rode him, he was most likely a swearing mess, desperate to touch his own cock and replicate what you do to him. “That’s what you get for making me mad”, you’d tell him and he’d apologize about a thousand times. Sometimes, out of pity, you then satisfy him by allowing him to touch himself, but other times he wouldn’t be so lucky and had to wait until the next day possibly. “I swear I’ll never do it again”, he whines or “Please I’ll do anything”

Blaise Zabini:

He knows that you enjoy your orgasms way more when they’ve been delayed because then they’re just so much more intensive that way. So, when you do it, he obviously wants to make you feel good, even if that means making you feel incredibly bad, even if it’s in a good way, for a moment. His cock was big by all means, it stretched you out perfectly and fit you just right. So after he comes inside you, he makes you cockwarm him instead of pulling out completely. This way he’ll watch you struggle to not roll your hips because if you did you’d try to get him to hit your g-spot. Then, all of a sudden, he’d grab your waist, make you straddle him, and control your body movements with his hands on your waist. Blaise will pull down, and thrust into you from under you. You can’t help but let out a series of cries because Blaise pounded so deep into you that you were sure you’re insides would never recover. Although he’s lying down, he’s still the one in control, so any pleasure you get is decided by him. “Not yet babe”/“Hold on a little longer ok” As you finally get to have your orgasm, it’s the most intense yet satisfying feeling in the world.

Enzo Berkshire:

Broken was the only word to describe Enzo when he was suffering from not being able to cum due to having a cock ring on. You used it for punishing him sometimes, for unintentionally flirting with other girls, but also just for fun and to spice up your bedroom activities. It vibrated his inflated cock, but also restricted it from shooting out his sweet release. The entire room would be filled with Enzo’s variations of noises, begging and whines. “How much longer”, he keeps asking while making filthy sounds and “I can’t keep it in anymore please” he’d always plea. Enzo would also always come close to tears, though he definitely enjoyed the sinful mix of pleasure and pain too. There were also several intensity settings on the useful cock ring and any time he’d swear, you put it higher. He was entirely under your control, and anything he did would result in his cock just suffering longer from the prolonged torture. You watched him squirm in his bed, completely naked, and even humping the bed at times to get some sort of friction, but that never ended well as you would set the vibrations even higher. His cock was so close to coming, yet only measly drops of precum came out. It was truly a sight.

Draco Malfoy:

Combined with public factors, orgasm denial is your favorite way of watching your boyfriend struggle to keep it together. Otherwise everyone would find out what an obedient boy he was for you, totally unlike the usual bad boy persona he puts on. When all your friends hang out around the common room couch, near the fireplace, a blanket always covers you two. It’s normal, since everyone shares a blanket with either a friend or partner. The twist comes when you slyly slide your hands all the way down to his crotch and rub him through his pyjama pants first. Draco always inhales sharply, knowing he’ll have to be on his best behavior. He shifts all the time, trying to secretly hump himself on the palm of your hand, acting like a stupid fuck toy. So, to tell him to cut it out, you lightly squeeze his length, sending him a warning sign. He should remember that you were the one in control. When you decide he deserves it, you start massaging his cock, pumping it ever so slowly and circling your thumb over his crown. As soon as you hear the grunts, signaling that he can’t keep it in any longer, you slide your hands out of his pants again and act as you were. Draco’s own pleasure had to wait until you were in private, until then he’d quietly whine “Please let me cum, pleasee”/“I swear I’ll do anything you want”

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999h34rt · 11 days

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FLATLINE | PAIGE BUECKERS

➣ paige x fem!gf!reader

➣ summary: y/n and paige experience what it means to be in a long distance relationship, but with the distance between them, can they overcome it?

➣ warning : secret relationship, angst (kinda) ,long distance.

➣ duayaps: first post🥳🥳🥳, thoughts?

➣ inspired by flatline by justin bieber.

"I'LL MISS YOU" paige muttered against her neck.

"it'll go by before you know it" y/n said pulling away from the hug. When college applications started being filled, she took a big risk and applied for Politecnico di Milano, a fashion uni in Milan, Italy. She had already said goodbye to her parents, thinking that was the hardest goodbye she could imagine, but the tears in her eyes from saying goodbye to her girlfriend right now, told her she lied to herself a while ago.

Paige and y/n had always had a rocky side of their relationship, for one, it was a secret waiting to bomb the world, two, they always knew that long distance was going to be a thing for them. With Paige going to Uconn and Yn going to PDM, 'it was already doomed' said by most people. But overcoming the rocky side of their relationship, there was the fairytale side. The one where they in love, where they supported each other in everything, where they took each others first kisses, first everything. They were each other's lifelines in a way, they didn't go a day without speaking to each other.

They both hoped that these future 4 years, weren’t going to change their feelings of each other.

✩

Lately you've been busy, wondering if you miss me

Why did you go against me? I just wanna know

How come you act so different? Talk to me, I'll listen

All the love I'm giving, don't act like you don't know

“…leave a message after the tone” y/n sighed as she hung up the phone. It was 7am and her alarm had just gone off, Paige was most likely asleep. It’s 1am at Storrs.

If you put the time difference aside, they were doing well. Both of them spent at least 2 hours everyday on the phone and haven’t had an any problems yet.

But it’s only been 5 months. 7 months and 3 years to go.

Y/n was glad Paige settled in great, she got along with her teammates and had a great support system there. Paige became a media star, with that came many fans. While y/n wasn’t the jealous type, these fans were wild.

She opened her instagram app, and slowly started to scroll through stories. When she stopped, went stiff. “Oh” she muttered, her girlfriend’s teammate, Aaliyah, had posted a story with the Uconn women’s basketball team having fun ,at what she would guess, a bar. Paige is in the background , a girl sitting next to her, whiles shes on the phone. Y/n quickly checked when the story was posted,10minutes ago.

‘Okay so she could’ve just posted this when she came home’ y/n quickly assured herself. Paige wouldn’t just ignore her calls, especially on a night out, right?

As those thoughts filled her head, a notification sound came from her phone.

pb 👩🏼‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏽

gm baby. can’t talk, tired, going to bed.

y/n didn’t think anything, she couldn’t. She just typed ‘sweet dreams💗’ and hit send.

no i love you, no ily, not even an emoji.

‘Stop, don’t overthink this ,shes just tired’ she told herself. She shut her phone off and got out of bed, leaving her thoughts about P in her comfy bed.

It had been a month since the bar incident, and everything seemed normal, until a week ago.

Y/n just got out of work, a small intern job to help her graduate early. It was 6pm in Milan, and 12 in Storrs.On her way home, y/n called P.

The phone rang, 1,2,3 times before she hung up. Tried a gain, 1,2,3. User is busy.Paige had hung up on her, she didn’t think much of it. ‘She’s probs busy’.

That was 6 days ago.

While they exchange texts, no calls were made this week. Paige was busy, like really busy, But not busy ‘not go out with her friends for the 3rd time this week’ busy. Y/n got it, freshman year, new teammates, she had to have fun. She also knew that their relationship was on the down low. Even though she assured Paige that it was okay to tell her teammates, P reluctantly agreed. ‘I don’t know, i’ll see’ She muttered to y/n, 2 weeks ago on their normal facetime call.

Y/n didn’t want to think much of it, she didn’t want her overthinking to brew a fight. The last 2 years she was back home, her and paige had never gone a day without speaking to each other, but so what it stopped now?, it was common sometimes to not call. So she let it be, but Paiges text became more and more rare,more dry and definitely more weird.

But y/n knew, paige was just busy.

✩

Girl you always catch me at the bad time (Bad time) When I know you probably think it's a lie (A lie) I know I told you last time was the last time (Last time) How could you pull the plug and leave me flatline?

On the other end of the phone. Y/n hit the red button, and ended the call. She hit her head on the wall behind her in frustration, thankful that the call wasn’t on facetime and Paige could see her sad face.

Y/n had called in sick at work so she could watch Paiges game in peace, her boss gave her an earful, because it was one of the more busier seasons in the fashion world, but she let her be ‘sick in bed’. She was proud of Paige, and was the happiest for her.

But the mood drifted when she heard the voice tell her they need her. ‘I need her too’ Y/n thought. This was the first time in a month that Y/n heard Paiges voice. Her heart clenched when she heard her sound weird, it sounded like she was frustrated. Frustrated with who though, with y/n?.

As time went quick, it felt like Paiges texts were more rare, and even more dry. And Y/n didn’t know if Paige was aware of the way she was acting, she also didn’t know if she should say anything, Paige was a freshman in college having fun, alone,without Y/n next to her.

If Y/n were to say anything, she didn’t want to seem like the bitchy jealous girlfriend that only wanted Paige to spend time with her, she just wanted Paige to spend some time with her.

It felt like their relationship was a bomb, and their time was running out quickly.

How could you pull the plug and leave me flatline? (Flatline) Cause when I hit you, you don't even reply (Reply) How could you pull the plug and leave me flatline?

✩

Not breathing, what is it I'm not seeing Said she's leaving, damn I can't believe it It's like my heart's bleeding knowing that you don't need me Shut my heart down, now I don't know what Imma do now

“… i just need some space y/n” Paige said with frustration, a sigh coming after. Y/n’s heart dropped.

It all started an hour and a half ago.

Paige went out with her teammates after a late night practice, forgetting that y/n was waiting on her phone call that she promised she would do after practice.

After she came home, she was bombarded with messages from Y/n. 8 to be exact.

y/n💍

hey did you finish practice?

- 8:15PM

you ready?

- 8:18PM

paige?

- 8:20PM

paigeeeeeeee???

- 8:30PM

pbabyyyy

- 8:35PM

pls tell me u didn’t forget

- 8:45PM

paige are you fucking kidding me

- 9:45PM

it’s our anniversary

- 9:45PM

call me when you get home and make sure you’re not busy

- 9:50PM

And when she called, the yelling happened. It was the first fight they’ve had in a while. While Y/n finally exploded demanding to know what’s happening with her, Paige only had one thing to say.

“I think we should take a break”

“What?” Y/n whispered after a long pause.

“i’m not ready to be in a relationship Y/n/n, i’m still questioning what i want, and i don’t know if its you yet.” Paige said. “I’m sorry, i just need some space Y/n”

Y/n heart dropped, she didn’t know what to say or think. While Y/n knew that not everything lasted, Paige was a sure thing. Paige was her lifeline. What was she going to do?.

Y/n gulped and said the only thing she knew she could say “It’s okay”.

‘It’s okay?’ Paige was taken back. Had Y/n want to breakup before?, and then Paige shockingly felt hurt in her chest, her stomach slightly dropped. Why was she feeling like this? why isn’t she feeling relief?. This has been on Paiges mind for the past 3 months, wasn’t this the solution?

“Go be a superstar but don’t expect me to wait for you while you figure out what you want to do” Y/n said, her voice sweet. Not even a slight tone of bitterness.

Y/n still wasn’t able to move from her spot on the kitchen counter. Tears were streaming down her face, and before a sob sound could come, she hung up the phone. All Y/n knew was Paige, but know she didn’t even know that.

She had literally left her clueless, without her lifeline. now flatline.

✩

- 5 MONTHS LATER -

Paige stood there, watching from her afar.

“That’s her?” a croatian accent asked. She felt Nika sit beside her. “Yeah” Paige answered still in awe of her.

“She’s really pretty” Nika said. Paige nodded agreeing with her. She was wearing a flowy white short summer dress with cowboy boots.

It was Drews birthday today, and as the team had some off time, Drew invited them to his barbecue party. And the weekend before his birthday, he ran into Y/n. Of course the boy was oblivious to the breakup and while he asked still asked Paige for Y/n, she didn’t have the heart to tell him that they broke up.

So when Drew begged Y/n to come to his birthday party, Y/n didn’t know what else to say but yes. He could literally get whatever he wanted out of everyone.

At first, Y/n debated if she should just call Paiges stepmom and cancel, or she should just go and pray that Paige couldn’t make it.

Well, Paige had come. And so did the rest of the huskies. When Y/n saw them, she sighed. Although she was friends with Azzi, she didn’t know the rest of them, but by the look on their faces when she came in, she knew that Paige had told them her history.

Azzi, being the sweetheart she is, excitedly came running to Y/n and hugging her tight. The whole party they caught up with each other, with Azzi telling her about Uconn and Y/n telling her about studying abroad. For the past 30 minutes they’ve been talking, not once have either of them mentioned Paige.

Y/n turned, meeting Paiges eyes. The two of them made eye contact with each other again. Y/n then heard Azzi laughed, when she snapped her head to look at her friend. She saw a small teasing smile on her face. “Don’t even start” Y/n said, glaring at her. She got up and made her way to the other side of the backyard, where there was no Paige in sight.

“Y/n/n” she heard a child scream. Drew was suddenly hugging her legs. “Hi Drewsky” she laughed, beginning to tickle him. She felt the boy starting to laugh, and start to kick her hands away, while Paige and her were together, Drew became a big part in their relationship. Paiges parents often made Paige babysit Drew, and Y/n just tagged along. Through that time, Drew and Y/n became close, Y/n considered him as a baby brother. She would miss him.

“Paigeyy help me” Drew screamed laughing. Y/n became stiff, the hair behind her neck stood. She could feel her ex behind her as she let the little boy go and stand up.

Paige and Y/n stared at one another. Paige was thankful her teammates weren’t around right now, they would be on her ass all day after this.

“Hi” Y/n whispered, looking away from her and to the ground.

“Hey” Paige said back. “How’ve you been-“

“Paige please no small talk, what do you want?” Y/n cut her off. This was already awkward enough, no need to make it even more.

“Uh” Paige stuttered, a sigh coming after. “I missed you” Paige admitted. Y/n’s blood boiled, now she missed me?

Paige could sense Y/n anger, she placed a hand on Y/n elbow, tugging her from leaving. “Please just wait” Paige pleaded “I’m sorry, i just didn’t know what to do i kept having all of this kind of feelings and i know i was busy but i swear just one more chance-“

“Paige” y/n cut her off

“- and i’ll promise i’ll try harder-“ paige continued

“-stop-“ she tried to stop her

“please just give me one more chance”

“-okay” she agreed. Paiges eyes went wide, she didn’t think she would get her to agree that easy.

“I only needed you to apologize P, i only want you to make some time for me thats all. And if were really trying this again you have to be sure you want this because i don’t know if i can handle loosing you again” She said still looking at the ground.

Paiges heart dropped hearing her voice break. Although she knew how Y/n felt, Paige had been nothing but moody,grumpy and miserable these past few months. Seeing Y/n today, brought her hope that she had a second shot with her.

Y/n slowly picked up her head, and looked up at Paige. Paige was jaw dropping hot, and she knew that, her head couldn’t get any bigger by her ego.

Paige reached a hand towards her waist, pulling Y/n towards her. When she did, she slowly dropped a sweet kiss on her girlfriends lips, when she pulled away, her forehead dropped to Y/n’s.

She felt like she could finally breathe, her chest no longer hurt. She had her lifeline back.

✩

#Spotify #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers imagine #huskies #uconn #nika muhl #azzi fudd #aaliyah edwards #paige bueckers headcannons #wnba #lesbian

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stargirllanaa · 3 months

Text

୨⎯ "Bad Liar" - R.C

❥ Masterlist

Warnings: NONCON smut, Dark!Rafe, Toxic relationship, abusive relationship, Domestic violence, mentions of drinking, rafes pretty bad as usual

Summary: You snuck out to hang with the pogue’s… bad idea. Idea is from a comment on this post.

A/n ✎: OMG thank you for 200 followers!! I started writing Rafe like 3 weeks ago but the overwhelming support has been so motivating <333 love you all sm! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed!!! Btw my request are open again, don’t be shy ;)

Wc: 2.1k

18+ MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!

You quietly entered your house, locking the door behind you. It was 2 am, and you had just driven home from the other side of the island because you had to sneak around to hang out with your friends. Your boyfriend Rafe didn't like your choice of friends, often calling them ‘dirty pogues’ and claiming that they were all ‘trying to turn you against him,’ and that pissed you off.

Just because Rafe had a problem with Pogues didn't mean you had to, and frankly, his reasoning for hating them so much was stupid; because of his issue with them, you were frequently isolated. Still, you wouldn't let Rafe stop you from having a social life outside of him, so you would sometimes sneak out late at night, go to the cut, visit your friends, and return home like nothing had happened.

You did feel guilty about going behind Rafe's back, but what could you do? You weren't going to cut all your friends off because Rafe told you to. It wasn't like you were cheating.

You made sure to cover all of your tracks. Knowing Rafe had your location, you left your phone at home every time you snuck out. You always left at night so you could text Rafe ‘goodnight,’ and he wouldn't suspect anything from you not responding, and you would always make it back in three hours at the most just to be careful. You knew if Rafe found out about you sneaking around, he would be furious; you had been disobeying his wishes for months and lying to his face.

As you crept up your stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, you couldn't help but smile; even though you hated to admit it, you and Rafe never had fun. I mean, you two had ‘fun’ in his way, like going golfing, parties, ‘Rafe stuff,’ but you two would never do anything you wanted to do, and with The Pogues, it was the opposite; you got to get messy, get drunk on the beach even do girly things like braid Sarah's hair or have Kie paint your nails, things that you could never do with rafe. It was a relief to do something you enjoyed.

You opened the door to your bedroom, which was pitch black; you had turned all your lights out before you left; you felt around on the wall for the light switch, flipping it upwards. The lights momentarily blinded you, but you jumped when you saw the manlike figure on your bed. When your eyes finally focused, it was worse than what you expected.

Rafe was sitting on your bed, staring directly at you; his face was unreadable and emotionless, which was terrifying. Your boyfriend was usually expressive, the type to lash out when angry; you had never seen him this calm, and you certainly didn't expect him to be calm after catching you going behind his back.

You stood frozen in the doorway, unable to tear your gaze away from him or move. This didn't feel real.

“Where were you?” Rafe asked, breaking the silence; his voice was monotone, empty of emotion as he sat on your bed, just looking at you.

Your throat felt dry, and your tongue heavy with unsaid words. You struggled to find your voice and form a coherent response, and the utter shock and fear rendered you speechless.

“I don't want to repeat myself,” Rafe mumbled under his breath; he was allowing you to come clean and save yourself from whatever he had planned if he caught you in a lie.

“I was…” you blinked a couple of tears back, thinking of what to say. “I went to the gas station… to get some.” you looked up and then back at him, fidgeting with your hands. “snacks.” you lied, voice cracking from nerves.

Rafe smirked, slighting, breaking his calm facade. Did this amuse him?

“Right.” Rafe nodded, looking at his lap as if he was thinking about what you just said. “So you went to the gas station, right?” he asked, awaiting a response.

You nodded, but you couldn't stop the tears from glazing your eyes and your whole body from trembling.

“And you left your phone at home?” Rafe questioned you, head tilting slightly and his eyes narrowing.

You completely forgot that since Rafe was waiting for you in your room and most likely saw your phone on your nightstand. Your lies were falling apart before your eyes.

“I forgot-” You mumbled quietly, still standing in your doorway. You hoped you weren't loud enough to wake anyone in your house, but you were too scared to get closer to Rafe.

“Y/n,” Rafe muttered, pushing himself off the bed, now standing in front of it. “I'm done with the lies. Alright?” the blonde sighs, now talking with his hands. “I've been here for,” he looks down at his expensive watch, taking in the time. “2 hours,” Rafe admits, fist clenching to his side.

Your face fell when he said that, he had caught you; he had to know; there was no excuse or lie you could think of to justify why you were at the gas station for 2 hours in the middle of the night. Your heart started to beat faster, and your tears finally spilled over; you weren't just scared, you were terrified; you didn't want to admit to hanging out with the Pogues, but what else could you do? You had tried lying and failed, making the situation worse, and Rafe probably already expected the worst. I mean, you were sneaking out in the middle of the night. That would look like cheating to anyone.

“And I don't see any snacks either.” Rafe sighs as he combs his finger through his hair.

He was right; you didn't even think of that; you were a horrible liar.

“So I'm going to ask you one more time.” Rafe’s posture was stiff, and his hands were shaky, “where. Were. you.” his tone was sharp, and his breathing was speeding up as he waited for your response.

“I was at the chateau…ok?!” You blurted out loudly, quickly covering your mouth after realizing your door was still open. “John B’s place, it was me, Sarah.” his eyes rolled when you mentioned his sister, “Kiara, Pope, JJ.” You were now half whispering and hyperventilating simultaneously; your tears were prevalent as you told your boyfriend everything. There was no point in lying anymore, he had caught you, and he was pissed.

“We were just hanging out, and I'm sorry; I know I should have-” You were just saying anything that came to mind, trying to improve this situation, word vomit.

“Come here.” Your boyfriend mumbled, cutting you off; his voice was low and shaky.

You shook your head. ‘No,’ you didn't want to be anywhere near him right now; you had just admitted to lying to him multiple times and didn't want to face the consequences.

“Ok,” he shakes his head before running his hand through his hair again and saying something under his breath that you didn't quite catch.

Before you knew it, he was charging at you. You tried to run out the doorway, but as soon as you turned, one of his arms was wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his stiff chest, and with the other, he used his hand to cover your mouth in one swift motion before using his foot to shut your door.

“You were lying to me.” he hissed into your ear, pushing you against your wall, back facing him. “Calculating plans behind my back.” he used the hand that was around your waist to grab a chuck of your hair, forcing your head to snap to the side. “To hang out with dirty Pogues.” he was now gripping your hair so tight you felt it might come out of your head. “And probably sleep with them behind my back.” His voice didn't raise once as he automatically assumed the worst.

You couldn't deny his claims; his hand was over your mouth tight, your parents were right upstairs, and he knew that.

“How many times? Huh?” Rafe questioned you, pulling your hair back just enough to make eye contact, and when you looked into his eyes, they didn't look normal; they were dark. “How many times did you fuck those disgusting Pogues while you pretend to be asleep?” he was dead serious.

He slowly moved his hand from over your mouth, waiting for you to respond, but when you let out a loud cry instead, he quickly covered it again before slamming your head against the wall, which was also noisier than he expected.

In Rafe's mind, he couldn't accept the fact that you and another guy could just be friends, especially not you and a Pogue; in Rafe's mind, you 100% cheated on him, and there was no convincing him otherwise. He was disgusted; who knows where those pogues had been or who they had been in? They were filthy and grimy; who knows what you could have given him.

“You're disgusting.” Rafe whispers in your ear before flipping your body around to face him, stuck between him and the walls.

“I can't believe I trusted you.” His hand was now grabbing at your hair again, gripping the top of your scalp and using it as leverage to push you down on your knees in front of him.

You fought back, trying to stand straight, but Rafe quickly overpowered you. And before you knew it, you were kneeling before him like he wanted.

“I'm going to let go of you, and if you make any noise…” he paused momentarily, looking deeply into your eyes. “I'll kick your fucking teeth in.” he threatened, voice still shaking. “Understand?”

You nodded to the best of your ability with his tight grip on your hair and face.

When he let go, you tried your best to stay quiet, letting out little cries and whimpers, but not enough for him to fulfill his threat. The tears hadn't stopped since he'd caught you, and you were so fucking exhausted from all the fun you had earlier and now the pain, accusations, and tears. But when you looked up to see Rafe unbuttoning his pants, you couldn't keep quiet.

“No-” You protested quietly, as you started to hyperventilate, tears now fully clouding your vision. “Rafe-” You couldn't even catch your breath. You were panicking.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe demanded quietly, but his tone was still harsh as he pulled down his pants.

“I can't breathe-” You were cut off by Rafe pushing your head, causing it to slam against the wall; you immediately rubbed the back of your head to soothe the pain as you cried harder.

Rafe was getting more annoyed with you by the second, jaw ticking every time he looked at you. He grabbed your chin roughly, pulling your face closer to his crotch.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” Rafe sneered as he used his other hand to pull his boxers down and begin stroking his cock right in front of your face.

You couldn't stop crying. You couldn't believe this was happening; just an hour ago, you were out with your friends, having fun, not even worried about your boyfriend. You had gotten away with sneaking out so many times already; how could you have known today would be any different?

“Open your mouth,” Rafe demanded as he held his cock right in front of your lips.

You tried to turn your head to the side, but Rafe wasn't having it. His grip on your chin got tighter and tighter until you tried to cry out in pain, but as soon as you opened your mouth, he got what he wanted.

His hand holding your chin was back on your hair as he guided your head up and down at a quick, harsh pace. Sounds of gags and rafes and low moans filled the room. It was music to his ears but traumatizing for you.

“Fuck y/n.” Rafe moaned out, “I'm gonna miss this.”

You were a little confused, but if you were being honest, you were barely listening to Rafe anyway, too emotionally broken to pay attention to whatever he was saying.

“Can't be with a bitch who would fuck a pogue,” Rafe grunted out.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Enjoyed my fic? Leave feedback! Comment/reblog!

Wanna see more? Check out my fic Sweet little lies.

Also tagging @necroflame (bc I lied about the post time to many times 😭) and @fabienne6656 for the idea!!! Thx bye..

#dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #dark rafe cameron #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark rafe x reader #obx imagine #dark!fic #dark!rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #obx fic #rafe imagine

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csuitebitches · 1 year

Text

On Being Well Spoken

I recently received a request about posting something regarding being well spoken.

Something you need to realise is that you’re not going to become well-spoken overnight. You need to practice on people. You need to SPEAK.

I used to stutter so badly that I could barely speak a whole sentence.

Flash forward a few years. I pitched my start up in front of a crowd, I joined Model United Nations in high school and college, I’ve been invited to speak on my entrepreneurial experience by some top universities in my country. It’s taken a lot to get here. And I’m still not where I want to be.

1. Apps to track progress and help you get better at public speaking

An app that you can use: “Speeko.”

I used to use this, it is beginner friendly and you can improve your public speaking skills as well.

2. Use topic generators

Go online and look up a topic generator. Generate a random topic, video yourself speaking on that topic. Don’t give yourself time to prepare anything - read the topic and start speaking. Set a time limit - you’ll realise that speaking for even 2 minutes can be quite difficult at times.

Not only does this make you realise that you may have limited language skills, but it will also make you realise exactly where you’re falling behind. Note down things in a journal.

- is grammar the issue?

- Lack of vocabulary?

- Too many filler sounds?

- Knowledge gap?

This is also a great idea if you’re at an intermediate level of learning a language/ polishing a language. Do this everyday and maintain a diary on your improvement.

3. Reading out loud

Select a news article or any article. Read out loud, slowly and steadily. Pronounce every syllable calmly.

A two minute read should take 5 minutes to read out loud. That’s how slow you should go. Not more than 4-5 words per breath.

Your tongue needs to get used to different syllables and sounds. Practice will help.

4. Talk in real life

Talk to anyone and everyone whenever you can.

Ask your barista how their day is going.

Ask your work or university security if they’ve had a good day and if they ate today.

Chat with your taxi driver about their life. I always start with asking them if they are from the city we’re travelling in. Even if you’re from that city, act like a tourist. Where are the best eateries? The conversation eventually goes to personal questions. How many children do they have, and what do they do? What do they like about the city?

You’ll learn the art of small talk only through practice. No book or guide can actually prepare you. You have to practice, practice and practice.

5. Diaphragm breathing

Diaphragm breathing is very important. Look up some YouTube videos for reference. You essentially breathe from your tummy (stomach goes in and out; not chest going up and down). This is a great calming exercise too.

6. Stuttering tongue/ jaw exercise videos

These are great because they really do prep your jaw and tongue well. The videos could include tongue stretches, placing your tongue on your palette correctly, etc. Search on YouTube.

7. Body posture

You really need to work on your posture too. Sit up straight. Back, STRAIGHT. Chin up, shoulders relaxed. Something as simple as posture can change your level of confidence.

8. Pranayama

A yoga exercise for breathing. You can find a guided video on YouTube for sure.

9. Vocabulary

Invest your time in expanding your vocabulary. There’s enough apps and games that can help you with that, if you aren’t fond of reading. A sign of being well spoken is having great vocabulary.

Start by looking up the synonyms of everyday words.

“I’m upset”

- how many different words can you find for upset?

“I had a crazy day today”

- one can easily use “hectic”, “chaotic” “lively” instead

10. Idioms

Idioms, phrases, sayings - look up common idioms in your language of choice. Aim to use at least 3 new idioms on 3 separate occasions in a week while you speak. You need to understand when and where you can use the idioms in your vocabulary.

11. Knowing when to switch

You can’t talk like a 50 year old heiress to a 10 year old child; you need to get down to their level.

If someone is clearly not a native speaker and is struggling to put words together, don’t use difficult words around them.

If you’re meeting with someone high profile, refrain from using slang.

The best speakers know when to switch their level of language.

You can’t use one singular type of speaking with everyone. You need to understand that there is a time and place for everything - and you’ll be able to switch like a pro only when you actually speak and start gaining experience.

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andivmg · 2 months

Note

speak up andi, I beg of you, you have been mistreated the most here, I know it took shubble a lot of courage but she has helped so many people

i want to start this off by saying it is not a competition and i do not want to compare my experience to anybody else’s. shubble is so fucking strong and i admire her and everyone else who has spoken up about experiencing abuse endlessly.

DISCLAIMER 1

this is way longer than i intended it to be. i did not plan to go into as much depth as i did but the words just kinda kept coming and i kept thinking that if someone else is in a similar situation to the one i was in, it would be good to point out even some of the smaller details so that they can see that these behaviors are not something to be overlooked and could be a symptom of a bigger issue… idk. i apologize for how lengthy and wordy this is but i hope it all makes sense somehow

DISCLAIMER 2

a lot of you know who one of my exes is and i am asking you to please not make this about him. i am simply sharing my experience with some of my past relationships in hopes that they help someone else. i beg of you, do not go on twitter making threads speculating on whatever because it’s just going to cause me a bunch of problems and i don’t want this to be brought to his attention. if you share my story, please do not do it with the intent of starting drama. if you share my story, focus on the behaviors i am talking about instead of trying to figure out if it’s about him.

DISCLAIMER 3

this goes without saying but i’ll put it here anyway: i will be talking about toxic relationships, mention of self harm, mention of sex, implied violence. if any of these topics are triggering to you please scroll away, protect yourself.

I have been in a lot of relationships, but there are 4 that i would truly identify as the ones who had the biggest impact on me. Two of those i would consider emotional mistreatment. I don’t want to say i was abused for reasons that i will be discussing with my therapist this week, but i can certainly say i was mistreated. For the sake of privacy, i will be referring to these two dudes as 1 and 6.

I think the biggest difference between 1 and 6 is that 6 was obsessed with me to the point where i felt like i was being suffocated, whereas i’m not sure if 1 ever cared about me in the first place.

6 and i started out pretty normally. we had a bunch of friends in common and we were around the same people. so eventually, we became friends too. we would text and call all the time until feelings developed into a relationship. in the beginning he was really sweet and caring, saying all the right things that got me falling head over heels. now, something important to note is that i am someone who has always had a lot of guy friends. when i was little and in school, my mom made friends with a bunch of other moms and those moms were boy moms, so i grew up surrounded by boys. i bring this up because 6 didn’t like my guy friends. actually, i think he just didn’t like the fact that i had guy friends at all. so, whenever i would hang out with my friends, it was a problem. so this resulted in me never being able to go out or hang out with my friends unless he was there. then it got worse. before we started dating he had decided to cut back on drinking and to stop smoking. so because of this, i decided that i wouldn’t drink or smoke around him in solidarity. this was not enough for him. i had to stop drinking and smoking altogether. so once, when i was hanging out with my girl friends we decided to stay in and get wine drunk. we posted about it on our private stories on snap and once he saw, 6 called me arguing and yelling at me because i was drinking and posting about it on my story for “attention”. after this incident, i was no longer allowed to hang out with my friends because they were a “bad influence”. he also didn’t like the clothes i wore. sorry, let me reiterate: he didn’t like my clothes when he wasn’t around. it was perfectly fine for me to wear a short dress… if i was with him. i was not allowed to wear “revealing” clothing if he wasn’t around. mind you, none of the clothes i wore were revealing, it’s not my fault i’m hot yk? he took over my life. who i talked to, what i did, what i wore, where i would go, it was all up to him. my life no longer belonged to me. and at the time, i was okay with that. i didn’t realize that he had so much control over everything. i was young and naïve and he convinced me that he knew what was best for me. that he had lived more than i had and experienced more than i had and that he knew better. he was so good at making everything my fault and making him the hero or victim depending on the situation. i got catcalled on the street? “because you were wearing that fucking dress again, andrea you know how that looks. of course you got catcalled. this is why you can’t wear things like that when i’m not around to protect you”. I decided to have a fun night in with my friends and get drunk? “i just don’t understand why you would be posting yourself on your private story like that. you’re drunk and vulnerable. why do you want other people, other guys, to see you like that? and you know i’ve cut back on drinking so how do you think it makes me feel to see that? don’t you love me enough to do this for me?” the worst part is i believed him. because, in the beginning, he helped me so much and i looked up to him so much, surely he had my best interests at heart, right? this relationship went on for way longer than it should have. you may be asking yourself, how did you leave? if you were so in love with him and entranced by him to the point where he consumed you, why did you leave? he raised his hand. that’s what got me to finally leave. a year after we broke up, i found out that he was drinking, smoking, and doing all kinds of shit he told me he wasn’t throughout our entire relationship. he was awful, and i’m really proud of myself for being strong enough to leave when i did. i’m also really grateful for my friends, who stuck out that whole train wreck with me. who i lashed out against in order to protect him and defend him. they stuck by me through it all and i don’t know where i would be without them so shoutout to them lmfao.

1 was a bit more complicated. it started out in a similar way. we had the same friends, hung out around the same people, so it was only a matter of time until we became friends too. we would call and text every day until feelings were developed. at least i developed feelings, i’m still not sure he did. i told him this and i don’t remember how the conversation went but basically we had decided that we were talking as more than friends now. enough time went by where i was ready for it to become a relationship and i communicated that to him. looking back, i think he felt pressured into the relationship by me and by our friends. anyway we started dating and everything was fine. we would hang out and talk all the time but i felt like he was bored or disinterested by me, so i would constantly beg for his attention. i became this needy clingy version of myself that i hated. it felt like when we would hang out, he was always distracted by something else. i basically felt invisible to him. that is, when i wasn’t hanging out with my guy friends. similarly to 6, 1 did not like my guy friends or the fact that i had guy friends in the first place. i had a guy best friend at the time who is one of the most amazing people i have ever met. let’s call him S. S and 1 were acquainted with each other, hung out in the same circles etc. but 1 still didn’t like him. sometimes, whenever 1 was busy doing whatever he did when he wasn’t with me, i would hang out with S, we would watch shows together and just talk. Some days, it felt like i talked to S more than my own boyfriend. this did not sit well with 1. he would ask “why the fuck are you always hanging out with him?” to which i would reply “maybe if you hung out with me more, i wouldn’t have so much free time to spend with him” (toxic ik but what can i say? i was feeling neglected). so you can see what problems this caused. eventually i cut S off. I stopped talking to him completely and i haven’t spoken to him since. Back to 1. even after cutting off my best friend, nothing really changed. He didn’t spend much time with me and whenever we would, i felt like he couldn’t wait to go off and do something else. this got exhausting. at that point i was begging him to love me, to pay attention to me, to care about me. this led to us breaking up. he broke up with me over text. it read, and i quote, “i think we aren’t meant for each other. i think you deserve someone that will treat you better than i do. I don’t think i’m in love with you and i tried to force myself to love you because i thought that’s what i wanted but i really don’t think it is. we started this relationship when i was just tired of being alone and i really just don’t think it is right anymore. i don’t think i am attracted to you. I am sorry, i really didn’t know how to end this and this probably isn’t the best way to do it but it’s time”. The relationship went on for another six months after this. granted, i should have had more self respect and never gotten back together with him but it is what it is. so after he told me that he didn’t love me and that he wasn’t attracted to me, we stayed “friends”. which basically meant that we did everything that a relationship involved. without actually being in a relationship. that is, until one of his friends hit me up. there was some flirtation going on but nothing serious. i was still in love with 1 but, at the time, i was in desperate need for attention and his buddy was there to provide it. when i told 1 about it he flipped out, called me all kinds of crazy and decided he was done with me. his friend and i talked about it and poked fun at the fact that he broke up with me but got mad at someone else paying attention to me. when 1 saw this (he ended up forcing me to show him the screenshots of the conversation) he was even more pissed and even more done with me. the next day he called me and we were basically back together again.

however, this time, i was meant to earn his affection. because i did something so unforgivable and atrocious, he was basically in the clear to treat me like shit. and he did. he would cancel plans to go hang out with his friends. he would only come over late at night, even when i had class the next day. i was basically at his mercy. we only hung out when he decided. we only spoke when he wanted to. i honestly can’t even recall us going on any date after that incident, save for one dinner. in short, i was not a priority to him. this, combined with some other stuff, really took at toll on my mental health. i entered a deep depression and began self-harming after being clean for 3 years. i sought out help and found a wonderful therapist who really helped me. but, 1 only saw this as one more problem. when we hung out he would complain that i was too sad. important note: because of that text he sent me i was incredibly insecure. so, little arguments would always end up escalating because i felt like he literally did not care about me and he would just keep making me feel like shit about being depressed. whenever we argued (which was very often) it would end in me locking myself in the bathroom, sobbing, nearly throwing up, while he was on his phone. i remember one specific argument started because he asked me if i would leave him for harry styles and i jokingly said yes (i am not and have never been attracted to harry styles). that argument escalated to the point where we almost broke up and he said to me “you should warn people before they fall in love with you that you are so mentally ill. because you’re always going to bring down the mental state of who you’re with”. he used my mental health against me like that a lot. whenever i would bring up something i wanted him to do or something that i didn’t like, he would call me needy, clingy, and say that he was trying his best but that i needed too much, that i was too much. all i wanted was reassurance. looking back, that’s all i ever asked for. whenever i would ask him if he loved me he would say “well i’m with you aren’t i?”. this is the same man who decided to go to vegas with his friends on my birthday after he promised he wouldn’t. this is the same man who said that he didn’t love me. the same one who said he wasn’t attracted to me. the same man who i would catch looking at other girl’s (some being his “friends”) provocative pictures on twitter. (this is definitely tmi so i’m just going to put a bunch of asterisks at the end of the tmi so you can skip there if you don’t want to read it) but there was a long period of time in our relationship where we had zero intimacy, and it wasn’t because of me. this fucked with my head a lot because i had this idea that because i was so emotional and needy that i could compensate physically. but when that stopped, my thoughts looked something like “the only thing i was useful for was sex and now he doesn’t even want that from me”.************whenever i remember this, a part of me thinks he might’ve been cheating on me during that time, but i have no proof so i guess we’ll never know. also during that time period, we were arguing over the same things over and over “it feels like you don’t love me” “but i’m hanging out with you” “that’s not the same as loving me” “you’re so fucking needy. and then you wonder why i don’t like coming over”. it was exhausting. we had the same friend group. and even our friends got so sick of us that they would tell me to break up with him. this went on for months until one day, on our one year anniversary, he told me that his plans for the day included playing video games. nothing else. that’s when i broke up with him. that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. i just couldn’t do it anymore.

we stayed friends afterwards in order to keep the peace within the friend group. after about a month, he told me he was going to do better. he said he was going to start going to the gym, and maybe even going to therapy, that he was going to eat better and live a better lifestyle for me. he said he was going to plan dates for us and treat me the way i deserved etc. very much vibes from that one euphoria scene. but i was done. maybe i didn’t communicate that well enough to him and that’s my fault. but i was really confused at the time and i didn’t know what i wanted. eventually we had a conversation and that’s when i told him that i was no longer interested in a relationship. i think i just didn’t believe him anymore. i didn’t believe that he would change for me or anyone else for that matter. through the entire relationship he was mean to me, he neglected me, belittled me, and overall made me feel like shit at worst and invisible at best. even when i would offer to plan things or suggest activities for us to do together, he would be disinterested the entire time or just cancel and make plans with his friends instead. and of course it was all my fault for one, flirting with his friend that one time, and two, just not being interesting enough. he made it feel like i wasn’t good enough, and at the same time victimized himself. he would tell me “nothing i do is ever good enough for you” while i was the one putting in all the effort in the relationship. then he would go “well why would i put in effort with you? remember when you were flirting with [redacted]? I still think about that and it fucks me up”. mind you, he would only bring this up whenever i brought up any concerns or issues. anyway, as you can tell it took me a really long time to realize that this relationship was toxic and unhealthy and i’m really proud of myself, again, for having the strength to leave and never look back. i think one of the reasons why it took me so long to realize that i was being mistreated was because everyone around him loved him. and to me it was hard to see how someone that was so well liked could be bad. so i felt like i was the problem. i felt like there was something wrong with me and if i just fixed that, then he would treat me better and love me and care about me. it took a lot of therapy to realize that he just wasn’t that into me. i was like a toy to him that he could just pay attention to when he was bored but ignore me the rest of the time. but then, when someone else showed interest in me he would suddenly care and be like “no she’s mine, you can’t have her”. he didn’t want me but he didn’t want anyone else to have me and that was the bottom line. that was the base off all the problems and toxicity that happened while we were together.

in conclusion, both of these men were awful in their own unique ways. i hope that by sharing this, someone who is in a similar situation will see it and identify these behaviors as something to watch out for. i hope that someone will see it and realize that they are not alone, and that they are not the first person to go through it, and that it gets better. these events all happened over two years ago and now i am in a beautiful and healthy relationship, i’m studying something that i am passionate about, and i am surrounded by people who love, care about, and support me. i am in a much happier place now and you will find that too, whoever you might be <3

#andianswers #i might’ve given myself a migraine with this one

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alessiasfreckles · 2 months

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amnesia - part 6 (ona batlle x reader, alexia putellas x reader, ona batlle x alexia putellas)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

a/n: this is a short one, sorry! but the next chapter is coming and will be a lot longer x

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“We can’t tell her,” Alexia said after a moment of silence. “She’s only just started getting her memories back, I don’t want to overwhelm her. She’s already had to deal with so much in the past few weeks.”

“Fuck,” Ona repeated. “I should never have come here. I just got her to forgive me, to trust me again, and now this, fuck!”

“It’s okay,” Alexia said, trying to soothe the younger player. “It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

“How? I promised her, no more lying! She’ll never forgive us.”

“It’s not… lying, necessarily. It’s just not telling her something,” Alexia said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself of that fact just as much as she was trying to convince Ona. “Not telling isn’t the same as lying.”

“Mierda,” the brunette dragged her hands down her face. “This can’t happen again.”

---

You hadn’t heard anything from Alexia or Ona all day, which was a little odd, but you supposed that they were at training and it was to be expected that they couldn’t be on their phones 24/7. Still, you found yourself missing them, both of them.

Plus, you were bored, and started to feel frustrated about all of the hazy spots in your memory. So, you did what anyone in your position would do and googled yourself. First you read through your wikipedia page, which, to be fair, you’d already done a couple of times since waking up. Nothing really stood out there, except for some lines under ‘Personal life’ that detailed your involvement in the LGBTQ+ community.

Where else could you find out more about yourself? You deliberated for a minute before going on Twitter and searching your name - you had a hunch that you’d been told not to look yourself up on social media before, that it was something most players tried to avoid. Still, you figured that social media would probably give you some more information, even if it was just about what people thought of you.

Once the search loaded, your laptop was flooded with posts about your accident, people theorising about what had happened, how you were doing. Scrolling back a little, you found posts with pictures of you and Alexia at the café you’d gone to together, with captions talking about the two of you. Some of them speculated what you were doing, if you were dating - you had gathered that your relationship with Ona wasn’t public knowledge, although a lot of people liked to talk about whether or not you were together.

As you kept scrolling, you realised that there was a fairly large amount of people who were convinced that it was Alexia you were dating, not Ona. You looked at photos posted of the two of you, people gushing over the way you were looking at each other, the way Alexia would touch you, her hand on your shoulder, your arm. You saw countless edits of the two of you, snippets of videos where you were deep in conversation or laughing together, Alexia’s smile always directed at you.

For a brief moment you wondered why the two of you weren’t dating, why it was you and Ona, and then felt guilty for even having that thought. You loved Ona, you knew that, you could feel it throughout your body, permeating your bones. Still, the thought remained at the back of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

By the time 4pm rolled around and Ona finally rang your doorbell, you were so bored and sick of your own thoughts you could scream.

“Thank god you’re here,” you said as she came in. “I’m so bored I’m going to rip my hair out.”

“Oh, so you just want me around to keep you entertained?” Ona asked, a mischievous grin on her face. “I see how it is.”

“Yep,” you shrugged. “Gotta keep things interesting somehow, you know?”

Ona swallowed down the guilt rising in her throat as she thought about that morning. She couldn’t let you know anything had happened. It wasn’t going to happen again. It was a one-off, a mistake. “What have you been up to today?” she asked brightly.

Your stomach twisted as you thought about the videos of you and Alexia. “Not much,” you quickly said. “I looked myself up online a bit, but there’s only so many times I can read my own wikipedia page before I start to feel like a narcissist.”

Ona laughed, not questioning your day’s activities any further, and the wave of relief you felt was tinged with shame.

#hannah writes fics #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle fanfic #ona batlle imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas fanfic #ona batlle x alexia putellas #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine

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attic-club-sandwich · 1 year

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How they are Handling your Disappearance. Hello all, get ready for some more Nightbringer Angst! This is a little drabble (bullet point style) of how I think the "Present Day Demon Brothers" are handling your sudden disappearance. Honestly I hate thinking too deeply about NB, it brings me to tears. I can't even imagine the pain and anxiety the brothers are feeling without knowing where their beloved human went and why. Anyways, grab your tissues and I hope you enjoy! Feedback and reblogs are super appreciated!

Taglist: @delphi-dreamin @bite-sized-devil @sassykattery @amberrskiies @obey-me-posts @a-hidden-gem @otomefoxystar @siofrantic

Part 2 : Side Characters

Part 3: MC Returns

Rose divider by @/firefly-graphics

Fill out my form if you'd like to be tagged in my work!

They’ll always remember the exact day and time you disappeared. It was their day off from RAD, and you had been in the Devildom since Solomon had brought you by for some training sessions. You practically begged the sorcerer to allow you to visit the House of Lamentation, and Solomon happily obliged. You really didn't have to convince him too much, though. The brothers were so happy and surprised to see you again so soon, and they had planned on taking you out for dinner that evening. Except you never showed. They spent hours searching for you. Those hours easily turned into days. Then the days turned into weeks. There was no trace of you left behind. Where did you go?

💙Lucifer💙

He’s terrified. He doesn’t know why or how you disappeared, but he feels responsible.

He spends every waking moment looking for signs of you. Trying to piece together what or who took you from him.

Knows he has to be strong for the rest of their brothers.

But when he can no longer feel your bond with you through the pact, he feels the unbearable weight of despair crack through his usual stoic demeanor.

He cries. He hasn’t cried like this since their fall.

Lucifer hardly sleeps. His brothers notice the bags under his eyes. How he no longer cares what he looks like in front of them.

He becomes distant again, shutting himself in his room or study.

If you thought his hatred for Solomon was strong before, it’s infinitely worse now.

He doesn’t know who else to blame, so the silver haired sorcerer becomes his reasoning for your disappearance.

The eldest demon has his hands around Solomon’s throat, Mammon and Beel having to pull him off.

“Lucifer are ya nuts?! We gotta have him alive if we have any hope in finding MC!” Mammon had scolded him as he became limp in Beel’s strong grip.

Solomon promised he’d bring you back.

He better not dare to show his face back here until you are with him, safe and sound.

💛Mammon💛

The normally confident and self assured demon becomes silent. Angry. Afraid.

Aside from their initial searching for you, he doesn’t leave your room.

He can’t feel your pact with him anymore, and it sends him spiraling.

He buries himself into your pillows, inhaling your lingering scent.

It’s faint, but he takes what he can get

His eyes are puffy and red from crying, and he can’t stand sitting around doing nothing.

He goes out every night, flying over the Devildom, searching.

When he can’t, Mammon sends his familiars out searching for you too, exploring the areas that he can’t reach.

The ravens are good at finding things, and if they can’t find you, then he’s screwed.

Each time they come back with nothing.

Occasionally, they bring him Grimm they’ve found or a valuable piece of treasure.

But you’re the only treasure he gives a shit about right now.

When he goes to retreat back to his room, he runs into Lucifer.

He looks terrible.

But Mammon can’t blame him. He probably noticed his swollen face and unwashed hair, too.

He sends you texts every day. Even if you don’t get them.

Normally he’d be grossed out by his own sappiness, but he doesn’t care.

He needs you.

MC, wherever you are, just know I love you. So goddamn much. Please come back.

I miss you.

I hope you’re thinking of me, too.

🧡Leviathan🧡

Leviathan always told you he wouldn’t know what he’d do without you.

But he really didn’t want to really experience what life would be without you!

Is this some cruel joke?!

It’s got to be! One of his alternate universe video games went wrong again right?

Except it isn’t. You’re actually gone, and he actually has no idea what to do with himself.

He cries. Alot.

To mask his tears from his brothers, he spends a lot of time in his fish tank with Henry 2.0.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Henry, but he longs for you. His soulmate.

He sends Lotan to search the Devildom seas, far and wide. He had asked him to listen for any information of sightings of you.

But so far, there’s been nothing. No word. No trace of you.

He lays curled up in his bathtub, a laptop balanced on his lap as he watches anime to try and distract himself from you.

But oh no, is this your favorite episode?! He turns it off, shoving the laptop away and fresh tears falling down his cheeks.

I’m so useless, he thinks. The Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy, and I can’t even find a human!

Levi’s self depreciative behavior gets worse.

He blames himself for not being with you when you disappeared.

He begins picking at his skin and nails, an old, nervous habit resurfacing from back when he first fell into the Devildom.

His brothers do what they can to reassure him, but it’s no use.

He needs you. Please come back home soon, MC.

💚Satan💚

Satan’s temper tantrums are back.

He didn’t ever think he’d revert back to this, but now that you’re gone….

Accidentally lost his temper and in a wrath filled frenzy blew through the wall in the living room. Lucifer threatened to tie him up.

Normally the prideful demon would have just done it, but something about his older brother was different nowadays.

He feels it too, he thought. The pacts are gone.

Spends sleepless nights in the library reading any book he can find about curses.

Did you become invisible? He had no other explanation.

Was it the work of some demon on the street who decided they didn’t like you that day?

He’s frustrated because he feels like he doesn’t know anything.

He knows nothing of your sudden disappearance

Like Mammon, he sends his cats out looking for you. Any sign of you.

But they also bring back nothing but a dead mouse here and there.

Normally he’d be delighted by their gift to him, but it’s lost its appeal.

When he’s worried about you, nothing else matters.

Lucifer did allow him to keep a cat in the house though.

Also uses his personal connections from all three realms to look for you.

But it’s no use.

When he’s not in the library, he’s shut away in his room.

His brothers think for a moment that he’s disappeared as well, but they find him asleep on his bed, his cheeks tear stained and a book on his chest.

Please come home, MC. I need you.

💖Asmodeus💖

Asmo’s love for you rivals the love he feels for himself.

Now that you are gone, he feels he has no love left to give for anyone.

He feels empty.

The Avatar of Lust takes pride in his appearance, always making sure he’s presentable and looking his best.

But not knowing where you are and if you are safe or not is driving him mad.

His brothers haven’t seen him this way in a long time.

Asmo’s eyes are puffy and red, his cheeks and nose raw and swollen from the endless tears.

He spends hours in the bath, thinking of anything he may have said or done to cause you to leave him like this.

He takes up the habit of sleeping a lot. He wasn’t sure how Belphie could do it all the time. But now he understands.

Asmo can also throw a good temper tantrum.

The day he realized he could no longer feel your pact with him sent him over the edge.

But afterwards he felt embarrassed, even though his brothers will never blame him for expressing his feelings for you.

When Solomon leaves to go find you, he feels hopeful, putting all the trust he has in your master to find you.

But it also hurts. He hasn’t left Solomon’s side since your disappearance, taking comfort in the bond he still has with him.

He’ll never take it for granted again.

MC, I can’t take this! If you can hear me, please come home, my lost little lamb… I love you…

❤️Beelzebub❤️

Beel is quiet.

He’s another one that feels responsible for your disappearance.

His heart is aching, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Thankfully, he has his twin by his side to reassure him. But it’s not enough.

He needs to know where you’ve gone.

He needs to save you.

Beel’s appetite is all over the place. One minute, he can’t stop eating and the next, he’s not hungry at all.

His brothers got really concerned when he didn’t eat for 2 whole days.

The only hunger he feels is the need to figure out where you went.

Not only is he worried about you, he’s worried for his brothers.

He knows they are suffering too, especially with the noticeable absence of your pact.

Beel has always been protective of them, after all.

He stops going to the gym. He doesn’t feel like it.

Instead, he cuddles up in bed with Belphie, holding him close with tears silently rolling down his cheeks.

Beel you’re squeezing too hard, he hears his twin mumble. But he doesn’t care.

He’s almost lost his brother before, and now your disappearance has him terrified.

Please, don’t take anyone else away from me.

I love you, MC, please wherever you are, stay safe…

💜Belphegor💜

Belphie’s temper is a short fuse. More than usual, anyways.

He doesn’t want to talk to anyone but Beel.

He tries to retreat to the attic to get some peace and quiet from his brothers losing their collective shit.

But he ends up drowning in a wave of memories as soon as he walks through the door.

He collapses on the bed and hugs his cow pillow to his body as he sobs, his body curling in on itself.

Dammit MC, look at what you do to me…you need to come home…

When he isn’t sleeping, he helps soothe the rest of his brothers to sleep. He sees their dreams, knows the thoughts that are keeping them awake.

He wants to help, but figures this could be the only way he knows how.

He doesn’t feel your presence at all, though.

That must mean you aren’t anywhere nearby, or even in the same Realm. He knows your pact with him is gone.

He felt it break the day you disappeared.

But sometimes he feels a flutter of something in the place where the mark used to be.

He can’t explain why.

Belphie often finds himself slipping into bed with his twin at night.

They were inseparable before, but even more so now that you aren’t around.

I can’t lose him too, I have to stay by his side, he thinks. He snuggles into Beel’s chest as his brother holds him close, afraid he might disappear too at any second.

He misses the days when you were nestled comfortably right between the two of them.

You need to come back MC, you’re our missing piece.

#hope you guys like it!#i just randomly got this idea and needed to write it down #i love NB angst #obey me nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me brothers #obey me mc #cass writes #my writing

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sykestarot · 6 months

Text

what attracts people to you?

1-2-3 (left to right)

I do not own any of these images

Hi guys I'm back for this weeks reading! Thanks so much for all the love on the other post it really means a lot! I hope these messages resonate as well. Thanks for stopping by yet again! :)

Pile 1

"Just wondering when you said I'm beautiful, was I being lied to?"

(2 of swords (rx); ace of cups; 5 of swords; 4 of swords (rx); queen of pentacles; 2 of cups (rx)) I’m feeling for you pile one that you don’t believe that you’re attractive at all, energetically or physically. Like people would always prefer someone else other than you. Quite literally how the song title is opposite, you believe people are only attracted to the types of people who are opposite of you. Which is so obviously not true because so many people are attracted to you. I don’t know if you think more people value stability over spontaneity. But your cards imply that you are a free spirit and people love that about you. Not only are you a free spirit but you also are hard working. You aren’t one of those people that says they're a free spirit as an excuse to do nothing. I’m feeling that you carry this abundant energy of like “I want it, I got it”. And people just want to stay in that energy. You also have a resilience that people see and it makes them admire you but also want to learn from you. Your energy is truly so beautiful. I see that you might have long hair with beautiful waves to it. Perhaps you’re tan or have a darker complexion. You’re the type of person who loves doing hikes and smelling the fresh air outside. I also see beaches and a boho style to you. Lots of whites and vibrant blues as well. Perhaps you’re Greek or some type of southern European. I see that you also have doe eyes and people find them to be mesmerizing. As well as your smile. I don't know why you don’t think you’re attractive because the vibes I'm getting are that you’re a stunner!! I hope one day you can learn to appreciate the qualities in yourself that others see! Signs : Athens, Greece, kitties, pasta, the smell of pine orange and vanilla, woven hats, big sunglasses, kites, hang gliders?, laughs, melted ice cream, strawberry scents, lip gloss, glitter, flamingos, Sagittarius

Pile 2

"She's got a halo around her finger around you" (The world; 5 of swords (rx); the high priestess; knight of pentacles (rx); 9 of wands (rx); the hierophant) Pile two you are my pile that knows people are attracted to you and use it to your advantage. Which is so real of you but also so slay. And this is not to say that you use your beauty to gain things in a negative way. It’s more like you know the cards that you were dealt and you’d be damned if you didn't use them. I feel like this is my Scorpio pile. Something about you is mysterious and that entices people to want to get to know you better. I feel like you are like a real life siren. The way you speak or the tone of your voice ensares people and draws them right to you. You also have a fated energy or destiny really plays a role in your life. To the point where people want to be in your life because they think they might be able to get some of whatever you have. You might also be witchy and cast spells or work with guides to make things go your way in life. You co create with spirit for sure. I feel like you guys have a contrasting appearance, like pale skin dark hair, or darker skin and lighter hair. I feel like your eyes are piercing like they are hunting prey and people love feeling like they are hunted by you. I see you being very chiseled whether that’s in the body or the face. You have a striking appearance for sure. The kind that people do double takes on the street. You might get a lot of losers who want to talk to you because your energy and appearance are so intoxicating. I also feel like you’re overall just very bold. Perhaps Aries as well? I also feel like anything said in this reading you already know about yourself lol. Signs : Osprey; Seahawks (football); Megan Fox; vampires; red lisp; metal; silver; motorcycles; the twilight saga?; Jennifer’s Body; clubbing; latex; Washington State; black hair; blue eyes

Pile 3

"I know she's gonna break my heart"

(8 of cups; 7 of wands (rx); page of pentacles; the moon; the hanged man (rx); the lovers) You, my pile three, are the heartbreaker, soul stealer, sad girl pile. People are attracted to you because people want to fix you, not necessarily that you need to be fixed to be honest. It’s more in the sense that you don’t care about them more than you care about yourself. It’s like they want to teach how to love or be the one that changes you. Which to me is so funny because it’s not that you don’t know how to love it’s that you don’t love them lmfao. You don’t entertain many suitors or people in general and so when you do give people your energy it’s special. However with how selective you are it makes people want to know more about your inner world. But you come off so nonchalant that people want to get a reaction out of you. You have the potential to feed people’s hero/savior complex if you actually like them back. I also feel like your sense of style is alternative or goth and that’s also what brings people to you. I’m getting retired emo’s or lil peep/suicide boy fans. Perhaps your taste in music also attracts people. I feel like you’re social media and the way you present yourself really gets people wanting to know you more. You’re very mysterious but I'm getting in more of an Aquarius or Pisces way. I feel like you like having dramatic makeup on or you have a very out there style. I keep seeing, like cyber goth or emo. I’m not super well versed in those genres of style so I hope you get it lol. Maybe you have lip rings or eyebrow piercings. Anyways you’re very unique and that’s what attracts people to you. I also feel like you’re always doing cool and new stuff and people are attracted to you because you’re a trendsetter in a lot of ways. Maybe you have a following on a social media platform? Idk I feel like people watch you via the internet. Signs: anime; jjk; tik tok; silver metals; lip biting; rilakuma; pastel pinks; black; stripes; oversized sweaters; skirts and thigh highs; leg warmers; big chunky shoes; platform boots; johnny guilbert?; music holds importance here

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empresskylo · 1 year

Text

[part 1] part 2 of touch-starved where Ghost and you have been distant ever since that night. you do not have to read part 1 in order to understand this part btw

a/n: you guys, i am down so incredibly bad. my entire pinterest and tiktok is covered with this stupid mask-wearing man. and i don’t even play the game so it has everyone around me like 🤨 also super annoyed that part 1 glitched or sumn because it posted my unedited version. edited version is on my ao3. anyways, enjoy the smut <3

masterlist

cw: ptsd, smut, p in v, reader described as small and referred to as a woman and blushes once

simon “ghost” riley x afab!reader

wc: 3.3k

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓

It was late in the compound, the silent night echoing through the hallways. Ghost and you had, in fact, been awkward the moment you released one another from your embrace. You had shuffled uncomfortably beside him as you both stood up. Ghost cleared his throat and his eyes danced across your face, his eyes unreadable. He shied away and motioned you to follow as you continued heading to base.

It was weeks after that mission and you hadn’t really seen all that much of Ghost since. You had come up to train with Soap while Ghost was in the room. He swiftly exited, grumbling in annoyance as he left. Soap had raised his brows, noticing the (extra) grumpiness in Simon.

You tossed and turned in your small room, a tiny bed and a chest of your things filling the space. You usually shared the room with another woman on your team but she was offsite at the moment.

You grumbled, shoving your boots on as you got up in the dark. You decided you needed to walk it off. Maybe then you could sleep.

In just a tank top and tight black leggings, you left your room.

You immediately collided with a large, firm object. You tripped, off balance from your boots not being tied, and fell backward. Two strong arms caught you, making you finally look up and coming face to face with Ghost. “Oh. LT,” you said embarrassed.

Ghost set you upright then removed his hands from around your arms, leaving a lingering warmth in their absence. Ghost was busy making his rounds as usual when your small frame came bustling into him. Always so clumsy.

Ghost’s blue eyes scanned your face. He was about to walk away and continue what he was doing, but halted. “Have you been cryin’?”

You felt your face warm. Why did he always have to be so blunt?

You shifted uncomfortably between your feet. He tried to get a glimpse of your face but you had shied away, staring at your boots. He could see the dark circles around your eyes from exhaustion. The same that he saw in his own reflection every morning. “Oh, uhm…” You rubbed the back of your neck.

“You still thinkin’ ‘bout that night?” You looked up at him and gave a meek nod. Of course, Ghost was referring to the close call a week ago where you almost got Gaz killed. You all had made mistakes that night, but Ghost had watched as your hand slipped from Gaz’s grip because you had failed to properly secure the rope holding you up. He had seen the horror spread across your face.

Honestly, you were surprised Ghost hadn’t kicked you off his team yet. Soap and Gaz had reassured you that you were a crucial part of the team and any one of them could have made that mistake.

But they didn’t. You did.

You watched as Ghost rolled his eyes and gripped his gun on his hip tighter before pushing you back into your room and closing the door.

He sat on your roommate's bed and pointed at yours. “Sit,” he commanded.

You did as you were told and closed your eyes. Here it was, the big moment where your Lieutenant finally ripped you a new asshole for being such a fuck up.

Ghost’s husky voice filled the already cramped space, threatening to overfill it. “I lost one of my best men back in the beginning.” Your eyes opened. You could see him in the faint glow of your room’s light. His eyes were heavy, surrounded in black, as he looked at you. “It was because of me.” Ghost felt his fist squeeze harder. You stared at him, realizing he was trying to make you feel better. To tell you how he had done something similar in the past. Though, he wasn’t great with words. You smiled at Ghost’s first kind words to you. “What?” His voice boomed with annoyance.

“Nothing.” Your smile sank as you thought of Gaz and you felt tears begin to well in your eyes again. “I’m not used to all this,” you said, gesturing around you.

“The military?”

“Being alone.” Your voice was quiet. You had always had your family. Friends. And for all of it to be taken from you destroyed you. You felt a strange sense of relief finding family with these men. They filled the void that you tried to stuff with whatever you could. But there was always that one part that never quite filled.

Your knees brushed against Ghost’s. He reached out without thinking and grabbed your hand. No. You weren’t alone. They were your family now. This was your home.

Ghost was solely wearing his balaclava mask without his usual hard skull addition, which felt more intimate. You could see the instant regret in Ghost’s eyes when he realized what he was doing. As he retracted his hand, you reached out and stopped him. Just like before, your name left his mouth in a faint whisper. You slowly stood, still gripping Ghost’s gloved hand, and pushed him back onto the cot. Maybe it was the way you now knew perfectly well that Ghost was feeling the same absence you were. Or maybe it was the darkroom that gave you confidence. You slowly crawled up beside him, your heart pounding in your ears. You moved dramatically slow, like you were attempting not to spook a feral cat—and in a weird way, you were.

Ghost’s eyes were burning a hole through you as he just let you touch him like this. He had half a mind to push you away, but his body knew how alone he felt as well. He craved this.

You rested a hand on his chest and Ghost felt your touch burn him through his clothes. He gently moved his shoulders so he was sliding his tactical gear off. Your small fingers helped, throwing his vest onto the floor. In one swift motion, Ghost decided what he wanted and he pulled you on top of him, your body flat against his. A small yelp had escaped your lips. You were afraid Ghost could feel your heart racing. His arms tightened their grip around you, suddenly overflowing with the need to connect with another human. To have your delicate hands caress him. To feel the warmth of your body against his.

He slipped his gloves off and he placed his calloused hands on your exposed arms. You held in a tight breath as he gently touched you.

You felt his chest move as he let out a painful breath. You peered up at him finally, faintly making his eyes and mask out in the dim light. Ghost looked down at you as he felt your eyes lock onto him. You gulped, unsure of what your next moves would bring.

You trailed your hands up, making Ghost’s own slip from your arms and rest on your waist. You propped yourself up slightly as you reached out to Ghost’s mask. He flinched backwards before stilling. Taking that as consent, your fingers pulled the bottom of his mask up from its spot under his black shirt. Ghost was breathing loudly through his nose as you edged the hem of it up slowly. You finally pushed it up, just enough to expose his jaw and the tip of his nose. You stopped there to much of Ghost’s relief. If you had tried to remove his mask any further, he would have likely thrown you off of him.

“I get it,” he said softly.

“Hm?” Your eyes traced his lips as he spoke, his thick accent pooling from his mouth that you could finally see. He had quite a bit of stubble coming in. “Being alone,” he finished.

“And do you like it, LT?” Your eyes darted up to his, almost challenging him. Did he like being alone? He had told himself yes for years. Every void he felt didn’t matter. He filled it with violence and bloodshed from striking down his enemies.

But now, having your warm body flesh against his own, your tiny fingers brushing against his jaw as you pried his mask up, he wasn't so sure. He wanted you. Desperately.

Ghost’s silence was deafening as he contemplated. Finally, he pulled you up into him, a small “Wha—“ leaving your lips before they were locked with his. Ghost didn’t begin to move until you reciprocated. Then, he deepened the kiss. His mouth attacked yours fervently. Your hand slid up to his chest to hold yourself steady. One of Ghost’s hands tightened on your hip, the other moving into your hair. He pulled you closer, his tongue sliding against your lips. His fingers clenched your hair, a feeling he hadn’t felt in so long.

As fast as it began, it ended. Ghost pulled back, both of you breathless. His hand didn’t leave its spot behind your head as he spoke. “No. I don’t fucking like it.”

Your eyes widened in reaction to something you couldn’t quite explain. Your body tingled as he stared at you. You moved your fingers to the hem of his t-shirt, edging it up. You wondered if you were going too far. Before you could finish your thought, Ghost pushed you back onto his thighs and tore his shirt off, careful to not catch his mask in the process. At this angle, you could make out the details of his partially exposed face. You saw old, faded scars that trickled across his face. One slid down his neck to his shoulder.

You pulled your tank top off, your breasts exposed, though he could hardly see in this lighting. You tentatively leaned forward, your chests colliding. You hugged him as close as you could, your body flat against his once again, but without the fabric. Ghost’s arms came up to wrap around you, pulling you into him. You felt a sigh of relief escape his mouth as you held each other, your fingers tracing smooth circles on his side.

You could hear his heartbeat. You smiled lazily. How much you had missed having someone you trust this close.

You turned to him and leaned up to kiss again. You could see his hesitation, but he concluded his thoughts by softly kissing your lips. You felt a chill run down your spine. This was the man who could scare a grown man with just a look. The man who gave you orders. The man who couldn’t be killed. A man filled with such rage that it came out in bursts of humor here and there. A man who hadn’t shown anyone his face is God knows how long.

And then here he was, pressed against you, kissing you so delicately like you might break. His rough fingers ran along your back, the heat from your body making him sweat.

He should be worried about what this meant for the two of you. How wrong this was since he was your lieutenant. But Ghost’s mind was so preoccupied, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to think about anything other than the way you were consuming him in this moment.

He felt your fingers fiddle with his belt. A wave of heat ran to his crotch. He pushed you back and you pouted, suddenly embarrassed. You had gone too far. Of course, Ghost wouldn’t want to—

You were cut off when you saw Ghost lifting his hips to push his pants down. You gulped, a blush spreading across your chest.

He reached out for you. He knew how pathetic he was acting, but he didn’t care. He was drunk off your touch and fuck, did he need more. He wouldn’t let himself ruin this.

His fingers played with the hem of your leggings and he tried to pull them down. You stood up and tore them off before settling yourself on his thighs once again. Your hands rested on his strong shoulders, looking into his eyes shyly. He was breathing deeply as he stared at you. Both of you were shocked at what you were doing.

“We can stop if…” he started, but you reached out and dragged your fingers along his scruffy jaw, making his words get trapped in his throat. Your finger pads tickled him as they slid down his slightly hairy chest and traced over his faded scars.

“Do they still hurt?” You asked timidly, afraid you were really pushing things now. Maybe all he wanted was the feeling of a woman in his bed after not having one for so long. You bringing up his battle scars was sure to kill the mood.

“Not physically.” You felt goosebumps rise on your skin, his voice far deeper than you’ve ever heard him before. You leaned down and placed a kiss against them. Peppering him with your soft lips. Ghost felt his eyes shut as he focused on the way your lips felt against him. Your wandering hands tracing his side and thigh.

You looked back up at him and his hands immediately went to you. His hand slowly skimmed your thigh, edging closer to your throbbing core. He hesitated before stroking his knuckle against your underwear, making you bite your lip. He was so slow with his movements, wanting to be gentle with you. Shit. Had it really been this long since he got laid?

He watched as your eyes squeezed shut, your nails digging into his shoulder as he continued to drag his knuckles against you.

Ghost had reached his breaking point when he saw your face drowning in pleasure. He grabbed your hips and flipped you around so you laid sprawled beneath him. You let out a tiny yelp, your eyes wide open now as you stared at a hovering Ghost above you. His hands gripped your panties and slid them down your legs and threw them on the floor. He looked down at you, his mouth all but watering. You tried to squeeze your thighs together feeling flustered at his gaze. He pried your legs apart and settled himself between them so you couldn’t close them again. “Don’t get shy on me now, pet.”

You took in a sharp breath at the name he just called you. Unsure if you liked it or not, Ghost halted movement before you were prying at his waistband. His husky chuckle vibrated through his chest.

He pushed his underwear down just enough to free himself and he rubbed himself against you. You gasped and grabbed onto his shoulders again. You wanted to look down and see if he was as big as you thought but it was too dark in your room to tell. You’d find out soon enough.

Ghost’s pupils were blown as he pressed against your soaking entrance. He crashed down on top of you and held himself up with his elbow, his chest pressing against yours, his other hand lining himself up. As he began to push himself into you, his hand came up, getting lost in your hair.

You both groaned as he stretched you out, slowly filling you. He really was big.

After a few painfully long moments, he bottomed out, his breath hot on your neck as he panted against you. His hands continued to wander across your body, grabbing the fat around your thigh and hips every so often. Then moving up to caress the swell of your breast. Ghost pulled out and then pushed himself back in rather roughly. “Simon,” you gasped. His name in your voice had his eyes honing in on yours. He sounded gruff as he spoke, “Am I hurting you?”

You shook your head, desperate for him to slam into you again. You bucked your hips against him and he got the message.

Simon began at a steady pace, growling each time his cock hit your cervix. You dug your nails into his back, Simon painfully stretching you out.

Simon’s face sank into the crook of your neck, leaving little kisses against your skin as he rutted into you. He smelled of mint and gunsmoke. His hand slid along your body and up into your hair, giving it a slight pull. You mewled, your eyes fluttering. “Like all the lil’ noises you make,” he grumbled between grunts.

Your walls clenched against him and he swore under his breath, his hands gripping you tighter. His body laid flat against yours, your nipples pressing against him. You were completely engulfed by this large man; you never felt so safe.

You began muttering incoherent words as he filled you up, completely drunk off him. Ghost pulled away and looked down at you. Your eyes met his. Your face was glowing with sweat as the two of your bodies intertwined in the small quarters.

Ghost gripped your thighs and pushed them towards you so he could get a better angle, all while never breaking eye contact.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned. Your hands clenched the bedsheets, your walls tightening in on him. You both were dangerously close.

One of his fingers began to rub circles on your clit. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you repeated his name again and again. “Look at me,” Simon demanded. Your eyes flew open and locked back with his as you came, your walls clenching Ghost’s cock painfully tight. He moaned as he watched you gasp in ecstasy.

“Fuck. Simon,” you mewled. That was enough to push him over the edge. He pulled out of you before stroking himself and coming against your lower belly, leaving ropes of his come dripping down you.

You both struggled to catch your breath. Simon rubbed his cock against your slit, riding out both of your highs.

Your orgasm floated away as you came down from your high, relaxing into the pillow. The dark makeup around Ghost’s eyes were smudging from the heat, but it just made his eyes even more captivating.

Before you could speak, Simon leaned over and grabbed his t-shirt, wiping his mess off your belly.

Ghost’s eyes analyzed your face, trying to read your expression. He pulled his mask back down and silently got dressed. You did the same.

You looked up at him as he towered over you, he seemed a lot shorter when you were both horizontal. He had everything on except his shirt, which he held in his hand. You’d be lying if you said the sight of Ghost’s exposed chest wasn’t sending a rush of warmth between your thighs again.

He stood there, lost for words. You shifted between your feet as he intently watched you.

“I, uhm. If you want, you can…well. You can lay here with me. For a bit. If you wanted.”

Your face was red hot as you babbled like an idiot. But you desperately wanted Simon to lay down and hold you as you fell asleep, so you didn’t care about acting like a fool at this very moment.

Simon pushed off his tactical gear instantly as if he was just waiting for the invite. He loomed over you before pulling you down with him into your tiny bed. Ghost took up most of the mattress so you were forced to lay flat against him, his arm gripping you close like he never wanted to let go. Your back pressed into his chest and your eyes felt heavy at the rise and fall of his breath.

You felt him reach up and take his mask off, clutching it in his hand as he held you, his mouth next to your ear as he shared your pillow. You fell asleep to his warm breath and nose nuzzling you. You’d worry about the awkwardness tomorrow, especially when you realized Ghost would have to somehow exit your room without getting caught.

Ghost’s hand clutched you against him the entire time he slept. He hadn’t slept this well in years.

#ghost #simon riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #ghost cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #fluff #angst #ghost angst #cod mw2

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disneyprincemuke · 5 months

Text

our spot * ls2

a text from you is the last thing logan expects when he's back home for the holidays especially when it's your first text in almost two years

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of infidelity

notes: YOOO how is it that i've been screaming about oscar and sebastian for weeks yet i write about logan first anyway? hope u enjoy this bc i OFC enjoyed breaking my own heart while writing this <;/3

super long read btw, it's like 3.7k words

(f1 masterlist)

(part two)

logan isn't back home very often. he doesn't exactly have the chance to, given his circumstances. so when he is, it's typically a nice breath of fresh air. because that's where you are.

or at least, used to be.

he doesn’t hear from you often anymore. since he’d gotten busier with his promotion to f1, it’s been a lot harder to keep in touch with you.

admittedly, he does miss you. but what right does he have to tell you that outwardly?

the only way he knows what’s going on with you are whatever you let the public know of yourself. your instagram posts and stories don’t come often, so logan might as well consider you a stranger.

he only knows one thing, that his mother let slip over the phone during their call, that you’ve started seeing somebody recently. he doesn’t know if you’re still together — the man his mother speaks of doesn’t exist on any of your platforms.

perhaps it’s because it’s only hearsay? but you’ve always been sort of a private person yourself, so he’s not exactly surprised.

logan sighs to himself, rolling his chair over to the window that faces what used to be your bedroom. the window is shut with its curtains drawn.

you moved out the moment you turned 18. he once had your address when you gave it to him, and he kicks himself over the fact that he never got around to visiting you and seeing how you’ve come into your own.

he never got to see the apartment you would talk about growing up and all the decorations you planned on putting up.

he wonders, did you ever keep the framed picture with him when you went to disneyworld as kids? did you bring it with you?

logan huffs and pulls down his blinds. he turns to face his room, leaning back into his seat. it’s the holidays, but there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do with absolutely nobody.

his friends have all gone back to visit and spend time with family. he spent his first couple of days with his family, but even they’ve got better things to eventually.

all he can do is train for his next season.

he decides to finally get up to his feet, grabbing the gym bag that sits on the edge of his bed. he’s just about to drive to the gym when his phone lights up his dim bedroom.

a notification from you that makes his heart race and hands shake. a text from you is the last thing he expected out of his visit.

he hasn’t talked to you in nearly 2 years.

heard ur back home

he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. he doesn’t write a reply immediately, so much hesitation and confusion mixing in his mind.

it’s taken him so off guard that he comes to a realisation that he doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore.

just for the holidays, im headed back to the uk after new year’s

your response is quick.

our spot

logan’s got no idea what you mean by that. until another text from you comes in.

10 minutes. see u

oh. you’re actually asking to see him.

suddenly he’s got no idea what to do. does he actually go?

he’s pacing around his room, frantically searching for the things he’d need to go and see you. which, wouldn’t actually be much. just his phone, his wallet, and

his gaze lands on the sad pile in the corner of his room, trinkets he’s collected from traveling the world in his first season. collected just for you, like you’d always talked about growing up.

now begs the question: does he bring it with him or does he just forget it ever existed?

doesn’t matter. he grabs his phone and wallet, heading out the door. his history with you is never spoken about.

maybe once, on a drunken night in australia with oscar. when he asked logan why he’s still visibly single, logan explained his situation.

how you kissed him the day he was leaving to stay in europe to fully commit to his junior career. how you’d called him every single night when you were teenagers, waiting around months at a time for him to come by for a short visit.

how you told him you loved him one evening when you were 19, in london when you were over for a visit. and how he had to put it on hold for his junior career, and never had the chance to get around to it because of his commitments to formula 1 now.

he had put it on hold, thinking you’d be around forever for him to come back to. he knows now that he’s never been more wrong in his life.

oscar never brought it up again after seeing the american choke on his words and laugh nervously as he retold the story.

when he found out you were seeing somebody, his heart broke. but he couldn't get himself to ask you about it. he knows it's his fault that you're in somebody else's arms now.

he quietly pads through his home, trying to pass his family members who have all resided in their individual bedrooms. even they've got no idea what's gone down between you two.

as far as they're concerned, you just simply drifted apart with time.

he parks his pickup truck right between the methodist building and what used to be the school you attended together growing up. he sits behind the wheel, eyes scanning the dark for any signs of you being here.

it's not a very far drive, only 5 minutes from his house and yours. just a playground that you used to hang at when you were growing up. when the world got too loud, this is where you'd come to regain composure.

he'd caught you one evening sitting here all alone when you were 8, and it's become your spot for late-night talks ever since. right on that green slide is where logan told you that he wanted to be an f1 driver when he was older.

it was on that blue swing that you admitted the crush you've had on him your entire life, and he reciprocated.

his heart races in his chest, unsure if you'd meant what you texted him. what if you bailed and this was all some sick twisted joke you're pulling on him?

and a random car pulls up in front of the methodist. he anticipates the moment you'd crawl out of the driver's seat, looking different from the last time he saw you - which was about 2 years ago when he last talked to you.

but after about a second, the backseat door opens, your leg poking out with your hair dishevelled in a ponytail. you close the door as you step onto the sidewalk, tugging down your dress that's hiked up your thighs as the car drives off.

logan finally turns off his engine, stepping out shortly after you. your eye roams the quiet street, locking into his as he watches you take a deep breath.

he nods, pointing towards the playground. you nod. he locks his truck and slowly makes his way to the brightly lit playground between the two establishments.

you make a beeline for the swing, dropping yourself down and bending forward to unstrap the heels that suffocate your feet. logan's not even going to ask where you'd come from all dolled up.

he occupies the empty swing next to you, clasping his hands together and placing them between his knees. it's a lot colder than he initially anticipated and his sweatpants are barely keeping him comfortable.

you sit in silence for the next couple of minutes. there's chatter from the methodist building next to you. you pick at your nails, trying to soften your breathing.

it's only then logan notices that your cheeks are flushed and the smell of alcohol in the air. which is obviously not coming from either place that surrounds both of you.

"are you drunk?" logan starts in a whisper, craning his neck down trying to get a look at you.

you look at him from the side of your eyes, lips pouted out in a frown. "tipsy," you correct him, "not drunk."

he nods to himself, rocking back and forth on the swing. he leans his head on the chain that holds his body up. he doesn't really know what to say.

in fact, he doesn't think there's much to say. you were the one who started ghosting him all those years ago. he's not upset or bitter about it, but he completely understands why you'd done it.

if he were in your position, he can almost guarantee that he would have taken the same measures.

"how long have you been back?" you ask, eyes tracing the design on the rubber playground floor. "why didn't you tell me?"

logan raises his eyebrows. "uh," he stutters, "i didn't know i had to. i'm sorry."

you shrug. "you didn't have to," you trail off, dropping your head low to avoid his gaze. "i just thought you would've told me when you'd come for a visit. we haven't seen each other in a while."

yeah, 2 years, he wanted to say.

"it's cause we haven't seen each other in a while that i didn't think to tell you i'm back home," logan admits solemnly, pressing his lips together. "i'm sorry, though. if i knew, you would've been the first person i told."

"i'm sorry i stopped picking up your calls," you suddenly say softly. "and answering your text messages. and telling my parents to tell you i'm away on vacation every time you came to visit."

he just nods. it hurt when you first started distancing yourself from him. but, what can he do?

he sort of caught on in the second week after you let him facetime call ring twice without an answer. that would’ve marked the fifth call you ignored, and the twentieth text you left him on delivered.

so he dropped it. he thought that maybe you would come around when he comes back to miami. apparently not, because you were ‘away’ on a trip with friends. which, now he knows, could possibly be just a lie.

logan smiles, mostly to himself as you’re looking straight ahead at the playground’s structure. “i get it. it’s alright.”

“no, really,” you adjust yourself to look at him with a sigh. “i feel horrible every single day about what i did. but i just didn’t know how to cope with the fact that you put me in the backseat when i was right there.”

“hey.” logan slumps his shoulders. suddenly he feels a tinge of guilt in his chest, and no amount of quick convincing makes it go away. “i understand why you did what you did. you deserve to be with someone who puts you first. i didn’t do that.”

you shake your head. a small smile creeps up on your face, looking up as your eyes start to glisten under the lights. “you don’t get it.”

“what do you mean?”

“i miss you,” you say in a sigh. “i thought you said you loved me too?”

“i did,” logan nods. then he corrects himself: “i do.”

“i still think of you,” you admit with a small smile. you laugh dryly to yourself before looking ahead at the playground. “sometimes i wonder how different our lives would be if i’d just never… stopped waiting.”

logan rests his head on the chain that holds the swing up. “sometimes i wonder how nice it’d be if i’d just,” he sighs, “chosen you.”

“same.”

he can see himself on the playground with you all those years ago. sitting in the structure, giggling with one another as you talk about your separate lives.

your lives seem to come together when you’re on that playground, though you walk separate paths that would prove to be more detrimental to your friendship.

you’d indulge one another in gossip the other had no idea about, but tried their hardest to relate and mirror frustrations. more often than not, a notebook is laid down on the ground between you while you try to draw out the situation of said gossips.

it always makes logan cringe thinking of how invested he’d gotten in your drama with your friends.

“i’m seeing somebody,” you whisper.

“i heard from mum.”

“yeah.”

logan takes a few breaths. “is he good to you?”

you nod. he just smiles then plants his feet into the ground. “that’s good. i’m so happy for you.”

“he’s not you, though, logan.”

he turns his head, looking at you in shock. “what?”

“i want you to tell me i’ve made a mistake,” you say flatly, turning your head to look at him with a frown. “tell me i shouldn’t be with him.”

“i can’t say that to you,” logan frowns, eyebrows furrowing at your sudden request. “i can’t decide that for you.”

you take a deep breath, shakily letting it out. “tell me you still want me, logan. and i’m all yours.” you sigh. “but i need you to say it to my face. cause i won’t wait for you if you don’t ask me to stay.”

logan searches your eyes for any sort of hesitation, or signs of backing off. but he doesn’t. you’ve got that same glimmer in your eye that he’s seen over and over again.

“i do,” he sighs, shaking his head. “i really do. but i can’t promise you anything. i’ll only break your heart. you know this. we lead two very different lives.”

you shrug, dropping your head again. “we could make it work. you’ll never really know.”

“please don’t do this. you’re with somebody else who gives you the world, i’m sure,” he tried to explain to you. “better than i can. you know at least that for a fact.”

you finally stand up, fists clenched by your side. “i can see it in your eyes, logan. you don’t want things to be this way — i’m giving you a chance to change the course of things.”

he looks up at you, lips parted and mind running with thoughts that all contradicted one another.

not talking to you took a while to get used to. especially when he moved up to formula 1, it was hard to find someone to talk to who would listen to him talk without judgement.

he needed your presence the most when he felt so out of place in his environment; like he was an imposter who didn’t deserve to be where he did.

your sudden departure from his life took a harder hit than he cares to admit. he thought about you every single day: the one person who can tell which smiles he fakes on the daily.

the ultimatum you’re giving him is too tough to make a decision on the spot. in hindsight, he’s not only breaking your heart, but also his.

logan sighs, standing up to tower over you. he hovers a hand over your shoulder. “let me drive you home.”

“no, come on, logan!” you shove his hand away from you and stumble a step back. “do something for once! risk something!”

“it’s not that easy.”

“but it is,” you say, matter-of-factly, giving him a stare of indifference. you hold your arms up by your side and raise your eyebrows. “i know my pain is such an imposition. but i’m tired of feeling like this when i know how you feel for me!

“when i know how to make this pain go away. work with me here, logan.”

“i can’t do that because there are more important things on the line for me right now!” logan spits at you, throwing his hands into the air. “i do, okay! i do love you! i think about you every single day, but i can’t throw away everything i’ve ever worked for just to be with you!”

“who says you’ve got to do that?” you shout back, shoving him slightly. “i’m asking you to choose me alongside everything you’ve got, not drop your entire career for me!”

“i’m a fucking laughing stock, do you not see what’s circulating the internet?” he asks exasperatedly with an eyeroll. “you don’t want that going for you. i’ve got bigger things to work on.”

he turns on his heel and walks towards his truck. when he doesn’t hear your footsteps following him, he stops halfway and turns to you. “get in the car, i’m driving you back.”

“so this is how it’s going to be?�� you laugh dryly, gesturing at your surroundings with a finger point. “you’re just going to push me aside because you think you can’t give me what i need?”

“i don’t think it — i know so.”

“and what exactly is it that you think i need?”

“somebody to show up for you when it matters,” logan huffs, slowly making his way back over to you. “somebody who can love you even on his worst days; who can take you out on dates, love you on your bad days, and just be there for you.

“i can’t even do that for myself. what the hell makes you think i can do all of that for you?”

he stops right in front of you, chest heaving from frustration and eyebrows furrowed as he towers over you. “i won’t be the person who can give you what you need. not now, i’m still working to be better.”

“you don’t know that.”

“i’m done with this conversation, (y/n),” he sighs, taking a step back. the smell of your perfume increases his urge to just pull you into his arms, but he can’t do that to you, himself, or the guy you’re with. “get in the car, i’m driving you home.”

"fine, whatever," you snap, folding your arms over your chest and stomping towards him to reach the white pickup truck by the corner.

when he planned on coming home for the winter break, you reaching out was never one of his things to expect. he thought that you were absolutely done with him, given that you hadn't talked to him in nearly two years.

his brothers giving him flack for his formula 1 season, maybe, but you confessing your feelings for him all over again? he hadn't ever thought about it in a million years.

when he climbs into the driver's seat, you've already fastened your seatbelt. your legs are crossed, like your arms over your chest, and your body is tilted towards the window.

logan sighs. "(y/n). please understand it from my side. i don't want to hurt you any more than i already have. you don't deserve this."

you still don't meet his eyes. your eyes are trained on the dark scenery outside with a prominent frown on your face. "just take me back to my parents' house."

"what about your apartment?"

"i put it out on the market a month ago," you admit softly as logan turns on the engine. "i'm moving out of miami."

now, logan is typically a well-tempered person. growing up with brothers, it's definitely one way to train that aspect of yourself.

but the last time he had asked you to reconsider moving to the united kingdom with him after graduation, you had refused. because your life is here in miami: your family, your friends, and everything you've ever known.

all of a sudden, you're moving out of here?

he hadn't faulted you initially, but he might just start seeing a change of heart if it comes down to this.

logan shifts in his seat uncomfortably, lifting his foot from the gas pedal. suddenly he's curious to know more about what's going on in your life: moving out of the house is one thing for you, but moving to a completely different place is something else.

"where are you going?"

"new york for a couple months," you say, staring at the street ahead. "just for some training. after that, i'm off to germany. i got a job offer."

"what about your boyfriend?"

"i haven't told him about it yet," you shrug, "i've been thinking of you too much to consider what is to come of the relationship eventually."

"you shouldn't do that. i'm not your boyfriend."

a dry scoff passes your lips. "thanks, i actually know that."

he pulls up to the front yard of his home. pulling up the handbrake, he turns to you with a hand on the backrest of your seat. "i'm serious. don't sabotage whatever you've got going on for you. embrace it."

"really?" you scrunch your nose as you turn to face him. "life advice from someone who keeps sabotaging all of the lifelines i keep throwing out for him to save what we had going on for years?"

logan sighs. he raises his hands to surrender. "fine. do what you want. i only want the best for you and i know it's not me."

"whatever, logan," you scoff, taking off your seatbelt. you throw it back into place and unlock the car door, pushing it open. "i won't be around forever: remember that."

you crawl out and slam the door behind you. all logan can do is sink in his seat and watch you cross the road, walk up to your front door and shut that behind you as well. you don't spare him another look, which is when it all washes over him like tsunami waves.

but as much as he wants you, he will have to stand true to his words. because he knows his truth: he isn't the person you deserve to be with.

422 notes · View notes

angelisverba · 1 year

Text

kryptonite

in which y/n smokes weed (sometimes) and she thinks her dealer is super cute, and harry always gives her a little extra because she’s sweet

word count: 8.2k

pairing: plug!h and y/n

warning: if you are uncomfortable with the use of drugs, please do not continue reading!! i DO NOT want to see any messages in my inbox that talk of ‘glamourizing’ this drug. if you don’t like it-> don’t read it. mentions of bullying, peer pressure,

author’s notes: the second and final part to this fic will be posted next week, feb. 02 at 8am pst.

* * * * * * *

Harry hated parties.

Admittedly, they were a third of his source of income, but unless it wasn’t a gathering exclusively composed of his close circle, he didn’t want anything to do with it. They were too loud and sticky, messy and smelly. Red solo-cups littered at every available corner, half filled with Coca-cola, vodka, and the occasional sad, cigarette butt. Scantily clad girls and ‘discreet’ boys that didn’t know how to read body language that clearly screamed ‘I’M NOT INTERESTED!’. It just all got his nerves because half the time he knew they were only using him to get reduced prices on the marijuana he spent ample time on growing.

He tried, as a general rule, to limit his reluctant, brooding attendance to parties he knew would only consist of Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and the handful of other friends that just wanted to have a good time and a nice snuggle on a cramped couch that rumbled with intoxicated laughter. He liked being in a crowd he knew, it was much more intimate, less pressure-filled. He didn’t have to maintain that ‘polite’ air that was socially required in an atmosphere of people he didn’t know. No niceties or complimentary. When it was just him and his friends, all of that ‘quiet’ and ‘please, thank you’ shit wasn’t necessary. He could jump straight to his affectionate, giggly, sprawling-all-over-everyone’s-lap self, and no one would question it because they know it’s what he preferred.

But, at a big house party like the one where he was at, where everyone knew him as The One Guy Who Sells The Good Shit, Harry had to pretend to be polite and quiet and small, and adopt an overall stiff persona that made him prickly and cold. This wasn’t him. He didn’t like this, and wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for his very convincing friend Mitch, who noticed that business was slow and assured him that he was bound to 1) ‘sell a shit-ton’ and 2) gather a handful of new clients once they realized that what he had to dispense was pretty good quality for a subjectively cheap price.

Mitch had been right, of course.

The small black backpack of goodies that Harry had brought to this inconspicuous function had been empty in less than two hours, and he’d repeated his number enough times that it started to feel forgein on his tongue. Once or twice, a few girls had flashed him what could be called ‘bedroom eyes’, but he wasn’t in the mood to get his rocks off. When he came with a purpose to sell, any need, want, or hope for sex flew out of the window because then he ran the risk of girls thinking their ‘connection’ entitled them to some sort of discount on weed, and he didn’t particularly fancy ruining his post-coitous bliss with the awkward exchange of rejection that followed their questions.

Plus, it made him feel used.

A good three hours have passed, and he’s about to tell Mitch he’s ready to leave when his line of sight is snagged on the diamond image- no, a beautifully deceiving mirage, because there’s no way this girl is real. Not when she looks like a ditzy sprite, a walking mermaid, a glimmering fairy, a heart-wrenching siren, and any other bewitching, ethereal creatures that stole men’s souls upon the first breath they took in their presence. She looked like one of his psychedelic hallucinations that whispered sweet things to him and played with the ends of his hair when he’s in the lull of shrooms, brought to life. Grounded, real, and three-dimensional, not just in the airy, green-leafed recesses of his muddled mind.

This pretty little enchantment that caught his eye had floated into the room on two clumsy, shoddy-sneaker covered feet that extended from bambi-like legs with knees that were almost comically knocking against one another. She walked slanted, her shoulder pressed against her friend’s, whom Harry might have been able to recognize as Sarah if he spared his gaze, but that was impossible. So, he thought to himself, this is how magnets work? Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to dislocate his line of sight from the socket it had carved itself into. Her cheeks, rounded with laughter and smiles, were dusted with the telling, glimmering sheen created by alcohol, and her eyes were bright, shiny, and starry from the handful of lamps that lit the living room. The slope of her waist, semi-shrouded deliciously from the billowy fabric of her powder blue summer dress (he couldn’t fucking believe she was wearing a dress when it was windy outside. Did she not care for her health?) and it made him think of the marvelous illusions created from marble. He was fond of going to museums and staring- for hours, at times- at statues of women draped in silk that were replicated with such precision, it was almost as if the wind was right there, rippling against the tantalizing figure of the unidentified female, so much so that an man was inspired to share his tortured vision. In solid form, nonetheless.

It made him wonder what the artist could see in real life. What they envisioned the model to be like underneath the heavenly fibers that twisted and turned restlessly with running air, preventing a clear grasp on the body underneath. Spurred to the point of such desolation, left with a hunger to resurrect what their mind’s eye consumed in physical format to live on forever and torment anyone else who looked.

He understood then. Understood that hunger and want for more.

She spun prettily like one of those ceramic ballerinas in a golden music box owned by children of important people, and that damn dress was both too loose and too free, moving around her with a protective fluidity from hungry, lovelorn wolves like him. He can’t hear her clearly because he’s too far away, but the snippets of her laugh that his ears manage to funnel down to his eardrums sound like a fairy’s tinkle.

She is a dream. Head thrown back before she replies with such enthusiasm and a strange half-lucidity that it has him leaning in to try and hear the drunken words that escape her soundless lips. He’s stuck in a moment of frozen time with her and only her. There’s a pinch behind his sternum when her head moves in his direction, and a strong titanic-worthy sink when she stops before even reaching his gaze. The words of some pop song from the early 2000’s skim cheesily through the background of his brain like a lonesome draft. Where have you been all my life?

Tunnel vision, he believes it might be called.

Next to him, Mitch bumps his shoulder, shattering his dangerously sharp focus with mumbled words that Harry doesn’t quite register with complete comprehension because they sound warped, as if they were spoken through a thick layer of glass or from underwater.

“What?” He blinks, his eyes stuck on her but his head rotated enough to the side that his friend knows he’s listening. He’s afraid that if he stops looking, or even blinks, she'll evaporate into thin air and he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if she really was a mythical being conjured from his second-hand high.

Mitch clears his throat and hides a knowing twitch of his mouth beneath the rim of his drink, “I said her name is y/n.”

Harry, distracted and oblivious, is unaware that Mitch caught on to the focus of his attention, asks, “Who?”

This time, he can’t help but huff a chuckle, “This girl, H. Her name is y/n. She just started working with Sarah. Sarah says she keeps to herself, but there’s been a bit of… bullying, so she invited her out for a good time.”

“Bullying?” A faucet of anger opens in his major arteries and replaces his blood with a river of internalized rage. Bullying? Bullying her? His head whips around with enough speed to crack the vertebrae in his neck, and his thick brows furrowed with a fierce expression that would scare anyone that looked at him then (Mitch being exempt because he knew there would be no harm coming from that look). “What do y’mean bullying?” He spits the word out like it tastes foul.

Mitch takes another sip from the red solo cup, taking time to compose his face before continuing casually, “yeah. Y/n’s new, sweet, and quiet. Sarah says the others at work think that she’s their personal coffee runner or something. She tries to help her when she can, but she's not always around ‘cause of meetings or whatever.”

Harry sucks on his teeth and shakes his head, twisting again to observe y/n with mooney eyes, bitterness still simmering within him at the treatment she receives at her workplace. Especially when the smile he was so fortunate to witness made him taste caramel and honey and peach nectar and all of the sweet treats that traversed through his esophagus when the munchies hit. It warmed him to finally have a lovely name to attach to a lovely name.

Y/n. It settled nicely in his inner monologue, and he wanted to speak it. Test it on his tongue to see if it molded his lips as nicely as he imagined it would. It fit her, he thought. Y/n. Weirdly, Harry itched to throw it casually in a conversation with her. An exclamation. A wheezed whisper in the middle of a breathless laugh. In a greeting. In a goodbye. To grab her attention. To console. It was ridiculous! He didn’t even know her but he wanted, badly, for this party to transform into one of the more comfortable ones he had with his friends. For her to sit next to him on the couch his arm around the space behind her as she leaned into him unconsciously as the conversation continued. To grab her bicep in a nervous giggle when he stumbled after one too many. To share a bowl of chips with her (lime was his favorite, but he would eat barbecue flavored ones- his least favorite- if they were hers).

“Whose-”a burp, “motorcycle is blocking the driveway?!”

A clearly drunk male slurred from the front of the house, an arm raised as he swayed in a half-assed attempt to grab everyone’s attention, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the carpet and Harry winced, half from being startled and half from the suddenly stiffness that came with several pairs of eyes landing his way.

“Sorry, mate. That would be me.” He raised a finger in the air and bent at the waist to deposit his unfinished drink on a low black coffee table by his knees. He shrugged, rolling his lips into his mouth and turning to Mitch with his shoulders lifting with the beginnings of a hug, “‘was just gonna leave, anyway.”

“Early night, H?” Mitch mumbled, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek while embracing his friend, the ghost of a laugh lingering in his nasal passage. Harry’s cheeks turned a light pink and his nostrils flared in his attempt to hide his smile.

“Yup.” Harry returned the kiss, his nose digging onto the scruff of Mitch’s cheek, tickling him. Stepping back from their show of affection, he patted his palms against his thigh to make sure he had his phone and keys, and tugged the strap of the small backpack on his shoulder to verify it’s presence.

Mitch resumed his leaning position against the door frame, hand in his pocket, “alright. Text me when you get home.”

“‘Course.” Sparing one last glance in the charming sprite’s direction as he said his final goodbye, he was devastated to find that she had, in fact, disappeared, just as he’d feared.

He almost stayed to find her and watch over y/n like some sort of guardian angel, but he didn’t have the guts to go up to her. He hadn’t even finished one drink, so liquid courage wasn’t there to help him, not when he had to ride his motorcycle home. He almost asked Mitch to keep an eye on her for him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sarah was with her, and therefore he’s already watching her.

And from the comforting, yet teasing, twinkle in his friend’s eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. He knew that he was well on his way to cracking his head open over his heels.

Their friendship had always been one of little words.

******

Harry’s been delivering weed for a while now.

What started as a side hustle to obtain much needed income when times were tough developed into an interesting near full-time job with amazing results and benefits (he got to smoke weed for free now, since he grew it himself, but there was always that whole ‘don’t get high off your own supply’ rule, so he did limit himself). He had thought that he would have trouble attaining customers, but word spread like wildfire amongst his close circle of friends, which all happened to be free spirited individuals that harnessed the powers of nature, and then their friends, trusted friends, and so on and so forth.

It got to a point where he needed a separate phone for dealing alone because the ‘rush hour’ would meddle with his personal texts, leading to frequent ‘wrong person’ texts, and he traded his crappy car for a decent motorcycle so he could get to drop-off locations quicker. The added ‘badass’ effect also stroked his ego, so it was a wonderful bonus.

But the annoyance of being interrupted in the middle of something like, let’s say… an episode of Hannibal with a warm bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap always came in the same frustrating amounts.

Like now.

The Netflix screen pauses on Mads Mikkelsen’s face, spouting some bullshit about a tea cup, when his phone dings with a new notification. The sound is a specifically selected ‘ding!’ that is different from his personal phone so it’s easier to differentiate the purpose of the incoming message, and a rumbling groan vibrates from the back of his throat. Throwing his head back against his beat up, brown leather couch, Harry slams his hand around him until his ringed fingers click against the sleek device, and it automatically lights up as he brings it up to his face.

Unknown Number: Hi! Mitch gave me this number and said I’d be able to buy some pre-rolls?

Fucking Mitch. He often passes the number off to his buddies at the record store he works at. The dude started typing again, and the grey bubble with three dots wiggles at the bottom corner of the new text chat. Harry waited.

Unknown Number: If it’s too late for you, I understand.

It was, in fact, too late for him. But, money was money. He technically wasn’t doing anything important, so he would go and deliver to this-

Unknown Number: My name is y/n, by the way :D

Not a dude.

Fuck.

Not a dude.

The popcorn went flying off his chest and spilled all over the floor as he jumped up from his seat. Fuck. Y/n? Y/n with a smiley face. The girl from the party? His heart came to a stuttering stop, screeching like tired on asphalt breaking at a high speed as he came to the realization. The girl has haunted him like a stubborn will ‘o wisp for the past week was texting him. Albeit, it is for a service, but it was still something. The marijuana aspect of his situation didn’t bother him. He sold and consumed, it would be hypocritical of him if it did. Besides, she was an adult. She could do what she liked.

His jaw is on the floor, his eyes popping out of his head and he can’t believe what’s happening to him at that moment. He’d kiss Mitch on the mouth next time he saw him. It’s not until he sees the grey bubbles appear and disappear quickly again that he remembers the normal, usual response to this kind of situation is to type back. With trembling fingers, he pressed on keys, tapped on the backspace button, and repeated those motions several times because he had no idea what he was supposed to say- no, what was right to say to her. He had a standard response when it came to people who wanted to buy from him, but sending her prewritten message in his notes app that consisted of a short, perfunctory greeting followed by a menu-structured list of what he had available that day and their prices. There was no way in hell he’d send that to her.

Harry: Hello! It’s not too late for me to deliver. What can I help you with?

Unknown Number: Mitch mentioned that you offered a 2 for $35 deal?

Unknown Number: Is that still available?

Harry did offer a two-joint for thirty five bucks deal. Pre-rolled joints in cherry rolling paper about as long as his middle finger to the halfway point of his palm, semi-thickly packed with a hybrid blend of the two Mary-Jane plants (Sativa and Indica, none of that Maui Wowie, Blue Dream, or other strains; he liked to keep it simple) he had in a specially insulated box in the garage attached to the house he rented. It was his most popular sell; decent amount, excellent high, excellent trip. But… two? Was she smoking with someone else? Or was she saving one for a later time? He didn’t think she was the type to smoke two at once, but then again he didn’t know her, so her reasons were unclear to him.

However, if he arrived at her location and she was with someone (a male, specifically) his night would be ruined, because then that would mean that any marginal chance that he had with her was out of the question. And he couldn’t ask her right away because they hadn’t even properly met yet, and that would be weird and rude. That didn’t help his overthinking tendencies, and in a matter of seconds, Harry was sitting at the edge of his couch, popcorn crunching underneath his butt as a frown settled on his handsome features. Jaw set, lips puckered in contemplation with a pinch between his drawn eyebrows that casted shadows over his emerald eyes. He looked menacing, and his smattering collection of tattoos didn’t help either.

Or his motorcycle.

Or the intimidating stigma that came with his title of ‘plug’.

Stubborn as he was, this look of ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ would stay with him for the rest of the night, all because he couldn’t restrain himself from coming to incorrect conclusions. He didn’t know if y/n had a boyfriend, if she was with a friend, or if she would even be interest in him, but the sour thoughts that she did have a boyfriend and wouldn’t be interested in a ‘lowlife’ drug dealer loomed over him like a murky, stormy, thundering clouds.

He sent his response and changed her contact name.

Harry: I do!

Harry: Did you want to see the rest of the menu or are you set?

He knew he was being short with her. His messages were missing their customary smiley faces, the extra exclamation marks, the occasional x’s and o’s. He didn’t even type with capitalized letters, but in order to refrain from diving even further into this hole of hope, he decided that the change in his style of grammar would help him become emotionally distant. He just couldn’t bring himself to add them while he was in a stubborn, self-induced slump. While he looked angry, glittery butterflies beat their cellophane wings inside his ribcage and shook magical glitter onto his intestines, making them warm and queasy.

Y/n: I think that’ll be all for tonight

The causal mention of ‘for tonight’ gives him hope. That implied there would be other nights, and even though he’s currently grumpy because relationships are fucking complicated, he wanted to see her again and again.

Harry: Send your address, please.

She sends her location.

Harry: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

Since he’s already half dressed in black jeans and a white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt from his earlier afternoon deliveries, he only has to part the crystal bead curtain in the doorframe of his living room to grab the leather jacket hanging from a bright yellow coat rack besides his door, and the backpack that he left in a slump besides his shoes (already packed with goods). He doesn’t think twice about the popcorn that’s scattered all over his floor and couch or that the Netflix “are you still there?” screen blinks black when he picks up his keys from the hook next to his door.

The garage opened when he pressed the button inside the kitchen hall, and he stepped out through the side door leading to the space where he kept his motorcycle. The owners before him had left a shit-load of junk that had taken up most of the space, and with their permission, he sold and threw most of it away. For the most part, it was empty. A bench, some boxes, and the white-refrigerator like rectangular box underneath the worktable along with his ride were the only things in there.

Grumbling and pouting like a petulant child, Harry clipped on his black helmet, flipped the visor down with two slender fingers, and dropped the backpack into the compartment attached to the backseat. A button on his keys closed the garage door behind him as he kicked aside the stand and swerved with a screech onto the road, the night air wrapping around bare throat as he cut through at a higher velocity than was surely legal on a residential street, but he didn’t see it as a crime when the heart was involved. He could picture himself explaining to the officer that pulled hi over in a hypothetical situation, that he was on his way to deliver drugs to the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and the officer nodding solemnly at his noble cause.

Totally realistic.

Cars honked when he cut them off abruptly, and he gathered stares from the handful of people that were still wandering along the streets, spilling out at random intervals from bars. He had to cut through bits of the city to get to where she lived, and the three red lights that stalled his perusal were lucky that they were government property or else he would have damaged them in a severe fit of impatient rage. He tapped the tips of his shit-colored vans against the road and clenched his ringed fingers around the handlebars, engine roaring with pending release. He should have grabbed leather gloves, he thinks, if not to impress her, then at least to keep his fingers warm because it was an especially chilly night.

Harry’s pulling up to a brick building in exactly fifteen minutes. There’s fire escape ladders trickling down the side, and cement stairs leading up to a brown oak door with a thin window pane slightly left ajar while a burning yellow light seeps in a long bar across the steps like a satin ribbon. Several windows are bright with light from the inside, and the spare streetlamps that cast a spotlight on the sidewalk make the street unsettling, like someone is hiding in the shadows extending from tree trunks. Harry doesn’t like it one bit, and he hopes y/n isn’t walking these streets by herself at night.

He’s simultaneously taking his helmet off and reaching for his phone in his back pocket when he hears her small peep coming from the door.

“Hi!”

And then, she’s all he can see, hear, think. She’s just as absorbing and hypnotizing as the first time he saw her, even though she’s standing in what is clearly pajamas. A long, sage knitted sweater that ends at the tips of her fingers and just above her knees, making her look like a leafy blob. Black sweatpants that are just as loose and baggy shadow the faint silhouette of her legs. Y/n is fiddling with her fingers, picking whatever color nail polish paints her nails (Harry can’t see because he’s too far away) and it makes him want to soothe her hands with his own. She’s tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and she probably doesn’t even realize that her eyebrows are furrowed and the bunch on her brow-bone casts comic-like shadows across her pretty little face.

Stupidly, because he can’t think of anything else to say other than ‘hello’ but he thinks that’s lame, he clears his throat and says, “how’d you know I was here?”

“Your… uhm- your motorcycle,” she points with a finger to the machinery beneath his bum. He’s leaning against it, not wanting to intimidate her by crowding her space in a dark-ish place but he doesn’t realize it actually makes him look very intimidating and ‘bad-boy’ looking. Especially with the leather jacket, “was kinda loud.”

“Mmm,” he hums his acknowledgement, because at that last corner he had purposefully revved the engine more than necessary. To impress her or to sate his devilish tendencies, was unclear. The space between his collarbones feels like it’s inflating and deflating with every rapid pulse of his heartbeat, and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t know where his ‘game’ is. He feels lame, at a loss for how to act around an angel when he was nowhere near her level. Hell, did this count as corruption of her innocence? He was selling her drugs for fuck’s sake.

At this realization, a heavy, sticky, nasty weight slathers itself all over his back and it can only be described as guilt. Should he be selling her weed? Should he even be morally conscious at this point? He sells weed to teenagers when he’s sure they aren’t narcs, but this wasn’t some zit-faced twerp.

This was y/n.

A few seconds of silence pass and she’s just staring at him, her lips rolling like there are words she's holding in and Harry staring at her with a closed-off expression, thick chocolate eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration because he’s memorizing every curve of her face to look back on when she wasn’t with him anymore. It’s after her first intake of breath with her mouth open that he snaps out of it and twists hurriedly to yank out the pink baggie with shiny red cherries printed on them. His current special, though he saved the decorated packaging for his closer group of friends because he knew it made them happy and he loved seeing that smile on their faces, but he wasn’t going to tell her that (and secretly he hopes it might put a dent on his irrational guilt).

“Here are y’cherry joints,” he holds it out, pinched between two fingers and his lips are a hard line as his heart beats out of his chest because- oh, god} she’s stepping closer and she smells really good and-

“‘Kay, uhm…” She takes the bag from him and mentally, Harry curses because she chooses to cup the underside of the bag and that wipes all chances of their fingers accidentally touching. She won’t meet his eyes, she’s shifty on her feet, and he doesn’t know how to tell her not to be nervous without sounding like a creep, “I’ve n-never done this before, and Mitch didn’t say if you took cash or Venmo so I brought my phone and wallet because I wasn’t sure which one you preferred.”

His heart goes through the life cycle of a dandelion. It blooms, yellow with happiness and new life breathed into his seedling soul by the sound of her voice, and transforms into the wispy tufts that fly away, ditzy and twirling from her sweet breath. All the while she holds him in her hand, smiling.

But all of these feelings are hidden away under his mask of self-preservation, writhing and squirming like worms. He gives away nothing, his eyes looking a little dead even though the in-between space where his head meets with the nape of his neck is damp with nervous sweat and he remains stiff and lazily posed against his motorcycle because he’s sure if he didn’t have that support his knees would knock together and sound like the cue ball hitting a winning shot in an empty pool hall.

Carding his hand through his unruly curls, he realizes that he should’ve styles his hair before leaving the house or foregone the helmet entirely, not caring about dying because first official impressions should be killer, and the extra harsh cut in his British drawl when he rasps, “cash is fine,” has to do with his own annoyance.

Y/n is flustered, evidence of that clearly sprawled all over her cheeks and base of her throat which he can see even in the darkness. She lifts the front end of her sweater with a paw-hand and Harry’s insides explode. Her phone and folded dollar bills are squeezed between the band of her bottoms and bare skin of her stomach. For just a second, the beautiful second in which she plucks the money from her body, he catches sight of a white, lacy bra-band that looks glorious while backdropped by the plane of her abdomen. He discovers the meaning of life and death, and wishes for a bit of both because this is torture.

The back of his mouth is drier than the sahara desert. Two tender fingers give him Holy ten and five dollar bills, and her angelic voice sings, “thank you,” when he takes it from her like a beggar.

Harry is an asshole because he can’t even respond with words only a hum of ‘mhm’ before swinging his leg over his ride and muttering a half-hearted, choked, ‘see you’ before roaring away.

****

He tries to invalidate his rapidly growing crush. Truly. He wants to brush it off his shoulder like dust because it’s annoying and distracting to constantly think about her, but nothing works.

In retrospect, he was even psychologically rude about it, trying- and failing- to find negative qualities about her or flaws in her appearance, but his fawning heart wouldn’t allow such disrespect to the receiver of it’s pesky little affections. The worst he could come up with was that her eyes looked as if some snot-nosed, uncoordinated, messy little kid had shaken an entire bottle of glitter onto a piece of copy paper and called it a day. And that her voice was soothing enough to coax that same child into comfortable, cow-jumping-over-moons dreams.

He wishes he were that hypothetical child rocked to sleep by her lulling voice because by the way things were going, he’s having a pretty hard time getting a wink of sleep because every time his phone vibrates he snaps straight up like his spine is locked and obsessively searched his phone for her name. And he’s tried putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ but it only makes it worse because what if he texts her and he doesn’t see it because he’s sleeping?

All of the customers that came after her, during his period of constant surveillance over his ‘trap phone’ received the best delivery times and the snarkiest attitude he’s ever had to offer. The morning sun isn’t as bright as it used to be and the moon is dimmer than usual because nothing can compare to her. He misses her terribly and it’s stupid because he doesn’t even know her and she probably thinks he’s a jerk because he acts like such a dick.

Mitch thinks it's funny that he’s so twisted about a girl. ‘A’ girl because even though he was high when he spilled his secret to his friend, he doesn’t think he could stand a potential breach of his privacy in the case that Sarah found out.

“I haven’t heard from her in a while,” Harry said.

“Do something about it,” Mitch said.

And well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It’s not like he can reach out to her to ask her if she wants to buy more weed. That would seem greedy and insensitive on his part; a money hungry dealer. He’s already in a limbo of moral dilemmas that shouldn’t exist in the first place and he doesn’t want to complicate it by any form of shady communication.

His dilemma, however, was solved by whatever divine being that dared to bear witness to his nonsensical pleas to the ether. It seemed as though she favored the night and dark for her ‘picking up’, because the delightful ding! came at the thirty minute mark of his tossing and turning.

With the sheets rumpled around his waist and his templed damp with faint beads of perspiration, Harry straightened in the same way he has for the past month, only the tedious exhaustion of it not being her was begging to gnaw at him. Was this what it felt like to be paranoid? Snapping alert at every single indication of a phone because you think it’s the IRS- or the girl who infects your mind, in his case- calling to demand a service?

Preparing for disappointment again, Harry picked up the phone and squinted as his pupils adjusted to the sudden change in light.

Y/n: Hello, Harry! This is y/n. You delivered to me last month? Are you available for delivery at the moment?

There is a muted thud as his phone slips out of his shocked hands and lands on the rumpled duvet. A thundering set of drums replaces his beating heart and his jaw remains slack because it has lost the ability to close. The perspiration on his hairline transfers to the cave of his hands. For weeks he’s been in a constant state of glum, waiting for her next text, and now that he has it the only thing going through his mind is oh my god, oh my god.

Still, through his haze he manages to reply with,

Harry: Hi!

Harry: Yes, I remember, and yes, I’m available

What he really wanted to say, and what he should have sent was, how could anyone forget you? You haunt me day and night. But that was a little obsessive, and probably would have scared her off before they even got anywhere.

Harry: Would you like to see what I have available?

Y/n: Please :D !

The pre-written list of items he has available changed this week. He’s added some chocolate edibles, brownies, and gummy bears that he picked up for a cheaper, wholesale price at the dispensary he frequents, and it makes him wonder if she’ll dare to buy them. He had one a few days ago at Mitch’s place with Sarah and has a smashing time. He couldn’t stop petting their cat, Texas, because the feel of her brown fur between his fingers was heavenly.

Grey bubbles appear and disappear several times along with his intake of oxygen before a long text appears, listing everything she wants from his makeshift ‘menu’ and… it’s a lot. The last time he received an order like this it was for a frat party that one of Mitch’s coworker’s friend’s brother referred him to, and it took him an entire week of rolling and baking to get his inventory back up. His kitchen smelled like weed-butter for a solid month.

Harry: Give me a moment to make sure I can sell you everything. Pretty large order…

The chipped black paint on his nails became a dark blur as his fingers typed, deleted, and typed uncertain words over and over again before finally settling on a sentence that was… neutral and didn’t send the wrong meaning. Usually, with his customers he was a mixture of blunt and friendly, but y/n wasn’t just a customer, and it made everything ten times harder.

Y/n: I’ll take whatever you have, please! Take your time, I don’t mean to stress you out

If she said please one more time, Harry was sure that he would become a liquid, coagulated version of himself among the mess of his blankets.

Jerking his ankles free of the fabric snake that snared him to a useless bed, he clambered off, knuckling at his tired eyes and shivering as the cool, still air of his room wrapped itself around the warmth of his body. Reaching into his closet for the first things he finds, a dark green hoodie and grey sweatpants, Harry yawns and dramatically stretched with his arms way above his head, hoping that the movement would push out the feeling of loneliness that was beginning to take purchase between his ribs, right underneath his heart.

Another late night, another delivery. He wished there was someone in his bed to call him back. Please don’t go, they’d say, the bed is cold without you in it. A warm hand trailing like a ghost against his thigh as he walked away, and a sleepy smile or groan of displeasure as his goodbye. He might not stay in the bed, but he would be happy- no, elated, to know that he would be coming back to someone.

The grow light of his makeshift greenhouse tinted his skin purple as he rummaged through all of his pre-rolled and pre-packaged items, his phone at his side as he checked off everything she has asked for.

9 of the Cherry Deals

6 of the citrus-infused pre-rolls

4 lavender-infused

10 brownies

And 2 8ths

In total, it came out to 28 joints.

Which is… well, a lot for just one person, or two, or three (unless you’re Snoop Dog or something). Packing everything up into four separate paper bags, and then a larger white bag so that she isn't filling with all of the smaller ones, he types out another cold text.

Harry: Okay I have everything.

Harry: Send the address, please.

She sends the address, and Harry follows the same routine as the last time, nearly eating shit as he flew out into his garage. Excitement bubbles in his guts at the same increment and volume of his motorcycle’s initial purr. Flipping open the back compartment he usually stores things in, he realizes that there is no way it’s all going to fit inside, so he turns on his heels to grab a backpack from inside and then he realizes that he’s not wearing any shoes. The smooth, grey floor is cold against the arches of his bare feet, and his brows furrow at his own insolence. Had he been so wrapped up in… everything that he didn’t put on shoes?

Rolling his eyes at his own actions- and feeling a little embarrassed that he’d let it happen- Harry returned to his home and snatched up the first pair of fashionable compatible shoes within his reach (green converse the same shade of his sweater) and the backpack to place the white bag in ( a little redundant, but he didn’t think holding it while he rode would be a good idea). Rushing back to the garage, he hoped that he wouldn’t come up empty with words like he had the time before.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

***

He was right about it being a party.

At least three minutes before he was flipping down his kickstand, the thundering bass of some rap song (he thinks he can hear ASAP Rocky, but he’s not too sure) shakes the streets and the trees. It’s a house party in a building that was too big to fit into the word ‘house’, but yet too small to fit in ‘mansion’. Toilet paper and trash litters the front yard while couples make out and loners smoke cigarettes, or maybe joints, out on the generous porch. Sports cars and beat up rides pack the driveway and most of the street in front of the house, so it makes it really difficult to station his motorcycle in an area where he has a clear view of who’s coming in and out of the house, and therefore, really hard to spot y/n.

That is until-

“Hi, Harry!”

She’s sitting down on the curb with her arms around her legs and her chin on top of her legs, looking… scared. Her eyes were blown open like a newborn doe, and the sprawl of her limbs as she unravels from her sitting position to a wobbly stand mimics the shaky, knocking knees of a filly that is learning how to walk for the first time. Her voice is even headier than it was the last time he heard it, like windchimes in the spring chill.

Harry’s eyes roam over her with no attempt to conceal his blatant appreciation for the fuzzy sweater falling down to her mid-thigh. They seem to have become a pattern with her. This time, it’s a baby blue crew neck and a pair of jeans, and y/n’s has tried to tie her hair up into a bun at the back of her hair but spiky pieces stick out the back and tendrils swap her ears, making her look like a soft, smudge-y dream.

“Hello,” he says softly, not needing to clear his throat this time. He steps forward a bit, so he can hear her better (or at least that’s what he tells himself), “s’good to see you again.” Harry’s words are louder and more amicable than the last time he greeted her, and his lips part in a crooked friendly smile which she returned with the same tentativeness. There’s something off about her this time around. She’s pulling at her sleeves and shifting her feet, glancing over her shoulder as soon as she’s standing straight and her eyes won’t stand still on Harry’s figure for more than a few, burning seconds.

“It’s good to see you, too! I hope I’m not waking you up every time I text, though,” an exhaled laugh left her lips, and she dropped her gaze down to her shoes. Y/n rocked on her feet, once and then twice. “I think I’ve… I’ve made a habit of texting you late at night.”

And he blushes, “I- uhm… I was having a hard time sleeping, so you didn’t wake me. It’s fine.”

If only she knew that he was having a hard time sleeping because his subconscious was a bothered brat over not seeing her again. Pleading words of requests to ask her never to stop texting him were dancing on the tip of his tongue, banging against his barricaded lips and begging to come out. However, he didn’t think such daring words were fitting with their barely budding relationship. They were pitiful and needy, like a puppy, and frankly, Harry didn’t want to present that image.

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, checked over her shoulder again and then looked him in the eyes and said, “are you okay?”

“M’fine, yeah. Just got a lot of you on my mind at the moment,” he says. It makes y/n furrow her brows and tilt her head at him like a little cat, only then that he realize what he has said, “Things! Got a lot of things on my mind. Sorry,” he clears his throat, looks away while hanging his helmet on the handle of his ride. “Haven’t been sleepin’ much.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks,” y/n pouts. Pouts at him. And he just blinks. Doesn’t smile or laugh.

“S’alrigh’. Y’got quite a large order this time. Havin’ a party?” As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to slap his palm against his forehead. He probably sounded stupid, given there was clearly a raging party going on in the house behind her. Of course she was having a party, what he should’ve said what ‘what are y’celebrating?’ or ‘are you here alone?’. Like the ‘do you have a date?’ kind of alone.

“You got it right? Thank you. And… something like that, I guess. I’m a bit nervous, honestly, because I’ve never…” She shrugs, looking away from him and back to the house.

“Never been to a party like this?” He’s confused. Surely he can’t mean that she’s never smoked before? Right? Because if that were the case, then what did she do with the weed he gave her last time? And what was she doing at a party were they were on this much drugs.

“No! No, no, I’ve never… smoked before.” She’s adamant in shaking her head. Her hands too, splayed wide like jazz hands.

“Y’never smoked before? What about last time?” Harry hates how it sounds as though he’s accusing her, but he can’t seem to control the way his words are coming out of his mouth, not around her, and it’s making him look like a dick. What he wants to do is smile and tease her, to find some way to ask her if she would like to share a joint with him without sounding too sleazy.

Shaking her head, “those were for my roommate and his boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart pitter-patters in his chest, his mouth in a straight line, and although there’s an abundance of emotions elbowing against the other in his chest, he shows none of them.

“Yeah,” awkwardly, she shifts her weight from heel to heel, arms crossed before reaching into her pocket and bringing out a folded wad of cash. “$540, right?”

“That’s right, but…” C’mon man, he scolds himself, pull it fucking together. This is a concerning situation. Surely she can’t be buying this much this time and not plan on participating. “Are you gonna be a’right?”

Worrying her lips between her teeth, she lets out a deep breath before answering. Smiling and nodding as she answers as if she wants to convince herself, “I think so. How hard can it be?”

“Pretty hard if it’s y’first time, sweetheart,” Harry forces himself to smile a little, but instead it looks as though he’s grimacing. “Will y’friends walk y’through it?”

Y/n looks back at the house again, and shuffles her feet. She’s got a sad little look in her eye, droopy and shy. Great. He was making her uncomfortable. “They’re n-not really my friends,” she says, “but I guess so.”

What? “What?” The word is sharp in his mouth. What the fuck was she doing, then? Hanging with people that she didn’t look all that enthused to be with, buying their weed, standing out here all alone?

“They’re not-”

A male comes out of the house, red solo cup in hand, and he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. He’s waving a hand in the air, trying to flag y/n down Harry assumes, and he’s offended for her. Harry’s brows furrow and his hands curl into fists behind his back. Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? What the fuck is he drinking and why is he being so disrespectful interrupting their conversation this way? All for some weed?

Now on the last step, the guy shouts, “Y/n, what’s taking so long?”

The poor girl jumps, startled, and her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I’ll be in soon!” Y/n shoves the money at him, frazzled, and takes the paper bag from his hands. “Here's $560, Harry. The rest is a tip. You can count it if you’d like!”

“It’s alright, here you-” she’s already bounding away from him, but he doesn’t want her to go, and somehow, he finds the will to call her back. He just wanted her to look at him once more, because she wasn’t even inside yet, but he missed her gaze. “Y/n!”

She stops, and he gets exactly what he wants. Her attention. “Yes?”

Harry swings a leg over his motorcycle and gets ready to leave before he does anything stupid like… like trying to hold her hand or something. Who knows, he lost his ability to act his age around her. “Have a water bottle at your side,” he’s mumbling almost, “and don’t take too much in on your first try. Exhale and don’t freak out when y’start coughing. Or embarrassed. It’ll be okay. And… and do y’best to relax.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

And y/n smiles at him.

It’s small, and it’s meek the way a feral kitten approaches a human with food. Scared, and rightfully so, because Harry wants to scoop her up and take her home.

“Of course. Have a safe night.”

She nods and walks away with another piece of his heart in her hands.

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