#so later on down the line she starts toeing the line of a 'good' and 'bad' person so when dasein comes along shes like ur telling me

[girlboypersonthingy]

Could you maybe write a Sally Face One Shot, where Sal developed a huge crush on reader. But he thinks she doesn’t feel the same way. So he writes a love letter in which he puts no hope in, but then she actually tells him she does feel the same.

Does that even make any sense?😭

Yes…it makes sense and I’m weeping over this omggggg 😭😭😭 bruh this had me screaming and kicking in bed as I wrote it omfgggggg. Sal is pretty smart so I know this mf would write some pretty, thought out, poetic type shit

Notes: gn!reader, established friendship, friends to lovers trope

TW: none, just so fucking sappy and fluffy

Sal x reader- Sincerely Sally 💌

Dear (Y/N),

I want to start by telling you that you’re an amazing friend. I’m beyond grateful we’ve met. You’ve always made me feel so comfortable, so wanted, so important. No words could ever truly explain my feelings for you or the thoughts behind them, but I’m going to try.

Since we met, I’ve seen nothing but good in you and I think you’ve made me good, too. You make me feel good. You make me a better person. I don’t know who I’d be without you, but I know who I want to be now.

I want to be the one on your arm when we walk into a room.

I want to be the one you wake up to every morning and fall asleep next to every night.

I want to kiss you every time we say ‘good bye’ and every time we say ‘hello’ again.

I want to be the one you point to with a smile and say ‘him’ when talking to others.

I want to be the one to hold you when you cry.

I want to be the one to hug you when you’re excited.

I want to go every where you go.

I want to slow dance with you.

I want to head bang with you.

I want to paint with you.

I want to sing to you.

I want to hold you.

I want you.

I love you.

I’m in love with you.

And I’m sorry.

Sincerely,

Sally <3

Sal felt like a total loser while sneaking over to your place, which was just down the street from Todd’s house, and slipping the letter in your mailbox. He felt like he could puke just from writing the letter, there’s no way he could ever say these things to your face. He couldn’t help but hesitate, staring at the mailbox as his heart beat rapidly in his chest. ‘They’re going to hate me. I’m gonna ruin everything. What the hell am I doing?’ Sal thinks to himself, staying frozen in place for a good few minutes as thousands of thoughts race through his mind, shaky hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets.

He jumps a bit when he notices the light in your bedroom flick on through your window. He ducks his head and turns to leave, not wanting to get caught lurking around your house in the middle of the night. As he rushes back home, the panic begins to set in because now he realizes he left it…he left the letter behind. It was done. No turning back. He felt sick to his stomach and like he was already grieving the loss of your friendship.

Sal tip toes back in the house, praying neither Neil nor Todd would catch him sneaking in so late and ask questions. He trudges to his room, shedding his clothes before flopping onto his bed. Sal lays on his side and after taking his prosthetic off, stares at the wall for hours thinking about all the ways this could go wrong, all the ways you could reject him, every excuse and lie he could use later to act like it wasn’t even serious, like it was a dumb joke or something. Finally, after his brain had tortured him enough, he drifts off to sleep just before the sun begins to rise.

~next morning~

‘Holy shit…’ You think as you hold the piece of lined note book paper in your shaky hands. “No way…no way!” A giddy smile grows on your face as you clumsily drop all the other mail you had in your hands, besides Sal’s letter, on the ground and take off running for him. It was early in the morning and you were in pajamas still but nothing could stop you now. His house was not far at all and you were too excited not to immediately run to him and profess your love for him.

You and Sal had been friends almost as long as he has with Larry and Todd. You’ve slowly fallen in love with him just as hard as he has with you- the issue is that you are both dummies and think the other person sees you as a friend and a friend only. You’d find yourself dreaming of Sal, not knowing he was dreaming of you too. You’d absentmindedly doodle his name on piece of paper and blush, he’d find a strand of your hair on his shirt and smile so big under his mask. You two have been pining for so long but both so afraid to wreck the relationship you already have. Eventually, Sal felt like he couldn’t get anything done, couldn’t focus on his studies or the ghosts or even eating throughout the day. His brain was full, flooded even, with thoughts of you. He just had to get it out, he had to say it to you now or he would be haunted by it forever. Unbeknownst to Sal…you felt the exact same way.

Bouncing up to his doorstep with an uncontrollable smile on your face, cheeks aching and turning red, you knock on the door and ball your fists up out of excitement. Finally, Todd answers the door, smiling at you before greeting you. “(Y/N)! What are you doing here so early? We-“ “Sal! I-I’m sorry. I need to talk to Sal.” You interrupt, your crazy smile making Todd chuckle softly just as Neil comes up behind him. “Morning, (Y/N)! Sal isn’t up yet. He’s still-“

You weren’t trying to be rude, you adored Todd and Neil but you were currently completely 100% hyperfixated on the sleeping blue haired poet behind the door at the end of the hall way and you just had to see him immediately. “I-I’m sorry…” You laugh softly as you push past them, sprinting for his door, gripping the knob excitedly before swinging the door open. The sound of the door swinging back against the door frame stirs Sally from his sleep, making him groan and glance over at the doorway. Before he can react to you being in his bedroom, in your pajamas still with bed head and an adorable love sick smile on your face, you’re jumping into his blankets with arms wide open. As you practically belly flop on top of him, he huffs softly then chuckles, groggily blinking at you.

“Uh…morning…” He mumbles just before you place the folded love letter on his chest, giving him a small smirk. His eyes open wider now, his prosthetic eye not in its usual socket. Sal scrambles nervously to sit up more, his breath hitching in his throat. He was so half asleep for a moment there, he had forgotten all about the letter he planted in your mailbox last night. “Oh I uh….yeah uh-uhm-“ Sal can’t seem to move his mouth correctly, can’t focus his brain on the words he wants to say. And he just breaks down even more when he realizes you’re in his bed, still in pajamas with the cutest messiest bed head. He can’t deal with the cuteness and his gnawing anxiety…So you speak up instead.

“I love you too.” You smile sweetly before pulling yourself up closer to his scarred face and rubbing your nose against his. Sal lets out a whiny little hum as he lets his nervous hands very slowly move up to rest on your back, smiling like a sappy dork as he hugs you softly. He’s not sure what exactly he was expecting to happen after giving you that letter but this is most definitely the best case scenario. “Let’s just…fucking kiss already.” You say with a cheeky smile, eyes half lidded as you lean in closer. Sal sucks in a breath before letting his eyes close along with yours, pursing his lips out as his hands move up your arms and to your cheeks. His big palms caress your face so perfectly, his thumbs sliding back and forth over your skin as you lock lips, gently moving your mouths together as soft sighs leave both of you.

As his hands pull your face closer, your hands wander up and down his bare arms, legs tangled up in his blankets along with him now, you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh against his lips. “I’m glad you finally told me…that letter was so beautiful.” You whisper, lips gently ghosting against his now. Sal keeps his eyes closed but smiles brightly. “I wrote 153 of those letters.” He confesses, face burning bright red. “No you didn’t.” You scoff, looking down at him, finding this fact hilarious and also adorable and flattering.

“Oh yes he did!” Todd and Neil are leaning in the open doorway. Oops…you got so excited you didn’t shut the door behind you when you ran in. “Proof!” Neil laughs out loudly as he points to Sal’s trash can in the corner of the room, overflowing with balled up pieces of paper. You laugh as you look over, Neil and Todd laughing along with you. Sal drapes an arm over his face, trying to hold back his flustered smile and embarrassed expression. “Stoopppp.” He complains before you’re standing and playfully glaring at the two boys in the doorway. “That’s enough teasing. Shoo!” You grin at Todd before shutting the door on them and turning back to Sal.

“153, huh? Wow. That’s some dedication, lover boy.” You climb back into his bed, sitting cross legged beside him. “Why didn’t you just tell me in person, Sal? Would’ve been way easier.” You scoot closer to him and run your fingers through his tangled hair. “Uh, I totally disagree. I nearly had a panic attack just putting that letter in your mailbox and then having to walk away from it.” A laugh rings out from you as you toss your head back. “Ha! So, What? You’re afraid to say you love me but not afraid of ghosts or demons or cults?” You taunt him before leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a second. “You’re strange. And I love that about you.” You rest there with him for a moment before a fantastic idea hits you, making you sit up and gasp excitedly.

“Can I read the other ones too?!” Before Sal can answer, you’ve jumped up and ran to the rejected pile of love letters in the corner. “No! (Y/N)! No no nononononono!” Sal jumps up and runs to tackle you, his face blushing so red from his ears and down his neck. You laugh loudly as he wraps his arms around your waist and tries to pull you away from all the other embarrassing things he wrote and considered saying to you. “They’re…in the trash…for a reason!” He laughs and huffs as you you push forward, trying to reach even just one crumpled up piece of paper. “Pleeaaassseeeee?” You plead but your strength leaves you as Sal tickles you and has you cackling on the ground instantly.

And the next 10 minutes are spent wrestling with him on the floor of his bedroom while laughing like drunk idiots and occasionally pressing a kiss to the other’s lips. Eventually, you do get ahold of a few of the discarded love letter drafts and they are either like Shakespeare poetry type shit, or so fucking dorky and corny, full of puns and shit. Larry probably tried to help him with that one lol

[extravalgant]

Well done, my champion, my hero, my... dare i say it? My Scion. 

started thinkin about lemuria again and before i knew it i was 4+ hours deep into this painting of calamity . crazy stuff

IM NOT THERE YET ON MY STORM (camera pan to me dead in karamelle) but that wont stop me from getting the story ELSEWHERE... the monitoring stations with the old one always interested me . love how he called us his scion i think thats very fucked up possessive of him

anyways heres one more lil doodle

[gamermattsgf]

“Cool spider…” // Tattoo artist Chris

Warnings: sextape / colleague relationship / favour for a favour trope / riding / petty Chris x reader / nose piercing!Chris / spanking kink / mommy kink / slight breeding kink / tattoo!Chris / praise kink / ownership kink / degradation kink / ‘good girl’ / creampie / unprotected sex / hair pulling / exhibitionist kink / scratch kink / tit play / overstimulation

Summary: you and Chris both work in a tattoo & piercing gallery, and your toxic ex just won’t leave you alone… so Chris decides to shut him up and put him in his place.

Author’s notes: I’m baaack. someone’s seriously got to stop me from making up fics on stuff that I’ve just randomly yapped about and blogged for fun. Me: posting about tattoos I’d think Chris would look good with. Also me: ‘-now hang on a sec that’s actually given me a great idea…’ *pulls out a notebook and starts vigorously writing shit down*.

“Gotta know, I ate her, she's so sweet, now or later. I want that all the time, all the time I'll make you all mine” - Toes Down, Loukeman

. ♱ .

You sigh, checking your phone once again before flipping it back around to face the desk. You shake your head and put it into your hands to rub it slowly in exhaustion. This is the fifth time he’s texted you today and your patience with him was slowly thinning.

‘You good?’

Chris mumbles absentmindedly from his hunched over position at the counter. He has his shirt off - as he usually does - to keep himself cool as the ceiling fan whirls above your heads. You look at his back, and the way his light wash blue jeans wrap around his lean waist lowly.

His right arm moves languidly as he sketches out a stencil for one of his clients, the graphite of his lead pencil scratching against his favourite sketchbook soothingly in the otherwise quiet atmosphere of the tattoo parlour.

You admire the jet black ink adorning his torso, that stretches from the bottom of his spine to cover the expanse of his shoulder blades in jaggedly aggressive patterns, the back tattoo attractively sat over his otherwise soft skin.

The muscles wrapped around his shoulders move as he draws, and you can’t help but swallow thickly at the sight of them.

‘Yeah… I’m fine’

You reply, not at all convinced by your own weak attempt of trying to mask your obvious distaste for the sight of the messages on your Lock Screen whilst you shuffle about trying to clean a needle gun.

‘Oh really? Cos’ I’m hearin’ a great deal of sighing for your corner of the room and not alotta action…’

Chris sarcastically snorts back, his voice containing buckets of care masked within the joking manner. He doesn’t even bother turning his face, far too absorbed by the current drawing of a tiger he was doing on someone’s chest in a couple of weeks time whilst he expertly shaded in the small black stripes of its rippling body.

You pause for a minute, debating on whether or not you should actually tell Chris about what’s been going on. It’s your ex. And Chris doesn’t like him at all. So how is he going to react when you tell him he’s been quite literally harassing you for the past couple of weeks?

Not well is your guess…

Even though you two are co-workers, you share an extremely close relationship and tell each other practically everything, which sometimes readily blurs the lines between your strictly professional work ethics.

‘Ugh fine, it’s Max, he’s just sort of been bothering me lately…’

This catches Chris’ attention, and his head perks up. Craning his neck he looks back at you with narrowing eyes of suspicious icy blue.

From this angle over his shoulder you can see the gleam of his silver nose ring, and his torso twists just enough to reveal a new tattoo. One that you actually did on him yourself.

It was a delicate but bold patchwork tattoo of a large black widow spider, its long spindly legs stretching across the expanse of his ribs and looking like it was using them to scale up his chest. You struggle to hide a smile at being able to remember doing it on him so well.

You can easily recall the faint buzz of the needle gun and Chris’ soft occasional groans as you punched in the bulbous back of the widow’s body onto his skin that rose and fell to the rhythm of his exhales.

It must have been a sensitive part of Chris’ body because his breathing had been raggedy and his eyes had been squeezed shut for a majority of the tattoo. You had faintly mumbled ‘cool spider… you draw it yourself?’ To which he had responded with a grunt and an affectionate ‘duh’.

Whenever his eyes had opened to look at you they had been dilated heavily, with either pain or pleasure, you’re not quite sure.

He glares over at you and shakes his head. ‘Not this fucking idiot again… what’s he done this time?’.

Chris’ patience for Max has never been there, and he’s often one to be petty about every single move your ex boyfriend makes.

Chris has never liked him and so rejoiced when he heard from you that the break up had been messy on his side of the bargain.

Max was trouble, and so you had done the right thing when breaking things off with him. However, Max wasn’t one to easily let go, and he had been pestering you to take him back ever since.

‘Just being his normal asshole self I suppose’.

You’re deliberately vague with Chris, because you don’t want him to get all riled up like he usually does. He had given up his sketch now and had fully turned to lean his back and elbows onto the counter, knowing that you telling him this information was far more important than the task at hand.

His eyes then flick to the door of the studio, where the welcome sign hangs in the centre of the glass window pane. All around the door are frames of hundreds of different tattoos, all in the different styles of each of the employees that work here. No one else is working today though, it’s just Chris and yourself maning the store.

Chris is a primarily black work realist, and so his designs take up quite a lot of time, their lifelike splendour forking cash loads of money into his bank account whenever a piece is completed.

Multiple clients of his have been here for months as Chris prefers to take his artwork in sessions so the healing isn’t as tenuous.

Quite a few of his previous works have been photographed and framed about the waiting area, just to showcase his impressive ability.

Your area of speciality is more in line with fine line tattoos, you prefer delicacy over all else and likewise, some of your bigger works have been photographed and framed about the shop.

‘You got any more scheduled clients with appointments today?’ Chris spontaneously enquires, and you can tell simply by his face that he is pondering some form of idea within his head that makes you nervous. You hesitate with your response.

‘…Emm- no, I don’t think so?’.

Chris nods mischievously and smirks with his mouth open and his tongue pushing against the side of his teeth playfully.

‘I’m gonna need a little bit more of an explanation than just ‘he’s being an asshole’ then, cherry…’ Chris sing-songs as he pushes himself from off of his slouched position and starts to exit from behind the counter.

The nickname ‘Cherry’ had caught on fairly quickly between the two of you, because Chris had thought that you honestly looked way too sweet to be working in a downtown, grungy tattoo shop. After his first usage of the fond name it had just kind of stuck and now always sounded like molten amber honey dripping from his mouth.

He puts ‘he’s being an asshole’ in knowing quotation marks because he already knows how much of an asshole Max is. He’s experienced it before whenever your ex has decided to show up to your place of work and be a nuisance.

You’re pretty sure you almost had to hold Chris back from planting a right hook into his jaw one time because he had knocked over a bunch of new inks the store had just purchased for everyone’s clients.

Chris’ jaw had clenched immeasurably and you had quickly veered in front of him to plant your palms onto his collarbones after he had taken a large stride towards Max.

You had held him back gently, telling him to take several deep breaths and keep cool whilst you dealt with it.

Well… your version of dealing with it was calmly escorting him out of the shop and reassuring him that you’d see each other later before meekly returning back into the reception area to face a fuming Chris who immediately rolled his eyes and spat a quick ‘I’m gonna ban that bitch from coming in here next time he shows his ratty lookin’ face…’

You had simply sighed, shook your head, and tenderly patted him on the shoulder.

At the present, you squirm nervously when you see the way Chris walks right up to the door, before twisting the heavy duty lock on it and flipping the welcome sign to the side that displayed a big ‘closed’ on the front that was visible to passing strangers.

‘Chris it’s not that big of a deal honestly!’ You try and laugh it off as Chris spins back around. He then walks right up to you.

Grabbing one of the other chairs at the desk you were sitting at, he turns it around so that he can comfortably straddle it.

‘Uhh, well that’s where you’re wrong because it just so happens that my favourite girl’s ex is bothering her, and if she’s gotta problem with it… then so do I’ he sassily bites back, referring to you in the third person as he rests his taut forearms onto the spine of the chair, which gives himself something to lean on.

You have to ignore the way your stomach flips when he calls you his favourite girl, and you shyly flit your eyes to the floor whilst still fumbling around with the tattoo gun.

‘Well um… he just- he just keeps uhh’ you start, stuttering and having to sigh in utter frustration at not even being able to articulate your words properly.

Suddenly your eyes feel hot, and they sting a little. You are not going to cry in front of him. You panic when your voice wobbles and try to regain your composure as Chris looks at you with a worried expression.

‘Hey- hey… s’okay cherry, s’alright. Take your time, I’m here’.

Chris notices your flustered state and coos gentle reassurance at you whilst stretching one of his hands out to softly stroke the ball of your shoulder, right on the section of naked skin where the fabric of your top straps don’t quite reach.

You want to say that Chris is just being friendly, but somehow, the way he touches you tells a different story. It could have just been a harmless pat, but instead he had curled the knuckles of his hand and used them to soothingly skim up and down your skin, slowly, repetitively… almost sensually.

Chris liked any excuse to touch you. You were so soft and supple, a major contrast to his own skin. And he hated seeing a man like that crumple you up like a simple ball of paper and toss you into the trash.

You take one last stuttering breath before continuing.

Gazing at Chris’ soft smile and focusing on the calming gleam of his nose piercing, you find yourself relaxing once again as you take your time to look at each of his individual statement pieces whilst relaying your story.

His silver nose ring, his two lobe piercings that were decorated with spiked metal hoops, and his helix piercing, that came in the form of a small snake charm. It shone in the natural light of the room as it slithered up the expanse of his cartilage and provided a nice distraction for you.

‘I don’t know… h-he’s just saying these disgusting things about my body, and- and how I’m never going to find someone that will treat me better than him in bed. Just general filthy shit like that…’ you mumble, feeling absolutely humiliated and degraded at having to tell Chris about what Max has been saying to you as you sniffle and rub your nose.

As you explain yourself, the motion of Chris stroking your arm slows up significantly, and his little smile fades with every word you speak to him. His eyes narrow, something you noticed he does whenever he’s seething with rage.

‘Gimme your phone, I wanna see these texts’ Chris quips demandingly, using the hand that was once rubbing your skin to unfold itself and silently ask for your phone.

You sigh and hand it to him without much of a fight. You know that there’s no use in trying to argue with Chris when he gets like this. He’s driven, and once he has an idea there’s rarely anything you can do to deter him from it.

He unlocks your phone, already knowing your password, and starts to scroll through the endless shower of sexually abusive messages. You bite your lip as you look at him reading them over.

He sits on the backwards chair with his jean-clad thighs casually spread out, still one arm resting on top of the spine whilst the other one holds the phone and vigorously scrolls downwards.

You then flick your eyes to his face, and the way his rosy lips wet themselves as they quietly announce some of the words that he reads back to himself. The further down he goes the more furrowed his brows get.

Suddenly he shakes his head with an angry tick and slams your phone face down onto the table. You jump slightly at this, and blink at a Chris that had immediately shot to a stand.

‘That’s it, m’not dealing with this shit anymore. If he can’t leave you the fuck alone then I’ll make him.’

You look at him in confusion.

‘What’s that supposed to mean…?’ you shyly trail off but your question is shortly answered as soon as Chris bends down to level with you and seamlessly digs his palms into your thighs so that he can pluck you up from off of your chair.

You yelp a little in shock, your heartbeat thrumming against your ribcage before you quietly recover as Chris curls your legs around his hips. Upon touch, your hands instinctively fly to grip onto the back of his neck, his skin being warm and tepid.

The scruff of his long hair feels like satin tickling over your fingers and Chris groans in achievement as soon as he feels your thighs tense against his waist.

He’s been waiting for an excuse to do this.

‘Max is tellin’ you that you’re never gonna get a better fuck than him? Well I’m about to prove him wrong, s’that okay with you, cherry?’ Chris asks, not really expecting no for an answer as he starts to walk over the squeaking floorboards to the backrooms of the shop.

He knows exactly where he’s going and something deep within your core flutters at this assertive kind of attitude.

Chris has always been the extremely blunt and forward type of guy- if you looked pretty that day, he’d tell you, and make it obvious that he was attracted to you.

Today was no different, you could tell he had every intention of fucking you and making it extremely clear to Max just how good he was going to do it.

‘Y-yeah’ is just about all you can muster in your shaky state.

As you look down at Chris’ face, his chocolatey waves tussle in a rather wild-looking way whilst nestled about his pierced ears. Your fingers timidly skim about his neck, and one of them draws nervous patterns over the black bat tattoo situated behind his right ear that he had gotten for his brother a year ago.

‘That’s my girl’ he praises cockily as he barges through the beaded entrance way into one of the client operating rooms. There’s a black leather stretcher in the centre of the room and a stool sitting idle right beside it where the artist sits.

Chris goes straight for the client table though.

He smirks a toothy grin as he plops you down onto the spongy leather and you find it within yourself to crack an equally as excited smile. He nudges open your legs so that he can stand in between them and weighs his hands down onto your hips, pressing his thumbs into your bones and rubbing them fondly.

‘Did Max kiss you at all when you two fucked?’ He asks breathlessly with his cerulean eyes lilting down to your lips hungrily.

He’s itching to get all over you. He’s been dying to taste your tongue on his for ages and it just so happens that this posed as the perfect, sneaky way to do so.

‘Well, hm… not that much, but I guess a-’ you start to explain, but ‘not much’ is enough of a pathetic answer for Chris to fall forward and engulf your lips in between his before you can finish anyway.

Your little muffled whine of shock is swallowed by a Chris that attaches himself to your bottom lip quickly.

Winding one of his hands behind your back, he uses that - and the other one gripping your hip - to yank your body towards his. You two stay flushed together, and you can feel Chris’ throbbing prick against the seam of your pants already. He’s hard, and clearly pent up for you behind his low-waisted jeans.

‘That’s not good enough’ he mumbles, almost in a tongue-drunken stupor against your lips, criticising Max so that he can subtly defend his choice to kiss you.

Really, he had no need to, but fuck did he want to.

You don’t complain, in fact, you simply sigh at how close Chris is. You can feel his nose delicately skimming against your cheek the more he twists the side of his face to gain better access to you, and you can’t help but lust for the way his dewy lips wrap around your own.

The contrast between his cold fingertips brushing against your body and his hot tongue leeching out to slip into your open mouth makes you shiver.

‘N-no you’re completely right… that’s not good enough’ you coquettishly add on to the conversation you two have in between kisses. As you shit talk Max together, you only encourage Chris to take further jabs at him.

‘And what about these pretty little things here…? Did he touch these enough?’.

Chris’ nose trails down the line of your jaw to dip and run along the jugular vein of your neck whilst he pants desperately. He holds your sat figure into his standing leant one with one hand gripping your ass whilst the other one trails up to squeeze against one of your braless tits.

Wanting Chris to play with them, your blushing figure shakes its head and you swallow thickly. ‘No…’.

Chris hums a casual ‘huh’ in playfulness before the hand playing with it decides to slip itself under your shirt for better access. You heavily hiss and arch your back as soon as skin on skin contact is reached and Chris gingerly touches your peaked nipple.

‘You make me feel like such a pervert when you don’t wear a bra to shifts we do together because I stare at them all the time…’ Chris confesses as he gently kneads one of them within his big palm. Whilst he does this, his face buries itself into your neck to pepper sprinkles of sloppy kisses all over your skin.

‘What if I told you I do it on purpose… I like it when you look…’ you breathe with your head knocked back in pleasure. Chris stops his assault on your neck to gaze at you with raised eyebrows of shock.

‘Fuck. Max was an idiot for fumbling you…’

This makes both your heart flutter and your core drip. You like Chris’ praise a lot more than you like Max’s degradation, and make sure to let Chris know this by giving him another kiss.

‘S’mommy gonna let me suck on her tits?’ He ponders in a feigned babyish voice against your lips, the sweet lilt of his sensual tone almost making you melt into the client’s table.

Your needy reply of ‘yes’ is soon followed by an immediate response from Chris, who slowly reaches into his back pocket for his phone.

He slides it out and then presents it in front of your face with his brows raised.

‘And is mommy gonna let me film it so that I can send it to Max and let him see me having my treat?’.

Your eyes flick to the phone, then to Chris’ expectant face, absolutely drowning in lust at the thought of Chris wanting to film himself sucking on your tits. You nod without hesitation, and Chris smirks in victory.

He’s definitely using this to touch himself later.

Chris quickly fumbles around with his phone in excitement, scrubbing his home screen into his camera roll before he’s pressing the small red button to record himself propping it up onto the counter right next to where you were sitting.

You watch within a trance as Chris feeds his hands into the bottom of your top to sensually slide it right up your ribs. He then runs it over the top of your tits and leaves it to rest above them with a purr of ‘good girl’.

You feel your knees get physically weaker at the sight of Chris veering his face down into your tits, his mouth almost feathers against them as both of you look at the camera at the same time.

Chris has a little victorious smirk on his face, that he smugly flashes to his phone before turning back in and gently kissing your nipple.

He can’t stop his conniving smile as you seal your eyes shut and throw your head back, whimpering with your fingers combed into the back of his hair and tugging on it. Chris makes a show of poking out his tongue and licking you before he fully kisses one of your tits into his mouth to suck on it.

He moans a little starved whimper at the feeling of your soft flesh in his mouth whilst his tongue rolls and his teeth clamp down onto you.

His hands get grabby as you pant, listening to the way the microphone of the camera absorbs the sloppy sounds of him sucking on your skin whilst he kisses and licks wherever he can.

‘That feel good huh?’ Chris mumbles into you, and you whine in response with a stuttered ‘so- so good’. He nods cockily, eying the camera with your second tit already in between his teeth. ‘Yeah? This the best mouth you’ve ever had?’.

Struggling to fight off his smile at the comment he completely stole from Max, he knows it’ll make your ex’s blood boil, especially when you reply with an instantaneous shout of, ‘fuck- yes, I- I need more baby!’.

‘You want more?’ He drawls temptingly, pulling away from your chest that was now red and glistening, some sections littered with subtle teeth marks and some with purpling hickies.

‘I’ll give you more baby’ he laughs through his teeth before pressing his fingertips onto your core.

‘Hope you’re soaking for me, you’re gunna need it’ he quips before lightly trailing his hand up to the button of your zipper.

Your core clenches again when he pops it open, the insinuation that you need to be extra wet for him because of his size making you want to pass out in horniness.

He opens the front of your jeans before feeding his hands underneath your thighs so that he can pull you towards him and also force you onto your back to tug your jeans down.

After that, he watches the way you squirm when he sticks his fingers into the side of your sheer panties. In view of the camera, the pad of his thumb swipes up your slit as he checks your sensitivity himself.

‘Awe angel you are soaked… what a good girl for me’.

His sweet praise melts over you in the best way possible, and you can’t help but get shy and cover up your eyes to smile.

Sometimes you forget that the camera is there, but Chris never does, and he glances over at it constantly to smirk as if Max is already watching on the other end of the line before turning his attention back to admire you.

‘I’m gonna make that pretty pussy feel so fucking good momma’ Chris boldly states as he starts to fumble around with his chunky and glamorously rhinestoned belt buckle. The leather of it flaps and his buckle gives a metallic jingle whilst he undoes it, his hair falling in front of his eyes because of the downwards slant his head holds.

‘Please- I really need you’ you mumble breathlessly, spreading your legs even further in reaction to seeing the stretch of his cock against his white Calvin Klein boxers as soon as he lets his jeans drop to the floor with a heavy crumple.

From here you can see his thigh tattoo of a crooked spiders web, done in extremely fine ink, delicate but dark.

‘I know you need me baby I know- be patient alright?’ He shushes you with a reassuring coo, before sliding to the side of you and hopping up onto the table himself. He positions himself right in front of his still recording phone so that he can get the best angle for this.

‘Why don’t you go ahead an’ take off those panties for the camera sweet girl… do it for me?’.

Chris’ whiny sounding voice is just so sugary and compelling. You’re pretty sure you would do anything he asked if it really came to that extreme because along with his voice, his lips and eyes really did the trick for you.

Chris stutters a breath as soon as he pushes his hand down his boxers to take ahold of his hot, silky cock, it’s skin already wet with precome at just how divine you had sounded whilst he was attached to your tits.

He tightens his fist to squeeze himself and throbs in his hand, his mouth dropping open and his shoulders heaving as you slide off the table and strip from your clothes fully.

As soon as you’re done, you can feel your wetness trickling and sloshing about your folds, and so you squeeze your thighs together when looking at Chris for his next instruction.

Chris hungrily gazes down to your panties that lie in a messy heap on top of your jeans. ‘Gimme those?’ He commands and gestures for you to grab a hold of your panties and give them over to him, which you do obediently and without question.

Chris grasps ahold of them and balls them up into his fist before smirking at the camera once again. ‘These are mine now… so’s your pussy’.

You turn red at this low and beastly remark, trying hard not to pounce on top of Chris for saying it. He talks so smoothly. It’s as if every word his mouth forms puts you under a lemony haze of pleasure and you just can’t get enough of it.

You just don’t understand how he can keep this up when you yourself already look like a fucked-out hot mess.

‘I’m all yours Chris’

You practically flee into his awaiting arms, and he hoists your bare and pink centre over his lap.

Kissing your tits again, he grips onto your fleshy thighs and moans a whimper whilst side eyeing the camera in ultimate possessiveness, just to make a show of it being him who’s sucking your tits, and not Max.

He’s going to feel so smug and proud of himself as soon as he sends this his way.

‘Can I have your cock Chris, please?’ You beg, stroking his waves of hair once again to butter him up - not that you’d really need to work all that much to have his cock in the first place…

‘Of course you can Cherry, you’ve been so good for me’ Chris replies as his fingertips stroke against your stretch marks, before he leans in and whispers ‘help yourself…’.

You glance down to the tent in his boxers with your lip bitten and a giddy little smirk on your face. After Chris invites you, you waste no time in pulling his weeping cock from out of the restraints of his boxers.

The hip tattoo he has of a Cupid with angel wings, a halo and a winking face soon makes itself known to you after you tug his underwear down a little further. The ink of the little boy’s heart-encrusted bow and arrow cheekily point right to the base of Chris’ cock, and so you crack a smile, shaking your head fondly at Chris’ inappropriate but witty humour.

He’s thick and throbs in your hand, his tip sticky and slick as it pulses a light pink taffy colour whilst a thick blue vein pokes itself out from the side of his length to travel right down to his base. ‘Fuck’ you breathe. Chris looks at you cockily and is very much pleased with your wanton response.

‘Want you to sit on it till it hurts and you can’t no more precious girl’ he mumbles as he hitches your hips up into his hands and lifts you above him. You nod with a little ‘Uhuh’, your stomach flipping and oozing to feel the stretch of him. He’s bigger than Max, and the thought makes you careen in pleasure.

You almost forget that you two are both supposed to be at work, because all of this feels so private and intoxicating, and the implication of Chris making it into sex tape gives you life.

As soon as you’re placed on top of him, you hold his base so that you can sink down properly, and both of you choke out whines at how fucking amazing it feels.

‘Shit… still tight honey… has Max really been using you properly or is his cock just that small?’.

Chris can’t help it. He gets off on criticising your priggish ex boyfriend because he truly fucking hates his guts. And damn does it feel good to be fucking you with the intention of letting the man himself know through the recording of it.

‘Fuck, I feel so full’ you speak into the air.

You then have to bite your hand so that you don’t draw tears because of the burning stretch Chris gives you. It’s almost unbearably uncomfortable for the first minute of bottoming out.

But then it stops being uncomfortable and starts making you squirm again at needing some form of friction to move yourself.

So you do.

Lifting your hips slightly, you slip back downwards and grind forwards at the same time whilst Chris looks up at you with star-ridden irises. They twinkle in the light and he pants heavily after every time you move.

He soon starts to naturally move himself, needing to respond to you in some sort of way.

He loves watching your tits bounce whilst you rise and fall onto his cock, the sticky slickness of it slapping within his ears and making him want to come all over your insides already. You squeeze him so fucking well, and he equally stretches you out to the limit.

The rough skin of his prick steadily rubs against your walls and ignites an explosion of sensitivity within your centre whenever Chris pushes himself far enough to hit your g-spot. He’s so big he almost bulges from your stomach.

‘Who owns this pussy, who does it belong to?’ He barks as you squeeze your eyes closed and scrunch your nose up, having to slam your head onto his shoulder because of your overstimulation in pleasure.

You stutter out a quick ‘ugh- y-you’ as you feel Chris’ fingers grab onto your hips because of their slowing roll. He digs them into your skin and starts to move you himself at an even faster pace which makes you whine even louder.

‘Sorry… not quite sure Max heard you- can you say that again for me Cherry?’ Chris meanly rebutts and makes your cheeks flame red after he actually takes his palm and harshly swats it against the side of your thigh. You yelp at the brash cracking sound the sweaty skin-on-skin contact creates, but nevertheless still cry a humiliated ‘you!’.

Chris praises you immediately after with a soothing ‘that’s right… good girl’, before starting up his sly and conniving antics once again.

‘And whose name are you gonna be screaming from now on hmm?’.

Chris’ little taunting hum is fucking petty. But also, just what you need to finally cum.

‘Yours Chris! Fuck- all yours!!’.

You’re almost shouting as you arch your spine and throw your head back in ecstasy whilst your legs quiver and an almighty wave of euphoria rushes over your whole entire being.

‘Awe baby… cumming already? I was just getting started…’ Chris coos cockily as he lets go of one of your hips to soothingly stroke against your back with a pretty pout on his lips.

However that pout doesn’t stay for long because it struggles to fight the smirk that quickly overtakes his facial expression at the thought of how quickly he had made you cum.

He glances at the camera once more, to admire the position the both of you were in with dilated eyes, before focusing back onto you and speedily forcing your hips up and down a couple more times to finish himself off.

You squeak and claw at him in overstimulated pain, whining for him to slow down, but all he does is gently hush you in comfort. ‘I know shhh, I know. Wanna make sure I fill you up nice and good though baby’.

His voice is so gentle, and in lulls you into a drooling stupor with tears in your eyes as you claw at his tattooed back with your sharp nails. That’s going to leave heafty scratch marks.

Chris is tempted to wipe them away, but doesn’t have enough time before he’s groaning loudly and his tip is uncontrollable squirting out thick ropes of cum.

He bounces your hips a couple more times to get rid of as much as he possibly can. He wants to see it practically leaking from out of your abused hole. After he thinks you’ve milked him dry, he lets go of your bruised waist and you crumple back down into his embrace.

He rubs your back as you try to desperately regain your breath with your core raw, stinging and slimy with Chris’ cum.

‘There’s my good girl… taking all of me like that. Swear I’ll give you my babies next time you take me that well.’ He absentmindedly praises you for the last time, and you find it within yourself to laugh in disbelief, shaking your head before you slap his shoulder and lean upwards to look at him in the eyes once more.

‘Okay… you’ve proved your point. Now stop recording so I can kiss you a little more.’

Your thumbs stroke the bags underneath his eyes, and his smile is so sunny that you’re sure it could have opened up flowers on a dewy spring morning.

‘Yes ma’am…’

. ♱ .

Later that evening, Chris had sat alone in the tattoo parlour.

He had told you that you could go home early and that he’d sanitise the rooms and lock up as a special treat for you.

You had done as you were told and left a while ago, which left Chris to watch back the sex tape that you two had made earlier with a mean and satisfied smirk slapped over his lips.

He had rewatched it about 3 times, admiring the way both of you had moved with the volume all the way up to listen to your heavenly sounding whimpers. He had replayed his favourite bits a great deal and was fucking obsessed. He couldn’t help himself.

He had then exited the camera app and went straight into Instagram, searching up Max’s account profile to slide into his DMs.

With one final smirk, he had bitten his lip victoriously and selected the video of you and him together before attaching it and typing one final thing before clicking the send button and locking his phone.

Might wanna think next time you make bold allegations about how she’ll never find a better D x

. ♱ .

Author’s notes p.2: guys I’m actually so sorry for disappearing off the face of Tumblr for fuck knows how long without an explanation. Truthfully there isn’t really much of an explanation apart from the fact that I’ve simply been too busy to write (and have also had major writers block atm- hence me and @luv4kozume collab taking so long lol). BUT I’m back with something that has actually turned into one of my favourite pieces of writing on this blog, so I hope it’s been worth the wait!! I love all of you guys for asking where I’ve been and equally as much for missing me. I’ve missed writing for you guys so much and am absolutely obsessed with tattoo artist!Chris, also don’t worry you guys, you’ll get cherry popper 3 one of these days lmao… Anyways, until next time cherry pies!! 🍒

Taglist: @luverboychris @lovingmattysposts @luvmila444 @luv4kozume @stursweet @strniohoeee @strawberrysturniolo @thesturniolos @sturniolosreads @vecnasnose0 @meanttomeet @ellie-luvsfics @matthemunch @mattsleftnipple03 @robins-scoop @asturniolos @imwetforyourmom @nicksmainbitch @sturnioloenthusiast @breeloveschris @kvtie444 @rootbeerworshiper @chr1sgirl4life @hrt-attack @gigisworldsstuff @stargirlsturniololover @imlidewwallyhittingdagwiddy @sturniololoverr @jahlisa22 @bernardsgf @luvasr @meg-sturniolo @blahbel668 @liz-stxrn @sturnreblog @ratatioulle @isabellehoran @1800chokedathoe @sturnsmadl @sturniolossmut @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattslolita @sturniolowhore @skadltmf @sturniolosstar @luvsturns @mattestrella @hearts4chriss @orangeypepsi

[drudyslut]

— summary: kook princess. kook prince. perfect match, right? wrong. you hated rafe cameron and everything he stood for. and he hated you. so when your fathers spring it on the two of you that they’d arranged for the two of you to be married, both of your worlds are flipped upside down.

— CW: 18+ only !! cocaine use, alcohol consumption, sexual innuendo, strong language.

likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated <3

part one

3 days later…

RAFE

“So.. Let me get this straight. Your dad, and Y/N’s dad, have formed some kind of plan to merge both companies.. And you have to marry Y/N for it to be the most successful?”

I snort. Leave it to Topper to have to go over the scenario a hundred fucking times before it finally clicks in his thick skull. I ignore him, grabbing the rolled up hundred dollar bill off the glass table and place it under my right nostril. Leaning forward, i place the other end of the rolled bill at the end of the perfectly formed white line, sniffing up the substance before dropping the bill and flopping back into the soft, white couch. Fuck, I love the burn this shit leaves behind. The way it makes my body tingle, clearing my mind of any bullshit I don’t want to think about.

Topper tries ruining my high again. “Rafe. C’mon man, we have to talk about this. What’re you going to do?”

I sit up, my eyes narrowed into thin slits at him. “There’s nothing to fucking talk about, Top. My dad and her dad have already signed our lives away. I’m supposed to marry the stuck up bitch in less than a month. I don’t want to think about it, so drop it.”

Topper groans, but thankfully, he drops the subject. I don’t know what he expects me to say. I don’t want to marry her. Marriage is the last thing I pictured myself ever doing, but even if I had decided to settle down one day, start a family, it sure as Hell wouldn’t have been her I chose. Y/N Y/L/N is the bane of my existence, and my polar opposite.

Where I like to have fun, and am riddled with issues from head to toe — thanks dad — she’s boring. She doesn’t get out, and she is issue free. Her family didn’t fuck her life up like mine did — well, until now I guess — and she doesn’t even want to change her ways. She’s stuck in the mindset of being the perfect princess. My dad always praised her when we were growing up. “Be more like Y/N, Rafe.” “Why can’t you act like Y/N? She’s a good girl.” and my favorite line “I wish I had Y/N as a daughter instead of you as my fuck up son”.

I shake the thoughts to the back of my mind. The last thing I want to do right now is think of fucking Y/N Y/L/N and the fact that come this weekend, the entire island will know we’re getting married. That’ll really fuck up my chances with getting any pussy before this wedding. That’s another thing. The girls still a fucking virgin. I mean, who the fuck is still a virgin at twenty-one years old? Y/N fucking Y/L/N, that’s who.

“You have to admit though, she is hot. And she’s a virgin, how longs it been since you fucked a virgin?” Top says, amusement lacing his tone as he lightly punches at my shoulder.

I roll my eyes. “She’s not fucking hot, Topper. She’s a bitch.”

Lie.

Y/N is a lot of things, but unattractive isn’t one of them. I would be lying to myself if I said she wasn’t fucking gorgeous. But I’ll never admit that out loud.

“C’mon Rafe. Lighten up. Maybe it won’t be so bad”

I bark out a laugh at that. It’s going to be fucking miserable. A loveless marriage. Handcuffs that I can’t break free from, even if I wanted to.

“Topper. Fucking drop it.”

He opens his mouth to speak but thankfully, Kelce comes barging through the front door. I quickly stand from the couch, making my way to my other best friend and mouthing a silent “thank you” to him for arriving when he did.

“Y’all ready?” Kelce asks, his eyes darting between Topper and I. Thankful for the intrusion and opportunity to drop this entire fucking subject, nod my head. “Let’s go”

-

The boys and I enter the Island Club. We come here quite often to just get drunk and forget about our shitty days. I am thankful for this tradition right about now. This whole marriage thing has had me stressed out for the last three days. I remember when Ward first came to me about it. He had told me that it was time for me to step up and do something good for the family.

“Son, a word?”

I roll my eyes, glancing at the girl laid beside me I tell her, “I’ll be right back”

My dad chuckles, his eyes glancing behind me and at the brunette that wears only my T-shirt and a pair of underwear. “Actually, you can get dressed and go. Rafe won’t be back up here until late tonight”

I roll my eyes, opening my mouth to protest, but my dad’s stern look has me quickly shutting my mouth. There’s never a point in arguing with Ward Cameron. He will win every single fucking time.

Turning to face Sofia, I give her a small smile. “Sorry, I’ll call you later”

She rolls her eyes but nods her head. She grabs her things from my floor before slipping on her white Nike tennis shoes and walking toward me. She positions all of her things in her left hand, her right palm pressed firmly against my chest as she leans up on her tiptoes and presses a long kiss to my lips.

My father clearing his throat has me pushing her back softly. “I’ll call you.” I say firmly. She turns and exits my room. Leaving me all alone with my dad.

“You won’t be calling her” He states.

My narrowed eyes find his. “And why is that?”

“Because, son. You’re about to step up and do something good for this family, and I won’t have you fucking it up by sleeping around with some bartender from the club.”

I scoff. “What’re you-” I begin to ask, but he cuts me off.

“You’re going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N.” He says matter-of-factly.

“Rafe? You good bro?”

The sound of Kelce’s voice rips me from the memory. I slowly turn my head to face him, his dark brown eyes filled with slight concern.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Yeah. I’m good. Lets get fucking drunk”

Kelce and Topper nod their heads and begin making their way toward the bar. I follow them closely behind, but freeze in my tracks when I see her. Sofia. I never did call her, and it’s been three days since she was last in my room. I know she’s going freak out on me. If she doesn’t, i’ll be surprised.

I clear my throat and roll my neck before continuing my way up to the bar with my friends. I finally reach Kelce and Topper, they’re already ordering. “Rafe, whatcha drinking bro?” Kelce asks while looking behind his shoulder at me.

I open my mouth to speak but Sofia’s narrowed eyes landing on mine the second she hears my name has me clamping my mouth shut. I give her an awkward nod, debating on just leaving. That’s not who I am though, I don’t run away like a scared little bitch, so instead I order, “Whiskey. Neat.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ll call me, huh? It’s been three days, Rafe. What the fuck?”

I hear Kelce and Topper snort out a laugh. I glare at the back of both their heads. I’m friends with fucking children. Turning my attention back to the short brunette, I sigh heavily. “Situations changed, Sofie.”

She scoffs at that. “Well, it would be nice to know that you had just planned on fucking me and never calling again. I wouldn’t have ever looked at you twice.”

Topper slings an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sure he would have called had he not found out later that day that’s he’s marrying Y/N Y/L-”

I throw my elbow into Topper’s side, making his arm fall from my shoulder as he groans in pain. “What the fuck was that for?” He demands.

I roll my eyes, and put my focus back on Sofia. “Look, like I said. Situations changed. I won’t apologize for not calling you, we never said it would be more than sex between us anyways”

Her mouth falls open and tears begin to well up in her chocolate brown eyes. I sigh. This is the thing about women. They always expect so much more than you’re willing to give. I never planned on having a relationship with Sofia, and she knows that. But now, I’m the bad guy because she was all but thrown out of my house and I never called.

She lifts her eyes toward the ceiling above her, blinking back her tears before her eyes find mine again. “Well, good to know. Let me get those drinks for you guys.”

I let out a deep exhale, turning to face Topper and Kelce. They both have shit eating grins on their faces. “What?” I snap.

Topper chuckles. “Nothing. You better hope she doesn’t spit in your drinks all night” He jokes.

I run a hand down my face. Tonight was supposed to help me unwind, not cause more fucking unwanted stress. “I never fed her lines of false hope, so I don’t know why she’s freaking the fuck out.”

Kelce chuckles this time, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t they all freak the fuck out when it comes to you? I mean c’mon Rafe. You can’t ever sleep with a girl without her expecting more.. I just hope you’re prepared for the long list that’s going to come for your throat when this engagement is announced.”

I sigh for what feels like the thousandth time tonight. He’s right. I have never been serious about any of the girls I slept with. They all wanted more, but every single time I felt they were getting to attached, I stopped calling or texting them. It was better that way. I didn’t want anything serious, and now, I’m being forced into something super serious. Fuck, my life really sucks doesn’t it?

“Here. Drink up, you need it.” I hear Kelce say. I turn to face him and he has his left hand extended toward me, my glass of whiskey in hand. I quickly snatch it from his grip and throw it back, downing the amber liquid in one gulp. Turning to face the bar, I slide the glass back toward Sofia. “Another.”

-

Two hours and multiple glasses of whiskey later, I’m drunk. The room sways a bit, and I reach my hand out to grip the patio railing. I hear Topper laugh from the right of me. “Dude, you’re fucking wasted.” He laughs out, placing his hand on my shoulder to help keep me upright.

“I- I am not wasted, Top. I’m just… Buzzed” I lie.

He opens his mouth to speak but he quickly slams it shut, the sound of his teeth clashing together has me turning my full attention on him. His brows are raised and his eyes look like they’re going to pop from his skull as he stares intently behind us.

“What the fuck are you looking at? You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost.” I joke. But he doesn’t laugh, and that makes me nervous. Topper laughs at the dumbest shit, so for him to remain staring behind us with a look of pure shock in his eyes, it has me wondering what just happened.

My body sways to the side as I try to turn and face the direction he’s looking, but his hand on my shoulder has me stopping in place.

I narrow my blue — possibly bloodshot — eyes on him. “What the fuck, Top. Speak!”

He clears his throat. “I- Uh.. Y/N just walked in with some of her friends.”

That has my attention. I quickly turn my body, falling forward a bit but catching myself with the help of the railing again. She stands at the bar. And she looks fucking delicious right now. For a girl who has never taken it past kissing a man — if she’s even kissed a man — she sure knows how to dress the part of any other girl on this island. She wears a black, leather skirt that hugs her curves and ass nicely. A tight, white cropped top and a pair of black heels that add a few inches to her height. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, and all I can think of is wrapping my hand in it and pulling her head back as I fuck her from behind.

What the fuck? Why am I thinking of her like this? I fucking hate her. My soon to be wife. She’s a fucking stuck up, prude bitch. My mind tells me to stop staring, reminds me that I can’t fucking stand her. But my cock is screaming the complete opposite.

Without thinking, my legs begin to carry me toward her. I come to a stop right behind her, clearing my throat, causing her head to whip in my direction. The moment her eyes find mine, she’s rolling them. The act alone is fucking sexy. I picture her eyes rolling into the back of her head while my face is buried between her legs, devouring her sweet cunt. Fuck. Stop thinking of her like this Rafe, you’re just drunk, and horny. Any girl would do, but for some fucking reason, my mind is consumed with her.

“What the fuck do you want, Rafe” She sighs.

I smirk at the anger that radiates from her. “Just coming to say- just coming to say hey to my future wifeeee.” I slur. She rolls her eyes as they find mine again.

“You said hey, now run along. We don’t need to pretend to like each other right now.”

Maybe it’s just because I’m drunk, but her words stung. She really hates me doesn’t she? I mean, I hate her too. Don’t I? Yes, Rafe. She’s a stuck up bitch who acts like she’s better than everyone. But my drunken mind has me sighing as I say, “You really don’t like me, baby?”

Her body stiffens, eyes wide as she stares back at me. “I- Don’t call me that.”

I smirk. I have her worked up. Reaching out my left hand, I push a few strands of hair behind her ear before I run my fingers down the side of her face. She sucks in a shaky breath and flinches away from my touch.

“Rafe… Please just let me have a night out with my friends. In two days, we’re announcing to the entire island that we’re getting married, and I’d like to live the last two days of my life without you around… Lord knows I’m about to be stuck with you.”

My eyes narrow and I take a step toward her. You’re drunk, Rafe. Keep your cool. My large hands reach for her face, cupping her cheeks as I lower my face closer to hers. I don’t miss the way her chest rises and falls rapidly from my close proximity. She’s nervous. It’s going to be so much fun having her all to myself. Even if I hate her, pussy is pussy. And this is pussy that’s never been touched. She’s all mine to play with. To fuck. To break. To train. She’ll be my own personal whore by the time I’m done with her.

My glassy, blue eyes search her face. I half expect her to shove me away, and I’m so drunk I wouldn’t be able to fight back on it. But she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes find mine. That’s it, be strong baby girl. I like the tough girl act.

“Baby, you’re going to be crawling on your hands and knees begging for me to touch you. To kiss you. To please you. You can act like you hate me now, Lord knows I can’t stand you. But even I can admit, you’re fucking gorgeous. And I know you find me somewhat attractive.” I pause, placing my lips on the sensitive skin of her neck and leaving soft kisses, making her hiss in a breath. “I know this isn’t what either one of us wanted, but we have no choice… Why not enjoy the game?”

Her beautiful eyes narrow into slits and her lips thin. She blinks a few times before slapping my hands from her face. I stumble back a little, but catch myself on the bar, giving her a slow smirk.

“Fuck you, Rafe!” She hisses before grabbing her purse and storming off to the locker rooms.

I smile to myself as I watch her storm off. She’s mad now, but I meant what I said. She’ll be begging for more after I finally touch her. She can pretend now, and I’m not saying I’m falling for her. But Topper was right. She’s hot. Might as well enjoy the game and the perks, right? Letting out a small laugh, I turn and make my way back toward my friends, adjusting my hard cock that’s straining against my pants in the process. This is going to be fun.

RAFE TAGLIST: @rafeism @thelomlisrafecameron @rafegirly @f4ll-for-you @drewstarkeyslut @dilvcv @thewitchesofart @rafesgfxo @unsaidjaelinrose @abbybarnesstuff @itsmytimetoodream @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @r1vrsefx @yourfavborderhopper @moremaybank @rafetopia @rafemotherfuckingcameron @jade-is-jaded @lexasaurs634 @anqeliclust @presleyanswrites @carma-fanficaddict @rafescokenostril @madzzz0797 @slytherhoes @jscameron @jjsmarijuana @ijustwanttoreadlols @luversgirl @sugarcoatedstarkey @skyesthebomb @nirvanaissogood @stvrkey @vhour @emma77645 @rafeinterlude @superlegend216 @mannstarkey @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @crgirlsworld @atorturedpoetx @carolinaxvz @maybankslover @cantstoptherecs @pradabambie @slut4ani @biggesthat3r @wearemadeofstardust @sylverdragon

rafe masterlist | taglist form | series masterlist

[princesssmars]

sweet✰honey✰buckin

a rodeo!abby x reader.

its a hot spring in the south and rodeo season is here. your hunt for a new fling leads you to an up-and-coming hotshot bull rider with an aversion to groupies. maybe you can change her mind.

wc : 2.509

contains : fxf relationship. barely attempted country slang. fluff. smut. oral and penetrative sex (r!receiving). nicknames (baby, darlin', a single bunny).

a/n : yeah guess who just listened to cowboy carter. idk why i posted about this before writing a single word but i didn't procrastinate this time yall clap it up and enjoy.

if you think about it, this was really all dolly partons' fault.

you could still picture the first time you saw her, the grainy recording on your grandmother's television, the gentle melodies from the blonde bombshell wrapping around you like a warm hug. you'd only been exposed to the south for a few weeks, and you already knew who you wanted your role model to be.

and the buckle bunny stuff also wasn't your fault! you were gorgeous, as people so loved to remind you at every twist and turn. and maybe you used your looks to your advantage sometimes. the first time was when you batted your eyelashes to make a boy do your project a day before it was due in junior year. he was... good-looking, you supposed. smart enough to be on the chess team, so he would do.

so you went to a little party with your friends that night. a spacious house, nice music, and good enough booze. everything was normal until you saw her. she was lean and mysterious, and under the lid of her black ridge top hat you could see her eyes tracking your body as you danced

so yes, her eating you in the back seat of her truck until you cried, holding down your hips when you tried to move changed your brain chemistry just a bit.

now a few years later, you're a little taller, a little smarter, and have collected a handful of studs for your belt. sure you've collected a...not so savory reputation in some of the local bars, but it was nothing a smile and a little flirting couldn't help. and its only going to get better; as the air warms and the trees bloom pussy spirit starts buzzing, and you know rodeo season is upon you again.

it was a hot night at the cow belle and the people even hotter as you scoped the scene from the rim of your glass. you and your friends were perched at the bar, daisy dukes heightened and crop tops tied under your busts.

"i heard red devil rosie'd be here tonight," savannah whispers to your group from beside you, her tall dark legs relaxed with her arm resting on the wood behind you. she always had a bit of a thing for redheads, and she'd had her eyes on rosie ever since it got around that she'd broken up with her fiancee.

"jesus, sav, the poor girl just got heartbroken, now you already wanna jump her bones?" charlize laughs, taking a hard swig of the beer in her hand. standing at a solid five feet and four inches tall the little kentuckian was a handful, always the first in line to ride a mechanical bull or jump in the front of a line dance.

"whats that saying men always use? as soon as you lose one hop on a 'nother?"

"you are deplorable."

as the girls banter back and forth your eyes focus on the rising commotion at the front of the bar. with a slight rise on your toes, making sure not to scuff your boots, and you can't help the growing smile on your face when you spot that blonde hair pushed down by her signature brown stetson.

abigail anderson, the rodeo's angel. she'd only been in the circuit for under two years and sponsors were lining up and begging for her to go pro. it was always easy to spot her, frequently trailed by her already professional friends manny alvarez and owen moore, along with a handful of groupies begging her to look their way.

luckily for you, manny had flirted with you a few weeks back and remained friendly after you turned him down, and he was heading straight towards you while his friends headed to a booth.

"oh god, hide your wives and girlfriends, the buckle brood is here!" he laughs, thanking the bartender for his beer and taking a swig.

"whatever manny, you're just upset our darling here didn't give you a chance." savannah winks.

"i think god was doing me a favor. y'know dixie's been trying to call you for about a week? the poor girls even thought about sending a bouquet. dixie. a bouquet."

"i made it clear before we slept together it would be a one-time thing. 's not my fault she wants more." you sigh.

that just makes the man laugh harder. he chats it up with charlize about how the rankings are looking when he notices how your gaze keeps wandering off, following your eye straight to-

"no."

"hm? i didnt say anything!"

"you said it with your eyes. and im gonna tell you with my mouth that you don't stand a chance. abby hates groupies." he shakes his head.

"abby, huh? i like it." manny grows exasperated as his words go in one ear and out the other. "'n and im technically not a groupie. never seen the woman in my life before now."

"well, look don't touch. or maybe don't look at all, before you put a spell on her or somethin."

you pout, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck and bring him into a hug. you see abby look your way in the corner of your eye and make sure to stretch your torso just a tiny bit until you're able to feel the bottom of your shirt ride up just that much more. when you see her eyes trail down your waist you hide a smile into the side of your arm.

you let the man go with a sweet goodbye, watching as he grabs two more beers and heads over to the booth and twisting your head before you can catch the blondes gaze.

its only a few minutes later when manny comes back with wide eyes and invites you over to sit with them.

sitting across from her, you can see why people are so attracted to her. she’s big, her muscles bulging out from the sleeves in her plaid shirt. despite her size she doesn’t try to take up more space then needed; confident but not cocky.

she clearly notices your glances, and maybe even the smile on your face when one of her past flings with a girl is brought up in conversation.

“so, you’ve had girlfriends before?” you ask, stirring your cocktail with the little colorful umbrella that came with it.

“no no, don’t answer that, you’ll regret it.” owen butts in, meeting your glare. you’d never talked before, but you were pretty sure you had slept with his fiancée a few years ago. last you’d heard they’d had a baby, maybe you’d offer to babysit sometime.

“why not? are you a groupie?” abby asks.

“can’t be a groupie if i barely know who you are. so why don’t we get to know each other better. preferably in private.”

“whatever you say, darlin.”

you hear the sudden sounds of a few hoots and claps and a familiar song that they always play to get people dancing.

“why don’t you show me some of your moves, big girl?”

she rolls her eyes, letting out a quiet sigh before following you onto the dance floor.

as much as she’s trying to fight it, you can tell abby is enjoying herself, learning quickly as you show her the moves to the dance. you’re a bit surprised she doesn’t know it already until she tells you she’s originally from utah.

“what, they don’t have country bars out in salt lake.”

“no, not like this. at least i never went to any of them.”

“wellll if you ever need a tour guide i’m available. whenever you want me.”

“god, manny told me about you.”

“really? what’s he say? i can probably guess.”

“so you know everybody thinks you’re a playgirl who sleeps with cowgirls for damn near a living and you don’t care?”

you shrug. “‘m just young and having fun. maybe everyone else, including you, is too uptight.”

“oh really? and what, you're supposed to help me loosen up?” she raises a single eyebrow. you don't answer, deciding to just look at her face for a while.

you like how pretty she is. the soft blue of her big eyes, the freckles dotted across her face that trail down her neck and disappear into her shirt. you feel pride in your chest when you see her cheeks redden.

when the song ends you pull away from her, ready to go over and tell your friends goodbye when a large hand grips your wrist, tugging your body back to its previous position. before you can question her you feel the weight of her hat sitting on your head.

"well? you gonna answer my question?"

you can still remember the looks on your friends face's when abby told them she was heading home, still gripping your hand. manny looked like he had just seen pigs fly.

it was hard to ignore the way she didn't let go of you until she was driving or the looks she was giving you when she was looking at the road, or how desperate she was when you finally got her here, dragging you to her room and attaching her strap like she'd die if she didn't get you in bed.

"i don't see what the big fuss is about, this really isn't that hard." you tease her, admiring the way she whines when you refuse to let her wrists go from your hands, using all your strength to keep her from flipping you over

but maybe you should learn when to shut your mouth because she roughly starts bucking her hips, smiling at the euphoric look on your face before you hide your face in her neck, trying and failing to muffle your moans.

"what? i thought you said this was easy?" she laughs when she hears your muffled groan, failing to ignore when you roughly bite her. you can tell she's getting frustrated at being restrained, her hands clenching into fists and repeatedly trying to get them from under your hands. "fuckin - cmon, baby, lemme help you."

god, she was so cute. you'd never say it out loud but you liked all the little nicknames she gave you, the gentle kisses she would place on your skin when she was warming you up for her. if you didn't have a one-time policy you would have chosen to keep her around. just for a little while.

but you could also see the inner turmoil in her eyes, the battle between dominance and submission. when you first met her you thought she'd be a stone top, so you decide to take advantage and reach one of your hands up to her hair and pull, forcing a loud moan from her as her mouth gaped open.

"not so uptight now, are you?" you laugh, awwing at her when she lets out a small whine.

you didnt realize until it was too late that it was a mistake to underestimate her because she was attaching her hands to your hips, planting her feet on the bed, and thrusting up into you like a wild bull, sucking a mark into your chest like she can't see you struggling to breathe.

"yeah, that's it. not so easy now, is it darlin'?"

and oh how you hate how you can't answer her, only able to muster up a weak glare as the pleasure grows, feeling the burning heat gross in your stomach. you're trying to hold off, not ready for this to end just yet, and hating the satisfied look on her face when your shaky arms wrap around her neck.

"you gettin' close, baby?" she maneuvers your legs to spread wider, hitting that spot inside you at just the right angle. god, everything feels so hot and overwhelming and so damn good-

"that's it, show me how pretty you look cummin around me." once she reaches a hand down and roughly rubs your clit it's over, moaning and gasping her name as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. she never stops her movements, in fact, you think she goes harder once she feels your nails dig into her arms.

your head flops onto her shoulder, basking in your post-orgasm bliss as her large hands rub up and down your back. mind hazy, you feel yourself drifting off and giving yourself a mental pat on the back when you're shocked upwards by a fierce thrust from below you, wide eyes darting to abby's.

"what, ya thought we were finished? if you wanna claim me you gotta earn it, bunny."

"oh no, abby i cant-" you try to decline, not sure you can take another before she presses you back into her sheets, manhandling your legs over her shoulders and your arms under your back. she can tell you're about to fight it because she's pushing her strap into you again.

it's embarrassing how close you are already after a few minutes, unable to move as she splits you open in a damn mating press. trying to hide your face in the sheets is futile so you have no choice but to keep eye contact with her, which only brings you closer to the edge because she's looking at you like she wants to fuck you until she physically can't anymore.

she's quieter now but you can hear her mumbling under her breath about how 'you're too damn fine, jesus you're gonna be the death of me,' and the next thing you know you're both cumming, feeling the wet mess grow between your legs.

she sinks into you, boneless on top of you as she gently rubs at your sides as you do the same for her head. after a few minutes she gets up, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips at your soft whine at the strap leaving you before heading off to the bathroom to get a washcloth.

it's gentle as you both clean the other, softly trailing the rag down her arms as she observes you. its almost...domestic. which you haven't done in quite a while. it feels nice.

when she gets up to throw it in the hamper you reach for your clothes on the floor before she questions you.

"excuse me, what do you think you're doin?"

"uhh...leaving?"

"nope, bad manners if i let you go home now," she tosses you a shirt from one of her drawers, finding her own pajamas before flopping on her bed. "i don't know what kinda girls in the circuit you've been seein', but I'm not like that."

you're on the fence, rubbing the fabric of her large shirt before putting it on and settling in next to her. it couldn't hurt just to sleep with her, right? "fine. but you should know i don't normally do...this."

"me neither. but there's a first time for everything, right?" she smiles, rubbing your hip from over the shirt before trailing it under. "besides, maybe we can go again in the morning. still need to prove to you I'm not uptight."

thank god for dolly parton.

sorry if this is shorter than expected i feel like death. can we all do rodeo!abby this summer. pretty please.

taglist : @euphternal @jupiter-502 @vqxen @youcallmeconnor @andersonlore i love you guys im giving you kisses rn

[randombush3]

you're not sorry to go

ona batlle x reader

summary: ona and you are best friends, but it's a bit more complicated than that

words: 4.5k

notes: this one is based on true events x

also let's ignore the result of my poll because i want the next part to have smut and it wasn't fitting with the vibe of this part

oh and the title is a quote from 'this side of paradise' by f. scott fitzgerald

January, nine years ago. 

Nothing about today has been out of the ordinary. 

The weekend is starting, winter drags on, and Ona is all set to train later on in the evening, provided you confirm whether or not you are willing to accompany her to the local pitch. 

Barcelona B usually allows for Fridays off, but Ona isn’t stupid. No one becomes the greatest footballer of all time by not playing more. School is beginning to bore Ona to death, and she knows that she wants what she always has: to go professional. 

“I have a plan,” she tells you confidently, glad you don’t mind sitting on the uneven, grassy sideline as she sets up her cones with determination. You hold the ball between your hands, though Ona is amused by how foreign it looks to you, and you seem to be holding her prized possession hostage so that she spills. “It sounds simple and obvious out loud, but it’s that I am going to play for Barça while you go to the university. You can introduce me to your smart friends so I can meet my wife, and you’ll have all the boys after you anyway so–” 

“Ona.” Her monologue has led her eyes to the ground, but your voice makes her head jerk upwards, not needing much authority to get her to look at you. “I’ve actually had a… realisation, of sorts,” you say with a bashful grin, chin jutting out the way it does when you are gearing up to tell her something that no one else will get to know. “Your cousin is really pretty.” 

“I’ll tell her you said that.” It’s a nice thing to say, and you are partly aware that Ona’s cousin knows who you are because she doesn’t shut up about you ever, but you can’t help the frustration that begins to bubble up inside of you.

“No, Ona,” you try again, “she’s really pretty. Like, I would kiss her.” 

Ona frowns, then. “Don’t be one of those.” She means the girls who experiment, who toe the line of liking girls but don’t, not really. She has been warned about them by her older teammates, the ones who go out for drinks and kiss girls in clubs. The budding footballer really admires them, because their advice is always good and she gets to explore her sexuality without feeling like a creep. No one in Vilassar de Mar cares much that Ona does like girls, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling judged all the same. 

You are one of her best friends, but Ona isn’t sure she can forgive you if you become someone like that. 

“I’m not! I wouldn’t do that.” Your offence is suspicious, and you have been so caught up in destroying her worries that the ball has been dropped and is now rolling towards Ona’s feet, where it is instinctively flicked upwards and caught. “I wouldn’t, Oni, because I know it’s unfair to you guys.” 

“But you want to kiss my cousin? That makes you interested in girls in general too, you know.” 

You bite your lip. 

“Ona, I think I’m gay.” 

The ball is dropped, along with her jaw, and you shift uncomfortably in your seated position, not enjoying how big of a deal she is making this out to be. 

People realise that they’re gay all the time! Why should it be any different for you? 

“Oh,” is all Ona can manage to breathe out, wondering what to do next. Although your friendship cracks the padlocks of most secrets, there is one that hasn’t ever been shared. One that now means substantially more than it did five minutes ago. 

“Say something, please,” you groan in mock annoyance, moving aside your textbooks so that you can grab Ona’s hand and pull her down on top of you. She is much stronger – she trains every day – but something about your skin touching hers injects a surge of patheticness into her well-earned muscles, and she falls, of course she does, because she always falls for you. 

…

A year passes. 

You kiss Ona’s cousin, as intended, and Ona knows the breakup is going to be rough but nothing prepares her for when it comes. 

She’s conflicted, and she’s older now. No longer left behind by her teammates, Ona gets to go out with them when they don’t have football; she gets to talk to the girls about their sex lives, she gets to be involved in it all. She has met Alexia Putellas and been treated like an equal, and she made out with her fourth ever girl last week, this time progressing past tongues and confidently letting her hands roam. 

Ona would say that she has learnt a lot since you dropped your nuclear missile, and she has managed to forget the initial hope she had felt. The secret had been near-faded. 

Until you are calling her, sending her a text when she doesn’t reach her phone quick enough.

‘Ona, I really need you.’ 

She hears nothing from her cousin – they were closer when they were younger – and that, she reasons, is why she is by your side in an instant, meeting you at the windy beach you go to when you are sad, hair damp from running and eyes a little wide as she tries to wake herself up. 

“She said she can’t do it anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking under the strain your sobs had put on it. “She said that she really likes me but that it’s not enough, and she doesn’t want to break my heart but she knows she has to.” 

Ona doesn’t get a chance to respond, because you have flung yourself into her chest before she can think of the right words to say. 

Your shoulders shake as you cry, devastating howling joining the whistles of the wind and the thrash of the waves. The sand is unsteady beneath your feet and you stumble, but Ona holds you firmly, as though she has only ever trained to hold you up. Though you feel her biceps, hard and significantly larger than the last time she had held you this way, you are too caught up in your first heartbreak to acknowledge the tiny, tiny spark between you. 

As you cry and cry and cry, Ona can’t help but feel a little bitter towards her cousin. Clearly, your affection wasn’t false and, though it was working towards the severance of your friendship, you actually cared quite a lot for her. 

Ona chooses to abstain from her jealousy because she is embarrassed that it is possible. 

She is there for you the next day, ensuring you have eaten and allowing you to sleep, but the sun soon sets and Ona vows one thing to herself: she will not take advantage of it. 

“I’m going home,” you mumble when you wake from your restless nap, rolling over into the empty space in your best friend’s bed. The sheets there are cold and unused. Ona must not have moved a muscle since you fell asleep. “My parents must be a little confused, and we have people coming over for dinner. Thank you for looking after me.” 

“No problem.” Ona nods and you awkwardly stand up. “I think I’m going out with the team tonight, but don’t hesitate to call me if… Well, if you feel sad again.” 

“It’s going to feel shit with or without you.” 

You are trying to distance her, to tell her that she can have fun. It might be an issue that your friendship only seems to work when the two of you discuss your recent conquests or latest flings, but it is not one that either of you wants to address for now. 

“I’m just making sure you know I’m here,” she defends indignantly, rolling her eyes at the glimpse of your happier self making its return. 

“Are you going to be drunk?” Your question is pointed and you should really cross your arms and tap your foot impatiently to match your tone. “Don’t you have training tomorrow?” 

“Maybe, and not tomorrow, no. I’ve been asked to join the first team the day after so they’ve given me an alternative rest day.” 

“Ona, if you get drunk, you won’t be there for me at all. You’ll have your tongue down some poor, poor girl’s throat and your phone will be dead.” You laugh from experience, having grown accustomed to how she behaves under the influence. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I swear that alcohol is what fuels your hormones. I’m not going to burden you with my fucking pathetic crying, and, well, you know me, I’ll just find a boy to talk to. I am going to be fine.” 

No one in the room is convinced. 

You swat the air between you two, telling her to get on with getting ready. “Now, enjoy your night, and tell me all about it tomorrow morning!” 

Ona wonders if you are over-compensating by insisting to hear about whoever she has gotten off with, but you are practically flying out the door the minute you have said goodbye to her family and she is stumbling around her room trying to find a clean bra. Life goes on. 

If time did not tick on its own, one of you would task yourselves with turning the hands of the clock manually. 

You try to recover from how much it fucking kills to have a girl break your heart by reminding yourself of your worth in the best way possible: male attention. They hound you, but you enjoy it. You crave it, most of the time, even if the feelings are never quite believably reciprocated. 

It annoys Ona to no end, the way you play with the boys chasing after you. She hates the push and pull, fed-up with the constant complaining from your end. Often, because Ona speaks her mind when she can, she tells you that it’s not fair on the ones who hand their hearts to you only to watch you pierce through them with sharp, I-was-never-a-lesbian nails. 

You don’t talk about her cousin. At least, not to Ona because you have been informed by some other friend that blood is thicker than water.

Or maybe it’s because Ona begins to avoid you, begins to spend more time with her teammates, who don’t hide their sexuality and who like the things she likes. (Once, in a hateful frenzy, Ona thinks to herself that the only thing the two of you have in common nowadays is that she likes you and you like you too.) 

“What happened to your best friend?” Laia Aleixandri asks thoughtfully once after training. Ona is helping her collect the water bottles the other girls had left lying around on the pitch. There have been more injuries than what’s comfortable within the first team, and maybe some of the reserves have forgotten that they are not yet professionals. “You’ve stopped talking about her.” 

“We’ve fallen out,” Ona answers, settling on that because she doesn’t know how else to describe the shift in your relationship. 

“Over what?” comes Laia’s obvious sequential question, more a due dalliance than genuine interest. Laia is one of those girls who plays to play and can sometimes be too busy to spend time with the team outside of training. Because of this, she is largely unaware of Ona’s growing reputation within the squad. As Ona has grown up, her confidence has increased. Girls like that, and they are in plentiful supply to her. She no longer needs to be drunk, but something almost certainly occurs if she is. 

“She dated my cousin and, I don’t know, the way she acted in the fall-out was horrible. She likes girls, I know she likes girls, but I think she has been scarred and her ego has been bruised. No boy has ever made her cry like that, and I think she’s traumatised. And it’s valid! I understand, completely and totally, but she is acting as though she never had a thing with my cousin and it’s annoying. It’s as if being gay is a joke to her.”

Laia senses that Ona’s not done, and she is correct to think so. 

The next wave is this: “Laia, I really don’t agree with it, and it is hurting me. It hurts to see my cousin be messed around by a straight girl, it hurts to see my best friend hate part of herself, and it hurts me because, well, it just– it just does! I can’t explain it.” She can; she doesn’t want to. Her secret is still heavily guarded and it is going to take more than Laia asking about you to get her to confess. “I just want peace for everyone involved,” she says after taking a deep, diplomatic breath. 

“Peace,” Laia repeats with a giggle. “Ona, the things I have heard about you are the opposite of ‘peace’. Aita’s been keeping me in the loop, and she says that–” 

“Okay, Laia, I don’t need a lecture.” 

What probably would have been very helpful for Ona to know is lost to the devastating final blow of her eye-roll as she jogs to the water cooler to return the bottles and head home. 

…

The reconciliation of a decade-old friendship is fast and natural. Things do not quite go back to normal, and the two of you are not as close as before, but your group of friends at school breathe out a collective sigh of relief when the ice thaws and Ona starts to turn up to their gatherings instead of the ones held by her beloved blaugranas. 

It’s a camping trip. 

Their first year of bach has ended, and someone – Ona doesn’t know who – has suggested a camping trip because her grandfather’s brother owns a farm and the farm has a field and the field is far-removed enough for the smell of cigarettes and red-label whiskey to dissolve before reaching the house. 

“Are we really going?” Ona asks, making you all laugh as you haul your bags and tents along the tractor path. 

“I do think we should’ve gotten in the tractor,” you agree. Ona nods at you, thanking you for your support. 

Everyone else says it’s good fitness, and then hurls insults at Ona for the remainder of the trek because she should be the last to complain if she is going to become a professional athlete. 

It’s not as far as it seems, and the tents are set up quickly, along with some chairs, a foldable table, and a hefty stash of various bottles of alcohol. 

You start smoking the minute someone flashes their lighter, and Ona uses that as a reason to stay on the other side of the small campsite for a good hour or so. 

She stays away from you no matter how much you stare, but you watch her all the same. 

The boys you talk to are not satisfying. Some may have innocent intentions but the majority don’t, and you know that you are pretty but you are not shallow like that. You don’t even meet the boys half the time unless they corner you at school and demand a slot of your in-person attention.

The boys you talk to explain football and the gym and why they have to play FIFA until the sun rises because it will definitely help Barcelona win on the weekend. They take you for an idiot, and they hardly acknowledge that your best friend (sort of) plays for their darling club so of course you know the rules and the positions. You know that Ona is a defender, and that she is good at it. You don’t want to be patronised and you don’t care about this kind of thing unless it involves Ona. 

Therein lies the issue, actually. 

You don’t care about much unless it involves Ona. Ona, who sways to the music bursting out from the speakers just as stiffly as she always has, not exactly blessed with dancing talent but not for lack of trying. Ona, who declines alcohol tonight because she is following a summer strength and conditioning programme with the hopes of playing in the first team’s preseason matches. Ona, who looks beautiful. Always. 

Smoke billows from your cigarette, right towards the point of your focus, and, suddenly, doe-like eyes are staring back at you with a small, small smirk. She waves, as if to say that she has caught you, and you lean back on the camping chair you are slouched in, pretending to laugh at whatever your friend has just said beside you.

Later, when everyone else is knocked out from the bad quality of the whiskey, snoring comfortably in the other tents, Ona and you kiss. And once you start kissing, you don’t stop. 

Ona is good at this, you assume, because she knows exactly what to do. Contrary to popular belief, you are far more active in theory than in practice, and she surprises you a little bit. Or maybe she doesn’t, because it’s Ona and Ona is good at everything. 

You strive to match her, and you do by the time you finish school. 

Sporadic, non-committal, and in complete disregard for your friendship, the arrangement of hooking up when you feel like it sees you out of Catalonia, with Ona naturally in tow. 

Madrid CFF is happy to have her, and you quite enjoy the challenge of the Spanish capital. It’s not Barcelona, it’s not ideal, but change is good and you need space to explore who you are without watchful eyes and nosy gossipers. 

Homophobia isn’t quite a thing in your family. Your parents are not radically against gay people. In fact, you’d say they are relatively supportive. However, that doesn’t stop you from feeling some discomfort. You lived through Ona’s struggle to come out, and her parents are ever more care-free than yours. 

Madrid is a brand-new place, and word about how you are doing is easily controlled. Updates come from either you or Ona, and that means there is a filter easily applied to all anecdotes. 

Your friends know about the sex, more or less. They know, they don’t approve, but they let you guys sort it out yourselves because everyone agrees that that is just how you and Ona are. They won’t understand it and they have given up on trying to.

Both of you make half-hearted efforts to separate the arrangement from your friendship. You don’t talk much afterwards until the other has left the realm of I-am-in-love-with-you. It’s nice to be in Madrid together, but you find different social circles soon enough and then you are reaching out more for sex than friendly activities and… You stop sleeping with each other upon the footballer’s request. She wants to focus on her career, on her success. She tells you over the phone because she cannot bring herself to end whatever occurred over the last two years in person, knowing that she’d take back her decision in a heartbeat. Ona really, really likes football, and she knows that she has to become obsessed with it to get to the top; more obsessed than she is now. How can she do that if you are distracting her? 

You’re disappointed, but you respect her wishes. 

Girls in Madrid stop seeming as shiny. The world is a bit duller, because although there had been no exclusivity between you and your best friend, there had always been that guarantee that the other would be ready and waiting. Your growing misery makes studying boring, and you find answers for your emotions in a science textbook, desperately running away from the obvious truth. Less sex means that you are unhappier. It’s biology. 

It’s not a crush. 

Not on Ona. 

No. 

And it’s certainly not this not-realisation that flies you to Milan the minute a modelling agency inquires about whether you have ever thought of, well, modelling. They scout you someplace random, and your mother claims that she could have helped you start your career earlier if only you’d have been interested. 

When you explain to your best friend what you are moving for, she is oddly unsurprised and uncaring. Her reaction is sickening, because you’d have rathered her get an ego boost from having slept with a model than be so fucking apathetic. 

“I’m going to Milan, Ona,” you repeat, just in case she has not heard you. “I’m moving. We did the trial shoots last week, and they loved me. They want me to update my social media and work on building up a following, and they said that I should start learning English because I might end up in New York.” 

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” She doesn’t sound like she means it, and you grow annoyed about how she is not even trying to sound enthusiastic. 

“Can’t you be happy for me? Or is it only acceptable for you to have dreams?” 

“I am happy for you, I just said that.” 

“The words left your mouth, but they definitely did not come from your heart.” 

“You’re being dramatic.” Ona rolls her eyes and the pent-up sexual tension builds and builds until the bottle it has been shoved into can no longer withstand the pressure. You haven’t argued since you moved to Madrid, which makes no sense considering you literally broke up – even if it absolutely wasn’t dating. Neither of you has processed your broken heart, and you’re pretty sure you are still too traumatised from the first girl you fell in love with to be capable of revisiting those kinds of emotions. 

Ona hasn’t had sex in weeks, and it is affecting her performance. She can’t sleep if she has the energy she does, and she can’t get through her workouts because not sleeping makes her lose her appetite and then she does not have the energy to complete them. Her coaches are worried, but they know that she is young and though almost idiotic, they mostly assume that she is repulsed by the idea of playing for a club in Madrid. They get that a lot with the Catalans that come over from La Masia, whose dreams have been delayed because the first team had thought it necessary that they gained more experience elsewhere. 

Ona has wanted to shout and scream every minute of every day, and so have you. Therefore, everything explodes. 

…

You inhale deeply, exhaling when it feels as though some of the stress has dissipated. This casting is one of the more important ones of the week. It’s odd to be judged on your appearance, to be paid for it, but it has been almost a year since you moved to Milan and you are enjoying yourself. 

You don’t miss university, and you don’t miss your parents. Your friends visit you lots, loving the idea of your career, loving the excuse to escape their dreary weekends in where they have always been. 

Milan is great. You make friends with a few other models, though they come and go depending on work, and the more experience you get, the more your following count goes up. Brands send you things, nice things, and events start extending invites to lure you into the glamour of the industry. 

Milan is great, you tell yourself on repeat. 

Milan is great, but it would be better if Ona were here. 

Milan is great, but you regret the way you left things and want to take it all back. 

Milan is great but– 

“Your fitting is tomorrow,” says the assistant, reading off her iPad. You suppress your wandering thoughts, nodding. You need this job, you need the money to pay for a flight. The agency has given you some advancements – an impressive thing, apparently – but not enough to cover the cost of the ticket to New York for the start of Fashion Week. This show will fluff out your experience, and increase your chances of walking at one of the bigger shows. 

You’ve been told that you are quite a good model; attractive, funny, with just the right amount of personality to be both a mannequin and an interesting figure. 

The lifestyle is different but good, and you realise that you’d never wanted the mundanity of studying and then working and selling your soul to some kind of tall office building. Not everyone gets the concept of living away from home, especially not those from your tight-knit community who think the city is stretching the distance slightly (the train works, you can live with your parents and have a good job – you’ve been told that a few times), but you don’t mind. You can explain it as much as you want and they would still be confused. 

You stay in touch, but you don’t stay present. 

As your career snowballs over the next two years, you pull away from your home, always on a flight, always busy. You go to LA and Paris and London, and you rent your flat in Milan out as an Airbnb whenever you’re not there. You love the city, you start to think of it as yours, and slowly but surely, everything else fades into the background. 

Apart from Ona, of course. Your friends still visit, or you meet up with them if you ever find yourself in Barcelona, and they continue to affirm just how proud they are of you. They talk about her a lot, too; about where she’s playing now, about injuries and fame and representing Spain. They know you are too stubborn to search it up for yourself, but these are the people who have grown up with you: they know you would like to be informed. 

When you hear that Ona has moved to Manchester, you don’t quite think your actions through. 

You have had enough. You miss her terribly.

Her number has changed, but someone passes it onto you. 

You: I saw that you’re playing Arsenal next week. I’ll be in London then. Do you want to get a coffee? 

Ona takes her time replying, but that is only because she wants to delay the inevitable. 

Her eyes shine and her hair is damp, but the kick-off had been early and you don’t have anything to do today. You meet her in the carpark, picking her up in a black BMW that’s sleek and shiny and 100% not yours. Her laugh is light and free as she knocks on the driver’s window and juts her thumb out, instructing you to swap. 

“I’m not getting in a car that you’re driving,” she declares seriously, though you know she has forgiven you because she would not have agreed to meet if she hadn’t. “Come on, I checked on Maps and there’s a place not too far from here that looks nice. And it’s empty, so don’t worry about the paparazzi.” 

“The paparazzi are not after me,” you shut down quickly, not wanting her to think you are a bigger deal than what you are. Successful, yes. Famous? Not so much. “One day it’ll be you worrying about them, when you’re all grown up.” 

“I’m twenty-one!” 

It comes out so whiny and childish that you burst into a fit of giggles. Ona is proud to have made you laugh. 

You don’t kiss her, but you’d like to. Then again, maybe it’s better to just be friends. 

[hysteria-things]

SINFUL DESIRES (part two)

read part one here

read part three here

read part four here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!nate x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: of course the two of you still “hate” each other. although, it’s not just the sex. you both know that.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, p in v, spanking, praising, possessiveness, hair pulling, video, pet names (pretty)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 661

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: ask for part two and you shall receive part two!

i’m a lover for nathan. that is all.

jerset part ib jersey by @worldlxvlys :)

the spring breeze hits you, making your hair flow in the wind. your best friend dragged you to a lacrosse game, where you know who plays. she knows you hate him, but she always says that you need to ‘live the high school experience.’

right now, your best friend’s mouth hangs open with utter shock. the game hasn’t started yet, so this seemed like the right time to spill the beans. “you’re telling me that nate — the person you despise — showed up at your house two weeks ago and fucked the shit out of you?”

“yup.” you exhale. “i couldn’t look at my parents for a week. told them i was watching porn and it accidentally connected to my speaker, but i don’t think they believed me.”

“holy shit.” she laughs.

you stand up from the bleachers, shoving your hands in your pockets. “i’m going to the snack stand before they come out. you want anything?”

she shakes her head. “no thanks.”

you step down the bleachers and head to the snack stand. the line isn’t long, thank goodness.

as you approach, a hand grabs your forearm and pulls you to the side. you startle at the contact.

nate’s grinning in front of you, all geared up and ready to play. “nate, what the hell?!” you scream, looking up and down his body.

your eyes start at where his eyeblack is, then to his jersey with the number 8 on it, and lastly to his cleats.

ah, shit.

“hi.” he waves in your face.

you roll your eyes. this kid.

he starts to fidget with your hoodie strings. this is the most confused you probably ever been in your life. “you coming over tonight?” he asks.

you stare blankly at him waiting for more information, but of course, he doesn’t give any. “for what?”

he shrugs. “to hang out.”

“fu-uck!” you moan as nate rails into you from behind, your ass red from the few times he spanked it. the remains of your last orgasm still make a mess on your thighs.

he has you bent over his desk, his hands bunching up the bottom of his jersey that he put on you.

somerville won the game, and according to him, this was his reward. you are his reward.

his eyes are focused on the DOE right above his jersey number. you’re wearing his name, and he’s making sure you know it.

you’re on your tippy toes, each thrust making you quiver with pleasure. your nails claw at the wood beneath you.

“jesus,” he whispers, grabbing his phone so he can record what you look like with his name on. he’s so fucking fascinated by it.

he grips onto your hair. “you look so beautiful getting fucked in my jersey, don’t you think?”

“mhm,” you grumble, your eyes threatening to cross.

he grips tighter, giving you a little spank. “use your words, pretty.”

“y-yes. i—” you’re cut off by a whimper when his tip hits that familiar spot inside of you. “gonna c-cum, nate.”

you squeeze around him as your pussy squelches, threatening to spew your liquid. he groans. “clenching around me so tight.”

you scream when he starts to go faster, hitting inside you deeper than before. your whole body trembles when you spread your cum around his dick. “there you go… that’s it.”

he shoots into the condom short after you, pulling out and throwing it in the trash can that’s set on the floor next to the desk. he places his phone back down.

he turns you around and leans in, kissing you passionately on the lips. he hums before pulling away. “i hate how much i like you.”

you smirk, but the blush on your cheeks gives you away. “i hate how much i like you, too.”

later that night while you’re in bed, you get a text message. you gasp when you open it.

nate.

[attachment: 1 video]

just a reminder

sweet dreams, pretty

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom

[kjhbsies]

Preview: The Disaster Zone

Roomate!Abby Anderson x reader

Synopsis: Living with the hottest girl wasn't that bad, right? Except that she was completely straight and has a boyfriend you hate.

note: if you want to be tagged in this fanfic, please let me know in the comments down below!

Sweat prickled from your forehead, trickling down your face, and across your neck and you almost yelled in frustration at the feeling of getting overstimulated over everything. You sighed irritatingly, trudging your way outside of the apartment you just viewed. 

One week before the class starts and you still haven’t got a place to live and stressful is such an understatement to say. No, it’s much more than that. You never thought that finding a decent place to stay for two semesters wasn’t hard but no — it was like searching for a needle in a haystack, and the needle was just a reasonably priced apartment with no angry roommates. 

You grumbled, laying your head on the couch of your bedroom. You pulled out your phone, scrolling through the listings of the apartments available, feeling the stress building with each rejected option. 

But to your luck, you stumbled upon someone’s ad. It was a nice, cozy place that was perfect in size for two people. Her name was Abby Anderson, her last name was quite familiar but you couldn’t pinpoint where you heard it. Her place looked promising enough, and the reason she was finding a roommate was that she couldn’t pay all the house bills by herself. Under that, there was a deadline — which was supposed to be today, so you mindlessly hit the ‘call’ button with no second thought.

“Hello?” Abby’s voice came through the other line, her voice was deep and businesslike.

“Hey, uh, I saw your ad for the apartment,” You replied while nibbling through your fingertips.

“Oh, great. Are you interested in visiting it?” She asked, her tone was still cool and detached.

“Yes, please, I need it so bad.” You bit your lips while nervousness came through.

“Alright. Let’s set up a time, then. Are you free this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I’ll send you the address.” She said before hanging up quickly.

You stared at your phone for a minute, finding the interaction a bit… awkward. A sense of relief washed over you as the thought of finally finding a place to stay for the whole academic year was done, but something about Abby made you feel anxious. Her coldness scared you for a second — even if you just talked to her for a couple of minutes. 

But no, you promised yourself that this was the last time you’d reject a place because of a bad roommate. So you don’t have a choice but to go. 

Arriving at the address, you knocked at the door thrice. Seconds later, you saw the Abby Anderson. You gulped, taking in her features. She was tall, stoic, and… unimpressed. She was wearing a simple black shirt that perfectly hugged her toned body, making you gawk mentally. Her eyes bore into yours, looking at you from head to toe. Something inside Abby’s mind twitched as she did not expect how good you looked. But she immediately strayed away from that thought, minding no attention to it. 

“Thanks for coming. I apologize for my appearance — I just got off the gym.” She says in a neutral voice, opening the door wide open. “Come on in.” 

“It’s fine.” You said before stepping inside. 

The apartment was bigger than you expected — much bigger than the photos she uploaded. The furniture was complete and the choice of its design was very intricate and extravagant — you wondered if she bought it all with her money. Maybe she spent her money buying decorations which is why she couldn’t pay the house bills.

The huge windows perfectly let the sunlight in, casting a warm glow through the whole place. You admired how neat it was, and how everything was in place. Not even a small piece of trash in sight. As Abby showed you around, pointing out every amenities and quirks of this place, you couldn’t help but admire her silently. 

“So what do you think?” She looked back at you suddenly, making you snap out of a trance.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, I like it.” You shot her a smile. “This was much better than all of the places I’ve checked.”

Abby nodded, taking your answer without further comment or questions. I looked away, feeling nervous at the closeness between you two. With the whole three hours of you and her in just an enclosed space, Abby did not look at you. Something about your presence makes her uncomfortable and she did not know what that is. 

But then she looked at you for the second time, taking a couple of minutes to stare at your features without you knowing. Abby did not know why it was so hard for her to accept that you were pretty. No, you were something more than that. And she did not know what that was, or what was doing to her that was making her heart churn.

“Damn it,” Abby looked away and cursed under her breath.

You snapped your neck to stare at her. “What was that?” You asked.

“Nothing. It seems like you are interested. Are you open to discussing the other details?” She said, gesturing at the couch.

And just like that, the deal was done. 

And oh, that was one month ago. 

You and Abby are still living with each other. But all of your admiration for her was over.

She has a whole-ass boyfriend. 

And she’s straight as hell.

Now, you hate each other to the core. 

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Having them as best friend's:

Multiple X Reader

Contains: Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk, Charlie, Lucifer, Vox, Velvette, Rosie, Adam, Lute, and Valentino

ALASTOR

You're gonna have to hear me out with this one: he's down for the gossip 24/7!!!

He will listen and talk shit with you 100% and I'm not arguing on the matter.

Someone says some wack ass shit to you in public? "I beg your fucking pardon?" With like the scariest grin that fucker can muster.

You start talking to someone? He interrogates them! If they're not strong enough to survive one little interrogation with THE Radio Demon, they're not good enough to date you. Sorry not sorry.

The friendship would be violent, but in almost a sibling type relationship. If he said something absolutely out of line, you'd smack him or kick him in the back of his knees. He'd always get payback, whether it was immediately or a few days/weeks later.

You called him a 'radio faced cunt' once in front of everyone and they all mentally started planning your funeral.

Until he clapped back with something equally as interesting.

He only accepted affection from you and Rosie. And Charlie that one time.

If you had a bad day, he'd know immediately by the look on your face and wouldn't let anyone talk to you until he knew exactly what had made one of his two favorite people upset.

He'd kill them if you told him to. Just supportive bestie shit!

Angel Dust

Let's be real, if you're best friends with Angel, you're probably equally as close with Cherri.

But just you and Angel Dust as best friend's? Shit, he's awesome.

Had a bad day? Go to his room and cuddle Fat Nuggets while you cry/rant about the days woes.

Spontaneous sleepovers BECAUSE YOU CAN!

Platonically flirting to the point that everyone thinks you're together. Neither of you deny the claims, just to keep everyone on their toes.

The words 'love you' followed by something like 'slut' or 'bitch' are common occurrences.

When it comes to dating, Angel just wants you to be happy.

But if someone breaks your heart? He'll come out with guns blazing with no hesitation. NO ONE hurts his bestie.

Platonic cuddles because you love his floof.

Would probably form some sort of marriage pact with you for fun one night when you're both wasted. "Yeah, I'd marry you if we're both still single in 100 years, Toots."

Husk

The banter would be unmatched. You call him a furry and he'll clap back with something that makes your jaw drop before you burst out into laughter.

He'd tell you how it is, regardless of whether you asked or not.

Sure, you're his best friend, and he cares about you. . . But it's because he cares about you that he won't sugarcoat something, even if it's not something you wanna hear.

He would listen to your problems, like any good friend.

He wouldn't trust anyone you had romantic interest in, especially since the ones you always went for had some serious issues.

He'd say something like: "Don't cry to me when that bastard breaks your heart."

And you wouldn't cry to him when it happened, but he'd make you a drink and silently take care of the problem once he had one of the other hotel residents hoist you up to your room.

The next morning you'd tell him he was right and he'd smirk as he wiped down the bar, but wouldn't say anything.

He was never good with affection, so he respects your space and you respect his.

He literally always has your back, even if you don't know it. You do.

Charlie

Honestly, you probably grew up together and that's how the two of you became best friends. (But even if you didn't, everything is still the same.)

She's the friend that's too trusting of everyone, so you easily filled the place of being the friend that questioned everyone's intentions.

You even heavily questioned Vaggie's intentions when Charlie insisted on bringing her around after finding her.

You only warmed up to Vaggie when Charlie admitted her feeling for her, to you one late evening. She was a nervous wreck, but you were always the level-headed friend.

Being best friends with the princess of Hell had some lesser known perks — invitations to high class parties, special access at LuLu World, and the most eventful sleepovers known to Hell.

Whenever you mentioned interest in someone, Charlie was the first to push you to go for it.

If it went wrong, she was always there first, telling you it would be completely fine. If it went good, she was the first to congratulate you.

She's 100% the mom friend. Thirsty? Here's something to drink. Cut your finger? "Here's a bandaid, be more careful."

A relationship similar to siblings, bit without any malice or envy. Just happy to be in each other's presence.

She literally documented everything the two of you did, since the very first time you called her your friend. She's not going anywhere.

Lucifer

Yeah, so, everyone thinks you're dating. Even Charlie is a bit suspicious. You're not, but you had been there by his side for as long as he could remember.

When Lilith left, you filled some part of the void, not allowing Lucifer to go hungry when he spent long days in his office.

On his good days, he's absolutely there for all the tea, especially if it's PIPING HOT. "That bitch said WHAT!?"

He has no filter and will unintentionally intentionally hurt someone's feelings when it comes to you.

He protects you as fiercely as he protects Charlie, despite knowing that you're capable of protecting yourself.

The two of you argue like an old married couple, which only fueled the dating rumors. . . Until you mentioned someone you had interest in.

Bro interrogated everyone you ever liked. Can't handle five minutes with the king of Hell? Not good enough for his bestie. Keep it movin' pal.

No one is allowed to call you a bitch, but him. Anyone else tries, they'll be met with absolute SASS.

Not even joking, Lucifer would be so sassy towards people, to the point that you picked it up.

So the two of you just went around unintentionally terrorizing demons!

Vox

You hate someone? Bet. He'll have someone spy on them and give you the real tea.

Brings you as the plus one for many major events, but bullies you the entire time. You thought you'd get five minutes of peace on your best friends arm? WRONG!

Literally throws toddler meltdown style temper tantrums when it comes to Alastor. You're usually the one who has to reboot him or just smack some sense into him.

You're both pretty level-headed most of the time, but one of you probably has a couple of screws loose. (It's definitely him.)

No one is good enough to date you. Not sorry.

If anyone looks at you wrong, they've signed their second death to double Hell.

You and Vox talk shit about everyone, especially if you've had a hard day.

If it was bad enough, he'd offer to kill the demon who dared make your day shit. He'd still listen to you though.

"Fuck that. You're not going alone." And then you have to wait 15 minutes for him to look 'good enough' to go out, even if you were powerful and just wanted to go on little walk down the street.

Body doubling. Different tasks, silence, but the comfort of having someone else in the room. Absolutely.

Velvette

She likes you slightly more than Vox and Valentino, which is fabulous.

Weekly designated sleepover nights where the both of you unload from the week.

Someone is rude to you? Cue Vel lecturing them on how they fucked up and their career is over, but make it musical.

You went on a date with someone and didn't tell her? "I want details, Lovey! Are they an overlord too? Tell. Me. Everything."

Prepare for Hell's greatest gossip sessions, especially around the topic of Hell's cutthroat fashion industry.

She might not seem like it, but she's a good listener.

You're leaving the tower to run a small errand? Surprise Surprise, she's coming with you and turning it into a whole day, complete with lunch and shopping!

She uses you as a model sometimes, purely because she can.

Will call you a sweet name and insult you in the same breath.

Gets worried if you don't text back within five minutes. She will literally show up to make sure you're alive. You're probably taking a nap.

Rosie

Literally the best to spend the day with. She loves walking with you or just having tea.

Much like Alastor, she would be down for the gossip, but she wouldn't go very far with it.

In terms of relationships, she'd want you to be happy, but would also threaten to eat your partner if they hurt you.

She'd be such a good listener when you came to talk about your day.

She'd even offer advice and just casually drop something like: "Listen to your intuition, darling. It'll tell you others intentions."

At some point or another, everyone questions whether you're dating or not, which both of you laugh at frequently.

She enjoys her privacy, but she also would love having you around more than others.

She would love giving platonic affection, just to make you feel loved.

Sometimes Alastor pops up and Rosie gushes about how the two of you would get along — and immediately you're just thinking how this trio would be iconic.

She doesn't care about your past, you don't care that she's a Cannibal. . . Well, she cares, but she would NEVER hold it against you!

Adam

He literally goes out of his way to piss you off.

There's a lot of threatening and him calling you stuff like 'Sugar Tits'.

Adam annoys you to the point of you WANTING to just jump to Hell, but you never do, because he's your best friend, and you wouldn't want to emotionally traumatize him by making him think that he lost his best friend to Lucifer, AFTER losing his wives to him.

He says "Suck my dick, Bitch" AT LEAST A DOZEN TIMES A DAY. It irritates you to no end.

The banter is unmatched. He wants to get sassy? You're the SASS MASTER.

You pushed him down the stairs for fun and he didn't talk to you for two days.

He doesn't give a fuck who you date, but if they hurt you, he's taking care of them and not telling you SHIT to avoid all of that mushy feelings crap.

The two of you argue too much for anyone to think you're together.

There's NEVER a moment of silence when you're out. He's always singing, talking, laughing, or mimicking the sound of some instrument.

Lute

She's annoyed 24/7 and you're one of the two main causes.

But she wouldn't replace you because who else would put up with her attitude and listen to her rants like you?

If you had a hard day, she'd probably make some offhand comment and then subtly try to make it better by like getting you ice cream with rainbow sprinkles or something.

She hates physical touch, so the only time she touches you is to smack you, probably for saying something very Adam-ish. "Say that shit again and it'll be worse."

She hates everyone you have romantic interest in, but let's you learn your own lessons the hard way.

Nobody could ever picture the two of you as friends, let alone dating.

She's like the sister that has it all but claims she's the black sheep of the family.

Her job comes before everything else in her life, that including you, but when she has time for you, there's usually food and shit talking involved.

She makes sure you drink water every day. She'd kick your ass if you passed out because of dehydration.

She'd give you the key to her place, but you'd never use it unless she told you to. (Like in the event she forgot her set or something)

(I've reached the 10 media limit, so just imagine a gif right here)

Valentino

He offers you a job almost weekly. You hold off on kicking his ass every single time because that's your best friend.

Derives great pleasure from pissing you off.

You don't agree with the manner he treats his employees, so you undermine him every chance you get, just to make sure they get the best treatment possible.

It pisses him off to no end, but he let's it go. He wouldn't hurt you. He couldn't, not without a whole bunch of backlash from quite literally everyone.

Whenever you start liking someone, he warns you to be careful because he knows the industry. He is the industry.

He's gossip central. Talks super exaggerated with his hands and his voice changes whenever he remembers another detail.

He's a touchy feller, that much is evident. He's always touching you in some way, but it's not sexual/romantic or violent, it's more reassurance for both of you. It's a safe middle ground.

You have to leave for some reason? "The limo will take you, but don't touch anything."

He throws tantrums on the regular and you've learned to just let them go on until he eventually shuts the fuck up and let's you speak.

He'll call you a slut and then ask if you want to get food. It's extremely clear that you're not dating lmao.

A/N: I hope this is okay! I've never written for a bunch of these characters, as I just stared writing Hazbin stuff last week, and even then, it was a small Vox one-shot and a Lucifer one-shot.

Requests are open, if anyone would wanna request something for one of these characters? I'd pull through to the best of my ability.

Part Two

[tootiecakes234]

The Bet (Part 3)

Warnings: smut, MDNI

Katsuki’s POV

Day 2:

When I fell asleep last night she was on one side of the bed and I was on the other. I did that on purpose cuz it sucks waking up with my dick hard and pressed against her. Having to peel myself away with no satisfaction.

So imagine my surprise when I wake up in the exact position I was trying to avoid. I think i might’ve been rutting against her before I woke cuz I’m leaking precum and tucked between her thighs. Fuck me.

I have patrol early this morning, so I force myself to get up take a very long, very cold shower. This bet was kicking my ass. The fact that I couldn’t fuck her only made me want to do it more.

I was so thankful for work today because at least it gave me a distraction.

I got dressed, made myself a quick breakfast and headed out.

I was on patrol with one of my sidekicks this morning. She was really capable and I trusted her so it was more so that I was supervising and teaching instead of taking lead. It was pretty slow for a Sunday actually.

Everything was going so smoothly until I suddenly get a text on my personal phone. I knew it was from Y/N before I even pulled it out because she had taken my phone and given herself her own special ringtone.

I open the message and almost drop and shatter my goddamn phone.

“Mr. Bakugo, are you ok??”, my side kick was looking at me like I was crazy. I could feel the flush from my toes up to the top of my damn head.

“ ‘m fine. Stay sharp and holler if you need me. I gotta make a call”, I said starting to walk away.

I heard her call out a “yessir”

The phone rang one time before she answered my call.

“Hey Katsuki. What’s up?”, she had the nerve to ask that like she didn’t know why I was calling her!

“Y/N…. You’ve lost your goddamn mind. I’m at work! Saving lives! And you’re sending me nudes!!”, I was scream yelling because there were people walking by.

“Are you saying you don’t like them? I got all dolled up for you and it took a lot of work to get an angle where you could see…. Everything.”, her voice had dropped down to this sultry tone.

My cock was starting to harden. She’s stepped up her game.

“Ha you’re good. You caught me off guard with this. And yea I like the picture… any angle that shows that pretty pussy of mine is a good angle.”

“Mmmm I’m glad you like it. I wanted to brighten up your day.”

“You think you’re so smart huh? You’re playing with fire sweet girl. You’re gonna end up with a burn mark on your ass”, my voice had dropped a few octaves.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time Kats.”

“Not a fucking threat princess, it’s a promise… coming. Hey I’ve gotta go. Don’t forget about that reservation tonight. Love ya.” Then I cut the line. I had to get back to work.

I can’t let her win. I won’t let her distract me any further. I can’t believe she had the nerve to call me the devil. She was in for it whenever I got home.

The rest of my day at work flew by. I was there later than I expected because I was catching up on paperwork, so I was rushing to get home in time to change before our reservations.

I got home and Y/N wasn’t in the front room. I just know this woman isn’t still getting ready. I was already rushing and she’s had all day to be prepared for this. I pushed open the door to our room and before me was picture out of a fucking wet dream.

If I died and this was the last thing I saw, I’d die happy. It took her calling my name rather loudly maybe more than once before I snapped out of it.

“What?? What did you say?”

“I said you’ve gotta hurry and change or we are going to be late”, she said and she was sporting the cockiest smirk I’ve ever seen on her face.

“That’s what you’re wearing?”, I asked her just to clarify.

This woman had on a red dress, my favorite color. Her boobs were perched high in her chest and that dress looked like it was made just for her. She also had on these strappy, black heels that wrapped up her calves. Her hair was pinned up and she had on this red lipstick that matched that dress perfectly.

Fuck me. I think she was trying to kill me.

“This old thing…. I figured I’d finally pull it out of the closet.”

“Y/N I know all your clothes. This dress is new.”

“Whoops, you’ve caught me in a lie…I hung out with Mina today and we stumbled across this. I thought you might like it”, the shit eating grin on her face was the only thing keeping me from sinking to my knees right then and there. I was not going to give her the satisfaction of caving now.

“Yea it looks nice enough”, I huffed at her, “I’m gonna hurry up and get ready so we can leave.”

I walked past her and smelled her. She was also wearing my favorite sent of hers. She pulled out all the big guns. She thinks tonight going to be the night she gets me.

Well she’s got another thing coming.

But first… another cold shower. I’m only human.

While I was getting ready, I remembered that she loves seeing me in a button up and apparently white brings out my eyes or some shit. So I put on a white button up, black jeans and a pair of black tennis shoes she’d bought me for my birthday. I threw on my gold chain and a couple rings on my fingers. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be the only one foaming at the mouth.

I walk out of the room and she’s sitting at the bar with her back to me.

“You ready to go?”

She turned around to look at me and she thought I didn’t see the way her eyes glossed a little and her breath hitched. She tried to hurry and cover it with a small smile on her lips. She hopped down out of her seat and grabbed her purse, which must go with her outfit because lord knows she doesn’t need it.

“Yup let’s hit it hot stuff”

“Wait”, I walked over to her and wrapped one of my arms around her waist and my other hand reached to tip her face up toward me. “Wanna kiss you, don’t wanna fuck up your makeup.”

“One kiss won’t ruin my makeup”, she said all soft and breathy.

“Mmmm it will the way I want to do it.”, I pulled away from her enough to grab her hand and bring her knuckles up to my lips. I kissed each individual knuckle before kissing her wrist and pressing a few more up the length of her forearm. I locked eyes with her once more, “ let’s go princess, we are running late.”

I interlocked our fingers and guided her out to the car. I opened her door and help her buckle up before walking to the other side and hopping in.

Payback time.

For some reason I don’t understand, y/n told me she thinks it’s so hot when I turn my whole body around when I back up. I have a back up camera but you bet your sweet ass tonight, I was turning around and flexing slightly while doing so.

On the drive there a slid my hand over her thigh, which I always did, but tonight I might’ve placed it a little higher than usual.

“Katsuki, can you cut it out?”, she said as she placed her hand over mine and stopped the slow circles I was drawing with my thumb.

“Cut what out baby,” I said glancing over at her.

“We both know what you’re doing.”, she was clenching her jaw as well as slightly squeezing her thighs. She glanced down at my hand like she was trying to send me a message.

Oblivious was the best way to go here, “is my hand bothering you? You’ve never complained about it before.”

“Yea probably cuz it wasn’t resting 2 cm away from my vagina.”

“Haha, yea I am kinda close aren’t I? I can feel the heat coming off of it and I’m sure if I slid those 2 cm I could feel how wet you are too.” Right after I finish saying it I slid my hand up and let me pinky rub lightly over her panties and look there. Drenched. She winced like she was in pain.

“Kat!” She said my voice on a moan. Fuck, she was so sensitive.

“Sorry, my hand slipped cuz of that pothole”, I whispered.

“There was no freaking pothole. You’re such an ass”, she tried to grab my hand and take it off her thigh, but this only made me dig a little deeper and press a little harder up against her.

By this point we were pulling up to the restaurant. Lucky her.

When we got out of the car, her panties were soaked and I had to rearrange myself to even be able to walk inside this place.

By this point we were both miserable and unsatisfied. This bet is such bullshit. Whose bright idea was it to do this?

We were at one of our favorite restaurants. When I made the reservation I made it for a booth in the back because this place tended to be really crowded and I didn’t want to be spotted.

We got seated and the conversation started to flow.

“Mina said that she thinks Sero has a secret girlfriend. Has he said anything to you about it?”

“No and even if he did why would I tell you. It’d be a secret for a reason. The two of you are the biggest goss-” I almost fucking choked on my own spit.

“Are you ok Kat? What’s wrong?”, she looked at me like she was genuinely concerned for my well being and not like she just almost caused my death.

She had taken off one of her shoes and her foot was now pressed up against my inner thigh. Before I have time to respond, our waiter is back at our table taking our orders.

The entire time he’s there, she’s gently stroking her foot up and down and at what point it brushes up against my cock and I fumble over my words.

The waiter just laughs it off like I’m just some idiot having a stroke and when I look over at y/n she has the nerve to be laughing too.

When he finally leaves she takes her foot back and continues on like nothing happened.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Brb.” She said as she started getting up.

I just nodded my head at her. I needed time to get my shit together. This is not going well. I have to get a handle on this situation and fast, but she came back to fast. I didn’t have time to prepare anything.

The rest of dinner went off without any problems though. Maybe she was struggling just as bad as me. Maybe we were going to call it for tonight.

Wishful thinking.

While we are outside, waiting for the valet to pull the car up, y/n comes up real close to me slides something into my pants pocket. When she pulls back there’s a smirk on her lips.

“What the fuck is that?” And all she does is shrug at me.

When I reach down and start pulling it out, I realize very quickly that it’s her panties. Her damp panties.

“ Y/n when did you take these off?”, my voice came out like I was growling. My self restraint is hanging on by a thread.

“When I went to the bathroom earlier.” She then came up to me wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me.

My hands automatically grab at her ass because that’s what they’ve been wanting to do all night.

She could be a siren. I could actually know for a fact that she is a siren and at this point I’d happily walk my dumbass into the ocean and let her drown me.

I feel like I’m in a trance and the only thing that breaks it is the valet driver clearing his throat to get our attention.

The drive home is quiet. I don’t attempt to tease her any further because if I put my hands on her again I know I won’t stop. I’ve gotta try and get home. Lock myself in my office. That’s my game plan.

Tell her I have some work to do and just stay in there until she’s asleep because I’m at my breaking point.

Initially the plans going great. We get in the house, I hurry up and change, and then head to my office.

Done. Easy. I survived another day and tomorrow she’ll have work so it can’t possibly be this bad.

That is until I hear a little knock on my office door.

“Come in.”

“Hey, how long are you going to be working?”, she asked.

She’d changed too, into an oversized tshirt and she had her little fuzzy slippers on. Fucking adorable.

“‘M not sure. I’ve got a few things I need to get done tonight. Why are you still up?”

She walks over to me looks at me expectantly. I push my chair back from my desk enough for her to slide into my lap.

“Kats”

“Hmm?”

“Are you miserable too? This bet is stupid and I’ve been hot and bothered all day.”, she was mumbling against the side of my head.

“You went out of your way today to make sure I was miserable you heathen. My dick has been at least half hard since I woke and blue balls doesn’t even begin to describe the shit I’m going through.”

She has the nerve to chuckle at that but it wasn’t a damn joke.

“Is that why you’re in here pretending to work? Cuz you don’t wanna come to bed with me?”

“Y/n I-“ her lips cut me off. She moved so fast. She went from sitting on one leg to straddling me. I could feel her tits pressed up against and with the way her pussy was radiating heat against my sweats, I could tell she had no panties on.

She was grinding down against me and her tongue was in my mouth.

The next thing I know one of my hands has slipped past her shirt in the back and is rubbing her wetness around. And do I fucking mean wet. I’m sure there’s a big ass spot on the front of my pants. The other hand is tweaking her nipples. She’s a whimpering mess now and I’m panting like I just finished running a marathon.

“K-kit Kat…we have to stop”

“Say it… say it and let me fuck you. You know you want it.”, I started pressing sloppy kisses all up and down her neck and I was running slow circles around her clit, “say it.”

She’s right there, on the brink. I can tell it’s on the tip of her tongue and right when I think she’s going to actually do it, shes jumping off my lap like I’m on fire.

“What? Where the hell are you going?”, I was so sure this was it. I could taste the victory on my tongue.

“I-I’m g-going to bed.” She was trying to get her breathing under control just like I was.

She started making her way out of this office. She was really going to leave like this.

What the actual fuck?

“Please” I didnt comprehend until after I said it that I had already sunk to my knees. The word flew out of my mouth as soon as I saw her hand on the door handle.

I’d fucking lost.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

*my first trying to write in someone else’s pov… so don’t be mean.

Also I got carried away and I know this is super duper long.

There will be a part 4 with the smut. It will be be back to readers POV.

Enjoy.

[hughes86-43]

precious | N.Hischier

summary - someone special gets to do the starting line up!

warnings - none!

note - i’m planning on doing a part two since I just got another idea for something cute

As you got your daughter, Amelia, ready for the Devils game tonight, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming amount of happiness. Tonight, she was going to be in the locker room delivering the starting line up to the team. Amelia was selected since it was her dad’s 1000th hockey game tonight, and Nico was beyond excited that his daughter was going to be doing the lineup as he had been waiting for this moment ever since she was born.

You finished getting her ready in her adorable Nico jersey paired with adorable red bows in her hair. You could always tell she was happier when she got to wear her jersey with her daddy’s name on it. You let her go play, she went running to find her mini sticks, while you went to get ready for the game yourself. Deciding on your jersey as well, paired with your wag jacket, as well as dark denim jeans, you went back down the hall to find her.

“Okay, Amel! Are we ready to go?” She instantly dropped her mini sticks and came running at you, jumping up and down on her toes out of excitement. “Hold up, we can’t leave without shoes, please hurry and put them on!” As she went down the hall, you got her snacks and other essentials ready in the bag.

-

Finally arriving at the arena, you and Amelia greet the staff that Nico told you to find to allow them to take you to the locker room. The staff member tells you all about how the night will go down. You probably only understood about half of it since you had an inpatient little girl tugging at your arm who couldn’t wait to see her dad and his teammates.

They told you to wait in the hall real quick before going in as the coach was announcing who was going to do the lineup. You knew that they were also filming the whole night to be included in a video for Nico later on. As soon as Amelia was about to lose it over being impatient, they finally allowed you two to go in.

“Tonight, we have a very special guest, who we all know! She’s going to be just like her dad, I can feel it, so let’s give it up for Amelia Hischier as she’s going to be giving the lineup!” You two finally walk through the doorway, Amelia holding super tight on to your finger as you guide her in.

They hand you the paper so you can whisper the names into her ear. You put your bag down beside you as you lean down closer to her level. You look up to find Nico almost in tears at the sight, and you give him a smile and a wink.

“Okay, baby, you got this, just repeat what I say to you,” you whisper into her ear. You whisper to tell her to say it out loud, “Okay, boys, big night tonight, especially for dad! So let’s go out there and do good!”

You wait for her to say it, but all of a sudden she’s nervous. “It’s okay, baby, we know all these guys, see? There’s Jack” He waves. “There’s Timo.” He smiles. “And there’s daddy!” Nico blows her a kiss, and she quickly accepts it before nodding that she’s ready.

She speaks as loud as she can, “Okay, boys! Big night, especially for daddy! Let’s go out there and do good!” The whole room gives a quick clap before she begins calling off names.

You whisper each name into her ear as she calls them off. She’s shouting, but she’s doing such a good job. Finally getting to Nico’s name, she finds her dad and gives him a smile, Nico practically loses it at that. “And my dad, number 13, Nico Hischier!”

As soon as she shouts it, she’s loose from your grip and running for Nico. He says excitedly as she jumps into his arms, “Good job baby, you did so good!” He gives her a quick squeeze and lets her down, “Go give the guys high fives before you leave! You did so good!”

You walk over to him and give him the biggest hug ever. “So proud of you, we both are! She was nervous, but so happy to do it! Now, go kill it!” He gives you a final tight squeeze before you have to leave the room.

You walk over to Amelia as she’s giving the final high fives to the coaching staff. Before you can walk out of the room, you hear Jack shout from behind you. “Hey! You can’t walk out without giving all of us high fives as well!” You look at the head of the coaching staff, as you know there is a time crunch, and he gives you a nod to go ahead.

You go down the line of every guy, each either giving a high five or a fist bump and saying how proud they are of Amelia and how they’re glad you’re here tonight. You finish back with the coaching staff, and then reach down to pick up Amelia, who wraps her arms around your neck. You smile once more at Nico before turning and leaving. Before you reach the door, Amelia is turning in your hold to look back at the team. She shouts once again, “You guys better win! Good luck daddy!” The only thing you could hear as you turn to go down the hallway was laughter from the locker room.

[potlattice]

Moth To A Flame

Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings: mentioned underage drinking, toxic!Rafe, implied drug-use, manipulation

Rafe gets Topper's girl under control...

"Get your bitch under control." Rafe snapped at his friend, rolling his eyes at your sorry state.

Topper kept quiet, trying to get you to drink the cup of water he held to your lips but you slapped his hand away.

"Fuck you, Rafe." You slurred, eyes blurry as you stared up at the tall figure that stood behind your boyfriend.

He took a threatening step towards you but Topper quickly intervened by placing a hand on his chest.

"Don't touch her bro."

"He already has." You scoffed, leaning your head against the wall behind you and closing your eyes with a painful sigh.

Your head was pounding and your legs weren't working, so the cold floor felt harsh against your thighs. You had been sat, propped up against the brick wall outside the Cameron mansion for about ten minutes now while the boys argued.

"The fuck?" Topper asked aloud at your mumbled words. "What does she mean, Rafe?"

"She's wasted. She doesn't even know what she's saying." Rafe reassured him with a shake of his head. "Just get her out of here. She's ruining my party."

"Yeah, whatever." Topper nodded, running a stressed hand through his gelled hair.

"Put her in my room." Rafe said, looking down at you like you were gum on the floor. "Then come join the party again."

"I can't just leave her there alone. Someone might...find her." Topper frowned.

"Dude, my door locks from the outside too." Rafe rolled his eyes at his friend's hesitance. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and passed them to his friend.

"You want me to lock her in?" He asked doubtfully. "What if she needs help? Wha-

"Fuck sake! Enough with the questions." Rafe groaned out, taking a step back from the both of you. "You're ruining my high. I'm going back inside."

He headed for the patio door but just before he went through he turned back to look at Topper.

"And bro, if you start feeling guilty, just remember that she put herself in this position...and deserves to be punished, okay?"

Topper just sighed and stared down at the keys in his hands.

You were laid out on the soft cotton sheets, lightly singing to the music that played a floor below you.

Although your body hadn't sobered up yet, your mind was coming around.

You felt awful for your boyfriend. Even though you were slightly mad that he'd abandoned you in Rafe's room with nothing but a lamp on and a glass of water, you knew that you'd ruined his night. Again.

What was wrong with you? For the last few weeks, every time you went to a party with your boyfriend and his friends, you lost control and took it too far.

Last time, you said it wouldn't happen again but you knew it wasn't true.

Rafe knew it too.

You closed your eyes at the thought. Shame pommeled your stomach and you clutched it as you felt nauseous.

You were starting to believe he wanted you and Topper to break up now. If you so much as put a toe out of line, he was the first to notice, and the first to tell Topper to 'sort it out'.

At the thought, you scoffed and looked around the room that had become very familiar to you.

He was a very possessive person. It was obvious even through his belongings. The room was bland, but Topper had mentioned one time that Rafe kept most of his possessions locked away in his wardrobe or under his bed.

That's why you'd been pleasantly surprised when he had barely reacted after you started dating Topper.

A year ago, you had met Rafe first. It was for a birthday party at some frat house off the island but he'd also been there because you shared a mutual friend.

You had kissed a couple times and split a cigarette but after you caught him talking to another girl later in the night, you had stormed up to him and demanded he give your number back. Rafe refused but you were good at hiding.

Until your boyfriend introduced you to him 'for the first time' six months later...

"Well, well, well."

You barely had the energy to lift your head, but you recognised the deep voice and didn't give him the satisfaction of your attention as he locked the door behind him.

"Look at you." He mused, standing over you with his hands buried in his pockets, a grin pressed to his face. "Comfy?" He asked with a snicker.

You frowned at him. "Where's Topper?"

"Don't worry. My sister's keeping him entertained."

Your heart clenched at his words and you licked your lips. "He'll come get me soon."

"No..." Rafe drawled out, taking a seat beside you. "I think we'll be alone for a long time."

"Get away from me." You gritted out, shifting your body away but your head spun as you lifted it from the pillow.

"You should relax. It must really be kicking in now."

You frowned at his words but reached a hand out, trying to grab your phone from the nightstand. Rafe saw your actions and tutted loudly. He leaned over your body, uncaring that he squashed you below his heavy frame, and snatched it from your weak grasp.

"You can stop panicking. I won't do anything tonight. I've taken too many drugs." He rolled his eyes and started to scroll through the contents of your phone, already knowing your password. "You got any good pics on here?"

"Fuck you." You muttered with a deep exhale.

"Is this supposed to be me?" He laughed, turning the phone screen to you and you squinted at the bright blue light before your eyes managed to focus on the contact name:

X DO NOT ANSWER X

You would have blocked him but as your boyfriend's companion, it was handy to have his number when Topper wasn't answering.

Your eyes began to get heavy as he took up a relaxed position beside you, resting against the headboard as he had fun on your phone with no regard for your privacy.

His face was lit up by the glow of the screen and your eyelids finally fell shut just as his expression changed to one of elation.

"Bingo." He said lowly and you hoped he hadn't forced his way into your hidden photos.

back from holidayyyyy, just dropping an idea for a series i had in mind...

[flemingsfreckles]

Be a Good Teammate pt.3

Jessie Fleming x USWNT!Reader (also Seattle!Reader)

Read Part 1, Part 2

Preview: You and Jessie face off in the NWSL

Warnings: very minor injury, bloody nose

WC: 3.6k

A/N: okay so I sort of lied, this was supposed to be the part where they grab dinner but then I sat down to write it and it was going to be way too long for one part, so here’s part 3. Part 4 will be the dinner, I promise.

A short day later and here you were, lined up in the tunnel, staring at the back of Nikki’s head while you shook out your legs, alternating side to side. You hated standing in the tunnel before a game, it gave you too much time to think. Thinking about all the details, all the moves, all the plays. You easily got into your own head, you worked yourself up. Even though you knew all those feelings would disappear as the game started, you couldn't shake the feelings. This time, it was especially bad, the words of your coach running through your mind. You couldn't let her down, you had promised you’d have your act together, and you did, you thought. Practice yesterday was a little rocky but you were back to playing closer to yourself, it felt comfortable again. 

You heard the noise of boots against the concrete and you saw Sinc walk up, leading the rest of her team to line up next to yours. You watched the back of the first three players walk by following in line before you recognized the back of Jessie’s head. She ends up stopping only slightly in front of you. Keeping your head forward, you let your eyes wander over to her, not wanting to make it obvious you were looking over at her to the players behind you. Looking up and down you take in her frame for the first time since in San Diego. As if she can feel your eyes burning a hole through the back of her head you see her begin to turn in your direction. Not wanting her to see that you had been watching her, you snap your head down, looking at the floor and pretending to shake out your ankle again. 

You pick your head back up but keep your eyes glued to the back of Nikki’s head. You can see in your peripheral that Jessie’s head is still turned toward you. Giving in, you turn slightly instantly making eye contact with her. The eye contact only lasts a moment as she spins back to face forward and you do the same.

Both captains begin walking forward, you follow in line through the tunnel before splitting off to each side of the pitch. You line up, stand through the national anthem, take your starting XI photo and then stand around as the captains meet with the officials.

“Are you and Jess friends again?” Jordyn asked as you both stood watching the officials talk with Sinclair and Fishlock. 

“I don’t know, we've talked a bit recently, but friends I don't know.” Yes you wanted to sit here and tell Jordyn that you were friends but you didn't know how Jessie felt about calling you friends again so you weren't going to assume you were. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason, she mentioned you talked with her after the gold cup game and then just saw you two doing weird staring in the tunnel.”

“I wasn't staring.” You try to defend yourself but Jordyn begins heading to her pitch location, you follow running to the far side of the pitch. You look across the pitch to the other side, seeing Jessie standing across from you, you should not be surprised but it just kicked in that you'd be marking her most of the game, again.

The first half of the game goes about as smooth as you could hope, you feel like yourself again playing. That isn't to say the game itself is easy, Jessie was keeping you on your toes, most of the time you were able to keep up with her, only once letting her get a perfect long pass, leading to a goal. The score was 1-0 in favor of Portland as you headed into the locker room. 

The mood of your teammates varied, some of them frustrated, some annoyed, others showing little to no emotion as you entered the locker room. You couldn't help but feel a bit out of place, you were feeling satisfied, dare you say a little proud of your performance, Portland is a good team, you were keeping up for the most part. Specifically you had been playing like you knew you could. Your teammates were spread across the locker room stretching, snacking, talking to each other, you took the break to sit down off to the side, sipping from a gatorade. Your coach came walking over, stopping in front of your cubby.

“Are you doing alright today?” She kept her voice low, out of ear shot of any of your fellow players.

“Yeah, I feel like myself again.” You're hoping she noticed as well and that she wasn't about to break the news that you'd be subbed out for the second half, a small pit of nerves starting to grow in your stomach.

“It looks like it, you're doing well, I know Fleming can be hard to mark, not much you could do on the long ball. I just still wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“I’m good.” She doesn’t say anything else to you, turning away to go talk with the other coaches. You continue to keep to yourself, waiting for the rest of halftime to be over.

You head out on the pitch and the game starts back up again. In the same fashion that Jessie had, a couple minutes in you're able to get the ball away from her and enough clearance to send it long toward the goal, bouncing off the head of Jordyn and into the goal. You run, celebrating in the arms of Jordyn and Alana. 

The game continues on, not much excitement, no goal scoring chances being made by either team. The ball goes out off the foot of your teammate. The ball is thrown in, bouncing up off a Portland player sending it high in the air in your direction. In an attempt to knock it to a teammate you jump, Jessie having the same idea, also jumps. Her body crashes into yours, her head coming into contact with your face as you both come down.  Upon your feet coming back to the ground you drop to your knees, hand covering your nose as the pain makes your eyes begin to water. The ball no longer in your section of the field Jessie doesn't move far from you. She places her hand on your back and sends a shout to the official to get them to pause play.

“I’m so sorry.” You hear her say, you don't see her as your eyes are clamped shut in an attempt to ease the pain coming from your nose. 

You hear the whistle and before you know it the training team is kneeling next to you, trying to pull your hand off of your face. You only open your eyes when they start talking to you, asking if you're okay. You glance at your hand, seeing the trails of blood running down your palm and dripping into the grass. You’re handed a water bottle and told to take a sip, you do before spitting it out, the flavor tasting like metal. You get handed a wipe to clean up your hands, nose, lips, and chin where the blood had covered.

The training staff make you sit back on your butt as they continue to look at you. One member of the staff feels up and down your nose, he comments that it doesn't feel broken which you are grateful for, you didn't want to deal with a crooked nose or needing surgery. Rolls of gauze are shoved into your nose and an ice pack is being pushed onto your face causing more pain as they have you hold your head back but you're not going to complain. Now standing over you is Quinn, the rest of the team gathered by the bench chatting. You catch a glimpse of Jessie in the Portland huddle, her head still turned back toward you watching you be tended to. 

“Are you good to stand up?” The trainer to your right asks, she holds out more gauze to you, you take it, placing the bloodied gause from your nose into her gloved hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just some pain.” You stand up with the assistance of Quinn and the trainers. They hold on to you, pulling you off to the side of the pitch.

“You can’t go back in while you're actively bleeding.” 

“I know.” You roll your eyes, hating that rule right now. The pain was bad but it’s not like it was your legs or something essential to playing. You stay standing as you wait, swapping out your gauze once more, less and less blood coming out of your nose. Your team returns onto the pitch, the game resuming. It’s hard having to stand and watch, especially as your team is down a player, tied with only a few minutes to go.

Being down a player does not go in your team's favor as Portland is able to move the ball up the field, slotting it past your keeper and into the goal, taking the lead.

You watch for another two minutes before you take out the gauze in your nose, not replacing it this time as the bleeding has stopped. You turn to the trainer, letting him look at your nose one last time.

“You’re good, no more blood. You're probably going to have two black eyes when you wake up tomorrow though.” The trainer informs you as he takes the ice pack and gauze from you.

You thank him quickly before running and getting the attention of the official to confirm you could re-enter the game. She nods you on and you take off across the pitch. The game only had a few minutes left in regular play. Those minutes end and you now have 8 minutes of stoppage to play through, probably 5 of those being due to your nose. Your team tries to tie it up, having a few shots on goal but to no success as the final whistle blows. 

Instead of immediately going to tell the other team ‘good game’, you head over to the bench, grabbing another ice pack to hold to your face, your nose still throbbing. Ice pack in hand and pressed to your face you start making your way over to some of the Portland players, first seeing your fellow US teammates, then making your way to the other players, most of them asking how your nose is. You tell everyone its fine, adding that it's hopefully not broken.

Once you've talked with the majority of Portland and had your own teammates check in on you, you see Jessie standing with her fellow Canadians from both her team and yours. You haven't yet gotten to talk with Jessie, congratulate her on the assist and the well played game. Not wanting to interrupt her conversation with Quinn, Jordyn, Sinc, and Janine you just stand off to the side, trying not to make it obvious that you are waiting for her.

Jessie notices you standing alone, she excuses herself from her national teammates, stating she needs to go apologize.

“Hey.” Jessie approaches you, a sympathetic smile on her face. “How’s the nose?” She gestures to the ice pack you're holding.

“It hurts.” You state the obvious looking back at her. “They don't think it's broken though so that's good.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She apologizes for the second time today.

“It's fine Jessie, seriously don't worry about it, we both went for the ball.” You know she wouldn't intentionally have hit you, even if you were no longer friends, she wasn't like that. “Now if it was broken, I’d feel different.” You joke at her.

“You’ll probably have a nice black eye or two tomorrow eh?”

“That's what I’ve been told.” You hoped that everyone's statements wouldn't be true but you knew you were likely to wake up with a shiner, feeling the under of your eyes already a bit swollen. You both stand there, letting silence creep up, not knowing what to say next. You take the ice pack off your face, holding it in your hand as it is losing its temperature. Jessie takes a sip from her water bottle, just looking at you.

“Hey are we getting a UCLA alumni jersey swap?” The silence between you is broken and you both turn to see the Thorns social media manager standing in front of you, a large camera around his neck. You look down at your jersey, checking if any blood had gotten on it earlier in the game, thankfully there isn't any. Not knowing what to say you turn back to look at Jessie.

“I mean we can, if you want?” Shrugging her shoulders as she says it, it appears she doesn’t care either way. Part of you wishes she did care, you want her to want to swap jerseys with you. 

“Why not?” Agreeing, you move one hand to the collar of your shirt, the other to your back pulling it up and over your head. Jessie does the same only she pulls hers from the bottom causing it to turn inside out. She goes to hand it to you and realizes it’s inside out, quickly taking it back as she twists it to be right.

You watch her carefully as she manipulates the fabric, you couldn’t help it. Her toned stomach and shoulders on display without her shirt, the way her forearm muscle popped out as she worked to fix the shirt. You hear the click of the camera and realize it’s going to be obvious you were staring in the photo. You glance away not needing any more evidence of your crush.

Jessie reaches out, this time with her jersey the right way and you pass her yours. You both grab the tops of them, holding them out in front of you to display each other's name and number. Once the photographer takes a few photos you turn back toward Jessie, bunching up the shirt before putting it over your head and your arms in. She does the same with your shirt. You’re hit with the smell of Jessie. Sure it was mixed with the smell of her sweat but it still smelled just like her. It reminded you of being in college, even the sweat part, you had spent plenty of time together you both drenched in sweat that it brought fond memories to the surface.

Memories of laying on the field after practice just enjoying the sun, driving together to and from practice, windows down in the car, nights spent studying in hotel room floors on away trips, all of the memories of you and her, all attached to that smell.

“Thanks girls.” The camera man turns away walking over to where Jessie's teammates were starting to make their way around and into the locker room.

“I should probably go.” Jessie turns to see her teammates heading in. 

“Yeah of course.” You debate telling her you'll see her later for your dinner plans but decide against it, not wanting to bring it up on the spot. 

You turn to head to your own locker room. You sit through a quick team meeting, which consists of a quick recap of the game, where everyone did well and where there needs to be improvement. Your coach informs you that she’s canceling practice for the following morning, wanting everyone to have the day to recover and take a break. A few of the players begin to make arrangements to travel home that night no longer having an obligation to stay in Portland for an extra day. Your roommate was one to decide to leave, meaning you'd have a quiet hotel room to come back to at the end of the night. The meeting ends and everyone scatters, some girls going to get showers, some packing up, some going to begin their recovery.

You head to the physio room, they look over your nose again, confirming that they don't believe it's broken. You get handed some pain meds, told to keep icing it on and off, and to meet back with the trainers tomorrow before you head home. You hop off the table, and grab another ice pack on your way back to the changing room.

Returning to your cubby, you start grabbing your towel and clothes to shower and change. You curse yourself earlier for wearing jeans as your pregame outfit. As you grab your clothes out of your bag you see your phone light up. Grabbing it you begin reading the texts. 

Jessie (USA): Any chance I could get a raincheck on going out?

The text from Jessie stared back at you. The excitement drains from your body, your heart feeling heavy as you read it over and over. 

Jessie (USA): Sorry to cancel our plans, just not feeling going out after the game, would much rather throw on sweats and sit on the couch.

You understood, of course you did, having just ran around with her the whole 90, you can see why she’s tired. Your legs are starting to feel tight, you always run more than usual when you’re marking Jessie who seems to easily cover 95% of the field. The weather probably didn’t help either, no one wants to get dressed up to go out after running around in the cold all afternoon. You couldn’t lie, sweatpants sounded perfect right about now. 

Jessie (USA): Can we do takeout at my place or something instead?

Relief washes over your body as you realize she still wants to see you.

Jessie (USA): Sorry for all the texts.

“Yo Fleming get your head out of your phone, I’m talking to you.” Your head snaps up at the mention of Jessie’s name. You see Jess Fishlock staring at you. You look at her confused.

“What?” You’re more responding to the fact that she just referred to you as Fleming and less asking for her to repeat what she had said to you previously. She grabs her own jersey top, giving it a tug before pointing at your chest, you connect the dots seeing why she called you what she did, you’re still wearing Jessie’s shirt.

“We’re going out, we lost but we still want to enjoy the trip, are you in?” She repeats her question to you, a couple other members of the team now watching you awaiting your response.

“No, I actually have plans.” A collection of  ‘ooo’ and a couple whistles come from your teammates around you.

“Must be a hot date with whoever she’s been texting so damn much.” Jess’ wife, Tziarra, teases.

“She was texting someone on the bus ride too, smiling at her phone and everything.” You shoot a glare at Alana who shouts out from across the dressing room. Your face is now starting to blend in to match the red thorns jersey.

“It’s not a date, I’m just catching up with Jessie.” 

“Hard to argue that it's not a date when you're wearing her jersey. Just saying.” Tziarra comments, her eyebrows raising with a hinting look. 

Not responding, you take the collar of the Thorns jersey and rip it over your head, throwing it with some force into your locker.

“Not a date, we’re not even really friends.” You emphasize throwing your hands out in display that you no longer had her shirt on. 

You grab your towel and phone, opening it to respond to Jessie.

You: Yeah that's fine, I wouldn’t want to be having to ask our server for a bag of ice every 20 minutes anyway.

You put your phone back into your cubby and head to the shower. You take a quick shower, rushing a bit, wanting to get out of the stadium and back to the hotel so you could put on sweats that you had waiting for you. You hop out, wrapping yourself in a towel and head to get changed. 

Jessie (USA): Do you still like Thai food? I know a pretty good place.

You:  Yeah that's great. We're headed back to the hotel in the next few and then I can head your way.

You put your phone back and let your towel fall, change into your clothes and then sit down waiting for the rest of your team to be ready to leave. 

It only takes a few minutes until everyone is walking out to the bus. Thinking you'll have a seat alone again you prop your legs up again. Your lounging state only lasts a minute before Fishlock is picking up your legs, throwing herself down in the seat next to you.

“Not friends and not a date huh?”

“I told you earlier no, She and I just got back into contact.” Trying your best to stop the teasing that you fear will never end from your team.

“Where are you going to dinner? Is she taking you somewhere romantic?”

“We’re not going out anywhere, we're doing takeout.” Jess lets out a laugh at your response, quickly covering her own mouth.

“So not a date, you're just going over to her place? Whatever you say.” You see her eyes roll. She leans over and whispers. “Hope you packed some cute underwear.” You hear the comment but it doesn't comprehend what she was implying. 

“She has a girlfriend.” The only words you think to respond, not having anything else to defend yourself with. You prop your legs back up on her since she was the one to move them, if she wanted to sit there she'd have to deal with it. You grab your phone seeing Jessie had sent you her address and a message to just let her know when you had arrived. You feel nerves begin to rise in your stomach, you're not sure why though, like you said, she has a girlfriend, it's not a date.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

thoughts on mammon and levi as a duo

Absolutely fucking love them!!

I feel like they're the closest in age (other than the twins obviously) like if they were humans the age gap would be just one year.

Love that Levi's one of the brothers who truly sees Mammon and understands him even though they're always fighting - he's the one who says Mammon is a "jerk with a heart of gold", he's the one who agrees when MC says Mammon has always been kind, he's the one who says that Mammon is social/good with people/makes friends with people easily and cares about those people

Love that no matter how much in debt Mammon gets with Levi, Levi still gives him money

Love that Mammon goes and stays in line and gets things for Levi when Levi's too anxious to go

Love that Mammon actually has a vague idea about all the things Levi is interested in and knows what new things he's looking out for

Love that we've seen Levi go to Mammon multiple times when he needs reassurance

Love that Mammon's the one to remind Levi to buy two of an item so that he can open one box and keep the other closed

Love that Mammon wanted to buy a similar figurine for Levi because he thought Levi lost the raffle draw

Love that they have a similar stupid sense of humour and made a stupid comedy duo

Love how Mammon gathers everyone to set up a gaming night after he finds out that Levi was upset because he needed irl friends to play a new game

Love that in Nightbringer the thing that makes Mammon start trusting MC and bringing them into his schemes is that he saw them being nice to Levi

Love when they're fighting and Levi tries to straight up drown Mammon but later when MC tells him that they shouldn't fight he's like "?????we weren't fighting?????" that shit was the most sibling thing ever, I've had that exact same conversation with my mother after she had to stop my brother and I from killing each other

Love that in s2 and nightbringer out of everyone's relationships with MC, we see that Levi's most jealous of Mammon & MC's

Mammon cares about Levi so much, that's his little brother and he would do anything for him but each time he sees him he's also immediately overtaken by the Cain Instinct

Levi looks up to Mammon so much (though he'd rather die than admit it) and he trusts Mammon to support him with anything he needs but he also prays for Mammon's disappearance under mysterious circumstances everyday

I also have this headcanon that Lucifer met Levi through Mammon. That one day Mammon dragged home this painfully shy angel he found skipping practice/lessons while he was skipping practice/lessons. And at first the angel absolutely refused to even acknowledge Mammon, curling up into a tighter ball as if not seeing him would make Mammon disappear but then somehow Mammon managed to annoy him enough that he started snapping back and actually turns out he's hilarious and fiery and mean when he's not stuck in his own head. And Mammon is delighted. He's never had this much fun with anyone so close to his age before. And after finding out that unlike the other angels their age this one hasn't been issued a guardian/mentor yet he (literally) drags him back to Lucifer and is like "can we keep him!!?" And Levi is mortified because holy shit that's Lucifer, who never leaves the palace, who never hangs about with angels this far down the hierarchy, who might as well be the heir to the entire Celestial Realm. And Mammon's hopping up and down on his toes and is hanging on to Lucifer's sleeve and is like "please please please can we keep him". And Levi's shaking and on the verge of crying and this is terrifying and horrible and even worse than that time where he was the only angel in his batch that none of the other older angels picked to mentor and oh he's going to die on the spot. And Lucifer's mother bear instincts just immediately flare up because yes this is his child now

[4pfsukuna]

omfg bruhhhhh

yall want me to believe Choso “on sight before his feet even land on the floor” Kamo is some pathetic whiney crybaby? Like why is every fic so… ugh i want him to fight back. Somebody please tag me or drop a link for assertive/ aggresive/ dominant choso! (Prefferably black reader)

like do i gotta write it myself?

Choso who meets you when you both come in late at night its 2am and youre standing in the hall talking about whatever the hell a middle part buss down is. He doesnt care he just wish you werent so loud… in your shared hall.

you glare at him because who was he talking too! You pay the same amount of rent as him and to damn much at that they should be lucky you werent in the lounge making ramen watching their t.v right now.

It doesnt get better when you bang on his door asking him to turn his music down cause why was he playing last resort by papa roach at 3:30am on a wednesday. He opens the door in a hoodie and tight calvin klein boxers and your eyes drift for a second until the next rock song starts up this time in japanese and he has the audacity to have an annoyed expresion with you!

”did you want something or did you just want to stare” he glares annoyed with a steady voice though youre expecting him to snap.

“Who answers the door in their boxers have some decorum” you respond half embarassed that he caught you. “And your music is loud… some of us have jobs in the morning” and you storm off not leaving any room for backtalk.

the next time he sees you is a few days later when youre both rushing out and slam into another his shirt and leather jacket falling to the floor with your purse falling sending your wallet down the hall and lip gloss shattering that dior gloss was not cheap.

”are you fucking kidding me” he hisses and you notice hes shirtless silver bars through his nipples and a few tattoos littered across his chest.

”you got a real stairing problem there princess” which makes you smirk.

“you look like a 1st grade art project… line work isnt half bad its just the asshole its attatched to” you retort collecting your items not realizing a few slipped from your wallet.

it was maintenance day you didnt have time to worry about shit it was hair lashes nails toes and a fresh tattoo and belly piercing your friend finally found an artist that did both and had clean work.

youre all smiles and sunshine walking into C.K. Parlor even enjoying the convo with the pink haired male receptionist whos so sweet mentioning this was his brothers shop but something about this guy looks familiar.

“Hes so hot” your friend gushes making you turn around and groan at the sight of your annoying ass neighbor.

”couldnt get enough bothering me home so you come here” he teases but theres something so stoicly calm about his anger… its more so mild annoyance.

”i actually came to get a tattoo and piercing but i think ill pass” you speak not wanting to admit you actually loss your credit card but youre here for moral support for your friend who now that you look at her looks like she doesnt need it.

”youre already here dont tell me youre chicken… come on ill even do it for free”

”free?” Oh that had your attention.

“mhmmm lets call it a truce no more loud… anything just being good neighbors”

and its not long before youre on the table the design being shaded into your spine and he admires how you just take it… his mind does begin to drift to if you can take anything else when he notices how pretty you look today.

he actually loves white on your toes and the crisp french tip on your hands. Its when he notices the snake tattoo wrapped around your wrist that he realizes you might be interesting and not just some stuck up—

“you wanted your belly pierced too right?” He ask and if someone wouldve told you that youd be half dressed infront of your neighbor Today you wouldnt believe it. Hes professional and doesnt even glance at the double d’s you have in your lace bra… ok he did but you didnt notice at all.

you thought you seen his ears burn red but hes quick to turn away disposing of the needle and your completely suprised by how soft and careful his hands are… ahem he is.

”and maybe we can actually be nice to another” he says softly holding out your credit card that you dropped earlier.

your truce last all of 5 days. It wasnt your fault meg the stallion announced she was going on tour and you couldnt help the screams of joy and to blast her music.

you dont expect anyone to bang on your door or barge in when you open it.

”excuse the fuck out of me” you hiss slamming your door facing him when you notice hes looking past your face and down at your body.

you were wearing a dark purple lace bra and underwear the silver belly ring he initially put in switched out for a dangly silver one with a dragon that matched your tattoo and yes it was to early to change.

”my eyes are up here”

”please. Nothing i havent seen before princess actually it kind of looks like the black one” he smirks watching the fury in your eyes as you look for something to cover up.

”get the fuck out”

he saunters (the god damn audacity) out but not without pressing his whole body into you as if the walkway wasnt wide enough making sure to press himself into your ass leaning down to your ear.

”good night princess” and you dont have to look at him to know hes smirking but that raspy voice does something to you.

that night you go to bed with 3 orgasms… what dont make that face you had a voice kink and couldnt help it.

he smirks when he sees you the next day and you try to ignore him as he unlocks his car door.

”sleep well? You know the walls are thin and im sure our bedrooms share a wall”

you make a mental note to get on apartment finder tonight.

”im sure that was your first time ever hearing a womans moans outside of porn” you hiss back you werent no weak bitch.

and he wasnt a cliche man his taunts went further then just an insult back, hed give you more content for tonight. After all he was helping you help him.

”just be a good girl for me and let me hear everything tonight alright princess” he utters in a deep octave that makes your breathing stutter and you cant form a proper sentence and any insult is going to be childish.

you of course try to walk off but he grabs your arm pulling you closely his large hand spreading across your lower back.

”did i say i was done… look up at me” and you bite your lip to keep your jaw off the floor this man was wicked and you were not about to play with a devil.

”youre such a pretty mess” he adds in watching the gloss in your eyes before you come to your senses pushing him off heading fown the street.

”wrong direction princess” and you were headed the other way but you should probably just head back inside to change underwear.

and if he could hear you through the wall you were going to put on a show, you make sure even whine moan groan whimper and cry can be heard through these thin ass walls honestly you were so sensitive from overstimulating yourself… It was his fault.

You do everything in your power to avoid him the next few days that post nut clarity knocking some sense into you.

You actually have no idea how wrecked he’s been. How wrecked you had him! He needs to hear it again.

he might turn slightly yandere for you. its when you get a call at 1am and of course youre up you had actually just got out the shower.

”is this your payback” he hisses into the phone though you arent sure what hes talking about.

”how the fuck did you get my number? Doesnt matter bye”

“stop it just listen” he grunts catching your attention “i just need you to be a good girl for me just once i promise” he nearly begs and you have a wicked idea of what he’s doing on the other side of the phone.

you listen to every command, praise and groan his sultry voice lets out your fingers and sheets soaked

“you did such a good job baby, you deserve a reward how about you cum for me” he grunts sending both of you to your end him losing it to the sound of your orgasm.

“i wanna take you out on a date” and thats when you hang up not in the mood for his antics.

hes serious though, he takes you to the finest seafood restaurant with expensive alcohol you cant pronounce he even gets you a dress to wear, suprising you with a new dior lip gloss…3 actually.

”thats how many times you orgasmed through the wall the first night…” you thank God for your brown skin and him not being able to see you blush. He genuinely takes the time for you to get to know another subtly throwing in praises.

by the time you get back to the car your a wreck hair frizzing from your body overheating already.

your legs are rubbingg together and he spreads them guiding your hand down.

“Be a good girl for me and show me how pretty you look when you cum”

You happily comply watching as his hands fidget while driving

When he gets you back to his place your clothes are off and your back is against his fluffy comforter, not that you had time to notice but his whole room is black.

Hes a certified munch and will eat you until youre lightheaded. He eats you out on your back, makes you ride his face, eats you from the back he has you in 7 different positions from head alone.

He gives the deepest stroke while telling you how pretty you are for him the most filthies things he can mutter in your ear giving you back shots the pillow under your stomach propping you up as he plays with your clit begging for you to cum.

you black out and hes not far behind but makes sure to clean you with a warm rag and throws a tshirt on you.

He loves waking up to you and will actually barge in your home or bring you over to his.

He has his own stubborn ways which you will sometimes talk your best shit which he loves, he needs his woman to be on go not some docile lil weakling.

and sometimes he fights back!

[otdiaftg]

The Raven King - Chapter Seven

Day: Thursday, October 5th Time: 11:00 AM EST

"Andrew hates her, you know. Andrew's not really big on the idea of Aaron's happiness, see? So if Aaron likes Katelyn, Andrew doesn't want him to have her. Andrew might smile awful bright but he is a master of childish spite." "That doesn't make sense," Neil said. "It's complicated," Nicky said, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned back in his chair. "I didn't really get into the gritty details last time because those aren't really Dan and Matt's business, but you're family, so I can tell you." He looked over his shoulder again. "I told you Aunt Tilda gave Andrew up, right? That's only half of it. Truth is she put both of them in the system at first. One week later she changed her mind."

"They know she gave them both up?" Neil asked. "When Andrew's foster mother called to set up that meet-and-greet, she asked Aunt Tilda how only one of them ended up in the system. Aunt Tilda told her, and Aaron heard it on the upstairs line." Nicky gestured up as if indicating Tilda's bedroom. "I don't know why the hell Andrew's foster family told him, but yeah, he knows. I'm thinking that's why he wouldn't talk to Aaron when Aaron wrote to him. He was—justifiably, I think—pissed off." "But it's not Aaron's fault," Neil said. "It was their mother's decision." "That's Andrew for you: making sense since never." Nicky spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Finding Andrew again was a turning point for Aaron in all the worst ways. Aunt Tilda moved them cross-country, started drinking more than ever, and got heavy-handed with Aaron. Aaron got into all kinds of trouble in some sort of traumatized rebellion. He took her drugs and got into fights at school and in general grew up to be a bit of an asshole. Mom wrote me about it when I was in Germany because she was worried about him. The only good thing Aaron did in South Carolina was play Exy, and he only picked that up so games would get him out of Aunt Tilda's house. Then Dad found out about Andrew and began this years-long campaign to bring Andrew home. Told you last time, right? He wore Aunt Tilda down until she agreed to take Andrew in, then talked to the courts and Children's Services and Andrew's last foster family. He met Andrew, who apparently wasn't at all interested in a triumphant return with his mother, and introduced Aaron to Andrew. That's when things started moving. Andrew suddenly got motivated. He started behaving and toeing the line and got released on early parole about a year later." "Andrew decided he wanted a brother after all," Neil said. "So what went wrong?" "Aunt Tilda died, and Aaron blames Andrew." "Did Andrew do it?" "The night Aunt Tilda died, she and Aaron got in a fight. That's how Mom and Dad finally found out Aunt Tilda was beating on Aaron. He showed up at their place with fresh bruises and cuts. Dad called Aunt Tilda over to sort things out, but she didn't stick around long. She took Aaron and left. They didn't make it home. She went over the median into oncoming traffic and wasn't wearing her seatbelt.... It wasn't Aaron in the car. Aaron was standing in for Andrew at a study session. That was before Andrew was on his drugs, so it was a pretty easy act for Aaron to pull off. He didn't know why Andrew asked him to do it until the police called. I still don't know what happened, if Aunt Tilda panicked when she realized which son was with her or if they were fighting or if it was intentional, but... It's not like Aaron liked her, but she was his mother, you know? And Aaron never got to fix things with her, never got to understand why she was so messed up or why she messed them up so bad. Aaron can't accept that she's gone. He misses her. He can't forgive Andrew, and Andrew doesn't understand or care about how much it hurt Aaron. Stalemate."

He spoke slowly, giving himself time to think and to bleach the grief from his voice. "Andrew did care. That's what went wrong."

Art used with permission by Aymmidumps. Thank you @aymmidumps!