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librababe99 · 5 months ago

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Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

#charles xavier #charles xavier x reader #xmen fandom #xmen fanfiction #xmen comics #x men movies #charles xavier x fem! reader #young! charles xavier x reader #charles xavier smut #xmen dofp #james mcavoy #marvel comics #mcu fandom #charles xavier imagine #young! Charles Xavier

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corasexigence · 2 months ago

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Intox Play Primer

Vet for high risk play. If you don't have the utmost trust in someone, control what you're putting in your own body and know where it all came from.

Check for interactions. Yes, this means sharing complete information about whatever medications the person getting drugged is on. No, the interactions are not always intuitive. Yes, this includes things like alcohol. Ideally, ask your doctor about interactions with whatever you're about to play with- they're trained in spotting interactions, you're probably not. (ETA- @vekarin-striae mentioned that pharmacists are often cheaper, more specialized, and less invasive to talk to about drug interactions.)

If you've checked the interactions yourself, assume you might have missed something. Even if you've gotten your doctor to check, be aware they might have missed something. I once caught a potassium deficiency issue in someone's existing medication that their doctor prescribed them.

ROUND 1- Use it for its own sake before you play with it. Spend the time together and set yourself up for success: easy access to food, water, comfort media, and comfortable places to sit and lie down. Know how long it should last. Get someone who's used it before to tripsit if you can. Don't give yourself any tasks that involve new skills. Be ready to offer yourself or your partner a redirect from negative or anxious trains of thought.

Know what a good time on your drug physically looks and feels like. This is crucial, because things might go sideways in a way you're not expecting. Don't just be watching for specific signs of an overdose (though those are worth keeping in mind too)- if something seems wrong, get help. Seconds matter and you're probably not a professional.

Similarly: if the drug is at all sedative, or a downer, or long-lasting, and they're unconscious before it's out of their system, check for breathing and check for pulse. Also, your risk profile is your own, but I don't fuck around with hard sedatives- there's too fine a line between which body systems they shut down.

Start with a low-to-standard dose, and adjust doses for any relevant interactions (e.g. estradiol approximately halves liver tolerance [alcohol, weed, diphenhydramine], SSRIs approximately double psychedelic tolerance).

In order to avoid dependence issues, I wait a default of two weeks between recreational uses of any drug. (I only count caffeine here if I'm having more than two cups of tea in a day.)

ROUND 2- Play with it scripted and above board before you play with it in an explicitly cnc way. Your communication and mental state will have shifted, and you'll need to learn to accommodate that; make sure you try things out without added communication barriers first. Also, make sure to talk about how everything went afterwards when you're both sober!

If you're going to adjust doses, do it slowly and carefully. Most easily accessible recreational drugs can be incremented by half the standard dose. Some drugs are incredibly sensitive to fine adjustments; this is why Fentanyl, for example, is so dangerous and not recommended to use.

ROUND 3- Don't get comfortable. Try to have as peaceful and relaxed an experience as you want, and keep an eye on things as you play with different emotional states- but DEFINITELY continue to keep an eye on safety. It doesn't stop being a concern because you've done it once and everything went fine.

ETA- Mind how drugs affect things like pain tolerance! You might miss important signals from your body. Also, pay attention to overlap with your neurotype when planning and risk profiling. You might desire or achieve different effects depending on your own specific brain.

#theory and practice #edge play #cnc drugging

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eupheme · 24 days ago

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PPCU - 2024 FIC RECS

a rec list to share and support all the gorgeous fics I read this year. please check these out and support these writers, they are all incredible! 💖

COMANDANTE VERACRUX X READER

— the bet by @/flightlessangelwings

DAVE YORK X READER

— sweet dreams by @toomanystoriessolittletime

For you it was just a very intense wet dream, clearly never thinking a candle you bought at an occult store would give you the best orgasm you had ever experienced. For Dave York, cursed to fuck whoever lit said candle, you were a willing virgin waiting for him to take you.

DIETER BRAVO X READER

— i'll try anything once by @murder-wife

When you make a joke to your boyfriend about pegging him, he takes you up on it

FRANKIE MORALES X READER

— do me yourself by @/jolapeno

a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

— seasons of you by @kedsandtubesocks

your first winter in the valley brings in a frosty breeze & a push towards a certain blacksmith

— wet 'n wild by @/jolapeno

“This what you wanted?” His breath fans across your cheek, your neck—teeth all but gliding over your hammering pulse. “You just wanted me to touch you, querida?”

JACK DANIELS X READER

—trussed up by @wannab-urs

The stress of being a Statesman Agent, especially one in charge of the entire New York operation, gets to Jack sometimes. When he needs release, he comes to you.

JAVIER PEÑA X READER

— bite me nicely by @jolapeno

Javier Peña, a guilt-ridden vampire, struggles with the growing intimacy between him and Bones, the woman who willingly offers her blood to keep him alive.

JOEL MILLER X READER

— a happy man by @/psychedelic-ink

when your friend sets you up on a blind date, you had no idea how impactful it would be.

— anywhere but here by @pedgito

A poor damsel in distress, saved by the most unlikely of man.

— as it was by @/psychedelic-ink

you decide to host a New Year’s party and when Joel shows up soaked to the bone thanks to the rain, you lead him to the bathroom to dry him up.

— could i have this kiss forever? by @flightlessangelwings

— don't move, honey by @jolapeno

joel doesn’t want you to move or touch until he comes back to bed.

— eleven stitches by @/almostfoxglove

After Joel comes back from patrol injured, he wakes up restrained to a bed in Jackson's clinic where you've been tasked with patching him up.

— flowering by @tinycozycomfort

Always itching to be blamed for something, just so he can try and redeem himself; some kind of penance has sunk its teeth into the soft belly of his desire, staking its hold.

— first love in the late spring air by @moonlight-prose

in the late spring air with summer setting like the sun, life with joel suddenly becomes clear.

— get you alone by @5oh5

joel wants you, but you aren't his to have.

— half asleep, half awake by @morning-star-joy

Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

— handyman by @/mrsmando

it’s the worst time of the month for you, and you’re in pain. joel hates to see it, and will do whatever he can to make you feel better.

— him. he. joel. by @/jolapeno

you don't know his name. he doesn't know yours. yet.

— hiraeth by @honeyedmiller

the most invigorating and intoxicating drug you’ve had in your life is completely forbidden… and then there’s weed.

— his sweet secret by @ozarkthedog

joel fucks you over the kitchen sink.

— how do you sleep? @thriftedtchotchkes

joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

— is it that sweet? by @joelscruff

you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right?

— it’s different in the sun, in the day by @/jolapeno

— juno by @lotusbxtch

Your honeymoon with Joel is off to a bang.

— knuckles deep by @/ozarkthedog

joel fingers you for the first time in his truck.

— mornings like these by @pedrospatch

There’s a reason you’re always late to morning patrol. That reason’s name is Joel Miller.

— night breeze by @hier--soir

joel comes home to find you sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes.

— no one can hurt you now by @guiltyasdave

You’ve been traveling through the country with Joel and Ellie. After finally arriving in the safety of Jackson, you realize how much Joel means to you.

— pretty baby by @mrsmando

working as a nanny for joel miller is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

— phonophilia by @ozarkthedog

Joel Miller loves how responsive you are.

— put your sweet lips on my lips by @/thetriumphantpanda

He won’t ever kiss you, those are the rules, but you fall in love with him anyway.

— real love, baby by @/honeyedmiller

joel has a bad day at work, but seeing you dancing in the kitchen makes it all better.

— red light by @kiwisbell

The men you keep bringing home are no good for you. It's up to your landlord Joel to protect you from heartbreak.

— ripe by @/hier--soir

a night out with old friends helps you and joel realise what’s been missing in your relationship.

— road trip by @elflutter

car sex with joel on the way home from a weekend trip ;)

— say yes to heaven by @/psychedelic-ink

joel finally allows you to pamper him.

— seasons of you by @kedsandtubesocks

it’s your very first spring living in the valley & you’re very sure Joel Miller already wants you to leave

— so much goddamn talkin’ by @stargirlfics

Sometimes Joel has to quiet the noise in your head. Luckily he’s quite good at that.

— sundown by @bageldaddy

you're used to being alone. that changes when joel moves into the trailer across from yours.

— sweet days of summer by @ozarkthedog

you and joel sneak away for a quick fuck during a family outing.

— sweet release by @/cavillscurls

the aftermath of finishing without joel’s permission.

— take care of you by @theidiotwhowritesthings

You spent your entire adult life supporting yourself and barely getting by. It’s why a life of ease offered to you by a mysterious stranger sounded so foreign and unbelievable. Joel Miller, dressed in flannels that had seen better days, didn’t look like the kind who could promise you the world on a plate, but he seemed desperate to help out. All he asks is that you let him take care of you. That wouldn’t be so hard. Would it?

— that pretty girlfriend by @psychedelic-ink

When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

— the checklist by @thetriumphantpanda

Your new boyfriend Joel finds your hidden stash of porn, full of pages with their corners folded over, marking the things you like the most. Expecting him to feel bad about finding things you’re into, things you haven’t asked for from him, you’re surprised when he offers to help you tick them off.

— the duke's illicit affair by @hellishjoel

You want to tame the wild stallion that is ‘the Duke’, Joel Miller. Even if you have to lose your virtue in the process.

— the last day by @elflutter

It was the morning of his thirty-sixth birthday the last time he saw you.

— the older one by @frannyzooey

Best friends with younger one, you’ve known the Miller brothers since forever — you’ve wanted the older one for just as long.

— the way he was by @/cavillscurls

a recollection of joel miller and the man he was for you.

— trouble by @/mrsmando

joel miller hasn’t seen you for years, and what a goddamn surprise you turn out to be.

— you all the way down by @covetyou

You have a rare moment of privacy, a chance to luxuriate in bringing yourself closer and closer to a peak you’ve been teasing yourself with for hours…. Until a knock at your door snatches it all away.

— walking through fire by @macfrog

you’re neck-deep in a bout of seasonal depression. your boyfriend suggests an autumnal walk.

— what happens here, stays here by @fettuccin-e

— when his eyes open by @/jolapeno

joel wakes and admires you and the morning.

— wherever you stray, i'll follow by @cavillscurls

Joel resents the choice to allow an unmated omega into Jackson—until he’s the only one who can help her feel at home.

JOEL MILLER X READER X TESS SERVOPOULOS

— between two lungs by @/ozarkthedog

you join Joel and Tess mid fuck.

— july by @psychedelic-ink

you’re new to town and tess invites you to go camping with her and joel.

— three's a party by @/studioghibelli

joel knows you, his pretty little girlfriend, has always harbored sexual feelings for tess. he can’t help but oblige you on your birthday.

JOEL MILLER X TESS SERVOPOULOS

— wish you were here... by @always-andromeda

Joel mourns a life he wishes he could've had.

MARCUS ACACIUS X READER

— broken vows by @the-ginger-hedge-witch

When Acacius receives word that he is to be sent to the arena, he must decide where his true loyalties lie.

— prima nocta by @fuckyeahdindjarin

Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

MARCUS PIKE X READER

— give and take by @agentmarcuspike

marcus asks you for something he's wanted for some time...

MAXWELL LORD X READER

— stiff by @idolatrybarbie

Blackjack has the best odds of winning in any casino game. All you have to do is beat the dealer. Still, the notion doesn’t comfort Maxwell Lord. He likes to be certain. He likes to win.

MAX PHILLIPS X READER

— the prettiest by @almostfoxglove

After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in. Now he'll do anything it takes to have you.

if you haven’t read these, you need to! and please support these amazing fics & writers by reading, reblogging & commenting! 💕

#joel miller x reader #javier pena x reader #maxwell lord x reader #max philips x reader #marcus acacias x reader #jack daniels x reader #frankie morales x reader #please support these creators!#jess reads #2024 fave fics #fic recs

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angelisverba · 2 years ago

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kryptonite

in which y/n smokes weed (sometimes) and she thinks her dealer is super cute, and harry always gives her a little extra because she’s sweet

word count: 8.2k

pairing: plug!h and y/n

warning: if you are uncomfortable with the use of drugs, please do not continue reading!! i DO NOT want to see any messages in my inbox that talk of ‘glamourizing’ this drug. if you don’t like it-> don’t read it. mentions of bullying, peer pressure,

author’s notes: the second and final part to this fic will be posted next week, feb. 02 at 8am pst.

* * * * * * *

Harry hated parties.

Admittedly, they were a third of his source of income, but unless it wasn’t a gathering exclusively composed of his close circle, he didn’t want anything to do with it. They were too loud and sticky, messy and smelly. Red solo-cups littered at every available corner, half filled with Coca-cola, vodka, and the occasional sad, cigarette butt. Scantily clad girls and ‘discreet’ boys that didn’t know how to read body language that clearly screamed ‘I’M NOT INTERESTED!’. It just all got his nerves because half the time he knew they were only using him to get reduced prices on the marijuana he spent ample time on growing.

He tried, as a general rule, to limit his reluctant, brooding attendance to parties he knew would only consist of Mitch, Sarah, Adam, and the handful of other friends that just wanted to have a good time and a nice snuggle on a cramped couch that rumbled with intoxicated laughter. He liked being in a crowd he knew, it was much more intimate, less pressure-filled. He didn’t have to maintain that ‘polite’ air that was socially required in an atmosphere of people he didn’t know. No niceties or complimentary. When it was just him and his friends, all of that ‘quiet’ and ‘please, thank you’ shit wasn’t necessary. He could jump straight to his affectionate, giggly, sprawling-all-over-everyone’s-lap self, and no one would question it because they know it’s what he preferred.

But, at a big house party like the one where he was at, where everyone knew him as The One Guy Who Sells The Good Shit, Harry had to pretend to be polite and quiet and small, and adopt an overall stiff persona that made him prickly and cold. This wasn’t him. He didn’t like this, and wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for his very convincing friend Mitch, who noticed that business was slow and assured him that he was bound to 1) ‘sell a shit-ton’ and 2) gather a handful of new clients once they realized that what he had to dispense was pretty good quality for a subjectively cheap price.

Mitch had been right, of course.

The small black backpack of goodies that Harry had brought to this inconspicuous function had been empty in less than two hours, and he’d repeated his number enough times that it started to feel forgein on his tongue. Once or twice, a few girls had flashed him what could be called ‘bedroom eyes’, but he wasn’t in the mood to get his rocks off. When he came with a purpose to sell, any need, want, or hope for sex flew out of the window because then he ran the risk of girls thinking their ‘connection’ entitled them to some sort of discount on weed, and he didn’t particularly fancy ruining his post-coitous bliss with the awkward exchange of rejection that followed their questions.

Plus, it made him feel used.

A good three hours have passed, and he’s about to tell Mitch he’s ready to leave when his line of sight is snagged on the diamond image- no, a beautifully deceiving mirage, because there’s no way this girl is real. Not when she looks like a ditzy sprite, a walking mermaid, a glimmering fairy, a heart-wrenching siren, and any other bewitching, ethereal creatures that stole men’s souls upon the first breath they took in their presence. She looked like one of his psychedelic hallucinations that whispered sweet things to him and played with the ends of his hair when he’s in the lull of shrooms, brought to life. Grounded, real, and three-dimensional, not just in the airy, green-leafed recesses of his muddled mind.

This pretty little enchantment that caught his eye had floated into the room on two clumsy, shoddy-sneaker covered feet that extended from bambi-like legs with knees that were almost comically knocking against one another. She walked slanted, her shoulder pressed against her friend’s, whom Harry might have been able to recognize as Sarah if he spared his gaze, but that was impossible. So, he thought to himself, this is how magnets work? Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to dislocate his line of sight from the socket it had carved itself into. Her cheeks, rounded with laughter and smiles, were dusted with the telling, glimmering sheen created by alcohol, and her eyes were bright, shiny, and starry from the handful of lamps that lit the living room. The slope of her waist, semi-shrouded deliciously from the billowy fabric of her powder blue summer dress (he couldn’t fucking believe she was wearing a dress when it was windy outside. Did she not care for her health?) and it made him think of the marvelous illusions created from marble. He was fond of going to museums and staring- for hours, at times- at statues of women draped in silk that were replicated with such precision, it was almost as if the wind was right there, rippling against the tantalizing figure of the unidentified female, so much so that an man was inspired to share his tortured vision. In solid form, nonetheless.

It made him wonder what the artist could see in real life. What they envisioned the model to be like underneath the heavenly fibers that twisted and turned restlessly with running air, preventing a clear grasp on the body underneath. Spurred to the point of such desolation, left with a hunger to resurrect what their mind’s eye consumed in physical format to live on forever and torment anyone else who looked.

He understood then. Understood that hunger and want for more.

She spun prettily like one of those ceramic ballerinas in a golden music box owned by children of important people, and that damn dress was both too loose and too free, moving around her with a protective fluidity from hungry, lovelorn wolves like him. He can’t hear her clearly because he’s too far away, but the snippets of her laugh that his ears manage to funnel down to his eardrums sound like a fairy’s tinkle.

She is a dream. Head thrown back before she replies with such enthusiasm and a strange half-lucidity that it has him leaning in to try and hear the drunken words that escape her soundless lips. He’s stuck in a moment of frozen time with her and only her. There’s a pinch behind his sternum when her head moves in his direction, and a strong titanic-worthy sink when she stops before even reaching his gaze. The words of some pop song from the early 2000’s skim cheesily through the background of his brain like a lonesome draft. Where have you been all my life?

Tunnel vision, he believes it might be called.

Next to him, Mitch bumps his shoulder, shattering his dangerously sharp focus with mumbled words that Harry doesn’t quite register with complete comprehension because they sound warped, as if they were spoken through a thick layer of glass or from underwater.

“What?” He blinks, his eyes stuck on her but his head rotated enough to the side that his friend knows he’s listening. He’s afraid that if he stops looking, or even blinks, she'll evaporate into thin air and he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if she really was a mythical being conjured from his second-hand high.

Mitch clears his throat and hides a knowing twitch of his mouth beneath the rim of his drink, “I said her name is y/n.”

Harry, distracted and oblivious, is unaware that Mitch caught on to the focus of his attention, asks, “Who?”

This time, he can’t help but huff a chuckle, “This girl, H. Her name is y/n. She just started working with Sarah. Sarah says she keeps to herself, but there’s been a bit of… bullying, so she invited her out for a good time.”

“Bullying?” A faucet of anger opens in his major arteries and replaces his blood with a river of internalized rage. Bullying? Bullying her? His head whips around with enough speed to crack the vertebrae in his neck, and his thick brows furrowed with a fierce expression that would scare anyone that looked at him then (Mitch being exempt because he knew there would be no harm coming from that look). “What do y’mean bullying?” He spits the word out like it tastes foul.

Mitch takes another sip from the red solo cup, taking time to compose his face before continuing casually, “yeah. Y/n’s new, sweet, and quiet. Sarah says the others at work think that she’s their personal coffee runner or something. She tries to help her when she can, but she's not always around ‘cause of meetings or whatever.”

Harry sucks on his teeth and shakes his head, twisting again to observe y/n with mooney eyes, bitterness still simmering within him at the treatment she receives at her workplace. Especially when the smile he was so fortunate to witness made him taste caramel and honey and peach nectar and all of the sweet treats that traversed through his esophagus when the munchies hit. It warmed him to finally have a lovely name to attach to a lovely name.

Y/n. It settled nicely in his inner monologue, and he wanted to speak it. Test it on his tongue to see if it molded his lips as nicely as he imagined it would. It fit her, he thought. Y/n. Weirdly, Harry itched to throw it casually in a conversation with her. An exclamation. A wheezed whisper in the middle of a breathless laugh. In a greeting. In a goodbye. To grab her attention. To console. It was ridiculous! He didn’t even know her but he wanted, badly, for this party to transform into one of the more comfortable ones he had with his friends. For her to sit next to him on the couch his arm around the space behind her as she leaned into him unconsciously as the conversation continued. To grab her bicep in a nervous giggle when he stumbled after one too many. To share a bowl of chips with her (lime was his favorite, but he would eat barbecue flavored ones- his least favorite- if they were hers).

“Whose-”a burp, “motorcycle is blocking the driveway?!”

A clearly drunk male slurred from the front of the house, an arm raised as he swayed in a half-assed attempt to grab everyone’s attention, the drink in his hand sloshing onto the carpet and Harry winced, half from being startled and half from the suddenly stiffness that came with several pairs of eyes landing his way.

“Sorry, mate. That would be me.” He raised a finger in the air and bent at the waist to deposit his unfinished drink on a low black coffee table by his knees. He shrugged, rolling his lips into his mouth and turning to Mitch with his shoulders lifting with the beginnings of a hug, “‘was just gonna leave, anyway.”

“Early night, H?” Mitch mumbled, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek while embracing his friend, the ghost of a laugh lingering in his nasal passage. Harry’s cheeks turned a light pink and his nostrils flared in his attempt to hide his smile.

“Yup.” Harry returned the kiss, his nose digging onto the scruff of Mitch’s cheek, tickling him. Stepping back from their show of affection, he patted his palms against his thigh to make sure he had his phone and keys, and tugged the strap of the small backpack on his shoulder to verify it’s presence.

Mitch resumed his leaning position against the door frame, hand in his pocket, “alright. Text me when you get home.”

“‘Course.” Sparing one last glance in the charming sprite’s direction as he said his final goodbye, he was devastated to find that she had, in fact, disappeared, just as he’d feared.

He almost stayed to find her and watch over y/n like some sort of guardian angel, but he didn’t have the guts to go up to her. He hadn’t even finished one drink, so liquid courage wasn’t there to help him, not when he had to ride his motorcycle home. He almost asked Mitch to keep an eye on her for him, but it wasn’t necessary. Sarah was with her, and therefore he’s already watching her.

And from the comforting, yet teasing, twinkle in his friend’s eyes told Harry everything he needed to know. He knew that he was well on his way to cracking his head open over his heels.

Their friendship had always been one of little words.

******

Harry’s been delivering weed for a while now.

What started as a side hustle to obtain much needed income when times were tough developed into an interesting near full-time job with amazing results and benefits (he got to smoke weed for free now, since he grew it himself, but there was always that whole ‘don’t get high off your own supply’ rule, so he did limit himself). He had thought that he would have trouble attaining customers, but word spread like wildfire amongst his close circle of friends, which all happened to be free spirited individuals that harnessed the powers of nature, and then their friends, trusted friends, and so on and so forth.

It got to a point where he needed a separate phone for dealing alone because the ‘rush hour’ would meddle with his personal texts, leading to frequent ‘wrong person’ texts, and he traded his crappy car for a decent motorcycle so he could get to drop-off locations quicker. The added ‘badass’ effect also stroked his ego, so it was a wonderful bonus.

But the annoyance of being interrupted in the middle of something like, let’s say… an episode of Hannibal with a warm bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap always came in the same frustrating amounts.

Like now.

The Netflix screen pauses on Mads Mikkelsen’s face, spouting some bullshit about a tea cup, when his phone dings with a new notification. The sound is a specifically selected ‘ding!’ that is different from his personal phone so it’s easier to differentiate the purpose of the incoming message, and a rumbling groan vibrates from the back of his throat. Throwing his head back against his beat up, brown leather couch, Harry slams his hand around him until his ringed fingers click against the sleek device, and it automatically lights up as he brings it up to his face.

Unknown Number: Hi! Mitch gave me this number and said I’d be able to buy some pre-rolls?

Fucking Mitch. He often passes the number off to his buddies at the record store he works at. The dude started typing again, and the grey bubble with three dots wiggles at the bottom corner of the new text chat. Harry waited.

Unknown Number: If it’s too late for you, I understand.

It was, in fact, too late for him. But, money was money. He technically wasn’t doing anything important, so he would go and deliver to this-

Unknown Number: My name is y/n, by the way :D

Not a dude.

Fuck.

Not a dude.

The popcorn went flying off his chest and spilled all over the floor as he jumped up from his seat. Fuck. Y/n? Y/n with a smiley face. The girl from the party? His heart came to a stuttering stop, screeching like tired on asphalt breaking at a high speed as he came to the realization. The girl has haunted him like a stubborn will ‘o wisp for the past week was texting him. Albeit, it is for a service, but it was still something. The marijuana aspect of his situation didn’t bother him. He sold and consumed, it would be hypocritical of him if it did. Besides, she was an adult. She could do what she liked.

His jaw is on the floor, his eyes popping out of his head and he can’t believe what’s happening to him at that moment. He’d kiss Mitch on the mouth next time he saw him. It’s not until he sees the grey bubbles appear and disappear quickly again that he remembers the normal, usual response to this kind of situation is to type back. With trembling fingers, he pressed on keys, tapped on the backspace button, and repeated those motions several times because he had no idea what he was supposed to say- no, what was right to say to her. He had a standard response when it came to people who wanted to buy from him, but sending her prewritten message in his notes app that consisted of a short, perfunctory greeting followed by a menu-structured list of what he had available that day and their prices. There was no way in hell he’d send that to her.

Harry: Hello! It’s not too late for me to deliver. What can I help you with?

Unknown Number: Mitch mentioned that you offered a 2 for $35 deal?

Unknown Number: Is that still available?

Harry did offer a two-joint for thirty five bucks deal. Pre-rolled joints in cherry rolling paper about as long as his middle finger to the halfway point of his palm, semi-thickly packed with a hybrid blend of the two Mary-Jane plants (Sativa and Indica, none of that Maui Wowie, Blue Dream, or other strains; he liked to keep it simple) he had in a specially insulated box in the garage attached to the house he rented. It was his most popular sell; decent amount, excellent high, excellent trip. But… two? Was she smoking with someone else? Or was she saving one for a later time? He didn’t think she was the type to smoke two at once, but then again he didn’t know her, so her reasons were unclear to him.

However, if he arrived at her location and she was with someone (a male, specifically) his night would be ruined, because then that would mean that any marginal chance that he had with her was out of the question. And he couldn’t ask her right away because they hadn’t even properly met yet, and that would be weird and rude. That didn’t help his overthinking tendencies, and in a matter of seconds, Harry was sitting at the edge of his couch, popcorn crunching underneath his butt as a frown settled on his handsome features. Jaw set, lips puckered in contemplation with a pinch between his drawn eyebrows that casted shadows over his emerald eyes. He looked menacing, and his smattering collection of tattoos didn’t help either.

Or his motorcycle.

Or the intimidating stigma that came with his title of ‘plug’.

Stubborn as he was, this look of ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ would stay with him for the rest of the night, all because he couldn’t restrain himself from coming to incorrect conclusions. He didn’t know if y/n had a boyfriend, if she was with a friend, or if she would even be interest in him, but the sour thoughts that she did have a boyfriend and wouldn’t be interested in a ‘lowlife’ drug dealer loomed over him like a murky, stormy, thundering clouds.

He sent his response and changed her contact name.

Harry: I do!

Harry: Did you want to see the rest of the menu or are you set?

He knew he was being short with her. His messages were missing their customary smiley faces, the extra exclamation marks, the occasional x’s and o’s. He didn’t even type with capitalized letters, but in order to refrain from diving even further into this hole of hope, he decided that the change in his style of grammar would help him become emotionally distant. He just couldn’t bring himself to add them while he was in a stubborn, self-induced slump. While he looked angry, glittery butterflies beat their cellophane wings inside his ribcage and shook magical glitter onto his intestines, making them warm and queasy.

Y/n: I think that’ll be all for tonight

The causal mention of ‘for tonight’ gives him hope. That implied there would be other nights, and even though he’s currently grumpy because relationships are fucking complicated, he wanted to see her again and again.

Harry: Send your address, please.

She sends her location.

Harry: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

Since he’s already half dressed in black jeans and a white Fruit of the Loom t-shirt from his earlier afternoon deliveries, he only has to part the crystal bead curtain in the doorframe of his living room to grab the leather jacket hanging from a bright yellow coat rack besides his door, and the backpack that he left in a slump besides his shoes (already packed with goods). He doesn’t think twice about the popcorn that’s scattered all over his floor and couch or that the Netflix “are you still there?” screen blinks black when he picks up his keys from the hook next to his door.

The garage opened when he pressed the button inside the kitchen hall, and he stepped out through the side door leading to the space where he kept his motorcycle. The owners before him had left a shit-load of junk that had taken up most of the space, and with their permission, he sold and threw most of it away. For the most part, it was empty. A bench, some boxes, and the white-refrigerator like rectangular box underneath the worktable along with his ride were the only things in there.

Grumbling and pouting like a petulant child, Harry clipped on his black helmet, flipped the visor down with two slender fingers, and dropped the backpack into the compartment attached to the backseat. A button on his keys closed the garage door behind him as he kicked aside the stand and swerved with a screech onto the road, the night air wrapping around bare throat as he cut through at a higher velocity than was surely legal on a residential street, but he didn’t see it as a crime when the heart was involved. He could picture himself explaining to the officer that pulled hi over in a hypothetical situation, that he was on his way to deliver drugs to the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, and the officer nodding solemnly at his noble cause.

Totally realistic.

Cars honked when he cut them off abruptly, and he gathered stares from the handful of people that were still wandering along the streets, spilling out at random intervals from bars. He had to cut through bits of the city to get to where she lived, and the three red lights that stalled his perusal were lucky that they were government property or else he would have damaged them in a severe fit of impatient rage. He tapped the tips of his shit-colored vans against the road and clenched his ringed fingers around the handlebars, engine roaring with pending release. He should have grabbed leather gloves, he thinks, if not to impress her, then at least to keep his fingers warm because it was an especially chilly night.

Harry’s pulling up to a brick building in exactly fifteen minutes. There’s fire escape ladders trickling down the side, and cement stairs leading up to a brown oak door with a thin window pane slightly left ajar while a burning yellow light seeps in a long bar across the steps like a satin ribbon. Several windows are bright with light from the inside, and the spare streetlamps that cast a spotlight on the sidewalk make the street unsettling, like someone is hiding in the shadows extending from tree trunks. Harry doesn’t like it one bit, and he hopes y/n isn’t walking these streets by herself at night.

He’s simultaneously taking his helmet off and reaching for his phone in his back pocket when he hears her small peep coming from the door.

“Hi!”

And then, she’s all he can see, hear, think. She’s just as absorbing and hypnotizing as the first time he saw her, even though she’s standing in what is clearly pajamas. A long, sage knitted sweater that ends at the tips of her fingers and just above her knees, making her look like a leafy blob. Black sweatpants that are just as loose and baggy shadow the faint silhouette of her legs. Y/n is fiddling with her fingers, picking whatever color nail polish paints her nails (Harry can’t see because he’s too far away) and it makes him want to soothe her hands with his own. She’s tugging her bottom lip between her teeth and she probably doesn’t even realize that her eyebrows are furrowed and the bunch on her brow-bone casts comic-like shadows across her pretty little face.

Stupidly, because he can’t think of anything else to say other than ‘hello’ but he thinks that’s lame, he clears his throat and says, “how’d you know I was here?”

“Your… uhm- your motorcycle,” she points with a finger to the machinery beneath his bum. He’s leaning against it, not wanting to intimidate her by crowding her space in a dark-ish place but he doesn’t realize it actually makes him look very intimidating and ‘bad-boy’ looking. Especially with the leather jacket, “was kinda loud.”

“Mmm,” he hums his acknowledgement, because at that last corner he had purposefully revved the engine more than necessary. To impress her or to sate his devilish tendencies, was unclear. The space between his collarbones feels like it’s inflating and deflating with every rapid pulse of his heartbeat, and for the first time in a while, he doesn’t know where his ‘game’ is. He feels lame, at a loss for how to act around an angel when he was nowhere near her level. Hell, did this count as corruption of her innocence? He was selling her drugs for fuck’s sake.

At this realization, a heavy, sticky, nasty weight slathers itself all over his back and it can only be described as guilt. Should he be selling her weed? Should he even be morally conscious at this point? He sells weed to teenagers when he’s sure they aren’t narcs, but this wasn’t some zit-faced twerp.

This was y/n.

A few seconds of silence pass and she’s just staring at him, her lips rolling like there are words she's holding in and Harry staring at her with a closed-off expression, thick chocolate eyebrows furrowed deep in concentration because he’s memorizing every curve of her face to look back on when she wasn’t with him anymore. It’s after her first intake of breath with her mouth open that he snaps out of it and twists hurriedly to yank out the pink baggie with shiny red cherries printed on them. His current special, though he saved the decorated packaging for his closer group of friends because he knew it made them happy and he loved seeing that smile on their faces, but he wasn’t going to tell her that (and secretly he hopes it might put a dent on his irrational guilt).

“Here are y’cherry joints,” he holds it out, pinched between two fingers and his lips are a hard line as his heart beats out of his chest because- oh, god} she’s stepping closer and she smells really good and-

“‘Kay, uhm…” She takes the bag from him and mentally, Harry curses because she chooses to cup the underside of the bag and that wipes all chances of their fingers accidentally touching. She won’t meet his eyes, she’s shifty on her feet, and he doesn’t know how to tell her not to be nervous without sounding like a creep, “I’ve n-never done this before, and Mitch didn’t say if you took cash or Venmo so I brought my phone and wallet because I wasn’t sure which one you preferred.”

His heart goes through the life cycle of a dandelion. It blooms, yellow with happiness and new life breathed into his seedling soul by the sound of her voice, and transforms into the wispy tufts that fly away, ditzy and twirling from her sweet breath. All the while she holds him in her hand, smiling.

But all of these feelings are hidden away under his mask of self-preservation, writhing and squirming like worms. He gives away nothing, his eyes looking a little dead even though the in-between space where his head meets with the nape of his neck is damp with nervous sweat and he remains stiff and lazily posed against his motorcycle because he’s sure if he didn’t have that support his knees would knock together and sound like the cue ball hitting a winning shot in an empty pool hall.

Carding his hand through his unruly curls, he realizes that he should’ve styles his hair before leaving the house or foregone the helmet entirely, not caring about dying because first official impressions should be killer, and the extra harsh cut in his British drawl when he rasps, “cash is fine,” has to do with his own annoyance.

Y/n is flustered, evidence of that clearly sprawled all over her cheeks and base of her throat which he can see even in the darkness. She lifts the front end of her sweater with a paw-hand and Harry’s insides explode. Her phone and folded dollar bills are squeezed between the band of her bottoms and bare skin of her stomach. For just a second, the beautiful second in which she plucks the money from her body, he catches sight of a white, lacy bra-band that looks glorious while backdropped by the plane of her abdomen. He discovers the meaning of life and death, and wishes for a bit of both because this is torture.

The back of his mouth is drier than the sahara desert. Two tender fingers give him Holy ten and five dollar bills, and her angelic voice sings, “thank you,” when he takes it from her like a beggar.

Harry is an asshole because he can’t even respond with words only a hum of ‘mhm’ before swinging his leg over his ride and muttering a half-hearted, choked, ‘see you’ before roaring away.

****

He tries to invalidate his rapidly growing crush. Truly. He wants to brush it off his shoulder like dust because it’s annoying and distracting to constantly think about her, but nothing works.

In retrospect, he was even psychologically rude about it, trying- and failing- to find negative qualities about her or flaws in her appearance, but his fawning heart wouldn’t allow such disrespect to the receiver of it’s pesky little affections. The worst he could come up with was that her eyes looked as if some snot-nosed, uncoordinated, messy little kid had shaken an entire bottle of glitter onto a piece of copy paper and called it a day. And that her voice was soothing enough to coax that same child into comfortable, cow-jumping-over-moons dreams.

He wishes he were that hypothetical child rocked to sleep by her lulling voice because by the way things were going, he’s having a pretty hard time getting a wink of sleep because every time his phone vibrates he snaps straight up like his spine is locked and obsessively searched his phone for her name. And he’s tried putting his phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ but it only makes it worse because what if he texts her and he doesn’t see it because he’s sleeping?

All of the customers that came after her, during his period of constant surveillance over his ‘trap phone’ received the best delivery times and the snarkiest attitude he’s ever had to offer. The morning sun isn’t as bright as it used to be and the moon is dimmer than usual because nothing can compare to her. He misses her terribly and it’s stupid because he doesn’t even know her and she probably thinks he’s a jerk because he acts like such a dick.

Mitch thinks it's funny that he’s so twisted about a girl. ‘A’ girl because even though he was high when he spilled his secret to his friend, he doesn’t think he could stand a potential breach of his privacy in the case that Sarah found out.

“I haven’t heard from her in a while,” Harry said.

“Do something about it,” Mitch said.

And well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? It’s not like he can reach out to her to ask her if she wants to buy more weed. That would seem greedy and insensitive on his part; a money hungry dealer. He’s already in a limbo of moral dilemmas that shouldn’t exist in the first place and he doesn’t want to complicate it by any form of shady communication.

His dilemma, however, was solved by whatever divine being that dared to bear witness to his nonsensical pleas to the ether. It seemed as though she favored the night and dark for her ‘picking up’, because the delightful ding! came at the thirty minute mark of his tossing and turning.

With the sheets rumpled around his waist and his templed damp with faint beads of perspiration, Harry straightened in the same way he has for the past month, only the tedious exhaustion of it not being her was begging to gnaw at him. Was this what it felt like to be paranoid? Snapping alert at every single indication of a phone because you think it’s the IRS- or the girl who infects your mind, in his case- calling to demand a service?

Preparing for disappointment again, Harry picked up the phone and squinted as his pupils adjusted to the sudden change in light.

Y/n: Hello, Harry! This is y/n. You delivered to me last month? Are you available for delivery at the moment?

There is a muted thud as his phone slips out of his shocked hands and lands on the rumpled duvet. A thundering set of drums replaces his beating heart and his jaw remains slack because it has lost the ability to close. The perspiration on his hairline transfers to the cave of his hands. For weeks he’s been in a constant state of glum, waiting for her next text, and now that he has it the only thing going through his mind is oh my god, oh my god.

Still, through his haze he manages to reply with,

Harry: Hi!

Harry: Yes, I remember, and yes, I’m available

What he really wanted to say, and what he should have sent was, how could anyone forget you? You haunt me day and night. But that was a little obsessive, and probably would have scared her off before they even got anywhere.

Harry: Would you like to see what I have available?

Y/n: Please :D !

The pre-written list of items he has available changed this week. He’s added some chocolate edibles, brownies, and gummy bears that he picked up for a cheaper, wholesale price at the dispensary he frequents, and it makes him wonder if she’ll dare to buy them. He had one a few days ago at Mitch’s place with Sarah and has a smashing time. He couldn’t stop petting their cat, Texas, because the feel of her brown fur between his fingers was heavenly.

Grey bubbles appear and disappear several times along with his intake of oxygen before a long text appears, listing everything she wants from his makeshift ‘menu’ and… it’s a lot. The last time he received an order like this it was for a frat party that one of Mitch’s coworker’s friend’s brother referred him to, and it took him an entire week of rolling and baking to get his inventory back up. His kitchen smelled like weed-butter for a solid month.

Harry: Give me a moment to make sure I can sell you everything. Pretty large order…

The chipped black paint on his nails became a dark blur as his fingers typed, deleted, and typed uncertain words over and over again before finally settling on a sentence that was… neutral and didn’t send the wrong meaning. Usually, with his customers he was a mixture of blunt and friendly, but y/n wasn’t just a customer, and it made everything ten times harder.

Y/n: I’ll take whatever you have, please! Take your time, I don’t mean to stress you out

If she said please one more time, Harry was sure that he would become a liquid, coagulated version of himself among the mess of his blankets.

Jerking his ankles free of the fabric snake that snared him to a useless bed, he clambered off, knuckling at his tired eyes and shivering as the cool, still air of his room wrapped itself around the warmth of his body. Reaching into his closet for the first things he finds, a dark green hoodie and grey sweatpants, Harry yawns and dramatically stretched with his arms way above his head, hoping that the movement would push out the feeling of loneliness that was beginning to take purchase between his ribs, right underneath his heart.

Another late night, another delivery. He wished there was someone in his bed to call him back. Please don’t go, they’d say, the bed is cold without you in it. A warm hand trailing like a ghost against his thigh as he walked away, and a sleepy smile or groan of displeasure as his goodbye. He might not stay in the bed, but he would be happy- no, elated, to know that he would be coming back to someone.

The grow light of his makeshift greenhouse tinted his skin purple as he rummaged through all of his pre-rolled and pre-packaged items, his phone at his side as he checked off everything she has asked for.

9 of the Cherry Deals

6 of the citrus-infused pre-rolls

4 lavender-infused

10 brownies

And 2 8ths

In total, it came out to 28 joints.

Which is… well, a lot for just one person, or two, or three (unless you’re Snoop Dog or something). Packing everything up into four separate paper bags, and then a larger white bag so that she isn't filling with all of the smaller ones, he types out another cold text.

Harry: Okay I have everything.

Harry: Send the address, please.

She sends the address, and Harry follows the same routine as the last time, nearly eating shit as he flew out into his garage. Excitement bubbles in his guts at the same increment and volume of his motorcycle’s initial purr. Flipping open the back compartment he usually stores things in, he realizes that there is no way it’s all going to fit inside, so he turns on his heels to grab a backpack from inside and then he realizes that he’s not wearing any shoes. The smooth, grey floor is cold against the arches of his bare feet, and his brows furrow at his own insolence. Had he been so wrapped up in… everything that he didn’t put on shoes?

Rolling his eyes at his own actions- and feeling a little embarrassed that he’d let it happen- Harry returned to his home and snatched up the first pair of fashionable compatible shoes within his reach (green converse the same shade of his sweater) and the backpack to place the white bag in ( a little redundant, but he didn’t think holding it while he rode would be a good idea). Rushing back to the garage, he hoped that he wouldn’t come up empty with words like he had the time before.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away.

***

He was right about it being a party.

At least three minutes before he was flipping down his kickstand, the thundering bass of some rap song (he thinks he can hear ASAP Rocky, but he’s not too sure) shakes the streets and the trees. It’s a house party in a building that was too big to fit into the word ‘house’, but yet too small to fit in ‘mansion’. Toilet paper and trash litters the front yard while couples make out and loners smoke cigarettes, or maybe joints, out on the generous porch. Sports cars and beat up rides pack the driveway and most of the street in front of the house, so it makes it really difficult to station his motorcycle in an area where he has a clear view of who’s coming in and out of the house, and therefore, really hard to spot y/n.

That is until-

“Hi, Harry!”

She’s sitting down on the curb with her arms around her legs and her chin on top of her legs, looking… scared. Her eyes were blown open like a newborn doe, and the sprawl of her limbs as she unravels from her sitting position to a wobbly stand mimics the shaky, knocking knees of a filly that is learning how to walk for the first time. Her voice is even headier than it was the last time he heard it, like windchimes in the spring chill.

Harry’s eyes roam over her with no attempt to conceal his blatant appreciation for the fuzzy sweater falling down to her mid-thigh. They seem to have become a pattern with her. This time, it’s a baby blue crew neck and a pair of jeans, and y/n’s has tried to tie her hair up into a bun at the back of her hair but spiky pieces stick out the back and tendrils swap her ears, making her look like a soft, smudge-y dream.

“Hello,” he says softly, not needing to clear his throat this time. He steps forward a bit, so he can hear her better (or at least that’s what he tells himself), “s’good to see you again.” Harry’s words are louder and more amicable than the last time he greeted her, and his lips part in a crooked friendly smile which she returned with the same tentativeness. There’s something off about her this time around. She’s pulling at her sleeves and shifting her feet, glancing over her shoulder as soon as she’s standing straight and her eyes won’t stand still on Harry’s figure for more than a few, burning seconds.

“It’s good to see you, too! I hope I’m not waking you up every time I text, though,” an exhaled laugh left her lips, and she dropped her gaze down to her shoes. Y/n rocked on her feet, once and then twice. “I think I’ve… I’ve made a habit of texting you late at night.”

And he blushes, “I- uhm… I was having a hard time sleeping, so you didn’t wake me. It’s fine.”

If only she knew that he was having a hard time sleeping because his subconscious was a bothered brat over not seeing her again. Pleading words of requests to ask her never to stop texting him were dancing on the tip of his tongue, banging against his barricaded lips and begging to come out. However, he didn’t think such daring words were fitting with their barely budding relationship. They were pitiful and needy, like a puppy, and frankly, Harry didn’t want to present that image.

“Oh,” she stilled her movements, checked over her shoulder again and then looked him in the eyes and said, “are you okay?”

“M’fine, yeah. Just got a lot of you on my mind at the moment,” he says. It makes y/n furrow her brows and tilt her head at him like a little cat, only then that he realize what he has said, “Things! Got a lot of things on my mind. Sorry,” he clears his throat, looks away while hanging his helmet on the handle of his ride. “Haven’t been sleepin’ much.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks,” y/n pouts. Pouts at him. And he just blinks. Doesn’t smile or laugh.

“S’alrigh’. Y’got quite a large order this time. Havin’ a party?” As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to slap his palm against his forehead. He probably sounded stupid, given there was clearly a raging party going on in the house behind her. Of course she was having a party, what he should’ve said what ‘what are y’celebrating?’ or ‘are you here alone?’. Like the ‘do you have a date?’ kind of alone.

“You got it right? Thank you. And… something like that, I guess. I’m a bit nervous, honestly, because I’ve never…” She shrugs, looking away from him and back to the house.

“Never been to a party like this?” He’s confused. Surely he can’t mean that she’s never smoked before? Right? Because if that were the case, then what did she do with the weed he gave her last time? And what was she doing at a party were they were on this much drugs.

“No! No, no, I’ve never… smoked before.” She’s adamant in shaking her head. Her hands too, splayed wide like jazz hands.

“Y’never smoked before? What about last time?” Harry hates how it sounds as though he’s accusing her, but he can’t seem to control the way his words are coming out of his mouth, not around her, and it’s making him look like a dick. What he wants to do is smile and tease her, to find some way to ask her if she would like to share a joint with him without sounding too sleazy.

Shaking her head, “those were for my roommate and his boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Harry’s heart pitter-patters in his chest, his mouth in a straight line, and although there’s an abundance of emotions elbowing against the other in his chest, he shows none of them.

“Yeah,” awkwardly, she shifts her weight from heel to heel, arms crossed before reaching into her pocket and bringing out a folded wad of cash. “$540, right?”

“That’s right, but…” C’mon man, he scolds himself, pull it fucking together. This is a concerning situation. Surely she can’t be buying this much this time and not plan on participating. “Are you gonna be a’right?”

Worrying her lips between her teeth, she lets out a deep breath before answering. Smiling and nodding as she answers as if she wants to convince herself, “I think so. How hard can it be?”

“Pretty hard if it’s y’first time, sweetheart,” Harry forces himself to smile a little, but instead it looks as though he’s grimacing. “Will y’friends walk y’through it?”

Y/n looks back at the house again, and shuffles her feet. She’s got a sad little look in her eye, droopy and shy. Great. He was making her uncomfortable. “They’re n-not really my friends,” she says, “but I guess so.”

What? “What?” The word is sharp in his mouth. What the fuck was she doing, then? Hanging with people that she didn’t look all that enthused to be with, buying their weed, standing out here all alone?

“They’re not-”

A male comes out of the house, red solo cup in hand, and he’s not wearing a fucking shirt. He’s waving a hand in the air, trying to flag y/n down Harry assumes, and he’s offended for her. Harry’s brows furrow and his hands curl into fists behind his back. Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? What the fuck is he drinking and why is he being so disrespectful interrupting their conversation this way? All for some weed?

Now on the last step, the guy shouts, “Y/n, what’s taking so long?”

The poor girl jumps, startled, and her eyes go wide. “Sorry, I’ll be in soon!” Y/n shoves the money at him, frazzled, and takes the paper bag from his hands. “Here's $560, Harry. The rest is a tip. You can count it if you’d like!”

“It’s alright, here you-” she’s already bounding away from him, but he doesn’t want her to go, and somehow, he finds the will to call her back. He just wanted her to look at him once more, because she wasn’t even inside yet, but he missed her gaze. “Y/n!”

She stops, and he gets exactly what he wants. Her attention. “Yes?”

Harry swings a leg over his motorcycle and gets ready to leave before he does anything stupid like… like trying to hold her hand or something. Who knows, he lost his ability to act his age around her. “Have a water bottle at your side,” he’s mumbling almost, “and don’t take too much in on your first try. Exhale and don’t freak out when y’start coughing. Or embarrassed. It’ll be okay. And… and do y’best to relax.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

And y/n smiles at him.

It’s small, and it’s meek the way a feral kitten approaches a human with food. Scared, and rightfully so, because Harry wants to scoop her up and take her home.

“Of course. Have a safe night.”

She nods and walks away with another piece of his heart in her hands.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fluff oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles smut imagine #harry styles fanfic

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softtaemu · 2 months ago

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To All the Fics I love(d) Before

Links to fics, blurbs and others for my own (and maybe, others) enjoyment | don't be afraid to message me if you want something taken down or if i typed something wrong !!

i love all the authors here pls make more content especially my dick, jason, poe and pines author pls pls

some of these i don't really remember but i made a rule to myself where if i truely enjoy a fic it goes into my liked folder

so what if they're mostly smut,,,

🍄 for my favs hehe

Poe Dameron

I. Mercy, Sabotage, And Dead Space 🍄

II. Rumors, Freebies, And a Race for Last Place - @no-droids 🍄

Give Me My Sin Again - @brandyllyn

Feels Right - @jake-g-lockley

The Hating Game - @light-yaers 🍄

The Heart of a Ship - @im-poe-dameron

Seeds of Love - @moonlight-prose

Aphelion Duology - @oscarseyebrow

Running to You - @dailyreverie

Deft Hands - @eyelessfaces

Better Safe Than Sorry Series - @eyelessfaces

Favor - @eyelessfaces

Stripper!Poe - @youvebeenlivingfictional

Directions - @zinzinina

Got it Bad - @sinisterexaggerator

The Idea of You - @st4rymoon

Sex pollen - @eyelessfaces

For Your Entertainment - @melodygatesauthor

Miguel O'Hara

Pequeña - @that-sokovian-bastardkovian 🍄

The Ideal Gaze - @bluesidez

Starved - @honestsycrets 🍄

Back Massages - @wyvernest

Love Drunk - @bruisedboys

Baker!reader x miguel fluff - @bruisedboys (untitled)

Love Bite - @madschiavelique

Touch - @loganlermanstanaccount 🍄

College roommated Miguel - @loganlermanstanaccount 🍄 (i'd put all their miguel fics but im too lazy)

Once Upon a December - @mrs-lockley

Churn - @luvrxbunny

Nerds During Exams ?? - @obxsprincess (untitled)

Dad bod!Miguel - @cupcakeinat0r

Miguel going beastmode in bed - @tired-biscuit

Honey-Sweet - @fettuccin-e 🍄

Next Door - @cherryredstars

Insoportable - @ovaryacted

Between Your Thighs - @intoxicated-chan

Miguel Love Strong Women - @sillysillygoofygoose

Take My Breath - @whatthefishh

Shower Sex - @miguel-ohara-lover

Let Me Wrap My Teeth - @psychedelic-ink

Tired Miguel eats you out - @dilfartist

Breeding kink - @buryustogether

Amazing Head - @loganlermanstanaccount 🍄

This Series - @devilfic

Convergence & Webs of Opacity- @runa-falls (to read)

Dick Grayson

Help Me, Help You - @tetzoro

Written All Over Your Face - @roturo

A very freaky blurb - @hanasnx (untitled)

Freaky bfb! grayson - @killakalx (untitled)

Shameless smut grayson - @liciaarchives (untitled)

Squirting (as a friend) bsf!dick - @killakalx (untitled)

Sex Pollen Dick - @uc1wa (untitled)

Sex Pollen Dick again - @martiniluvr (untitled)

Jason Todd

Dick Pic! Jason - @dxckgrxsonx (this isn't finished idk if it'll get continued pls do ella pls pls) 🍄

Big eyes Big dick blurb - @dxckgrxsonx

Jason's in charge - @martiniluvr (untitled)

Restroom Attendant - @sanguineterrain

My Lady, Oh Sorceress - @e-nonsense

Jason overstims himself - @dxckgrxsonx

I'll Prove It - @dxckgrxsonx

Bruce Wayne

Right Place, Right Time Series - @devilfic

Honeymoon Series - @devilfic

Sugar on the Rim - @mostly-imagines

Cape stealer fluff - @devilfic (untitled)

Bruce Being Cockblocked- @c-nstantine

Nocturnal Animal - @devilfic

Joel Miller

You Owe Me Series - @tofics 🍄

Texas Sweet - @coquettepascal (if i had a nickel for every back massage smut i had in this list i'd have two nickels) 🍄

Wild Like the West - @hellishjoel

Heavenly Bound - @ozarkthedog

Head Lightning - @shellshocklove

Honey-Do - @kiwisbell

A Matter of Time - @thriftedtchotchkes

Pretty in Pink - @lincolndjarin

Javier Pena

Whatever My Wife Wants - @javierpena-inatacvest

Not so Secret Santa - @lincolndjarin

Plans - @wayfaringhoax

Have You Ever Seen the Rain - @psychedelic-ink

Tu Sonrisa - @tokkiwrites 🍄

Constructive Critisism - @lincolndjarin

Moonknight Boys

What You Like - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (marc backseating steven so) Hand Covers Mouth - @juneknight

Steven Grant

Dry Humping - @eyelessfaces

Marc Spector (i ong love love me some dorm!marc content)

Precum Dorm! Marc - @juneknight

Dorm!Marc drabble - @juneknight

Obsessed - @juneknight 🍄

Accidental Stimulation - @spicyllewyn

Beneath His Breath - @juneknight

Jake Lockley

Stan Pines

Snapshots Series - @moonieandi 🍄

SPECIAL MENTIONS (RANDOM EDITION)

Mixed p eating (gotham ppl) - @killakalx

I'd watch him lick it off - @killakalx

@Cherryredstars' whole ass masterlist (bookedmarked cause i wanna read more)

The Legend of Mar'sol Series - @sirowsky Mandalorian x reader

Free use Miguel - @runa-falls

The Inn (witcher) - ao3

Sirowsky's masterlist

Siren - @chvoswxtch

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djarinxore · 2 years ago

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my fav fics/fic recs

Joel Miller

Seams by @fuckyeahdindjarin

I’m Starving, Darlin’ by @me-and-my-bullet-journal

Cowboy Take Me Away by @alt-verara

Elementary by @guess-i-have-to-go-model-now

Joel masterlist by @toxicanonymity(TW)

Joel masterlist by @chaotic-mystery

Breaking the Girl by @cinematicgf

how to treat a girl by @whrsmym1nd

Jealousy, Jealousy by @atinylittlepain

frisk-y by @bits-and-babs

birthday gift by @adelliet

one day ill feel alright by @joelscruff

one bed by @frannyzooey

friendly neighborhood handyman by @juletheghoul

youre my sunshine by littlelou22

My haven could be you pt1 and 2 by @pascalisbaby

this series by @pascalisbaby

Javier Peña

Perfectly Intoxicating by @gracieispunk

Es Tarde Y Te Nesecito by @gar6agef1r3

Bambi by @mendessi

swipe his nose like a credit card by @tightjeansjavi

say my name by @palioom

all work no play by @loquaciousferret

mi luz series by @pedrostylez

separation by @lokischocolatefountain

just a little game by @walkintotheriveranddisappear

Din Djarin

I Only See Daylight by @millersdjarin

A Fresh Start by @theidiotwhowritesthings

Nightmare by @sofasoap

Unexpected Visitor by @livyjh

Javi Gutierrez

we reached the moon by @jazzelsaur

beautiful boy by @psychedelic-ink

not bored by @radiowallet

villa with a view by @starlightmornings

on the right flight by @prolix-yuy

Frankie Morales

homecoming series by @astroboots (when i tell you i am OBSESSED with this whole series. i have literally themed my whole phone around this series and even made a Pinterest board dedicated to it.. im another level of delusional rn and its all this series fault. thank you.)

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #joel miller x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #javier peña smut #javier peña fluff #javier peña x female reader #joel miller #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez smut #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff

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striderisms · 7 months ago

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I'd like to introduce you to DRUGZ STRIDER, my beloved Homestuck OC. He's part of a larger narrative roleplay story led by my bestie @thelezzer

He is an alternate universe Strider; a total elusive cool-guy.

His introduction is as follows:

Your name is DRUG STRIDER, but you go by “Drugz,” because Zs make everything better. As your namesake suggests, you have a knack for partaking in ILLICIT SUBSTANCES. Most of your days are spent GREENING OUT off a huge BLINKER or talking to strangers on online forums about your ABSURDLY HIGH TOLERANCE LEVEL. You source your poisons of choice internationally, because that’s where THE BEST SHIT is from of course, and because you can’t exactly shop local when you live in THE MIDDLE OF GODDAMN NOWHERE. Besides being in a state of CONSTANT INTOXICATION, you have a few other hobbies that tend to occupy your time. You’ve accrued exactly 420,000 subscribers for posting several 10 HOURS OF SICK PHONK BEATS FOR STUDYING AND CRASHING YOUR CAR TO themed videos. The success of such compilations have inspired you to try your hand at making your own SICK PHONK BEATS, which you believe is going fairly well. Another thing you’re notorious for is BEING HATED BY WIKIPEDIA MODERATORS. You regularly get away with making subtle alterations to articles about various SCI-FI FRANCHISES by using alternate SOCK PUPPET ACCOUNTS to avoid suspicion. They despise you for your GENIUS and DEDICATION; They hate all the BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS you pour into your COMMITMENT TO THE BIT. Lastly, you have a BORDERLINE PSYCHEDELIC interest in all things dubious and uncanny. Obscure subcultures, folk stories, cryptids, freaks, clowns, puppets, cults, and kinks REALLY GET YOU GOING. Such fringe interests almost make you want to claim MAGIC IS REAL, but you know better than to entertain such fleets of fancy.

Check out my Artfight if you want to attack me / draw him B)

#homestuck oc #mspfa #drugz strider #homestuck art #dave strider #dirk strider

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flowing-between-space · 4 months ago

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53!

53. Do you like to be intoxicated during sex? How? Why?

Yes, yes, YES. Mainly weed and psychedelics. Ugh it's my fucking favorite. Feels SOOO good and you just feel everything more and can get really lost in it. Sober sex is fun too though!

#ask

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evenmyhivemindisempty · 5 months ago

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Literally nobody asked, but I’m here to terrorize all my followers with the drugs I think Boyd Holbrook’s characters would do!! As always, feel free to emphatically disagree with me!!

Ty Shaw: Baby had some MDMA once and felt absolutely incandescent. He made out with like fifty people at that concert, and he never had more fun dancing and listening to music. He’s been begging Sancholo to get him some more ever since.

The Corinthian: He actually really, really loves heroin.

Cap: He and Jim like to chew on opium gum sometimes, but it’s pretty low potency. He’s not huge into being intoxicated, he doesn’t even like to get that drunk!

Klaber: LSD. It’s the time period for it! He loves all the pretty patterns and sparkly colors. He can honestly have the best time just stretching out on his rug and gawking at the water stains on his ceiling. He does not get introspective on psychedelics.

Clement Mansell: Look, it’s cocaine, but it’s some pretty stepped-on coke. It’s laced with *something*. Maybe meth.

Quinn McKenna: He says he doesn’t do drugs, but he also believes prescription pills don’t count. Even if they aren’t his. Sometimes when his insomnia hits him hard enough he’s popping a benzo to fall asleep. He won’t do cocaine, but sure, if you’re already gonna grind up some Ritalin, he’ll do a line of that, whatever.

Donald Pierce: Oh ho ho, this boy is only functional thanks to a steady supply of nicotine and caffeine. He shouldn’t be allowed around anything else, though. Weed makes him paranoid and introspective, and alcohol makes him weepy.

Steve Murphy: The easy answer is nicotine and alcohol, since canonically he does rely on both of these, but you know, I bet he secretly really likes weed. He’s embarrassed about it since it’s illegal and he’s DEA, and he hasn’t had any since college, but he remembers really liking it and liking how loose and relaxed it made him. Javi shows up at his door with a confiscated joint one day, and they smoke it and both get *so* giggly.

#Ty Shaw #Clement Mansell #boyd holbrook #donald pierce #the corinthian #quinn mckenna #cap hatfield #eli klaber #steve murphy #tw drugs

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campingwiththecharmings · 2 years ago

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*These weren’t necessarily written and/or posted in May, but that’s when I read them 😊

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

You Are in Love (Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader) - @alwritey-aphrodite (yes i am reccing this again. i will be reccing this until it's finished, dill with it)

Running to You, This Feels Like Good News, & Maybe I'll Get Drunk Again (Poe Dameron x F!Solo!Reader) - @dailyreverie

Gardens of Babylon (Cowboy!Din Djarin x Cowgirl!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Deft Hands (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Offer (Din Djarin x Reader) - @softlyspector

The Two Faces of January

🔥Oxford Comma, Boyfriend, Girlfriend, & Arty Boy (Rydal Keener x F!Reader) - @whatthefishh

Triple Frontier

🔥Worth the Risk (bfd!Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor (second part)

🔥Family Vacation (bfd!Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥A Brilliant Idea (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Distractions (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @princessxkenobi

🔥Relief (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @princessxkenobi

🔥Dusk Till Dawn (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @be-the-spark-flyboy

🔥Belonging (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Moon Knight

🔥Steven's First (Virgin!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Gone Soft: Marc Spector Edition (Marc Spector x Reader) - @romanarose

Merry, Happy III (Jake Lockley x Muslim!Reader) - @whatthefishh

Neck Kisses (Steven Grant x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥C*ck Therapy (Therapist!Steven Grant x Patient!Camgirl!Reader) - @whatthefishh

Bordeaux (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @sweetly-yours-and-mine

🔥Dirty Driving (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Drinking with Cupid (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @moonknightly

🔥Making Trouble (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @juneknight

🔥Colorblind (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @astroboots

In the Eyes (Marc Spector x Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

All That Matters (Jake Lockley x Reader, references to Marc Spector x Reader) - @midgardian-witch

The Dress (Marc Spector x Reader) - @sweetly-yours-and-mine

🔥The Pavlovian Response (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

🔥Extra Credit (Professor!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥Pillow Talk (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Just Happy Accidents (Jake Lockley x Reader) - @romanarose

The Last of Us

🔥Old Soul (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @softlyspector

🔥Falling into Place (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @jake-g-lockley

🔥Games (Bodyguard!Joel x Actress!Reader) & 🔥High Enough (Ft. Dieter Bravo) - @psychedelic-ink

Waffle House Confessions (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @softlyspector

🔥Lost in the Darkness (Joel Miller x F!Reader - Mafia AU) - @softlyspector

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Darklight (Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader) - @psychedelic-ink

Inside Llewyn Davis

Intoxicated (Llewyn Davis x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Sucker Punch

🔥A Long Night (Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

Narcos

🔥Just Friends (Javier Peña x F!Reader) - @pedgeitopascal

The Sun Also Rises (Javier Peña x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch (second part)

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know

#poe dameron x reader #rydal keener x reader #santiago garcia x reader #joel miller x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #llewyn davis x reader #din djarin x reader #blue jones x reader #javier pena x reader #fic rec

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demontobee · 1 year ago

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Ok, who else would like to see a scene where Aziraphale is intoxicated with something (maybe some psychedelic mushroom or something, idk) and Crowley having to look after him so he doesn't do some bad deeds (like coating every London bus lane in glittery cake icing or miracling every bag of tea in the UK to some island or something) just to get his butt grabbed and otherwise hit on by a very out of control angel.

#good omens #good omens s2 #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #crowley #good omens 2 #go2 #neil gaiman #crowley x aziraphale #thank you neil gaiman #aziraphale is out of control #high aziraphale #nanny crowley

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guppiepup · 8 months ago

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⚠️ before you follow ⚠️

this account will contain themes of but not limited to: drug use, alcohol use, cnc, forms bdsm, pet play, etc. if you are triggered by any please follow with caution.

INTRO-

23 year old ftm dogboy, he/they or pup/pups. single t4t dom leaning switch. i enjoy art, animation, music, card collecting, astrology and video games. the best ice breaker is to dm me your fav song! or fav pokemon!

KINKS-

intox (weed, alcohol, psychedelics, aphrodisiacs) cnc, breeding, pet play, size difference, mind break, hypnosis. will add more eventually. some are just so specific

LIMITS/DNI

i dont sub unless we have been mutuals awhile and i know you, i do not enjoy penetration irl, i dont like talking about being penetrated unless i have that wild hair and I bring it into conversation. do not misgender me, and preferably cis people stay out of my dms.

dni if you are an ageless acc, transphobic, homophobic, etc. plain and simple i love blocking people.

NICKNAMES TO USE-

doggie, owner, mutt, puppie, pup. you can call me riot for a name. i embarrassingly enjoy being called dad/daddy in like a Dog way like im your dad dog. ya know? yeah..

as for body: tits, puppy chest, dick, cock, dog dick 😵‍💫

EXTRA-

asks are open to anybody, dms are open to mutuals Only, i love ice breakers! tell me your favorite pokemon! show me music you like! tell me how you jerk off to my account!

🦴 if you got this far, you get a bone 🦴

#doggie talks #trans nsft #nsft #t4t puppy #intox kink #cnc//#breeding k1nk #petpl4y #size difference #mind break #a/b/o dynamics

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osamucide · 1 year ago

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drunk drivers/killer whales

but if we learn how to live like this maybe we can learn how to start again like a child who's never done wrong

wc: 1.9k

cw: gn!reader, post-dark era, pre-entrance exam, port mafia!reader, alcohol, guns, canon-typical violence, language, angst with happy(ish?) ending, implied relationships/previous relationships, implied depression, dazai-typical suicide mentions

reid: i love him and i love car seat headrest. can be read as a stand alone or part 1 to this. enjoy

. . . .ᐟ

The Port Mafia’s favoritism of big corporations over mom-and-pop businesses might’ve been one of the reasons you cited for staying at one point. Extorting a logo was one thing – holding a gun to the face of an old man running a humble, family-owned and operated enterprise was another.

You’d watched enough people cut off their own pinkies and present the severed protuberance to your boss to know when you were in a place you shouldn’t be, doing something you shouldn’t be doing. Maybe, at another point, you would’ve cited quite liking having all your fingers as a reason for staying.

You weren’t usually in Numazu on business. Actually, you weren’t usually in Numazu ever, but the train headed back up to Yokohama from Shizuoka had been halted for nearly four hours now due to an outage, and you were faced with nothing better to do than open your wallet while you waited. You weren’t worried about money – no, never worried about money – so who could it hurt to barhop a bit, you figured. Whiskey always brought you back a few years, and the world had been looking as bleak as it ever did. The main difference between now and when you first started drinking whiskey was the people you were with. The person, more specifically. Osamu Dazai, to be perfectly exact.

It was a bitch navigating the unfamiliar area under the influence. Bars like beacons of light beckoned you into their warm embrace on your aimless trails around the ward, so you went to them. The only other place you’d really rather have been was asleep in your bed.

You figured you were somewhat of a synesthesiac. A nice buzz always made the lights a little brighter, a little more saturated, and despite the properties of the alcohol, you were sure in your drunkenness that you wouldn’t remember this place so vividly later on if you weren’t swaying with the faint street music. It was instrumental – soft, with a flute in there, but also some electronic noises. It made you feel like you were on a side quest in a video game. Perhaps one that seemed insignificant now, but would be crucial to the conclusion of your plot.

The colors were never quite as bright after he left.

Being drunk with him was a deep, royal blue. Sometimes a bit of red. The overhead lights outside the particular establishment where you stood were sizzling piss-yellow. Same heavy feeling in your stomach, same vague burning in your chest and throat, but the colors looked different.

You stepped in on a stale atmosphere, fuzzy but lively in its own way. High and low tables alike hosted smatterings of bar-goers. All their conversations mumbled into one under the drone of the speakers – now a psychedelic pop tune was your backing track, a grumbling bartender hassling the sole patron on the row of stools the only significant cut-through. No dialogue box for your intoxicated convenience (not that your whirling vision would've served as much of a lens), so you ignored it as you took up a stool of your own, far enough from the one-sided quarrel to remain uninvolved but close enough to draw service.

You ordered your fifth – no, sixth whiskey sour of the night. The analog clock on the wall read 22:23. Still plenty of time to get obliterated, pass out somewhere, wake up to a running train, and get back with a brief report without raising too much suspicion.

You sat pensively. The bartender was back to pestering the guy at the end of the bar. Something about too long of a tab, he was going to call the cops, or something or other. Guy was unresponsive. Head down. Unconscious, maybe. You turned your head. How far had the poor motherfucker run up his tab? Could you cover it? You were a mafioso (one whose rank had been greatly discounted since the disappearance of that particular someone) but you weren’t heartless, nor were you above helping some poor shmuck out of the gutter at maybe one of the only places that brought him any solace. Hell, you’d been there.

He held a landline, and his face was a blustering red. I know you’re awake, kid, or something like that, and a tap bordering on violent to his head finally prompted some acknowledgment. As he lifted his head, you swore the exposure of the largely-brown room was tilted up a few ticks.

You couldn’t tell if you made a face or not. Dazai waved a hand, insisting the bartender piss off.

After a pause either no more than half a second or at least ten seconds, the bartender’s thick fingers flew to the receiver to dial, and you nearly spilled the rest of your drink as you moved, seating choice in vain.

“No, I got it. Tell me how much it is. I’ll pay it for him.”

“I don’t want your money,” the bartender spat, his attention splitting toward you. “Besides, someone like you shouldn’t waste money on a jackass like him. I want his money.”

Someone like you, in your well-pressed suit jacket. Someone surely no worse than Dazai himself. You wanted to laugh.

“Let me pay it. No need to get the authorities involved.”

“I’ll do-“

You reached inside your jacket, producing both your wallet and gun that had rested heavily against your side all evening. Cooly, you kept your eyes on his as you firmly set both of them on the glossy wood, threat and promise alike looming securely from under your grasp.

The rest of his insistence faltered a bit. “-whatever I please. You don’t even know this guy, so what’s-“

And in an instant, you were in fact holding a gun to the face of a small establishment owner, in defense of a defector no less. You’d forgive yourself for this, you supposed – this was your own petty selfishness. You weren’t ever in Numazu on business.

“Put it down,” you referred to the phone. And he did, slowly, not tearing his shocked, beady gaze from your imposing weapon. He went about printing a long receipt – four feet long, at least – before sliding it toward you with a sweaty palm.

Tucking your firearm back into safety, you examined the total at the bottom, fully and painfully aware of the owlish brown eyes on you.

A life in the mafia perfects a harsh resting face, so with no further reaction, you produced a sum of bills from your wallet – the entire tab plus enough to cover your own drinks and ample amount to keep him shut up about the gun. Ample amount to pull Dazai out of the bar and into the street uninterrupted.

“That was unnecessary, you know,” he chided you as you dragged him by his wrist.

“I don’t think you and the narcs would mix particularly well right now,” you said, stopping to face him at the bench outside. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He was obviously drunk, but he didn’t sound like when you would drink together before. He looked irritated at you. You ignored the crack that split your heart a bit as it occurred to you that maybe he was not happy to see you.

How would you answer? On my way back to the place you left me at? To the people that would probably kill you with no hesitation at this point in time?

“Trains are down.”

“And you are…coincidentally in the exact same part of the country as me?”

Hot tears started to well up at his accusatory tone. The last thing you wanted at this moment was to cry in front of him.

“Don’t give me that shit, Dazai, you-“

“What happened to first name privileges?”

Oh, he could never fail to give you absolute whiplash. Usually, it wasn’t so intense, but it was obvious he’d been messing with you by the way that god-forsaken smirk crept onto his pretty, pretty face. Nearly two years away from that whiplash had perhaps taken with it your accustomedness to it. You reeled for a moment. You hugged him the next. You told yourself it was solely to hide the wetness on your face.

“Missed me, huh?”

“You’re full of shit,” you croaked into the shoulder of his coat, but not letting up. Eventually, two strained hands made their way to the small of your back. A chin dropped onto the crown of your head. The light-polluted night sky was a little bluer. For this first time ever, you were suddenly very attuned to the idea that at many, many points in your life, you absolutely would have cited Osamu Dazai as your reason for staying with the Port Mafia. "You're absolutely fucking full of it."

"I know," he mumbled uncharacteristically. The last thing you would've expected was for him to agree, let alone so calmly and with such resignation; you wanted to shout so many things at him. All the same, you supposed you would like to drench the whole world in epoxy resin and keep it all like this forever. That'd be terrible for the environment, though, and you'd never get your answers.

The sanctuary of his arms began to unravel the moment you wished it never would. With you clung to his tiny waist - ever tinier - Dazai straightened himself out, cleared his throat.

He muttered your name. "Let me go now."

You shook your head violently. "What if I never get this again?" Whispered, intentionally, so it would be difficult to hear. (You knew better that nothing about you got past him.)

"You act like I'm dying."

"You still trying?"

"Always." He chuckled, but it wasn't funny to you. For a while, you thought maybe he had died, but the universe seemed to like to spite Dazai as much as he did it. If he was dead, you'd know. It didn't make his jokes any funnier.

He sighed. You knew he wanted to say something like you're ruining my buzz with your sappiness or something, and you weren't sure why he wasn't. Silence didn't go hand in hand with this man. Truth be told, you felt completely and unpleasantly sobered up, and cursed yourself momentarily for eating such a solid meal for lunch. Perhaps this would feel easier if you were dying.

Reluctantly, you pulled back to look up at him. He looked hollow. Gorgeous. Eye bandage gone. You could count on one hand the number of times you'd seen him in plain clothes before, and this was one of them. A brown and tan color-blocked sweater, black jeans, sand-colored hunting boots. So far from your Osamu. You didn't feel shy under his searching eyes. You never did. You both began to speak, words beginning with "wh-", at the same time.

"You first," he suggested, a thick gulp giving away the guise of the amused smile he put on. (He should've known better that the opposite was true, as well.)

I'm a pathetic shell of a human being without you. You left and I wanted to kill myself and I wanted to kill you and I wished more than ever after you were gone that I'd taken you up on that stupid offer one of those times. You left me. You left me to rot. I hate you. That's not true. I can't lie to you. You're the only good thing in my life. "What are you doing now?"

Another thing you noticed was that he didn't reek of blood anymore. You didn't doubt for a second that he couldn't say the same about you. Desperation was a sickening green color, but you'd always liked green quite a bit, and you knew he did, too.

"Nothing you can't tag along for."

He didn't have to hope for you to say anything.

#bsd dazai x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #with love—reid

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