#even though i probably am. i just. god. i feel like such a fucking idiot there’s no way im gonna be able to realistically do this

[lycanthian]

the urge to nick my dads beer is back and stronger than ever

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

vent

i always feel like im making the wrong decision. im too far in to back out now, but i feel like i dont have the capacity to succeed. like, my brain is so scattered all the time and i feel like im not smart enough to be able to actually get through college. my full associates didn’t transfer to the 4 year im going to and i might have to do extra courses. and like its not a big deal. but i feel like this is a sign that im doing something wrong, that i should’ve picked different. ive done two years already but if was at community college, so this is already going to be more difficult since its at a university. and i was commuting. i still was at home. i won’t be home, ill be somewhere new. and it doesn’t matter that much, but i don’t think ill be able to do it. i just don’t feel like im that smart, and this is a stem program. i just. not feeling great

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[awearywritersworld]

men are so quick to blame the gods

ryomen sukuna x reader summary: your boyfriend is a heavy sleeper, leaving you to form an unlikely relationship with the curse occupying his body during the late hours of the night. w/c: 2.6k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst/fluff. aged up!yuuji. sa is mentioned but it's pretty much just sukuna saying he doesn't condone it. heavy kissing. obvi features yuuji x reader but it's not at all the focus. cursing. sukuna calls you kitten. i'd like to think he's not too ooc in this but im probably delusional. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: am i rehabbing our handsome vicious psychopath? yes<3 loosely inspired by this post (features manga spoilers) of him being v beautiful and poetic series masterlist // masterlist

humans have always irritated the king of curses— pathetic little vermin scurrying around, utterly oblivious to their own weakness.

so it came as quite a shock to him when he awoke after over a millenia, only to find himself trapped inside the body of some teenaged brat.

nearly 7 years later and he's positive there isn't a person he despises more in the universe. not even the cocky six eyes wielder can elicit sukuna's fury the way itadori yuuji so easily does.

that's why he resolved early on to kill his vessel's pretty little girlfriend, an act he hopes might satiate his spite. he's positive nothing would devastate yuuji more.

luckily for you, life has a funny way of working.

you and yuuji are standing at an intersection in the city, the pink-haired man staring at his phone as he tries to piece together the directions to a new sushi restaurant you've been wanting to try.

when the pedestrian sign on the other side of the street blinks, you step out onto the pavement without checking for oncoming traffic.

"what the-" yuuji's confused voice fills your ears just as a rough hand wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward violently.

a car barrels through the spot you'd just been standing, the driver clearly not paying attention to the traffic signal. you look back just in time to see harsh black marks fading from your boyfriend's arm, though the rest of his body has seemingly remained unblemished.

it's an odd sensation for yuuji because he's never lost control to sukuna in such a manner. he doesn't dwell on it long though, as anger blossoms in his chest.

"do not touch her," he scolds the curse occupying his body.

a mouth appears on his cheek and scoffs. "sure. i'll just let her die next time."

"it's okay, yu," you interject before he can retaliate. "thanks, sukuna. i, uh, appreciate it."

he grumbles something incomprehensible, his mouth quickly disappearing. your boyfriend looks at you bemused, but you only shrug. the fact that yuuji had lost control to sukuna doesn't make you feel nervous or threatened. you're grateful that he kept you from being run over, albeit a bit surprised.

as you continue your walk to the the sushi restaurant, you find yourself not quite able to meet yuuji's eye because... well... you haven't exactly been forthright regarding your relationship with the king of curses.

the first night it happens, you're laying in bed eagerly finishing the final volume of a manga you've been reading. yuuji is fast asleep and has been for hours, though you're used to being the night owl in the relationship.

you keep wiping at your eyes, the cheerful ending tugging at your heartstrings and tying the story together in a beautiful way.

"can you stop with your incessant sniveling? this idiot's brain is so rarely quiet and you're ruining it."

you look over to see the eye beneath your boyfriend's is open, staring at you scornfully.

"can you fuck off?" your tone is obviously meant to mock him. "i'm finishing one of my favorite mangas and you're ruining it."

"need i remind you of your place, brat?" he sneers. "it's dreadfully wretched, crying because you don't like the ending to some stupid story."

"since you're so clearly invested, i'll have you know i'm crying because i do like it."

"..and here i thought you couldn't get any more pathetic."

your eye twitches in annoyance. "just because you're mad about being stuck in 'some idiot human's body' doesn't mean you have to go around projecting your feelings of inadequacy onto other people."

you move your hand to cover the mouth on your boyfriend's cheek before sukuna can respond, hissing out in pain just a moment later.

"oh my god, you actually bit me." you inspect the teethmarks on your palm in disbelief.

"just wait until i win control of this body— the punishment you deserve for such insolence. you'd better hope you're miles away, but even then—"

"holy shit, enough already. i'll go to sleep. enjoy your peace and quiet," you growl angrily, flipping off the lamp and turning away from him. for some reason, you still find yourself mumbling, "good night."

sukuna's eye widens before promptly closing, the silence hanging in the air heavily. it's the longest conversation he's had in years and the first casual pleasantry he's heard in a millenia. he tries to feel satisfied that he got what he wanted in the end, before returning to his quiet solitude.

over the next few months, your late nights are graced somewhat frequently by the king of curses. he mainly complains— the friends you hung out with earlier were annoying, the tv's too loud, it took yuuji twenty minutes to exorcise a curse that sukuna could have dealt with in seconds.

it doesn't bother you nearly as much anymore and he's no longer able to get under your skin like he did that first night. it seems as if he's losing his touch, or perhaps he just isn't trying as hard.

it's around one in the morning, a book resting in your lap while your boyfriend snores softly beside you. sukuna's eye pops open, peering over at the text. "you're reading homer?"

your body jerks, startled by his sudden question, but you recover soon thereafter. "yeah, were you two friends or something?"

"no, you fool," he derides. "he lived far before my time."

though you don't comment on it, you find it amusing that your sarcasm had gone over his head. "oh, you're right. how silly of me to think you had friends."

"such profound witticism. i can hardly contain myself."

you sneak a glance over to find he's narrowed his eye at you and you actually giggle. "sorry."

it doesn't dawn on you how bizarre the interaction is, but sukuna abruptly realizes that something feels different. not once before tonight had he made you laugh.

he pushes the thought from his mind. "i did, however, indulge in his works during the heian period."

"really?" you perk up. it's not often you give him your full attention. "what'd you think?"

"i suppose i liked him well enough. one of my favorite lines comes from the poem you're reading."

you motion your hand for him to continue. "well don't be shy. i'm sitting here with bated breath."

he rolls his eye, but speaks nonetheless.

"men are so quick to blame the gods— they say that we devise their misery..." you realize for the first time how gruff his voice is, the deep reverberations sending a shudder down your spine. "but they themselves, in their depravity, design grief greater than the griefs that fate assigns."

his eye flickers between each of yours before you look back to your book, fiddling with the corner of the page. you're suddenly feeling rather shy. "does that mean you think humans are even crueler than you?"

he muses over your question briefly.

"if i recounted how men would flee the villages i burned, leaving their families behind in a selfish attempt to save themselves.. who would you find more revolting?

you swallow nervously. "i.. i don't know."

"what if i told you of the men who would eagerly offer their wives and daughters to me, hoping i'd spare them.. who would you deem more wicked?"

you're so busy avoiding his gaze that you don't see the way he carefully regards you. a question you're unsure you want the answer to tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. "did you accept? the.. the husbands' offers—"

"no," he responds. "i have little interest in unwilling partners."

"oh. well that's, um, good."

he hums in response, leaving you to process everything he's told you.

"you should stop," you blurt out eventually.

"stop what?"

"being nice to me." you wouldn't normally consider discussing literature then reminiscing about the egregious stories of his past life particularly kind, but then again, it is sukuna you're speaking with. "it's weird."

he rolls his eye again. "you're hardly in any position to be giving me orders, you insufferable brat."

"see? that's much better."

"why are you crying?" his tone is even, conveying neither annoyance or concern. truthfully, he has no idea what compelled him to ask in the first place.

you don't answer, hoping he'll leave you alone. you really don't have it in you tonight, even if sukuna's been much more tolerable recently. it's been weeks since you finished reading homer's epic poem.

the moon is already setting and it's just a few days before your date at the sushi restaurant.

when you sniffle again, he calls your name. you don't register that he doesn't say brat or idiot. it's the first time he's used your actual name.

"w-what do you want?"

"i seem to recall asking you a question."

you're laying on your side, facing away from yuuji and by extension, sukuna.

"i'm not crying," you declare.

sukuna briefly wonders why he's stuck dealing with you while yuuji sleeps, but his inward 'annoyance' is half hearted. "you're an awful liar."

you exhale and turn to look at him. the only light in the room is coming from the tv, but it's enough that he can see you clearly. "sometimes.. i can't help but worry about the execution."

yuuji has told you countless times that gojo has a plan, that he won't let anything happen, but you know what the higher ups are capable of.

and while it's down right shameful, you know that much, it's not only your boyfriend you worry about these days. sukuna's become so commonplace in your life, you almost look forward to talking with him at night.

"the thought of losing yuuji... of losing.. you.. it scares me," you murmur.

your words stir up feelings he's never once experienced and it's confusing to him. "i'd have figured you'd at least be pleased to be rid of me."

"well, i-i kind of thought we were friends now," you share without thinking.

"don't flatter yourself."

he regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth and the guilt he feels as he watches your face fall is unbecoming of a being so powerful. you apologize meekly, shifting (too late) to hide your hurt.

he can't remember a moment in which he's hated being trapped in his vessel's god forsaken body more. he wants to reach out to you, even if the idea feels entirely foreign to him.

but he can't, so he just sighs. "if you think i'm going to let a few feebleminded sorcerers execute me and the brat, you're even more foolish than i thought."

you peer at him, the smallest smile gracing your lips when you realize that's probably as close to an apology as sukuna would ever get.

"promise?"

for fuck's sake. he feels utterly pathetic. completely deplorable. laughable, even—

"yes," he states impassively. "now go to sleep."

"okay." your smile is just a little wider as your fingertips brush the spot below his eye and above his mouth. you wonder if he can even feel it. "good night, sukuna."

"...night, brat."

less than a week after sukuna saves your life at the intersection, yuuji kisses you goodbye as he heads out to a mission. he assures you he'll be early tonight, as he only has to exorcise a semi-grade one cursed spirit in roppongi.

though things don't go quite as planned because in addition to the semi-grade, he finds himself standing before two special grades. he manages to defeat one of the special grades, but the other two leave him badly hurt, his breathing labored.

he has to beg sukuna to switch out with him. the king of curses hasn't forgotten his promise to you and he's no fool— it's clear this is an ambush by the higher ups— but he'll be damned if he wasn't going to have a little fun with the brat first.

he makes quick work of the curses, each of them going rigid with fear as soon as he appears, and it soon becomes apparent that yuuji is too weakened to take back control of his body just yet.

at last, sukuna has his long yearned for freedom and a new world at his fingertips, but there's just one problem... all he wants to do is find you.

when the lock to your apartment clicks, your eyes shift to the door, an excited grin on your face. you can't hide your shock when it isn't your boyfriend that steps inside.

you don't say anything at first, simply following his frame across the room as he approaches you. he leans against the wall a few feet away from where you're sitting on the couch, folding his arms across his chest.

"seems your concerns about the execution weren't unwarranted."

"w-what?!" you exclaim, rising to your feet and taking a step toward him. "what happened?"

he relays the story to you, emphasizing how 'unimpressive' yuuji's power was and how 'terribly simple' it was for him to finish the job his vessel couldn't.

you narrow your eyes at him, only half joking when you ask, "what are you doing here, then? shouldn't you be off pillaging tokyo or something?"

he chuckles. "such a dark mind you have. it wounds me to hear you assume the worst of me."

you bite your lip to hide your smile. "just figured it'd save time."

he closes the space between you and though you can feel the heat radiating from his body, you don't shy away from him. instead, your eyes trail over the dark lines adorning his face and chest.

he reaches up and your breath catches in your throat when the back of his fingers ghost over your neck. his nails graze your skin and a sly smirk forms on his face. "aren't you frightened? it'd be all too easy to kill a little thing like you."

"but you won't."

he can't tell if your assuredness pisses him off, but it certainly makes his heart rate pick up. his hand now occupies the space where your neck meets your shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "what has you so convinced?"

"well you saved me, didn't you? and.. and you kept your promise."

he hums in response and your hand seems to act of its own accord when it reaches up to rest atop his. any lingering sense of amusement is gone in an instant, the air now fraught with tension.

"so why are you here, sukuna?" you murmur.

the king of curses has never known goodness. he's wrought untold destruction and misery, his name inspiring fear even after millenia. he's a legend— a god, even— yet here you are staring up at him and he swears the look in your eyes is almost tender.

"i don't know."

"and you had the nerve to call me an awful liar."

you know you're taking a risk when you lean up and press your lips to his. he freezes for a moment before his mouth begins to move against yours tentatively. his arm stays at his side, so you grab his hand, moving it to your waist.

it's as if that flips a switch in sukuna. he backs you up against the wall somewhat roughly and you can feel him smile against your lips when you let out a squeak of surprise.

he uses the opportunity to take your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging at it before moving to your neck with the intention of leaving a trail of marks across your delicate flesh.

you know you should care, but you just can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. you're too preoccupied with the feeling. he revels in the little gasps he's pulling from your throat, in the way you grab weakly at his biceps.

"you are divine, kitten," he growls. "been waiting so long to touch you."

just as he finishes speaking, he pulls back a few inches and his body stiffens.

"damn it. not now, you stupid brat—"

the words die in his throat as the black lines begin to fade and you're met with the perplexed face of your boyfriend. he breaths out your name, clearly worried. "what.. what happened?"

[steventhusiast]

modern au where eddie and robin are roommates and steve is italian <3

-

eddie has always known that his roommate robin is in the US for college, but grew up in and is from italy. sure, sometimes he forgets, because she somehow has a near-perfect american accent and also speaks two other languages, but he’s always known.

and for the past year and a bit, he’s known how much robin wants her best friend stevie to come visit. she talks about them all the time, and ever since she and eddie moved out of the dorms and into an apartment together for their next year of university a month ago, he’s known stevie is going to come and visit.

he just kind of forgot the exact day stevie would be arriving.

so when he, clad in nothing but his garfield pyjama pants and a metallica t-shirt that’s falling apart, walks into the kitchen one morning and sees someone he doesn’t know at the kitchen counter fiddling with their instant coffee machine, he almost shits himself.

luckily, he doesn’t, because he remembers in that split second that stevie was due to arrive last night. but he still flinches pretty hard at the fright and grabs for the nearest grabbable thing, which turns out to be the doorframe. somehow, he makes a noise loud enough to get the mystery person’s attention, and they turn around.

holy shit. eddie did not know stevie is hot. or that stevie’s actually a guy. he kind of just assumed, with the nickname and all? but the man standing there looks like he could’ve been carved by the gods eddie doesn’t believe in, and- eddie realises he’s been staring at the guy for a few seconds now, and decides to talk like a normal human being. he first adjusts his position so he’s no longer holding onto the archway of the kitchen for support, and smiles at the guy.

“hi, you must be stevie?” he offers, and stevie takes a few seconds to process his words before nodding with a smile.

“my name is steve. robbie just is… hm, silly?”

eddie blinks a couple times, because steve has an accent. a thick one. he should’ve expected that, because- hello? they’re both literally from italy. but it catches him off guard, and adds to steve’s hot factor. why didn’t robin warn him about this.

“yeah, robin is very silly.” he agrees with a chuckle, and then realises steve might not know him, “i’m eddie. robin’s roommate. you probably knew that already though, so now i probably look like an idiot. well- more of an idiot than i already do in these clothes…”

he lets his words trail off as he realises steve is frowning at him in subtle confusion. he’s picked up robin’s rambling-when-nervous habit over their friendship, and hot guys tend to make him pretty nervous. but then he realises maybe steve isn’t as fluent in english as robin is, and even if he is eddie’s a fast talker that doesn’t always pronounce things fully.

“i am sorry,” steve looks embarrassed, “my english is not as good as robin.”

eddie feels so guilty at the pink that’s made itself known on steve’s cheeks, and shakes his head immediately.

“no! you don’t need to be sorry. i just talk a lot when i’m nervous.” he confesses. why did he say that? now steve knows he’s nervous. or does he? maybe he didn’t catch his full sentence.

steve raises one eyebrow at eddie though, and one side of his mouth quirks up into a smile as he turns around to keep trying to make himself a cup of coffee.

“i am making you nervous? why?” steve asks, his back still turned. now eddie’s the one with red cheeks. dammit.

“it’s because eddie here thinks you’re hot, stevie.”

eddie’s flinch at robin’s magical appearance behind him is somehow more spectacular than earlier, and he clutches dramatically at his heart and spins around to glare at robin.

“robin! what the fuck, man!” he yelps when he realises what she’s said. but robin isn’t listening, she’s too busy speaking to steve in italian about who knows what.

probably about how she knows all eddie’s tells for when he finds a guy attractive and how she knows eddie’s type and steve checks every single box. or, eddie squints at the pair as robin tsks at steve and takes over manning the coffee machine, maybe robin’s just telling steve how to make a coffee with the machine?

“you think i am…” steve starts as he spins around to look at eddie, and seems to be searching for a word for a few moments, “attractive?”

eddie’s eyes widen, and then he sighs and fixes a glare on robin. robin just shrugs and makes a very insincere ‘oopsie’ expression, and eddie is about to start denying like his life depends on it, but he looks back at steve.

and steve has that blush back on his face, and a tiny smile, and he’s looking eddie up and down even in his ridiculous outfit.

“um, yes.” eddie practically squeaks, not used to having someone’s eyes on him like this.

steve says something to robin in italian that sounds like it ends with a question mark, and robin rolls her eyes.

“steve wants me to translate a pick up line he wants to use on you, but i literally refuse to do that. google translate is free.”

and with that, she leaves the kitchen.

[toxycodone]

i want swansea to finger me. i ❤️ fat men

ship. swansea x reader

content. fingering, reader is gender neutral but they do kinda ride his face

Jesus Christ.

Swansea’s had enough of this. Pony Express in general has always been on his ass, making him scoff and roll his eyes at every idiotic new rule or exception they make with hauls. But this one really takes the cake.

Having his fellow crewmate spread eagle on his work bench is fucking ridiculous.

Why do they keep hiring young people? He supposes it’s because they’re cheap, and this company’s the most penny pinching business in the game. But the costs surely outweigh the benefits.

They’re stupid, inexperienced. They can’t keep it their pants, and the effects of the haul start doing numbers on their psyche much quicker that the others. The tension between you two was palpable. Swansea could see the way you eye fucking him clear as day despite all his attempts to keep you focused on work at hand.

Fuck it. He huffs. He’ll take care of this himself. He’s not dying to some stupid mistake you make because you’re two busy imagining getting your guts rearranged to actually focus.

“Can’t believe this shit…”

Swansea hisses. His thick fingers trail down the expanse of your thigh, causing you to shudder.

Fuck, you’re sensitive, huh? He’d feel bad if he wasn’t so preoccupied with annoyance. But he can’t fully blame you. Swansea’s been there before. The hormones pumping through your body are begging you to fuck. Going without a good orgasm is torture to someone your age.

Good thing he’s here. A rugged, experienced individual like him. Yeah. Making a young thing like you fall apart on his fingers will be a piece of cake. You probably don’t know any better, anyways. Years of experience have polished him into quite the lover.

The thick callouses on his fingers force your thighs open, spreading your sex out in clear view. Swansea tsks, trying to fight back the heat that flares through his body at the sight.

“Not only do I gotta watch over you. Show you the ropes, keep you from killing yourself every ten damn seconds—but I gotta get you off too? The fuck does Pony Express think I am, some kind of prostitute?”

The least they could do is give him a raise. Fucking cheapskates. They probably think putting some young, hot piece of ass glued to his hip is a favor for him. Fuck it, they should’ve just been transparent and invested in a barracks bunny. It would save him the constant headache of having to train you.

“You better not take this for granted, kid. Once you’re spent, I’m expectin’ you to work twice as hard next shift.”

It’s a serious declaration. You better haul ass once he’s done this for you. Swansea’s large hand hovers right near where you want him. You feverishly nod in agreement. Whatever it takes to get those digits inside you as soon as possible.

“Good. Lay back and enjoy this, ‘cause I ain’t doin’ it often.”

He would, though. If you asked again. Swansea’s hand moves down the expanse of your thigh, settling over your sex. He trails his thumb down your outer lips a few times, humming in acknowledgement at the wetness that coats your pubes and spreads from his movements.

“Already wet too? God, you’re easy. Or have you been waitin’ for a chance like this?”

His question is rhetorical, obviously, because the way his thumb starts to round your clit has you throwing your head back—blocking any answer that would’ve come out. Swansea knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s had his wife spread like this plenty of times, so it only takes a few movements and studying your facial expression before he finds what pressure and movements have you grinding back into his touch. He’s even sure to pay attention to the underside of clit, poking the sensitive head from its hood just enough to make you jump.

The attention makes you embarrassingly wet. Just from the older man stroking your sensitive bud, he’s already got your hips bucking and wanton moans leaving your lips. Is this how guys feel when they jerk off? Because the way Swansea’s got you coming apart with ease has you inching closer and closer with each passing second.

And when he stops, you whimper. It’s pathetic. But you’re too damn horny to give a shit at this point. Being stuck on the Tulpar has left you at the mercy of your own hand and imagination. Having someone else touch you for once is electrifying.

“Don’t bitch.” Swansea commands gruffly, adjusting himself in his work chair. You notice there's a gentle flush to his cheeks, but his eyes remain focused on your bottom half. His fingers stroke your slit again. The way he’s eyeing the slick that coats it is a little embarrassing—as if he’s assessing something. His middle finger pushes past your entrance, and at the sign of little resistance, the older man smirks. He adds his index finger in the midst of the third stroke, but keeps the pace slow.

Good Lord, his fingers are thick. Almost as thick as he is. They’re rough, thoroughly calloused from years of working with his hands. You can feel that texture on your inner walls as they split you open. Swansea’s thrusting them into you slowly still, but deliberate. Yes, he’s trying to get you closer and closer to that pending orgasm, but—

A choke moan escapes your lips when he finds it, that one spot inside you that makes your stomach drop.

“Right there, eh?” He’s smirking.

Those wide fingers curl around your g-spot, hitting it just right with each movement of his hand. He’s relentless, thumping against the area and speeding up his strokes. Your eyes roll back, vision blurred by stars as your orgasm comes tumbling towards you.

And you think that’s it, but the feeling of stubble against your thigh has you second guessing. Before you know it, Swansea’s lips seal around your slit. His other arm wraps around your thigh, fingers resting above your slit and pulling upwards to make the bud poke out at him for easier access. Your own hips involuntarily start to buck and grind against the older man’s face, smearing a mix of slick and saliva over his mouth and nose as you fuck yourself against it.

You cum quicker than you ever had in your life on his face. Never, ever have you been more thankful for Utility being so secluded from other parts of the ship. The sounds you make echo from the walls as you tense up and shudder. Vibrations from Swansea chuckling between your thighs make you whine as he continues to fuck you through your own release.

Your chest rises and falls with shaky pants as you fall limp onto the cold steel of the bench. With a hazy mind tingling body, you lie there, trying to recollect yourself after your superior just made you cum like that.

Swansea, ever so eager to stay on task, kicks back from the workbench, idly licking his fingers clean.

“Now you better pull yourself together, kid. We gotta job to do, y’hear?”

He tosses your clothes from the floor back at you. You take a few moments to gather yourself, before attempting to straighten things up. Swansea’s left the Utility room now—likely on the way to the bathroom to wash his own hands and start on his next task.

But on reflection, before you can tug your pants back on and get to work, you notice something off.

Your underwear’s gone.

(And somewhere, Swansea’s enjoying his new prize.)

[ariesangelxo]

mornings - part two

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI

cw: more angst, still no comfort (i promise it’s coming in the next part), heartbreak, one mention of panic attacks, prescription benzo use, recreational coke use, drinking, arguing, mention of a gun and a gunshot at the end, not proofread lol

an: thank u all SO SO much for all of the love on part one !!! i am blown away and in awe. there also will be a part three for sure <3

part three

the past twenty-six days had not been kind to you. your mornings were spent rotting away in bed until your mom would force you to get up, her expression of concern always made you feel even worse. your days weren’t much better, you forced yourself to detach from your heart and numb your emotions. it was the only way you knew how to keep going. you put on a mask during the day with your parents, giving them occasional smiles and laughs that weren’t the kind that warmed their hearts. they knew you weren’t okay, but they also knew they couldn’t force you to talk about it or you’d shut down completely. your nights consisted of taking a benzodiazepine in order to fall asleep, you couldn’t sleep without them. you tried, it only led to intense panic attacks and hysterical sobs that made your mother’s heart break in front of you.

this morning had been a bit different. you were awakened when you felt a weight in your bed, and in the haze of waking up you initially thought it was rafe. you shot up the moment you remembered everything, eyes widening and heart racing, but you looked over to see sarah in your bed. "oh my god, sarah you scared the hell out of me!" you exclaimed, holding a hand over your chest.

she let out a giggle, "i'm sorry, your mom let me in. i miss you," her tone was gentle. you had become very close with sarah during your relationship with rafe. being over at the cameron's house so often led to a beautiful friendship forming between the two of you. she was like a sister to you, something you cherished deeply as you didn't grow up with a sister.

you felt a pang of guilt in your chest at her words. you knew she missed you, she'd messaged you every single day since your break up without fail, even if you didn't always text back. you had seen her a couple times, but when she asked about what happened, you told her you weren't ready to talk about it. sarah was incredibly understanding, knowing how much you loved her brother and not wanting to push you too far.

"i miss you too, sar. i'm sorry i've been such a shit friend lately." you responded to her. you gave her a small smile, curling up next to her as she sat against your headboard.

"it's okay, i know you're not doing great with everything going on right now," she trailed off with a sad smile, "but, you're going out with me tonight!" she became animated as she spoke.

you didn't have it in your heart to deny her, not when she looked at you like you were the most important person in her world. "you know i can't say no to you. where are we going?" you asked curiously.

"there's going to be a huge party at the boneyard, and you're coming with me. no ifs, ands, or buts." she giggled out, "i need to get you out of your room, you're rotting away in here, babe."

"god, you sound just like my mother," you teased back. "i'll go though, i miss you more than you know. i even miss the pogues a bit." you both laughed, referencing her newer relationship with john b.

you couldn't prevent your curiosity from getting the better of you, "how- how has he been?"

sarah bit her lip, debating internally how much to tell you. "he's been... not great. i don't see him much when i'm home, he's usually in his room with the door shut. he's been a lot more moody too, snapping at literally everyone in the house. it probably didn't help that i told him he's an idiot and he fucked up the best thing to ever happen to him."

you couldn't suppress the laugh that slipped through your lips or the slight satisfaction you felt knowing that you weren't the only one struggling. "i love you sar. thank you." you leaned over, giving her a hug.

"i love you too. now get your ass up and shower. we're getting you a new outfit for the party."

you spent the next few hours strolling through the streets of figure eight with sarah. your arms held multiple shopping bags, filled with clothes she insisted you needed for tonight. you were incredibly grateful that she had forced you out of bed, you actually felt human for the first time since everything happened.

you found yourself in a small cafe, giggling as sarah told you a story from one of her drunken adventures with the pogues.

“you know… you should talk to jj tonight. i know he thinks you’re hot.” sarah gave you a mischievous smile as she wiggled her brows.

“funny,” you rolled your eyes playfully at her, “but it’s way too soon for me to get into anything with anybody right now.”

“i didn’t mean start dating him, i just think you would have fun together.”

“i just- i don’t know, sar. i’ve been such a wreck these past few weeks… can i tell you what happened?” you looked up from your fingers to meet her eyes, now widened with shock.

“yeah, of course you can. but don’t feel like you have to if you don’t want to.”

you were grateful for her support, going into your explanation of how the last couple months of your relationship, rafe’s behavior changed drastically. sarah hung on to your every word, needing to know exactly what led to the end of your relationship.

“and so i walked into the country club to surprise him. i spent the whole morning getting ready, did my makeup how he likes, even wore a new sundress that i know he would have loved. but i walked in and…” you looked up as your vision began to blur, “he was talking with some bitch i’ve never seen before bartending. she had short brunette hair, but he fucking smirked at her the way he only does- did for me. and- and then, she basically fucking held his hand while she fucked him with her eyes, and he let it happen!”

you spit the words out like they were poison on your tongue, not noticing your voice beginning to raise with frustration. sarah’s jaw was nearly on the floor.

“what the- what the fuck?” she racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d seen anyone matching your description recently, but nothing came to her.

“god, shit. i’m so sorry, babe. i don’t know what the fuck is wrong with him.” she attempted to console you as you dabbed your eyes with a napkin.

you shrugged your shoulders, “what’s done is done. i just want to forget about everything for a while.”

she nodded, “then let’s go get ready. we can pregame at yours and ride with john b and them.”

after a few shots, a couple hours spent transforming yourself to not look like you spent the last three weeks trying to cope with your break up, and a lot of laughter, you and sarah were ready to go.

you wore a cropped loosely crocheted white sweater over your pink bikini and a white miniskirt that hugged your hips , the strings from your bottom peaking out from the top of it. you were finally feeling good about yourself again, and you’d be damned if you let anyone ruin it.

the ride to the boneyard only lifted your spirits more. it was impossible not to laugh around the pogues, especially when jj did whatever he could to hear your giggle.

you arrived just as the party was beginning to pick up. relief flooded your veins when you didn’t see rafe anywhere. you knew it was a possibility he’d be here, but it was going to be significantly easier to have a decent night without his presence lingering around.

you filled up a red solo cup at the keg, downing the cheap alcohol before refilling it.

“slow down there, or you might not make it too long.” jj approached you, giving you a flirty smile.

you gave him a laugh in response, “i’ll be fine, jay. i just want to be able to let loose tonight.”

“stick by me then, don’t want any of these pervs creeping on you.” the thinly veiled concern in his voice made you smile. you know he’s flirting, but it’s clear he wants to keep you safe knowing it’s your first night out in so long.

you spent the next hour surrounded by the pogues, and true to his word, jj looked out for you. he did so well that you failed to notice who had shown up to the party, the one and only rafe cameron.

rafe, on the other hand, saw you immediately upon arriving. it was impossible for him not to when your presence demanded his attention. he was not happy to see who you were hanging around with. his ongoing beef with the pogues was well known by everybody on the island. he didn’t come to party though, he had other business to attend to as barry gave him a side eye, “fuck are you doing, country club? you can fight for your girl later, we’ve got shit to do.”

your drink had somehow disappeared. your furrowed your brows as you looked down, giggling to yourself as you told your friends you were going to get another one. you were at the perfect level of drunk, not to the point of blacking out or vomiting, but to where you couldn’t quite walk in a straight line and everything was funny to you.

you stumbled up to the keg, starting to fill up your cup when you felt someone watching you. the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, you instantly knew who it was. it was as though there was a chip in you that alerted you to when he was nearby. you took a deep breath as you turned your head slightly, seeing rafe sat next to a man you didn’t know as he handed a small plastic bag filled with overpriced coke to a touron. rafe’s eyes didn’t leave you as he signaled him to leave.

you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, the hand holding onto your cup now trembling and the lump in your throat building. rafe stood, starting to approach you as you froze. your brain was screaming at you to run but your body refused to move an inch.

“what the fuck do you want, cameron?” your words were spat out with venom. your tone clearly surprised you both as he looked shocked momentarily. you were typically one to stand your ground, but never ever was your attitude aimed towards him.

“what do you mean ‘what the fuck do i want’? you fucking up and left out of nowhere and haven’t spoken to me in almost a month.” his voice was filled with anger, his nose flaring as he clenched his jaw.

you let out a humorless laugh, “out of nowhere? you can’t be serious, rafe. you treated me like shit the last few months of our relationship.” you didn’t yet mention seeing his interaction with the bartender at the country club, not knowing if topper and kelce had told him about seeing you when you left that fateful day.

“what? be-because i couldn’t be with you twenty-four fucking seven? like i- i wasn’t out working my ass off to afford nice shit for you?”

“‘working your ass off’ will you stop fucking lying to me? i fucking saw you at the country club,” his facial expression showed confusion, bringing his brows together to try and understand what you were talking about, “you let that bitch touch you, you looked at her how you used to look at me. i spent hours getting ready, i showed up, wanting to surprise my boyfriend for lunch, and what do i see? my boyfriend letting some bartender hang off of him while he flirts with her?”

your voice had raised as you got more and more angry. you were now shouting at him as other partygoers failed to hide their stares and murmuring. nobody ever talked to the kook prince the way you currently were, unless they wanted their face bashed in.

rafe grabbed your arm harshly, pulling you down the beach and away from others. you stumbled behind him, knowing you weren’t physically or mentally strong enough to push him away.

when you looked up at him, you suddenly noticed his blown-out pupils. you felt your heart sink. “you’re using again.” you stated flatly.

he scoffed, rolling his eyes at you. “don’t act like you fucking care.” he spat out at you.

“jesus fucking christ- rafe, when did you start again?”

“don’t worry about it. when did you come to the country club?” his tone was demanding, sparking further irritation in you.

“the day i left. i- i let a lot of shit slide for too long, because… because i wanted to be a good girlfriend and support you when i thought you were just stressed out from work. and, in return, i get to watch my boyfriend make me look like a fucking idiot.”

rafe was silent for a minute, his lips pursed as he clearly was trying to remember what he was doing before he came home to an angry ward and an empty room. then realization hit him, he knew exactly what you were talking about. he brought his palm up to his face, groaning.

when he was about to speak, he was cut off. “is cameron bothering you?” jj’s familiar voice called out. you looked past rafe’s large figure to see all of the pogues standing beside him, looking ready for a fight if it came to it.

rafe gave a humorless chuckle, “stay the fuck out of it, pogue.” he clearly wouldn’t go down without a fight either.

your heart stopped for a moment and your body filled with ice cold terror as jj pulled out a gun that was hidden behind his back in his waistband. it was clear you weren’t the only one not expecting it as the rest of them looked at jj with concern, john b telling him to put it away. “yeah? let’s fucking go, rafe. been itching for a fight for too long.”

everything became blurred. the mixture of shouting, seeing figures suddenly moving towards each other, and the unmistakeable sound of a gunshot, and then everything went black.

[nathaslosthershit]

A Big Question (Teen Dad!Oscar AU) Part 2

(Read part 1 of this duology first!) (Part 9 of Teen Dad!OP au) Summary: Oscar needs to mend what he broke and he needs to do it fast

Getting into the car, Honey whipped the tears from her cheeks as she made up a lame excuse as to why Oscar wasn’t with her. The driver knew that she wasn’t being truthful, but thought it best to let the girl be. Having dessert and drinks in the picnic basket that Oscar had set up for the two of them after dinner, Honey decided to not let the total night be a bust and have her own moonlight picnic on the beach while she sulked. 

Back at the restaurant, Oscar sat alone for a few minutes, digesting what had just happened before he got up and paid the bill. Walking outside, he had expected the car to still be there. Now stressed out, he got his phone to check where the car was heading, a frown appearing as he saw she was on her way to the beach, alone. 

While it wasn’t necessarily his decision to go back to racing so soon, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t thrilled that he would once again be in the car. He knew he had fucked up in the past by not prioritizing his family, but he had learned from those tough few months and wasn’t going to let it happen again. 

Deciding to let her have some time to process, Oscar ordered a car to take him home. He had expected to get back late and had told Lando to take the guest bedroom. So his friend was also not expecting him home so soon, and when Oscar came home early, alone, and clearly upset, Lando was worried.

“Mate! What happened? Where is she? Did you get to-” Lando jumped up from the couch to meet his teammate at the door.

“No, I was interrogated and let it slip about what my meeting was about and before I could say or do anything, she left the restaurant.”

“Where is she now? Do you know? She could be in trouble, it's late!”

“She took the driver and went to the beach, I assumed she wanted to be alone.” “No, you muppet! You should have absolutely followed her! Why would you let her go off alone when she is upset? She doesn’t even know the full story and you are letting her think the worst.”

Oscar hadn’t thought of that, he probably should have gotten all he wanted to say out first before leaving her alone. God, he was such an idiot to let this happen again. To his credit, Lando was being very helpful. It never dawned on Oscar that he could need relationship advice, for his relationship of 7 years, from Lando Norris himself.

“Fuck, you’re right. But I did leave her, what should I-”

“Go to her! Jesus, Oscar what are you waiting around for, this was supposed to be the perfect night and you fucked it up 45 minutes into it! Fix it now!” With that, Lando shoved his friend out the door.

Driving closer to his average speed on the track rather than the speed limit, Oscar jumped out the car the minute he saw what looked like his girlfriend’s silhouette on the sand. He had spent the short car ride thinking of what he was going to say, how he was going to fix this. The moment she looked up at him though, hiccuping from her cries, everything he had rehearsed went out the window.

Instead he got down on the sand and held her tighter than he had in a long time.

“I don’t want to end up the way we were, Oscar. We were miserable, even before the fight.” She sobbed into his neck.

“I know, sweetheart. I don’t want to end up that way either. Never, ever again.” He replied soothingly, even though he could feel his heart breaking alongside her’s.

“I just felt so alone. Watching you choose your career over me, over the kids! It was so hard to see time and time again. I am not that strong.” “Hey, you are stronger than you know possible, my love. I know I have put you through hell, getting you pregnant at 17, reacting terribly to the news, then making so many empty promises and prioritizing the wrong things. But I promise, Honey, I will never ever make those same mistakes. I meant what I said before, you are it for me. I will never love anyone the way I love you, and I will spend the rest of my life making up for my shortcomings.” He said as he cupped her cheeks, whipping away the tears. 

Seeing her smile once again, he reached into his pocket to pull out the box that had been there all night. Her eyes lit up at the realization of what it was.

“Oscar, I-”

“I know this is a terrible time, I am the reason you were sitting here, alone and crying, but this is what I had planned all along. I was, of course, going to tell you about the meeting, but after I did, I wanted to reassure you that I wasn’t going anywhere, that I would never be leaving your side for as long as I live. My career is only going to get more hectic and unpredictable as time goes on, but I am going to go through it with you all as my priorities. I am in it to win, but I am also in it to provide for you all, and I sure as hell am going to return back to you all after every race. I love you so much, Honey, ever since I saw you at that karting track, months before you had even looked at me. I know I said ‘I’d knock your socks off with this second proposal’, and I was going to! But there is nothing more important to me right now than you knowing how much you mean to me, how much the kids mean to me. So please, my love, will you marry me?” He quickly got on one knee and opened the ring box. It was the same ring as before, but he had added two tiny stones onto the band, framing the much larger diamond, on one side was his birthstone, on the other, her own. 

Trying to reply had been harder than she thought as all these new emotions of relief and unadulterated happiness caused her to, instead of answering him, sob even harder into his shoulder.

“I know this is a lot, but if its too much, if you don't want to marry m-”

“Yes! Of course I do Oscar! Oh my I- I am just so relieved and emotional I can’t-”

“Shhhh, its okay I promise.” He laughed, tears of his own starting to fall as they held each other.

Several minutes were spent recuperating until Oscar was finally able to slip the ring back onto her finger. “I hope you didn’t eat all the dessert, I was kind of hoping we could eat it together.” Oscar joked.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch that. The wine on the other hand-”

They sat in each other’s company well past their usual bedtime, the twins normally tiring them out enough they can’t stay up past 10. But with the engagement firing them up, they were still wide awake as they both stumbled home, deciding in their tipsy state to take the chauffeur and leave Oscar’s car there for the night. 

Lando, who had taken to the guest room hours before the happy couple got back, was relieved when he was woken up to giggles being interrupted by what was clearly a make out session. And as he heard the couple close their bedroom door, he decided it was best to put his noise canceling headphones on in order to not scar himself for life, and to let them enjoy their night without any listeners.

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, mclaren, landonorris, and 938,269 others

oscarpiastri Second times the charm or whatever they say. Who cares- I am getting married!

[theoddest1]

Let's Actually Talk About The Issues With Vivziepop

Okay, first off, hello you beautiful people! Sorry about this foreboding title, but I needed to catch y'all attention on this so I can break down the issues that I and many have with "Hazbin Hotel" and "Helluva Boss" creator, Vivienne Medrano. Now I am sure you all on here are already aware of at least a couple of the controversies that revolve around this particular creator and if you have seen my posts floating around already, some have been greeted with the problems surrounding her social media presence and just her overall as a person. I know seeing another callout on her seems very very tiring at this point, but I felt that a lot of the current callouts missed key details that were not at all addressed or properly delved on. I plan on shedding light on my issues with her and I hope you get where I am coming from when I say that she sucks.

BULLYING

Okay, I am starting off with Vivienne's blatant use of bully mentality, her agreeing or encouraging her fans to call people who see flaws in her works sub-humans or harass those who find issue or simply jest about her works trademark cussing and and overcrowded designs. She has had this issue for YEARS and refuses to grow up and act her age despite many telling her, even her own fans at times, that she shouldn't be acting so unprofessionally. Clearly, she doesn't care and thanks to her fanbase caring more about her feelings than her being better she feels as though she doesn't need to change or do better. This goes for her friend group as well, who defend her tremendously and act as though she is never in the wrong. Name one time a friend of hers called her out for acting childish, I'll wait.

Now, you're probably wondering, "Wtf could they have done to warrant such a response?"

Criticism...That's all they did. (White Text is random peeps they would speak with or maybe mutuals)

Keep in mind...they used to be a fan as well. They were also a minor at this point

But, Viv doesn't care, this person's critical yet harmless tweets about her shows is what lead to her painting them in a horrible light and making them out to be someone who has attacked her personally and as "nasty".

Rich coming from Viv since she is completely fine doing exactly that for "Ava's Demon". Not only does she criticize it, she takes a shot at the creator as well, but GOD FORBID others do the same towards her.

And according to someone who knew her well, it's all cause they felt creeped out by her.

Her hatred for criticism is so prominent that Ima makes that a section of its own. But let's get back on the topic of bullying.

Vivienne has a fanbase filled to the brim with pushy and overall annoying individuals who have harassed, threatened, disrespected, and wished harm on many people, all cause someone had a negative thing to say about Vivziepop's mid af show. One of the earlier known instances is the one revolving around a MEME of all things.

This was what started it all, and it led to both parties blocking each other and people being mad pushy and calling them an idiot and the like over their opinions. Now look, their take and you're opinion on said take is fine so long as you stay respectful and humane about it all, but don't dogpike someone all cause they think HH sucks. And while Viv can not control her fanbase, for they are not a hivemind (some of y'all act it tho, ima keep it real) she is seen here ENCOURAGING the behavior. Tell me how someone who doesn't even like your trash ass show has the sense to tell people not to harass others, someone with a smaller following, but not your grown damn near 30 year old ass?

Oh, but people wanna act like she can handle criticism, is a sweet person, and grew from her past experiences. Fam, she was 27 in this screenshot [December 16, 2019] and has shown no change from 2013 to fucking 2024. Over a decade of the same petty ass behavior, and keep in mind, according to several of her old friends and workers, she is worse behind close doors. WORSE. She's already acting like she got no damn sense out in the open, imagine behind closed doors.

Last but not least, a glimpse into her outright blatant slander towards Dollcreep, a once good friend of hers that she even visited and spoke with frequently!

She stated that they fetishized pedophilia yet according to the victim and friends of the victim who were once friends with Viv as well, Viv actually threatened to end their friendship if he hadn't drawn NSFW art of her character and his character having sex [Addi was 15 at the time this was drawn]

On top of that, she liked the post, something she didn't need to do. The art also depicted things she had regularly drawn on her own. Addi being tied up forcefully, being sexualized, being harmed to some degree through bondage, etc. The claim that she forced DC to draw this out is backed up by her own art depicting similar elements. Also, if my memory serves me well, Viv and Doll were 17-18 years old [Doll was 17 Viv 18] and have a 1-year age gap. The way Viv frames things here is as if DC was way older and imposed some sort of power over DC, which sources say otherwise. If anything, Viv had a LOT of control throughout all of this drama, which deserves its own section.

I'll be making posts that talk about the different issues regarding Viv, so one post isn't too long (this one is already lengthy enough) and that you can just pick at one post targeting certain issues around this creator.

[worldlxvlys]

my eyes only (part 4)

jealous! chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: cursing, reader is in a toxic relationship, smuttt, p in v, cream pie, choking, oral (fem receiving), squirting, masturbation, use of vibrator, cheating

** i’m not promoting cheating in the slightest, this is fiction. please do not cheat on anyone.

a/n: part 4 was highly requested sooo here it is <33

previous part

“it was an accident!” i yelled for what had to be the tenth time.

“how the hell do you accidentally send someone nudes ?” charlie yelled back.

i let a heavy sigh as i rolled my eyes, “hey, don’t roll your eyes at me”

my face scrunched up at that, “i can do whatever the hell i want with my own eyes, charlie. i don’t know why you think you can control my every move” he looked like he wanted to make a snarky comment at that, but i stopped him, “and why were you going through my phone?” i asked.

he looked take aback at the fact that i knew, “ i didn’t” he spoke defensively.

“so you weren’t going through me and chris’s texts?” i asked.

he sighed, giving up the act, “ok, fine. yes i went through your texts once. it was awhile ago, though”

“you are un-fucking-believable, charlie. how am i supposed to trust you when you don’t even trust me?” i asked.

“i know, it’s just-”i cut him off, “your past relationships, i know. but that doesn’t give you the right to go through my phone”

his eyebrows scrunched up at that, “are you trying to invalidate my feelings right now?” he asked.

my eyes widened at that, “i-no! what are you talking about?”

“i mean, you just basically told me that what i went through in the past means nothing to you”

“charlie, when did i say that?” i asked incredulously.

“whatever. i just can’t believe you’re pulling this shit while i’m going through such a hard time. i mean, you know how much stress i’ve been dealing with because of work, and now i have to worry about my girlfriend sending nudes to another guy”

my face softened at this, realizing that there was some truth to what he was saying.

although i would never admit it out loud, i did send chris those nudes on purpose. and on top of that, i gave him access to several of my explicit videos.

thank god charlie didn’t know about that part.

it was wrong of me to do, but when it came to chris, every logical thought of mine flew out the window.

my boyfriend was an asshole, but that didn’t give me the right to add onto his stress.

“i’m sorry, you’re right. it won’t happen again. what can i do to make it up to you?” i asked as i rubbed his shoulders.

i wasn’t an idiot. i knew that i was better off breaking things off with him, but i was scared. as fucked up as our relationship was, it was one of the only constant things in my life. and although it was dangerous for my mental health, it was safe.

change is inevitable, but it’s also uncontrollable in most situations. and this situation was one of the rare cases where i had full control.

“stop talking to him.” my heart dropped at this.

“what? you want me to just stop talking to someone who i’ve been friends with for years?” by the tone of my voice, he could probably tell that i wasn’t going to do it.

“ok, you���re right, that’s unreasonable. but, maybe just back off of him a little?” he asked.

“please? it would help ease my mind” he spoke as he squeezed my waist, his grip tighter than usual.

i had been with charlie long enough to read him pretty well. his mood could flip in a matter of seconds, and it was quite frightening to experience. sometimes, when he was seconds away from doing it, he would squeeze my hip or shoulder firmly. this was obviously one of those times where my answer would determine how the rest of the night went.

he had never hurt me before, but i was still always careful not to set him off.

“ok, yeah” i nodded my head at him.

“i need to hear you say it” he said, refusing to let go of me.

“i’ll back off of him” i said.

he let go of me, a grin taking over his features, “thank you, baby. i really appreciate it”

i nodded at him, smiling weakly.

1 WEEK LATER

CHRIS’S POV

“it was a mistake”, those were the words she said a week ago. those words led me to believe that she would change her my eyes only password.

wrong.

because when i opened her my eyes only the day after she sent that text, the password worked.

she added more videos to the collection, in fact, she didn’t delete my own video.

and when i clicked onto the most recent video, the first thing i heard her moan was my name.

so that’s the game she wants to play? she won’t answer my texts, but she’ll scream my name when she plays with herself?

fine, let’s play.

throughout the week, we added more and more videos to the collection. we teased each other, moaned each other’s names, and spoke the dirtiest words to our phones.

we never addressed the videos in our text messages, as our conversations never got past a “hi, how are you” and a dry response.

it was an odd situation, but she seemed hellbent on avoiding any conversation.

finally, after a week of playing the game, i decided to go over to her house and talk to her like an adult.

i didn’t bother texting her, knowing i wouldn’t get a response.

READER’S POV

“fuck, chris” i moaned out as my head flew back onto my bed.

my body was bare and covered in a layer of sweat as i held my vibrator against my clit with one hand, the other fingering my wet hole.

my phone was propped up against a chair, capturing my pleasure perfectly.

i was so close to my orgasm, i didn’t hear my front door open.

“chris! i’m gonna-!” i cut myself off as my door flew open.

in a panic, i moved my hands and turned my head towards the door.

my eyes widened in horror, as chris stood by my door with hooded eyes.

chris and i stared at each other as we both waited for someone to say something.

“chris-” i started, but paused when he pulled his shirt off.

he quick strides in my direction, before leaning down and capturing my lips in a desperate kiss.

i moaned into the kiss, as our lips moved against each others quickly.

he detached our lips, pressing his forehead to mine. “do you want this or not?” he asked, his eyes still closed. “cause one second you say it’s a mistake, then the next you’re moaning my name. if you’re just gonna play with my feelings, i-” i stopped him by pressing my lips to his in a sweet kiss.

“i want this, chris. i want you. i was scared and confused, and i shouldn’t have played with you like that. i need you to know this isn’t a game to me” i spoke as my gaze shifted between his eyes.

“i’ve wanted you for so fucking long, i just didn’t know how to tell you” i cupped his jaw with my hand, running my thumb along the skin right under his bottom lip.

“thank fuck” he whispered before pushing his lips onto mine again.

my hands found their way to the back of his neck as his soft lips caressed mine.

his hands went to my boobs, squeezing and pinching my nipples, eliciting a small moan from me.

“fuck, you sound even better in person” he groaned.

he continued to play with my tits as our lips slid against each other’s perfectly.

his hips ground down into my body, his clothed erection pressing into my inner thigh.

i bit down onto my lip, suppressing my moans.

“don’t be shy now, baby. you’re so vocal when i’m not in front of you. do i need to play one of the videos?” he asked, making me narrow my eyes at him.

in one swift motion, i hooked my leg around his waist, pushing him down into me and flipping us over.

his eyes widened as i wrapped my hand around his throat, making him let out a choked moan.

“yeah? you like it when i choke you like this?” i asked as i moved my hand down to his sweatpants.

“mmm, fuck yea” he groaned out.

i hooked my finger into his sweatpants, tugging them down.

my fingers gently caressed his thighs as i moved my mouth to the top of his boxers.

i looked up at him through my lashes as i took the waistband between my teeth, pulling it up and letting it snap back against his skin, making his hips jerk slightly.

“i want these off” i spoke.

he quickly pulled them down, letting his dick spring free.

“remember that pink dildo?” i asked as i let my spit travel down to his cock, beginning to spread it around his length.

“y-yeah, i do” he groaned in response.

i lined him up with my entrance and sank down onto him, pulling long strings of curses from both of our lips.

“i always imagine that it’s your cock buried inside of me” i moaned out as i began to move on top of him.

“o-oh my fuck” he whispered as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

he seemed to almost be shocked at the amount of pleasure coursing through his body, as his arms stayed frozen at his side.

“touch me, chris” i spoke, snapping him out of his trance.

his hands shot out to my sides, sliding down to grab my ass.

i grabbed his shoulders to stablilize myself as i rolled my hips into his.

“god, you feel even better than i ever imagined” i spoke as i pressed my forehead to his, staring into his eyes.

“you look so fucking good on top of me like this. love watching you fuck yourself on my cock” he whispered to me.

“you like the way i squeeze you?” i asked as i clenched around him.

he whimpered at the feeling, before replying, “not gonna last if you do that”

“good, i’m on the pill. i need you to fuck your cum into me, chris. need it so bad” i moaned as his dick plunged in and out of my tight hole.

the dirty words sent chris over the edge.

his fingers dug into my ass, holding me down against him as he shot his cum deep inside of my walls.

i lifted my hips off of him and swung my leg over his, moving from on top of him.

“wait, you didn’t finish” he pointed out.

“it’s fine” i shrugged it off.

chris wasn’t having this as he pulled me back towards his body.

“ride my face” he spoke as he pulled me back on top of him.

“what?” i asked, my eyes widening at his statement.

“i don’t know what you’re used to, but we’re not done until you cum. so, ride my face.” he spoke, throwing slight shade towards charlie, as he laid down.

following his instructions, i positioned myself right above his face. i hovered for a second before chris pulled me down onto him, pulling all of my weight onto his face.

“oh my god, chris” my jaw fell slack as my hands laced into his hair, tugging gently.

he groaned against my heat as his tongue licked up and down my folds.

i began to rock my hips against his mouth. with every upward movement, chris’ nose pressed against my clit.

“chris! i’m cumming!” i spoke as my body tensed up.

my toes curled and my fingers scratched his scalp as i felt an intense wave of pleasure run through my body.

i lifted myself off of his face as my juices shot out of my trembling body, saturating the pillow and chris’s face.

“fuck! sorry, sorry” i spoke quickly as i got off of him.

“don’t ever apologize for something like that, ma. that was hot as fuck” he spoke before licking his lips.

i got up to grab something to clean his face up, when he stopped me.

“wait, take a picture of my face!” he grinned.

“what, why?” i asked.

“we can save it to your my eyes only” he winked.

🌀🌀🌀🌀

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @annelisseakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @mattsnymphette

[cinnamonest]

ah to be a girl that was dating modern!scara for some time bc she thought he was a mysterious uwu discord mod type, only to find out he’s just an incel who acts like he hates you even tho still fucking you and everything.. he doesn’t do much aside it, though. so after some time, you break up with him. or, well, tried to! it’s not like you have a right to break up with him after willingly deciding to date him, right?

happy new year, by the way! 🎉

Oh and he’s so awful as it is, literally the peak of trashy, toxic boyfriends.

Always dumping labor off on you because he knows you'll take care of whatever task it is eventually anyway, subtly guilt-tripping you all the time, always saying little things to make you insecure about this or that (just to be sure you don't get any ideas, or think anyone else would ever want you).

The sort of boyfriend that is careful about the steps he takes — God forbid he come across as insecure or desperate — but is manipulative and wears your psyche down nonetheless.

There’s a constant, but well-pulled-off effort to always ensure you feel that you’re the one that cares more, that you’re the one that’s more invested, that he’s the one who could easily pull away from you and be just fine, that you need him more than he needs you.

But this situation is particularly bad because he's just so deluded about it.

It's one of those relationships where, one day out of the blue, you halt mid-task and suddenly find yourself asking — why am I doing this to myself?

You realize you became so accustomed to it all so easily, it was just gradual enough that you never really noticed how miserable you are, until one day you just do.

So you do it. You summon up the courage to look him in the eye and say you're done.

And what you get in return is essentially a non-reaction. Rolled eyes and a long sigh of exasperation, some muttered comment about how you're being overdramatic.

He was prepared for this kind of thing, see. Females are known to do this. They don't actually mean they're breaking up with you. It's a test. They just do that sort of thing. A test designed to scare the guy and make him apologize for some mistake and get attention and doting and stuff. Very manipulative of them (but what's new).

But he's not the sort of weak loser that falls for that stuff, he knows what you're doing. So he shrugs it off, doesn't even turn around, says something about how you've threatened to leave several times now.

Then you say you mean it.

You get a sigh and a ‘yeah, sure,’ and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from lashing out about how that uncaring attitude is part of why you’re doing this to begin with.

And you storm out the door, not bothering to even glance back.

Which is surprising — didn't think you'd actually do it, but your petulance knows no bounds, apparently. Still, this is also predictable, a common form of aforementioned testing, a humiliation ritual of sorts intended to make him suck up to you.

So he gives you a few hours, but you don't send the expected text saying you're sorry and that you overreacted and please please just forget it and move on and all the other stuff you're supposed to say.

And the sun sets, and you're not back.

Oh, so you're being spiteful. Trying to make him think you “mean it” by going silent, and thereby trying to out-wait him. You think if you keep this up, he'll be the first one to break, to give in and try to get you back. This whole thing is designed for you to feel some kind of power at his expense. Well, you're wrong.

And then another day passes.

God. Unbelievable.

You're actually doing this out of pure spite, just stubbornly waiting for him to come get you.

…And here he is, now doing exactly that, like an idiot, so he mutters to himself as he finally leaves to go get you. Not that he's giving in to what you want, it's just that this is getting ridiculous and his patience for your antics has run out.

Still, he tells himself this isn't so bad, because you were probably looking forward to some sick satisfaction from getting him to beg to know where you are. Little do you know he prepared for this sort of situation, that's why there's a tracker in your purse and on your phone and in your car and such. You're not going to get any groveling out of him.

You're so manipulative. You're really lucky he puts up with you and tolerates such toxic behavior.

Likewise, he's not about to beg for you either — he knows the game you're playing, that all your pleading and fighting back and ‘I meant it!’-s are part of the schtick. Just accept that you're not going to get the entirety of what you want. You'll get the part where he takes you back like you wanted, but he has too much self-respect to plead with you. You'll just skip to the part where you come home — you're so stubborn, not getting what you want will undoubtedly make you dig your heels in and squeal and all that, but it's really no big deal. Being so childish about it is a choice that just reflects badly on you.

[brightlight-dazzlingeyes]

Hey girl I adore ur story can you do Pablo Gavi story friends with benefits please?

Thank you also take your time 💋

hey, thank you!

and thanks for the suggestion, you didn’t give me a lot of details so i hope you like the way i wrote it 🧡🧡

pretty please | pablo gavi

🧁 synopsis: Pablo and you decide to turn your friendly casual hook-ups into a "no-strings-attached" arrangement – it sounds like the perfect plan: easy, fun, and uncomplicated. If only he weren’t so annoyingly impossible. tags: friends with benefits, banter, pablo being annoying, light smut. (written in 2nd person but no mention of yn) (around 1.8k words)

It’s supposed to be easy. That’s the whole point.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs as he rifles through your fridge like he lives here. Like this is just a normal Tuesday night between friends who happen to sleep together.

“You seriously don’t have anything?” Gavi complains, holding up a sad-looking yogurt before tossing it back inside.

You shrug, biting back a grin. “It’s not my job to feed you.”

He turns to you, exasperated but amused, and points a finger. “Yeah, but I’m the one burning all the calories here. You should at least stock snacks.”

You roll your eyes, laughing as he leans against the counter across from you. He just came straight from training, but doesn’t look tired, though – he never does. Always has this kind of energy that makes it hard to say no when he texts, “You home?”

It’s easy, the way this goes. He shows up, sometimes with food, sometimes empty-handed. You make fun of him, he makes fun of you, and eventually you end up tangled in your sheets. There’s no guessing games, no overthinking. It’s simple.

“You’re staring,” he says, breaking the quiet.

“No, I’m not.”

He smirks, stepping closer until he’s standing between your knees. He rests his hands on either side of you, palms flat on the counter. “You’re staring because you’re thinking.”

“Thinking about how annoying you are? Yeah, probably.”

He laughs, close enough now that you can smell his cologne and feel the faint heat coming off his skin. “Don’t think so hard,” he says, nudging his nose against yours in that way he does when he’s trying to distract you. “We said no thinking, remember?”

And you do. That was the rule – no overthinking, no expectations, no strings. It’s supposed to be fun. It is fun.

So you kiss him and he kisses you back. You pull back just long enough to tug your shirt over your head, and before it even hits the floor, he’s grinning like an idiot.

“Cute bra.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

“What? I’m complimenting you.” He holds his hands up, like he’s innocent, but there’s that stupid smirk plastered on his face, the one that always makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time.

“Yeah, well, maybe keep it to yourself.”

“Sorry, can’t. It’s a cute bra. Floral’s a good look on you.”

You groan, pushing at his chest, but he barely moves. “You’re ruining this.”

“Am I?” He leans in again, so close you can feel his breath against your cheek. “Because I don’t think I am.”

You roll your eyes so hard you almost see the back of your skull, but you don’t stop him when he kisses you again. His hands slide to your waist, fingers grazing skin, and the teasing melts into something slower, softer. For a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed.

Then –

“Seriously, though, is it new? I don’t think I’ve seen this one before.”

You groan into his mouth and pull back, pushing his face away this time. “Oh my God, shut up.”

He’s laughing now, head tilted back, completely unbothered. “What? I’m observant!”

“You’re on thin ice, Pablo,” you mutter as you tug him by the shirt toward your room.

He stumbles after you, still grinning like he just won something. “Thin ice is still ice, cariño. I’ll take it.”

Your room is flawless – bed perfectly made, floors clear, not a single thing out of place. You’ve always been like this, a little too upkept, but it doesn’t stop Gavi from throwing himself onto your bed like he’s at home.

“Shoes off,” you snap immediately, pointing at him.

He freezes mid-flop like you’ve caught him committing a crime. “Relax, relax. I forgot!”

“You didn’t forget. You just think rules don’t apply to you.”

He’s smiling as he kicks off his sneakers, letting them hit the pristine floor with two thuds. You wince at the sound but say nothing because arguing with him would take all night. Instead, you cross your arms and stare at him.

Gavi stretches across your bed, arms flung dramatically to the sides, eyes closing like he’s exhausted. “This is what heaven must feel like.”

“I’m starting to think you only come over to mess up my stuff.”

“Not true,” he says, grin still lazy. “I also come over for you.”

You snort. “That’s sweet. Real poetic.”

“I try.” He turns onto his side now, eyes scanning your features.

“Is that your best line?”

“No, my best line worked when I got you to agree to this whole thing.”

You hate that he’s right, so you say nothing, but he keeps looking at you, waiting, until you finally sigh and crawl onto the bed beside him. You settle into the spot next to him, and he immediately throws an arm over your waist.

It goes on the way it always does: him teasing, you rolling your eyes, both of you pretending this is just another night. Like he’s not half on top of you, your legs tangled, his arm still heavy around your waist.

“You’re taking up all the space,” you complain, pushing at his shoulder.

“Your bed’s too small,” he shoots back.

“I like it this way.”

He hums like he’s considering it. You’re about to start arguing again when he leans down and presses his mouth to yours, cutting off whatever comeback you had ready. It’s not fair, really, how easy he makes this – how natural it feels to kiss him.

It’s still light, though. Easy. He bites at your bottom lip, gentle but enough to make you flinch back.

“Ow!”

“What?” he says, all innocent. “You looked like you were getting distracted.”

“Oh, you’re dead.”

You bite his shoulder – not hard, just enough to make him jerk and laugh.

“You’re crazy.”

“You started it.”

He shakes his head, still grinning, and rolls onto his back, pulling you with him until you’re sprawled half on top of him. Your hand smacks his chest, and he catches your wrist, holding it there. The smile lingers on his lips, but something in his eyes softens when he looks at you.

You pause. Just for a second.

And then he flips you over, laughing when you yelp, your hair falling into your face.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble, brushing it back.

“Yeah, but you love it.”

You want to argue, but he’s right. It’s annoying how good this feels, how good he feels. The way he knows how to make you laugh, even now, when he’s supposed to be focused. You run your fingers along the back of his neck, just to make him shiver, and he shoots you a look. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting.”

He growls – actually growls – and nips at your collarbone in revenge, making you squeal and kick at him, but you’re both laughing, breathless and tangled together like you don’t know where you end and he begins.

It all quickly turns into soft gasps and muffled laughter, and teasing comments exchanged between kisses. He mutters something about your elbow being sharp (“You’re doing it on purpose, I know it.”), and you whisper something mean about his hair (“Looks like a bird’s nest.”), and neither of you really mean any of it.

Eventually, it quiets. The teasing gives way to something nicer, your hands tracing lazy patterns on his back, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

“Comfortable?” he murmurs, his voice low, a little rough.

“Mmhmm.” You don’t say anything else because you don’t need to. It’s good like this, like you’ve done it a hundred times before and still have a hundred more to go.

“I’m going in, alright? Hold on to me,” he whispers.

You swallow hard, your fingers already gripping his arms. “Just do it already.” You try to sound impatient, like you’re not affected, but your voice betrays you – soft, breathless.

Gavi huffs out a short laugh, shaking his head like you’re impossible, and then kisses you – hard. It’s not gentle or teasing like before; it’s a punishment, his mouth moving over yours until you forget how to breathe, until all you can think about is him and the way he feels.

And then he goes in, and everything stills for a moment.

It’s like every nerve in your body lights up at once, a fever spreading from your chest to your fingertips, leaving you feeling dizzy – like you’re floating, delirious and weightless. Your eyes flutter open, just barely, and you find him watching you. His expression is different now, like he’s seeing you and feeling everything all at once.

He looks like you feel, like he’s lost in this with you.

“You good?” he murmurs, his forehead nearly pressed against yours, voice soft but thick like he can barely get the words out.

You try to answer, but all you can do is nod. Your hand slides up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, because that’s all you can think to do.

You lose track of time somewhere between all your favorite positions and all your favorite spots in the room – him pulling you to the edge of the bed, you shoving him into the chair by the window, both of you collapsing onto the rug at some point like you couldn’t even make it to a proper surface.

By the time it’s over, you’re both breathless, dripping in sweat, tangled up like you couldn’t be bothered to move. But after a second, you push at his shoulder with a groan.

“Ew, you’re disgusting, get off.”

He laughs, loud and unbothered, and instead of rolling away like a normal person, he hooks his arms around you, pressing his gross, sweaty chest against yours. “Disgusting? I was inside of you two seconds ago. Come here.”

“No!” You wriggle free, squealing, and bolt off the bed.

You’re naked, which makes this all the more ridiculous – darting around the room as he chases after you, both of you laughing so hard you can barely see straight.

“Pablo, fuck off!”

“Why are you running? Accept your fate!”

He lunges and grabs your waist, pulling you back against him as you shriek. He plants a loud, obnoxious kiss on your cheek and then, just as you’re recovering, lands a playful slap to your butt.

You gasp, smacking his arm. He winks at you, already grabbing his clothes from the floor. He looks far too pleased with himself. “Thanks, that was a nice cardio.”

You roll your eyes, collapsing onto the mattress again, finally catching your breath. “You’re welcome…”

He pulls his shirt over his head, “Generous as always.”

You grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him, but he’s already laughing, ducking out of the way like he knew it was coming.

It’s easy. Too easy.

And as he finishes dressing and runs a hand through his mess of hair, you can’t help but smile to yourself – because for now, this is good.

For now, you’ll take it.

[artdcnaldson]

stepbro patrick who comes into your bathroom while you’re taking your lil bubble baths to yap at you and bother you. it’s become so normal, you don’t even question it anymore. this time though, he comes in on a night you’re unbelievably pent up and wanted to just relax with an orgasm or four in your bathtub… but this mf will not stop talking and he looks so good in his stupid white tshirt and jeans, having just come back from hanging with art. you’re trying not to be too obvious about the fact that you keep having to press your legs together to get your poor cunt to stop throbbing every time he looks at you, but he knows.

He’s so meannnn :((

Just lounging on the edge of the tub, occasionally turning on the hot water tap so the bath doesn’t get cold while you’re talking. He keeps picking berries off of the little charcuterie board you’ve made yourself, stealing little swigs of wine straight from the bottle. Your face is so hot you can feel it radiating off of your skin, which you blame on the wine and not on the molten arousal pooling in your belly. He doesn’t even know that he interrupted you, at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t. The second the door swung open you had to practically tear your hand from between your thighs.

He’s going on and on about his plan to get Art to do pro doubles with him, how he really thinks they’d have a chance if they just did it together. Which is fine, but you’ve heard him talk about this a million times before, and you’re just sitting in a steadily cooling bath wondering when the fuck he’ll leave so you can finger fuck yourself into oblivion…. Respectfully!

“Am I boring you?” He asks, leaning forward. You’re properly covered by bubbles (not that it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before), but the way he’s leering at you makes your tummy flip. “Do you want me to go away?”

Yes. “No,” you say quickly. “It’s fine. Just… doubles, yeah.” He steals another berry, and you watch the liquid-y smear of red juice drip from his full lips. You swallow. Hard. He’s probably not saying anything important. And god, you just want to rub at your clit until the persistent hum of need is satisfied and goes back into hibernation for a few more days.

What was it even that set you off so bad? You try to remember if it was a book or a movie or even a goddamn song, but all that’s coming to you is Patrick. Patrick in your room, stripping off his shirt as he tries to get you to pick between two button ups he’s picking to wear out with Art. Patrick, leaning over you, smelling of the nice cologne you’d brought home from a trip with your mother to Paris. Patrick squeezing behind you at the sink so he could shave off a bit of stubble that had started growing back in. You’d dropped your toothbrush and he laughed like you were the biggest idiot.

Or maybe it was because you were watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Who’s to say?

Either way, you’re squeezing your thighs together, squirming in the tub. “Can you turn the hot tap on again?” You ask, but your voice comes out a little uneven. Patrick grins like he’s in on some sort of secret, and obliges. You finish your glass of wine.

“You’re gonna be so pruney when you get out of there,” he says. You lift your foot and turn off the tap with your toes. He grabs your foot in his hand and the motion nearly submerges your top half. “See? Your toes are all wrinkled. You should get out.”

“I should,” you say back. “Turn around.”

He doesn’t move. He just looks at you expectantly, like you’ve just challenged him to a game of chicken. Maybe you have. Your cunt aches with need, his leering gaze isn’t helping. You wonder what he’d do if you just… slipped a hand between your thighs, if you alleviated that craving. But you can’t do that. Even if you now he’d like it, that you’d like it just as much.

When you stand up, his eyes take in your entire figure, raking over you from your partially submerged calves all the way up to your eyes. He wants you to know he sees you, that he’s memorizing the lines of your body. You’re lucky you’re soaking wet, so he can’t make out the slick need between your thighs. “Can you hand me that towel?”

“Yeah,” he replies quickly, swallowing, mouth twitching with the need to say something. He steps closer and wraps it around you, tucking the end in so it won’t fall. He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead. “Goodnight.”

You swallow, take a shuddery breath. “Yeah, goodnight.”

When you’re sitting together at breakfast, eating quiches and fresh fruit from the garden, you don’t talk about it.

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

5 times you and Miguel walked away from each other and 1 time you didn't

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader notes: brother'sbestfriend!Miguel, soccerplayer!Miguel, college au, slow burn, somewhat mutual pining but written from reader's perspective more exclusively, SFW - only slightly suggestive (worst thing is probably a boner), fem reader (pretty neutral though), saying soccer instead of football felt so dirty but oh well, thank you for reading!! word count: 5.9k

You’re having your first lazy day in forever. It’s the first day in recent memory that you didn’t have something to do or somewhere to be. You’re just going to hang out in your apartment and watch your favorite shows or read for fun for once or whatever else you feel like doing. Because you don’t have to go anywhere, you don’t even take a shower, opting to stay in your comfy pajamas, not bothering with any makeup or hair effort, as you lounge around. 

You have the place to yourself now, but you share it with your twin brother Alex, the two of you lucky enough to go to the same university. 

When you eventually hear his keys scratching at the door, you’re sprawled on the couch reading a novel you’d left half-finished for ages despite actually really enjoying it. School really had a way of making you not read. Or at least never full books. 

As Alex opens the door, you’re surprised to hear him talking to someone else. You see his unexpected guest a moment later from your spot on the couch, your college apartment rather small after all. And you’re mortified. Miguel. Alex’s best friend, university soccer team superstar, ridiculously attractive Miguel. 

God, why did Alex not warn you he was bringing someone over? All it took was a quick message, for fuck’s sake. And Miguel of all people? Ugh. Well, it wasn’t like you could tell him. “Hey, brother dear, I have a huge crush on your best friend, so can I please get a warning next time he’ll be around? You know, especially so I’m not looking like a total mess when he shows up?”

He’d been coming over a lot recently actually. He and Alex were both on the soccer team and happened to share a few classes too, so their schedules really lined up. Usually, it was nice to get to see him. It’s not like either of them paid that much attention to you when they were hanging out, but Miguel was nice to look at. Even now, they seemed like they were coming back from a casual soccer match or something, and he still looked amazing. His thick, dark hair was messy in the way that made you want to run your hands through it; his t-shirt hugged his unreasonably broad chest and shoulders perfectly, and his sweatpants — fuck, his sweatpants — his ass looked miraculous as he turned to put his gym bag down.

Miguel’s looking at you as he and Alex step into the living room. “It’s Saturday, Y/N, and the weather’s finally fucking nice. Why’re you reading a book? You’re such a nerd,” Alex snaps as he plops onto the couch next you, pushing your legs off to make room. 

“I’m a nerd because I’m reading a book? Am I am tomboy because I’m not wearing a dress, too, or are we keeping it to one stupid superficial stereotype?” 

Miguel chuckles as he sits on Alex’s other side. “Cut him some slack, Y/N, he took a soccer ball to the head today. Might be making him even more of an idiot than usual.” 

You can’t help but worry; you love the idiot after all. 

“You okay? Was it bad?” you’re asking as you run your hand over his head looking for bumps. “I’m fine, mom,” he mocks, pushing you away. “And you? You asshole,” he accuses Miguel playfully. “‘Took a ball to the head’?” he repeats, then turning to you adds, “It was him that kicked it!” Miguel starts laughing.

“It was the perfect setup, man. Not my fault you were distracted.” “Whatever,” Alex says as he reaches for the video game remotes. Knowing them, it was time for FIFA.

You’re eager to hide with how you look right now anyway, so you get up to head into your room. “We didn’t mean to kick you out,” Miguel starts kindly. “ You don’t have to go; you were clearly comfortable here.” “Clearly comfortable”? God that sounded bad in your head. He was “super hot”; you were “clearly comfortable.”

“Thanks, Miguel. It’s fine. I was going to —“ but you don’t finish your excuse as you trip on the remote’s charging wire as you step across, falling unceremoniously to your face right in front of them. 

“Mierda!” Miguel yells.

Alex immediately asks, “You okay?,” but it’s Miguel who’s up and over you in the same instant.

“You alright?” he asks softly as his hands grab your hips to help you up. 

His hands on you were the last thing you needed right now. So much for composure. “Fine. Really,” you say, your breath shaky. You’re kneeling on your living room floor; Miguel’s squatting in front of you, close; his hands haven’t left your body even though you’re no longer prone. He just watches you closely, eyes beautiful and concerned. You stare back into them, and after a couple more shaky breaths finally manage to stand up and step away, looking anywhere but at him. “‘M fine,” you repeat. You turn away hurriedly and go the few steps to your room. Once safely behind closed doors, your face scrunches and your stomach sinks at the sheer embarrassment. 

~

It’s been days since Miguel was at your apartment, and part of you is happy for the lack of pressure but another part of you still gets a funky feeling in her gut at the idea that the last memory of you he had was of a clumsy mess. He and Alex have a game today, and pretending to convince yourself that you just felt like it today, you make yourself up more than usual for it. You’re actually pretty happy with your look as you head out to meet some friends at the match. 

They win. Miguel scores. Twice. Alex’s defense is probably the main reason for their clean sheet. 

So, hyped up on adrenaline and victory, they’re laughing and messing around with their teammates as a bunch of people approach the sidelines to congratulate them. Alex spots you and makes a goofy face, always so playful when he’s happy. He jogs over to you and gives you a huge hug.

“Stop, you’re so sweaty!” you squeal. He just holds you tighter and rubs his sweaty hair on you, laughing. When he finally pulls away, Miguel is standing right next to him, smiling at the two of you. “Do I get a hug too?” he teases. “I scored two more goals than he did!” 

You’re not sure if he’s kidding, and you’re sure the chuckle you give in response is somewhat tense.

But, stepping toward him, you just say, “Congratulations,” and wrap your arms around his shoulders without getting too close. Damn, they were like boulders. Miguel wraps his arms around your waist and closes the distance you’d maintained, giving you a surprisingly intimate embrace. You’re struck by the feeling of him around you. He’s sweaty, too, and you can smell his musk, but instead of off-putting, you find it incredibly arousing. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing where your chest is flush with his. He’s so warm, and you just want to breathe him in and trace every ridge of his body. But the hug is already lingering too long to be normal, and you pull back a bit awkwardly. Miguel is still looking at you, a subtle smile on his face. 

He seems about to say something when a high pitched squeal right next to you startles you. 

“Miguel!” a very pretty girl yells at him as she approaches, unabashedly jumping onto his back. She’s in a cheer uniform. “Oh my god, you were so good!” Miguel’s so sturdy, her jumping on him didn’t throw him off physically, but his face looks a little flustered. “Uh, thanks,” he says politely, putting her down. She just giggles and grabs his arm as she compliments him again. 

You feel so awkward watching this, so you just turn around and walk away. You don’t see Miguel looking after you.

~

You’re at the after party with a couple of your friends. The soccer team was quite popular, and the victory parties tended to be good. You’re mostly having fun, but you can’t help but keep looking over to where Miguel is. Man of the match and man with that face, he was obviously the center of attention. People were coming up to congratulate him left and right. He handled it all so graciously. It shocked you how there was no arrogance in his demeanor; he was just the easygoing life of the party. 

You wanted to go talk to him too, but you’d already congratulated him and didn’t know what else you would say. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself again. You could go talk to your brother, who was right next to him, but he was busy flirting, and you didn’t want to ruin it for him. 

A bunch of people are dancing in the open space between you and Miguel, and the chaos lets you sneak long looks at him without his noticing. But when your friend leans over and asks, “Who do you keep looking at?,” you realize you have to be less obvious. “No one, just curious who Alex is flirting with,” you lie, proud of how quick you were with it. 

“You a jealous, protective sister type?” she laughs. 

“No, just curious.” “Is he?” “What?” “Protective?”

“Um, sometimes, depends. Why?”

“Because that guy over there keeps checking you out.” She nods toward an okay-looking guy chatting with someone on the edge of the dance floor. A second later, he was indeed looking over at you. “You should go talk to him!” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so interested.” “Why not? He’s hot! I’m pretty sure he’s on the team too. You don’t have to marry him, Y/N, just go dance! You’ve been weirdly tense all night.”

You look over again, and your eyes meet. Before you can do anything else, he makes the decision for you, walking over to you.

“Hey.” “Um, hi.” You exchange names and pleasantries, and he asks you if you want to dance. Without thinking about it, you glance toward the person you really wish you were dancing with. To your surprise, Miguel is already looking toward you. He looks less happy than before. You look back at this guy quickly, hoping neither of them noticed. 

You feel slightly bad thinking this, using this guy you weren’t super interested in, but you couldn’t help but feel it’d be nice if Miguel saw a side of you that might make him think of you differently, not just as Alex’s sister. It’s just a dance anyway, so, you accept the offer and head to the dance floor. 

You fall into a rhythm with the music, with the guy. The dancing is fun; the guy is fine. Your back is to Miguel, and you can’t resist spinning to catch another glimpse, doing it seamlessly as you keep dancing. Your breath catches when your eyes meet his. 

Miguel watching you from across the room is doing much more to turn you on than anything your current dance partner is doing, but you channel your new energy into your movements. It’s not a well thought out decision, though in the back of your mind you know who it’s for, but you start moving a bit more suggestively. You let your hips follow the music, let your hands come up to your hair as your body rolls rhythmically. Feeling especially bold, you even manage to meander closer to where Miguel is, giving him a better view. 

Unbeknownst to you, this unfortunately also makes Alex, now unoccupied, notice you for the first time. You don’t hear him leaning over to Miguel and saying, “Gross. I hate seeing my sister with random guys. Let’s go get more drinks.” He drags him away, and Miguel, unable to come up with a good reason not to follow, does. 

The next time you spin, all you catch is the backs of their heads.

~

The following week, you’re coming home from classes, and all you can think about is eating. You’d had to skip lunch to finish an assignment and couldn’t wait for dinner. 

When you enter your apartment, you find Miguel sitting on your couch. 

“Hey,” he greets. “Hi.” He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa closest to you, and he adorably shifts over to make room, as if you couldn’t just go around. You weren’t planning on sitting anyway, but now that he’s wordlessly extended an invitation, you do. “Where’s Alex?”

“Went to take a shower. We’re gonna play a couple games when he’s done.” He gestures toward the video game console. “Are the remotes charged?” you joke. “I hear it’s a hazard to have the wires across the living room floor.” Miguel chuckles lightly at your self-deprecating humor. He’s turned toward you, sitting in the middle of the couch, his elbow on the backrest as he occasionally messes with his luscious hair. “I felt so bad that day. Taking over your space and tripping you. When you looked so peaceful when we got here.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you laugh, amused but also masking your stirring feelings at the fact that he had thought about it at all. “I was just a mess that day. And I wouldn’t call my pyjamas peaceful, just comfortable. In my defense, though, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I liked your pyjamas,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. “What? I did! I’m all for comfy clothing; have you not noticed 90% of my wardrobe is gym clothes?”

“Yes, well, you can get away with it. You’re a guy, and you look like that,” you say, gesturing at his body before you really realize what you’re saying. You tense as soon as you do. It just slipped out, the conversation getting weirdly easy and comfortable with him. “Like what?” he asks, but he’s smirking, knowing what you meant. You just roll your eyes again. “No, c’mon, chula, like what?” He lifts his eyebrows in challenge, mirth in his eyes. You’re too busy reeling from the pet name to have mental energy to come up with a retort. You’re grateful for what would’ve otherwise been embarrassing: your stomach grumbling. Miguel looks at your stomach and giggles. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, taking the escape route and walking to the adjoining kitchen. He follows. “You can get away with it too, you know,” he says nonchalantly. You think you know what he means but look back at him questioningly. “The clothes. You always look good.” 

You’re glad you’re not facing him, your expression probably revealing your excitement. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” He leans on your counter. “So what are you having?” “I don’t know, whatever we have. Haven’t had time to go to the store.” You’re rummaging through your cabinets. “I can make you something,” he offers. You stop and look at him. “What? I’m a great cook,” he shrugs defensively. “Have you never had my tamales?”

“It’s not about you being good or not,” you giggle. “There’s no reason you should have to cook when you’re just here to hang out.” 

He just shrugs again, but there’s a tinge of shyness in his typically confident facade. 

You turn to open your fridge, and he comes up right next to you. “Oh shit, you guys have jarritos. Can I steal one?”

“Yeah, of course,” you laugh. “Grab whatever you want.”

You didn’t think he would immediately… As you bend over to grab something from the drawers, Miguel reaches up to grab the soda, leaning forward. Both of you moving simultaneously, your ass presses firmly against his crotch. You both freeze in panic, prolonging the position, before you jump up at the accidental contact. His and your “sorry”’s and “I didn’t mean to”’s get jumbled together in the colossally awkward moment. Miguel looks down, then back up again looking startled. He scurries around to the other side of the counter, it now separating you. “Jesus, Miguel, I didn’t do it on purpose! You don’t have to put a barricade between us; it’s not like I’m gonna jump you!” “No, no, it’s not that! Fuck, it’s, uh, fuck…” He looks lost for words. His hand comes to his face, covering it in resigned embarrassment. His voice is a mumble through his obstructing hand, “I’ve a bd’ve uh sitch-ation.”

“What?” He uncovers his face with an exasperated sigh. “I have… a bit of a… situation,” he whispers, looking down.

“Oh… oh!” you say, realization hitting you. Probably largely because of the awkward tension, at least partially at the idea of you giving Miguel O’Hara a boner, you start cracking up. He just stares at you, deadpan, his hands coming to his hips. “It’s not funny.” “It’s a little funny.” His glare cracks the tiniest bit. 

“Okay, maybe it’s a little funny. But it’s your fault!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Alex asks nonchalantly, coming out of his room, lazily drying his hair.

“Nothing!” you and Miguel say simultaneously.

“Okay… should I just pretend that wasn’t really suspicious?” 

“Yes,” you tell him. “It’s nothing, really. Just me being clumsy again.”

His eyes are still skeptical, but Alex just chuckles and nods, letting it go at the look on your face. He heads to the couch with an easy “C’mon, man” at Miguel. Miguel follows, giving you a sideways glance and tense smile. When he sits, he immediately puts a cushion on his lap. You grab the first thing that looks edible in your fridge and head to your room. 

~

Two weekends later finds you at another soccer team party. They’d lost this time, 2-1. Miguel scored their sole goal, and the other team’s second had been a sketchy penalty. If the victory parties were good, the defeat ones were wild. Most of the players, Miguel and Alex among them, were drowning their sorrows, especially after such a disheartening defeat.

You weren’t a player, but you had your own sorrows to drown, and you weren’t stopping yourself from doing just that. You’d hardly seen Miguel in almost two weeks, and the few times you had, he’d been cold, keeping interactions mainly to greetings and goodbyes. You didn’t know if you’d done something wrong, if he was still caught up with your little awkward encounter, or if you were just making it up, your feelings for him needing some outlet. Making up stories by constantly obsessing about him was as good as outlet as you could get sometimes. Alcohol was a better one now. 

A while into the party, you’re at the bar for your… you lost count… numberth tequila shot. You down it, lick the salt off your hand, and stick the lime in your mouth, cringing. 

Your eyes are still closed when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You open them and see Miguel standing beside you. “Maybe switch to water, huh, guapa?” he tells you.

“Why? M’fine,” you slur. 

“Maybe, but you won’t be if you keep this pace up.” “And how would you know?” 

“Just noticed,” he shrugs. 

You squint your eyes accusingly at him. You didn’t know what you’d feel next time you talked to him, but you hadn’t expected to feel this angry. 

“You notice me enough to watch how much I drink but not to say more than two words at a time to me for weeks?” He looks surprised. “Y/N…” 

You cross your arms and lift your eyebrows in an implied “what?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you just walk past him. You end up walking through the dance floor, and though it wasn’t your plan, you kind of like moving to the music. You’re drunk enough to the lack the inhibitions to just dance alone. You’re enjoying yourself, not even bothering to look back and see if Miguel was still there. A bit later though, you startle as you feel a hand on your ass. You turn and find a random guy you’ve never met before, smiling at you disgustingly drunkenly. You’re taken aback, your mind already a bit slow from the alcohol, so you haven’t decided yet how to tell him to fuck off by the time Miguel is in front of you shoving him away. He’s not overly aggressive but, even drunk, easily moves the guy away from you with an angry “What the hell, man?” 

The other guy looks seriously scared and just lifts his hands with a pathetic “sorry, Miguel.” 

“Fucking better be, what the hell is wrong with you?” The other guy stumbles away. Miguel turns towards you, and his expression melts from frightening anger to warm concern in two seconds. “You okay?” he asks, his hands carefully grazing your shoulders. You nod and lean into him. At your seeming comfortable, he lets his arms come around you. 

“Thanks,” you whisper in his ear.

“Of course,” he whispers in yours, and it sends a shiver down your entire body. You stare into his eyes, your hands resting on his chest. 

“Miguel?” 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna dance with me?” 

They don’t call it “liquid courage” for nothing. 

Miguel considers you for a moment, but a soft smirk is whispered across is sharp features. He nods slowly, and his hands move slightly further down your back. You close your eyes at the sensation of his hands running along your body. You run your hands up his chest slowly and wrap your arms around his neck. When you open your eyes, you see his crimson ones boring into you. 

You start moving a bit more as you focus on the music to relieve some of the tension you’re feeling. He follows your lead, and soon you’re dancing together much more easily. As a couple of songs go by, you’re both moving freely, staying close to each other the whole time.

You’re so exhilarated, and he seems as enveloped in you as you are in him, so the next time the beat calls for it, you let your body twist rhythmically in his grasp. Your back is now flush with his chest, your ass on his crotch, your hand reaching behind you on his neck, in his hair. His hands are firm on your hips, and when you roll them against him, you hear his whispered “Fuck, mami” in your ear and feel his arm come around your middle, pulling you into him. His hips move in rhythm with yours. You’ve probably never been so turned on in your entire life. You keep this up for a delicious while. You can feel Miguel is hard through his jeans, but he makes no sign of being embarrassed, just continuing to dance with you with expert hip movements that make your imagination go wild. Of course he’d be an amazing dancer. Of course you’d imagine what else his hips could do. 

You twist back in his embrace, coming to face him. He holds you close, and you bring a hand to his face. He leans into your touch. You move your face up slightly, and he seems to be following, moving his down. You’re so close, even think you feel your lips graze his, when someone bumps up against you, making you stumble. 

Miguel’s strong arms catch you, but the moment is gone, and a second later, he looks startled.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back a bit, speaking loudly to keep his distance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you assure, but he seems off. 

“Let’s get some air, huh?” 

You follow him outside, the sudden change in ambience making your head spin a little. You lean against the wall, and he puts his hand on your shoulder. 

“Sure you’re okay?” You nod but don’t say anything, maybe a bit drunker than you thought, trying to ground yourself. He leans on the wall next to you. His body is warm where it grazes your side. You can feel his gaze intermittently on you. You get a little dizzy again, and you lean onto his shoulder. He just lets you, and you stand like that for a while. 

His fingers graze the back of your hand.

“Want me to take you home?”

You nod into his body. He wraps a firm arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the party. 

You’re home before you know it, the whole journey a blur dominated by his warmth by your side. When you reach your front door, you lean on it and look up at him. His subtle smile elicits your full one. “Thanks,” you whisper. “’S no problem,” he shrugs. “You’ll be okay?” “Yeah,” you nod. You’re already sobering up. “You?”

He chuckles and nods. 

“I wasn’t the one downing tequila shots like water,” he teases. Your cheeks warm, and you look down as you chuckle. 

“Wasn’t that many…” 

He laughs.

“It was, cariño.” Again with the pet names. 

“I’m still surprised you noticed.” “I always notice you,” he responds without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to his, and you see the longing there. 

You stare at each other for a heavy moment, then, drunk more on the sensations of your earlier almost-kiss than on alcohol, chasing that feeling, you lean up to try again. Your lips are a breath away from his when he looks down, effectively rejecting your advance. You pull away, mortified. 

“Sorry, I… sorry,” you stutter as you scramble for your keys. You turn to your door. “Y/N,” he whispers, his hand holding your wrist softly. “It’s okay,” you say, looking back him, wiping tears from your eyes. “You don’t have to say anything; sorry I misunderstood.” 

You quickly go inside and close the door. You lean on it, crying. Miguel, eyes closed, fists clenched, rests his forehead on the opposite side. 

~

Miguel doesn’t come around for a while. Even as days pass, you can’t stop thinking about your night together. Confusion, sadness, embarrassment — all mixing together into a terrible cocktail.

Another match day rolls around, and you can’t stomach the idea of watching Miguel play, of potentially having to talk to him after. You tell Alex you’re really sorry to not support him this time, but that you’re not feeling well. He worries over you a while, unhelpfully but adorably emptying your medicine cabinet onto the kitchen counter, looking through stuff, suggesting this and that, telling you to text him anything you needed that he could bring you after. 

A while later, you’ve just slumped down onto the couch, when your stomach sinks at the sight you’re met with. There, at the corner of the room, lie his cleats. He’d been cleaning them the night before and had clearly forgotten to put them back in his gym bag. 

“Fuck.” 

You lift yourself up, grab them, and head over to the stadium. 

When you get there, you pound at the locker room door, and it opens — of course, you couldn’t catch a fucking break — to Miguel O’Hara’s gorgeous face. Though he looks at you intently, you can’t quite read his expression. Then he yells over his shoulder, “Ale!” 

Alex jogs over and, upon seeing you, lets out the biggest sigh of relief. 

“Oh, thank God. I fucking love you.” He reaches for the cleats you’re holding up to him and gives you a  bear hug. “Saved my fucking life, Y/N/N. Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. “You don’t look as sick. You’ll be okay?” He’s clearly in a rush to get back but wants to make sure you’re alright. 

You nod and playfully shove his chest, pushing him back into the locker room. “You’re the best!” he yells over his shoulder as he saunters back. Miguel is still just standing there, all geared up for the match. It crosses your sick mind how good the uniform looks on him. 

“You’re sick?” he asks. 

“Nothing I won’t get over.” You offer him a weak smile. He’s nodding slowly, considering. 

“Stay for the match?”

“Miguel, I —“ “Please.” You’ve never heard him plead before. You’re head is nodding before your mind can catch up. He just nods too. “I’ll find you after.” And with that, he jogs back into the locker room. 

You’d never known ninety minutes could drag on for eternity, with a half-time’s worth of eternity in between. You’re sure you’re heartbeat was elevated the entire time, your mind and emotions reeling. What was Miguel going to say to you after the match? You had absolutely no read on him during your short interaction before. Then again, apparently you weren’t always great at reading him. 

Minute after minute trickles by. At the end of the second half, your team up a goal (yes, Miguel’s), the ref announces an unusually large number of minutes. You moan with everyone else, for your own reasons. What was a potential leveler compared to the leveling of your heart?

Slowly, the minutes pass. The other team builds a mounting attack; they get a good attempt; they miss. The whistle blows; the crowd cheers, and you, you’re frozen in place. 

You thaw yourself slowly as the players shake hands, go to their respective huddles. By the time they’re roaming the sidelines freely, you’ve only just managed to leave your seat. 

As you descend the bleachers stairs, you catch sight of Miguel. He’s obviously searching, halfheartedly ignoring the congratulations coming from all sides. His eyes eventually meet yours, and as soon as they do, he’s running over to you, meeting you much closer to the bleachers than the field. 

He comes to a stop right in front of you and just watches you. You just watch him. “Congratulations,” you say. He chuckles, lightly shaking his head.

“Thanks.” 

He takes a step closer to you. “Y/N…” “Yeah?” “I…” “Miguel!” you’re interrupted. “Congratulations! Way to pull it out!” “Thanks, yeah, thank you,” he says hurriedly, looking back over to you. “Listen, I just, I wanted to clear things up after how we left them.” You nod, worrying your bottom lip, your arms wrapping around you defensively.

“I didn’t want you to think that —“

“Congratulations, Miguel! Did it again, man!” And a slap on the back.

“Uh-huh, yeah, thank you,” Miguel responds, turning away, approaching rudeness. “For fuck’s sake,” he says, much more softly. “C’mere.” He grabs your arm and drags you around the bleachers, stopping when you have a semblance of cover. He’s looking around to make sure no one else is about to talk to him, and his worried looks right after he’s just won makes you laugh. The sound draws his attention fully back to you. He smiles at seeing you smiling. 

“Where can a guy get a little privacy, huh?” he jokes. “Probably not still by the field where he just scored the winning goal, I’m guessing,” you tease. He chuckles. Then he takes a deep, sobering breath. “Listen, Y/N…” 

His tone sounds apologetic, and it makes you immediately think the worst. He probably just didn’t want you to be embarrassed. Wanted to fix things so they wouldn’t be awkward if he hung around, which he’d obviously want to do given Alex was his best friend. 

Already fighting back tears, wanting to beat him to the punch to save face in whatever way you could at this point, you cut him off. “Miguel, you don’t have to explain anything or anything. I’m sorry I made more out of a good time than I should have. Please don’t let me keep you from hanging out with my brother even if I’m around, and I hope we can still be friends.” “What? No, that’s not… This isn’t about Alex. I mean, well it is a little bit.” He’s looking unsure. “Just keep things how they were before. It’s all fine.” “Is that what you want?” He looks serious. “What do you mean?” “Is that what you want? To keep things how they were before? To still be friends?”

“I… well… it’s what you want, isn’t it?” “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to. I tried to kiss you, and you pretty much said no to that. Twice.”

“I didn’t. Well, once, yeah I did, but it was only because I was worried you were too drunk. I didn’t want to take advantage of you. And, also, maybe a little bit because I panicked, okay?” He sounds more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him yet. “I was worried it’d be weird with Alex or that I’d fuck it up with you, and I just, I don’t know, I panicked. And the other time wasn’t my fault. I was going to kiss you if you hadn’t stumbled.” “Someone bumped into me!” “I’m not blaming you! I just, it just, it made me remember you were drunk, and I didn’t want to be like that idiot guy I’d had to push away a while earlier.” “You’re nothing like that guy,” you say sternly. “I…” He’s started to look frustrated, unable to find the words. He runs his hand over his face, takes another deep breath. “What if you try now?” ��What?” “I don’t know how to tell you. So maybe I can just show you. Try again, and no one will bump into you. I won’t panic, and I won’t think of all the things that could go wrong. I’ll think of how I’ve been feeling since that night. Absolutely fucking miserable. It’s been eating away at me; all I could think about was making it right with you, but I didn’t know how, didn’t know if I should. But I can’t take it anymore, and if you feel the same way, then, fuck, let’s just stop getting in our own way.” 

“Miguel…” “Yeah?” “That was pretty good for not knowing how to tell me.” Your face forms the slightest teasing smirk, your eyes lighting up at the realization of what he’s telling you. “Shut up and kiss me already,” he says, rolling his eyes, unable to help his bright smile, pulling your body to his and bringing his lips onto yours. 

You pull him into you, reciprocating eagerly. He moans into your mouth, and you feel his towering body sink onto yours. His arms are tight around you, one hand cupping your head, bringing you close. His kiss is fervent, desperate but concentrated. 

You run your hands in his hair, and he chuckles gruffly, the sound muffled by your chasing mouth. You lose yourself in his embrace. You grip him tightly, breaching into his mouth, wanting to kiss him as much as wanting to be kissed by him. You could feel the beginning of a beautiful push and pull as your mouths move together, your bodies mold into each other’s. 

You want to kiss him forever, but some loud cheering nearby startles you slightly apart. Miguel is looking deeply into your eyes. He kisses you again, lets his forehead rest on yours when he pulls back. You’re smiling when you say, “You should probably get back. I’m sure people are looking for you.” He groans dramatically and hides in the crook of your neck. He kisses it before saying, “I just want to be with you.” 

You giggle, nuzzling his face with yours, holding him close, your hand in his hair.

“Yeah, me too.” He hums into your neck. He plants another kiss there, and one on your cheek on his way up, as he lifts his head again. His rough hands caress your face tenderly. 

“This is good,” he says simply. You laugh and nod. “Fuck ‘em. I’ll go over there at some point. Let’s just stay here a little while longer.”

“Okay,” you smile. 

Miguel leans back into you, kissing you and kissing you and kissing you. 

[lif3lessb0dy]

₊˚⊹ ೀ rafayel

╰┈➤ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ headcanon; rafayel falling in love with you

cw; he's a dumbass, jealous but won't admit it, cursing, kinda love confession?? idk, just some fluff for my rafayel girlies ;333

for a long time he didn't understand what's going on

or he just didn't want to admit that to himself lmao

he found himself looking at you and your face for a little longer than he was supposed to. hmm her lips have really beautiful shape... WHAT THE FUCK, NO, WHAT AM I THINKING ABOUT?

him being brave whenever you’re in danger or would come close to it, putting himself at risk to protect you and always surprising you with how much strength he actually has

„hey, do you really need me to be your bodyguard? I see that you're doing great”

„i only saw what you couldn't cuz u were doing amazing job and I just kinda helped” he smiled proudly but after a while faked injury to make you laugh

he admires how determined u are with fighting wanderers, how you squint when opponent has dodged your attack

he would bring you many gifts from the places he visited, thomas was shocked when rafayel was complaining about the weight of luggage cuz he didn't bring many things with him but returned with second suitcase

many times he would find himself staring at some thing, wanting to get it for you but not being sure if he should expose how much he care about you

well, he isn't good at hiding this anyway

he doesn't like painting people but he kinda likes sketching your face when he's alone

when you're at work he could just stare at his phone waiting for some message, that was really weird cuz often he doesn't remember about phone

jealousy... he saw how you got along with thomas. thousands of thoughts ran through his mind. should i distance myself? maybe she doesn't appreciate my presence as I do hers? maybe I should give her mission with me just to spent some time with her? nah, I don't want to force this. but I want her to smile like that when she's with me

each accidental touch sent waves of heat through his body. when lemurians are in love their senses are committed to perceive their loved ones. your scent, touch, voice... he didn't even realize how much it affects him until he could experience you triggering all of his senses

i think that was the time he realized that he actually fell for you

you offered him a visit at your apartment, after a while you both were sitting on a couch and watching some movie. when you were laughing you placed your hand on his knee then rested head on his shoulder. he could smell your perfume mixed with his own scent, feel your warm touch on his cold skin, hear your low-pitched voice next to his ear... god it was so nice to have you so close

he didn't even notice when he wrapped his arm around you

when you simply hugged him, moving your head to his chest, he knew you could probably hear his heart beating loudly. it seemed to him that it was a simple gesture, even though at that time you were so stressed and didn't know what to do because you were afraid that you would go too far and expose your feelings towards him

yup, you were two idiots in love but won't admit it cuz you're too scared of rejection and losing the other person

„is it normal that you're so cold?” you asked quietly and touched his chest then his exposed skin on collarbones „your temperature is definitely below normal”

fuck. when your hand touched his bare skin, he had the urge to hold it there. why it was so nice?

„I... I guess it's alright and you're just the one whose temperature is weird, you're really hot” he came up with some excuse

„really?” you giggled due to the word 'hot'

he quickly realized what he said, he tried to hide his blush „oh, come on! you have a sense of humor like some high school boy!”

„I need to agree” u giggled again and closed your eyes

he gently cupped your cheek

„rafayel...?”

❛love and deepspace masterlist❜

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

I'll Show You Just How Sad I Am

a raymond smith x reader quick little blurb, just 1k words

there's mentions of smut in this so read at your own risk <33 who knows, maybe raymond will make a more regular occurrence on my blog over the next few weeks

here's my masterlist in case you want to check out my other works

"Should be the door to your left, honey."

Your voice is sweet in his ear, a pleasant distraction from the run-down building Mickey had sent him off to. It's smelly and dirty and even though he knows he should most likely feel pity, he's still just as disgusted. He'd be with you in a heartbeat if he could, safe and clean in the comfort of your home.

"Mickey should've sent a cleaning lady", he grunts as he knocks at the door, your chuckle almost making up for the very truthful, thinly veiled anger behind his words.

"Mickey wanted you because you're the best", you recite - you've told him often enough by now that it really is reciting. "And because he trusts you to keep this clean."

Which is easier said than done.

Twenty minutes later, the whole thing's anything but clean.

Sure, he'd very much accomplished bringing Laura home - but he'd also left a dead teenager in a puddle of blood about two stories down from where he should've been sitting.

"Left, left!", you call into the mic. Even though you're far from panicking, you're still much too loud, your voice flowing from his earpiece and stinging his brain.

"I'm trying, darling", he grunts back, breathless and panting as he pushes on, one foot in front of the other on the pavement of some random South London streets.

"I know, I know", you sigh. He isn't sure whether he's actually hearing you chew on your lip or imagining it, but he doesn't really have the capacity to think too much about it at the moment. "He's right in front of you. You've got him, Ray."

Yeah... The only problem is that what you must be seeing as a moving, flashing dot on a digital map, he's seeing as a bunch of teenagers trying to look intimidating. Probably feeling intimidating too. God, this is exactly why he didn't want the job. He isn't made for the fucking low-classed youth.

"You've seen enough?", that bastard of a boy spits at him. "Now I've got backup."

Raymond steadies his hands on his thighs and takes a deep breath in.

"You couldn't back up a phone, you cunt", he rasps, his erratic heartbeat slowly starting to calm back down.

"Raymond", you scold. "That's a child."

"That's a bastard", he mutters, before he finally straightens and tries his best at a somewhat mannered bargain. He's really only here for the fucking phone. He needs those pictures, then he's gone. He doesn't want to leave more unnecessary corpses to take care of.

So he offers them money. Which is something that they should definitely take, just judging by how they look. Plus a visit to a very good psychiatrist. But they don't. It's the same fucking bastard who's taken the pictures in the first case and got him into this mess that refuses - and in such a really stupid way, too: "How 'bout you give us that bag and be gone anyway?" - god, even you let out a choked up laugh at that, your breath carrying through the mic and into Ray's earpiece.

He drops his chin to his chest and shakes his head. What a fucking bunch of idiots. Goddamn it. He can feel his blood boil, hot and hotter.

"It's bait", you mutter, your voice low. "Calm down, love. You've got a machine gun. Use it."

Yeah, fucking hell, it's bait, he knows that. It doesn't change the way he's feeling. But your voice in his ear at least brings him back down to reality.

"Right", he grunts, then he swipes his coat to the side, closes his hand around the grip of the gun and steadies his fingertips against the trigger. He pulls it out in one swift motion, points it at the sky and shoots. For a good three seconds longer than necessary.

"Just like that", you breathe, your grin dripping down onto your voice and melting into his ear like honey. You've really got to stop that, he actually loses his focus for half a moment there and in his line of work, next time that means sure death.

The entire bunch of teenage boys flees - as expected - and in less than a minute, Raymond has the phone pressed into his palm.

"God, sometimes I really hate that I'm not there", you sigh, something in the background ruffling, probably as you shift into a more comfortable position on your chair. "Kinda wish I could've seen you."

"Run after a little cunt like that? You didn't miss anything, darling", he says, turning his head left and right before he strides back towards the car, his steps long and purposeful.

"Turn the corner here", you mutter, your voice taking on that specific tone that tells him there's a lazy grin licking at your lips. He can just imagine how you're looking (especially now that he has the time and freedom of mind for it) - one foot propped up on those bar stools that you'd bought for the kitchen, your equipment organised on the table top in front of you, his shirt hanging from your shoulders and pooling in your lap, your head tilted back and your eyes half-closed as you talk to him.

"I don't mean the little idiot", you go on, undeterred even as he narrowly avoids a trash can. Fuck, you really distract him too much. "I'm talking about you. God, you sounded so hot I wanted to jump at you. Actually scratch that, I still do."

He lets out a chuckle as he spots the car, his steps slowing. He should hurry up, he knows that. But he's got you in his ear, talking in that sweet voice of yours about just how much he affects you. He can't pass up on that.

"You're a little fuckin' minx, darling", he mutters with a grin, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check if there's any possibility he could be overheard. He doesn't necessarily feel like making your conversation public, even as you hum into the microphone.

"Yeah, but yours", you mumble. It sounds like you're almost proud of that. "Here's an idea, love: Get back home before I finish my shower and I'll show you just how sad I am that I couldn't watch you."