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freedomfireflies · 6 months

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American Psycho*

Summary: Part of Halloween Kinktober, Freaky Fun, and One for the Money*

The one where you and your boss, Mr. Styles, have a little bit too much fun at the office Halloween party.

Can be read as standalone!

Word Count: 4.6k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“What…are you wearing?”

Mr. Styles glances down at his dark suit, brow cocked upward. “What does it look like?”

“Har,” you huff, although you’re smiling as you toss your makeup bag aside and move closer, “I thought you were putting on a costume. It’s a Halloween party, you’re supposed to dress up.”

“I am,” he argues. “I’m dressed as a guy that doesn’t want to fucking go.”

You laugh. “Come on, be fun for a change.”

“I’m the boss. I’m not supposed to be fun.”

“Well, they’re throwing this party for you,” you remind him. “Nadia’s been talking about it all week.”

“Right, instead of working. Which is not what I pay her to do.”

“Harry,” you repeat, shooting him a pointed look. “Seriously, why don’t you put on a little fake blood or something? You could go as Patrick Bateman!”

“And why would I do that when I could just not go at all?”

Pushing your pink, painted lips into a pout, you straighten up onto your tiptoes, and snake your arms around his neck. “Please, Sir? Just this once? For me?”

He begins to frown, but you feel his hands find your hips, expression stern but amused. “Peach…”

“I won’t ever ask for anything ever again,” you murmur, letting your mouth ghost atop his teasingly. “Swear. And I’ll behave all night. Be so good for you.”

He likes this idea, studying you carefully as his grip tightens. “Is that so?”

“Incredibly so. Just want to have fun with you, Sir.”

“I know,” he sighs, now cupping his palm against your cheek. “But you know the rule, honey. We can’t be seen together, not at the office.”

“I know,” you echo. “But we can still go. Even if we can’t exactly hold hands and dance in front of everybody, we can have fun. And I want that for you. You never take the stick out of your ass.”

Pinching your jaw playfully, he snorts. “And I thought you were gonna be good.”

“Once you agree, yeah. Until then, I make no promises.”

With a smirk, he grasps onto your chin, and tugs you to him. Smashing his lips to yours until you exhale gratefully and melt into his touch.

“Besides,” you mumble, “if you don’t come with me, then I’ll have to go in my slutty costume all by myself.”

Now you have his attention, his eyes narrowing sternly as he leans back to see you. “Oh, really?”

You nod. “Yup. Thought I’d use some of the lingerie you got me and go as a Playboy bunny.”

You can feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips – even through his nice dress shirt – and it makes you chuckle.

“Did you?” He doesn’t seem to have much else to offer, but you can see his walls beginning to crumble.

“Mhm. Equipped with a fuzzy little tail and ears.”

He swallows thickly before clearing his throat in an effort to appear nonchalant. “Well, let’s see it then.”

“Only if you agree to go.”

“Peach,” he warns, frowning again but you’re quick to shake your head.

“That’s my deal, Sir. Take it or leave it.”

And while you can tell he wants to be cross with you, he begins to smile, clearly amused with your negotiation tactics. Perhaps even a little proud.

“Fine,” he finally concedes, making you grin. “But I’m not putting on any makeup.”

“No, just a little fake blood,” you suggest, immediately rushing toward your bag to retrieve the bottle. “It won’t stain, and it washes right out.”

He eyes you carefully while you scurry across his apartment. “And I suppose you’d like me to carry an ax, too.”

“I mean…it would sell the part,” you tease. “But let’s start with the blood. Go wait in the bathroom and I’ll go change really quick.”

“No, don’t,” he calls, almost firmly before you can slip from the room. “Not yet.”

You hesitate. “Okay…why? What’s wrong?”

His tongue runs over his bottom lip while his head cocks deviously to the side. “Because if you do…then we aren’t ever leaving this apartment.”

And you can’t help but grin.

“Let me guess…Edward Cullen?”

Even from a few feet away, you can see Harry’s expression fall. “Funny.”

“What?” Nadia smiles. “Come on, you look just like him. The blood and the suit and everything. It’s good.”

“Great,” he grumbles but you can tell he’s amused.

She laughs. “Patrick Bateman is a good look for you, boss. I like it. Feels…fitting.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. But in a sexy, fun kind of way.”

He snorts before his eyes trail over to you. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You wink.

The party is relaxed but enjoyable. Everyone is mingling, drinking, and dancing to the upbeat, spooky playlist. The usually boring, gray interior of the office floor is decorated with orange lights, carved pumpkins, and an array of ghostly décor. And nearly everyone came in costume, making it feel that much more like Halloween.

And despite the fact that you and Mr. Styles are forced to remain distant, you find yourself admiring him from across the room almost all evening. Happy that he seems to have finally begun to unwind, relax, and even enjoy himself.

You watch as he engages in chatter with some of the other men in the finance department. You catch his eye while you’re grabbing a drink of the festive punch. And you feel him stare as you and Nadia head to the middle of the floor to dance to Somebody’s Watching Me.

Truth be told, you find it hard to be away from him after so many nights together. And even though it’s what you both agreed on, you feel a certain sort of longing for the handsome man in the corner of the room.

However, neither of you are quite ready to tell the office you’re dating yet or deal with the potential fallout. At least not right now, when things are so new. Special. You suppose that could change in the future, but at least for tonight, he’s your dirty little secret.

So you resort to exchanging sneaky glances from time to time as you enjoy the party. Like now, when you catch his subtle but devious smile from behind the shadows while his hand casually slips into his suit jacket pocket.

It’s a nonchalant motion. Relaxed enough that you barely catch on as you and Nadia continue swaying back and forth to the rhythm. Enjoying the heavy bass and eerie tune.

And then, suddenly…you feel it. The first, gentle vibration from the toy sitting snugly inside your pussy.

Your breath hitches.

And now you understand his look of amusement and the disappearance of his hand. He’s testing out the toy, warning you of his intentions even from the other side of the room.

Just like he promised.

After all, that was his only condition. He’d dress up, he’d play nice, he’d be a good boss.

But if he wasn’t allowed to touch you all night, he at least wanted to have some fun. And remind you that he is still the one you belong to.

A reminder he gleefully gives you now, turning up the strength on the small bullet inside your cunt while he continues chatting with Alex from IT.

He’s not looking at you anymore – something you almost despise – but it’s obvious that he’s entertained. Fighting against a wry grin as he nods along in conversation.

You, on the other hand, are beginning to feel the effects of the teasing. A sharp, pleasurable chill running down your legs while you falter in place and swallow a gasp.

Confused, Nadia eyes you carefully. “You okay?” she calls over the music, leaning closer. “You look a little woozy.”

“I’m…no, I’m…I’m good,” you manage to stammer, forcing a nod before you continue with your dance. “S’just hot in here, I guess.”

“God, you’re telling me,” she snorts, running a knuckle under her eye to catch some smeared makeup. “Last time I commit to the leather pants.”

Exhaling a laugh, you slowly pull your thighs together, hoping to lessen the vibrations currently traveling through your pussy. “Well, you look great.”

“Thanks,” she laughs before gesturing up and down at your costume. “What about you, hm? This is the sexiest corset I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, it’s quite hard to breathe in,” you retort playfully, glancing over the pink silk on your torso. “This will also be the last time I commit to lingerie in public.”

“Fair enough. But that’s what Halloween is for, right? So you can be your true, slutty self just for one night.”

You chuckle again before slowly looking over to catch a glimpse of your sadistic boyfriend. However, you find that the smug bastard is now nowhere to be found. Having disappeared from the room, leaving you to struggle without him.

And then, you feel the strength increase.

It’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore the pleasure building in your stomach or the sharp rushes of ecstasy that echo across your clit. Which you suppose is his goal, although you aren’t sure why he’s so determined to make you fall apart under so many obvious eyes.

But you imagine that’s part of the fun. The idea that even though he can’t be with you, he can control your pleasure.

And you have to admit…you adore him for it.

With a shaky exhale, you nod your head toward the exit. “I’m, uh…I’m gonna go get some fresh air for a bit. I’ll be right back.”

Nadia nods. “No problem. I’ll be here.”

Leaving her with a smile, you begin to search for where he might have gone. You imagine his office, although you aren’t quite sure how you’re meant to meet him when so many people are watching.

Sure, more than half the room is drunk or otherwise occupied, but you don’t want to taunt fate. Especially after begging him to come in the first place.

But the painful pleasure in your cunt is beginning to worsen and you realize rather quickly that there’s only one solution.

Him.

So, you take a deep breath and slip into the adjoining hall, traveling through the darkness until you find his door.

You take a deep breath and knock twice, calling a soft but hopeful, “Mr. Styles? Are you in there?”

The sound of a lock turning nearly makes you shiver, and you can’t help but grin giddily as the door swings open, and a hand outstretches for you.

You’re yanked inside before you can even offer a greeting, tossed mercilessly toward his desk while he slams the door shut, and turns to face you.

And he’s stunning. So effortlessly beautiful, even with the blood dripping down his face. You wonder if you should be worried you find this so attractive, but you don’t exactly have it in you to care. Because the way his disheveled suit hugs his broad frame is sinfully delicious and the ruby droplets smeared across his jaw makes your cunt clench around the toy.

He strides toward you, drinking you in like he’s dying of thirst. Eyes dark and clouded with salacious intentions.

He takes hold of your face between strong palms and crashes his mouth to yours. Hips pushing you back until you collide with the wooden table just behind you. Trapping you there while you gasp for air and tangle your fingers in his messy curls.

He groans in response, nipping at your bottom lip until you can’t breathe. “Gonna fucking kill me, Peach. Walking around in this slutty little costume. Almost came in my pants when you bent over.”

You smirk lazily as his kisses move down your neck. “Good, that was my plan.”

He makes another animalistic noise before shoving at your waist a bit harder.

One hand disappears back into his pocket while the other travels up your fishnet stockings and settles against your cunt. The heel of his palm pressing against your covered clit as his harsh kisses dance beneath your ear.

“Shit, Har—” you gasp before you feel him tug your skin between his teeth. “Sir. Please…need…”

“I know,” he grunts, increasing the power of the toy until you’re both moaning. “Can feel it, Peach. Feels good, hm? Feels so fucking good. Bet you’re gonna cum in your pretty, little panties before I even touch you, yeah?”

You make another incoherent noise as his hand pushes the toy further into your pussy. The electric vibrations reverberate across his palm, doubling the sensation until your head just about drops back. Making the bunny ears slip to the ground, forgotten.

“Good,” he hums, and you feel a bit of his fake blood smear across your neck. “S’a good girl, honey. Already close, aren’t you? What a pathetic little thing. Always fall apart so fast when I use a toy to play with you.”

You nod quickly in agreement. After all, he’s right. Vibrators have you coming faster than almost anything else – besides his cock.

And his mouth.

This is a fact he utilizes now, nudging the vibrator further into you until your legs begin to shake. You can feel it in your stomach, the first unraveling as it becomes stronger, and louder, and faster.

You fling an arm around his shoulders for stability before you’re disintegrating beneath him. Writhing and squirming and panting as he sees you through.

“There you go,” he whispers, mouth brushing over yours. Wanting to taste your moans as you come down. “You’re all right, my love. Doing so good, hm? Gonna give me another?”

You nod faintly and he smirks before reaching beneath your corset top to find the decorative panties attached to your costume.

He shoves them aside without pause before ripping the delicate fabric of the stockings almost fiercely. And far too easily for your liking.

He then retrieves the small toy from inside your cunt – smiling when he feels how soaked the silicone has become – before he’s dragging it up to your clit. Pressing the stimulating tip into your sensitive and swollen nerves as you suddenly gasp and go reeling.

“Shh,” he hushes, glancing over your face. “Can’t be too loud, hm? Y’know I love it when you scream for me, but we can’t let me hear, can we?”

“It’s…it’s Halloween,” you counter. “They’re used to screams.”

But Mr. Styles merely smirks. “Be that as it may…I don’t want to share your screams with anyone else. Not tonight.”

You feel your head grow fuzzier as he dips down to take your lips with his.

“Tonight…your screams belong to me,” he exhales against your tongue before he’s pressing the vibrator harder against your cunt.

You’re a mess. Soaking his hand, your outfit, the toy. Shaking almost pitifully while he finally releases the remote to press his palm to the back of your neck. Forcing your faces together until neither one of you can breathe without the other.

He was right, you are pathetic. So goddamn tragic as you begin to shake beneath the bullet. Already close to your second orgasm of the evening before he’s even had a chance to tease you.

But you don’t think he minds. He collects your orgasms like Pokémon cards. Wearing the number proudly until you’re nothing but a pile of limbs in his arms.

Two is only a start. And you know as long as he has this toy, he plans to force you into many more.

“Fucking shit, Peach,” he groans, forehead resting against yours as he glances down at where his hand is settled between your thighs. “Oh, that’s my girl. Always behave so well for me. Knew you would, yeah? Just like you promised.”

Again, you can do nothing but nod weakly. Still clinging to his body like a lifeline while he strokes you through the aftershocks.

“Okay,” he finally sighs, removing the toy and swiping his thumb across your clit. Collecting the arousal waiting for him just to bring it up to his lips. “Okay, honey, turn around. Bend over the desk for me.”

You whimper at the way he takes his body from you and from the very idea of what comes next. You hate that you won’t be able to see his face, but you adore this position. Especially because of the way he manhandles you.

Like now as his hands suddenly grasp onto your hips to fling you around so you’re facing his large, floor to ceiling windows.

The city is beautiful at night. Lit up like a prize, vast and seemingly endless. It’s one of your favorite things about his office and you smile to yourself as you take in the view.

But you aren’t afforded the chance to daydream long before he’s weaving his fingers through your roots and pushing you down until your chest meets his desk. Keeping you bent and pliable as he undoes his leather belt.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, squeezing your scalp as though to reward you. “Gonna fuck you quick. Can’t have Nadia come looking for you, can we?”

You whimper a response before you hear his pants fall to the floor, followed by a snapping of elastic as he pulls his cock from his briefs.

“Let me have a look at you,” he grits, releasing your head so he can stand back and admire your dripping pussy. Pulling back the costume until your cunt is on display for his hungry eyes. “So fucking cute, Peach. S’all pretty and red. Just weeping for me, hm?”

“Sir—”

“Get all sensitive when I make you cum a lot, don’t you?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. “Your puffy little clit gets all swollen and achy, hm?”

“Yes…yes, Sir, please—”

“Just one more for now, yeah? Just one. And then I’ll take you home and do it right.”

There’s a racing in your chest that can’t be contained. A sharp thrill that lives beneath your skin. He’s everything. His voice, his touch, his intentions. Even his mind. It’s wickedly beautiful and you adore him more than anything in the world.

You feel his fingers smooth through your folds. Teasing you for only a moment before you feel his cock come into play. Repeating the action of pressing and slipping through the wetness that awaits him.

“Can’t tell you what this costume does to me,” he whispers, groping your side with one hand. Preparing you. “You, and this tight, little fucking top, and these goddamn tights. Everybody was staring when you came in. Fucking everybody and I could’ve killed them.”

You moan something akin to his name, but he’s not listening. He’s lost on you. On your body and the way it looks, spread out before him.

“Even this fucking bunny tail,” he snorts, and you feel him pinch the fuzzy ball on your ass playfully. “Sits so pretty on you, y’know. Just like that plug I got you.”

“Shit,” you mumble, stomach clenching at the memory. “Har—”

His hand comes down in a sharp strike to your left ass cheek as you jolt. “Uh-uh. What’s my name?”

“Sir,” you correct, eyes squeezing shut. “Sir, please…please fuck me. Need you so bad—”

“Do you, hm?” He lands another spank before smoothing over the area with calmer motions.

You nod. “You look so good, Sir. Can’t…can’t stand it.”

Even without being able to see him, you can picture his smirk. “Do I?”

“Yes,” you exhale, almost groaning from the thought. “Covered in blood, wearing my favorite suit. Even the way you did your hair. S’been so hard to keep my hands off you tonight.”

You hear a dark, rather sadistic chuckle. “You like the blood, do you?”

You whimper. “Know I shouldn’t, but…it makes you look so fucking hot, Sir.”

Another harsh smack to your ass. Louder this time. “You know how I feel about your cussing, Peach.”

“M’sorry, Sir. But it’s true. You’re so fucking hot like this.”

He spanks you a fourth time but he’s still chuckling. “I’ll remember that,” he murmurs, kneading the tender flesh in his palm. “Never thought my precious peach would have such dirty fantasies.”

“I don’t, Sir. Only when it’s you.”

And he seems to like this idea, cursing in the back of his throat before nudging the tip of his cock against your clit. Making you both gasp until he finds your hole.

The first push in is delicious. Slow enough to prepare you and ease you open, but it’s everything. Scratching an itch that makes your brain turn to mush. Until you’re nearly collapsing onto his desk with anxious whimpers.

“Good,” he breathes from behind you. “Good girl. That’s it, my love. Let me in, just like that. You all right?”

Another faint motion of your head. One that almost concerns him as he laces his fingers back through your roots.

“Peach,” he grunts. “Know I need your words. And you will give them to me when I ask for them. So what’s your color?”

“Green,” you whisper, nails curling into the wooden table beneath. “M’sorry, Sir, I’m green. Just feels so good. Wanted…to focus. To feel you.”

You hear him sigh before he’s pushing in a bit further. “Then fucking feel me.”

He sits inside your cunt like he was always meant to be there. Warm and thick and the perfect stretch. Making the stars return to your eyes as you begin to cry out his name.

However, he releases your scalp only to reach around and smack his palm against your lips. Keeping you quiet as he begins his thrusts.

“Uh-uh,” he warns. “Be a good little bunny and stay quiet.”

The pace is slow at first. Just enough to drive you absolutely mad and you imagine the scariest thing about tonight is how easily you’ve become such a blubbering mess.

“Like it when Daddy’s mean, don’t you?” he calls, returning both hands to your hips. “Like it when I treat you like you’re nothing.”

You can feel the sticky substance of the fake blood smearing across your hips. Probably staining your clothes – an obvious mark of his touch. A mark you’d proudly wear for the rest of your life if he’d let you.

“So fucking wet, honey,” he hisses. “S’just drowning my cock, isn’t it?”

You offer a garbled noise.

“Yeah. Just dripping down me, baby. Begging me to do something about it. Begging me to fucking take you.”

Your entire body is shaking. Along with the desk and an assortment of papers and pens that become scattered with every sharp drive of his hips.

And you can hear it. Can hear the sound of his cock slipping in and out of your pussy and echoing between the walls of his large office. Wet, and lewd, and almost pornographic in nature. It’s obvious how needy you are for him. How unhinged your body has become. Soaking him exactly the way he loves as he fucks himself into you.

You can feel the sweat beading at your hairline. Can hear your pulse thumping in your ears – in time to the music in the other room and the thrusting of his hips. Leaving you to do nothing but lay across his desk and take it. Take him, exactly the way he wanted.

“How about another, hm?” He squeezes your sides harshly before one hand leaves you. “Gonna give me another, my love?”

Nodding tiredly, you allow your lashes to flutter shut. Focusing instead on the sound of his voice and the rough touch of his fingertips. You can feel it building. Can practically taste the beginnings of a third orgasm. You’re powerless to the pleasure. Undone by the man behind you as he readjusts his stance and angles his cock up.

It’s wicked. The immense, overwhelming, and unfathomable coursing of lust between each joint, and muscle, and fiber. You can’t escape it, can’t fight it. Can’t even understand it.

That’s what you needed. That spot, that attention. Over and over and over, and he’s so good at hitting it just right. Only to drag his cock back out and leave you empty and wilted.

“Relax,” he orders firmly before a familiar buzzing reverberates between your ears. “Relax, Peach. It’s okay, honey. Just want one more.”

The bullet is snaked around your hip before it’s pressing firmly to your clit. Forcing the sensitive and swollen bud to succumb to the vibrations and bring you that much closer.

You cry out for a second time, hands scratching down his desk, but he only curses through gritted teeth.

“There you go,” he exhales, and it’s thick. “S’okay, I’ve got you.”

He’s a mad man. Deranged and borderline animalistic with the way he demands your body bend to his will.

“Sir—” You suck in a large gasp for air, but it’s useless. “Har, please—”

His large palm spanks down on your ass as punishment, but he doesn’t comment on your slip. “I know. Almost there. Know you’re almost there, can feel you clenching, baby. Keep going. Feels so fucking good—”

“Can’t…can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Know it hurts, but you can do it. You’ll do it, come on.”

And you want to, you do. More than anything, but it’s almost too good. You can’t think properly, can’t seem to relax long enough to let the orgasm overtake you.

Then, he’s wrangling you up. Pulling you until your back is pressed against his chest while he nudges his nose against your cheek. Inhaling you with a groan before he trails a few open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

And in the reflection of his office windows, you see your silhouettes.

You, in your stunning Playboy costume, tits bouncing up out of the corset with each thrust, fake blood painted across your face and neck.

And him.

The devastatingly wonderful man behind you. Dressed in the sexiest suit you’ve ever seen, gelled curls gone askew, and that same blood dripping down almost every inch of him.

And he’s pounding his cock into your cunt like there’s no tomorrow. Trapping you against his body, your heaving chest in one hand, and the vibrating toy in the other.

“So good, Peach,” he whispers. “So fucking good. Need you to cum, baby, please. Right now. Cum.”

And you do.

You don’t expect it. Have no time to prepare for it. Don’t even understand it’s happening until that white-hot explosion is dancing down your spine and expanding through your stomach. All the way into your toes as you whimper his name and wither in his touch.

He does his best to hold you up while maintaining the pace he set. Faster and harder until he’s spilling inside of you with a moan. Mumbling your name while a hundred praises follow suit.

The aftershocks of this one seem to drag on longer than most. But you both indulge in the floaty feeling as you work to catch your breath. Syncopating to each other’s inhales until your heartbeats become one.

“Did so good,” he sighs, nuzzling his cheek to yours. “God, so fucking good. Feel like heaven, you know that?”

You smile lazily and settle into his arms, allowing your weight to rest atop his. “Well…it’s easy when you look like this.”

He chuckles softly and kisses your temple. “You really do have a blood kink, hm?”

“No, I have a you-covered-in-blood kink. I don’t care when it’s anybody else.”

Now, he reaches out to slide his finger under your chin and turn your face to his. Staring at you for only a moment before he kisses you. Hard and yet filled with an emotion you just might recognize.

“Want you to do something for me, Peach,” he mumbles against your lips.

You nod quickly.

“Want you to fix your little panties…go down to my car…and wait for me.”

You feel your breath hitch.

He smiles.

“We’ve got some videotapes to make.”

~ One for the Money Masterlist

~ Freaky Fun Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @caynonmoondreams @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz @scndsofsummer @theofficialprongs

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jobean12-blog · 6 months

Text

All Mine

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Biker!Joel AU)

Word Count: 2,064

Summary: You're not a fan of Joel's neighbor and after he hears what happens, he isn't either (not that he ever was).

Author's Note: I was just thinking about how hot Pedro is and especially the idea of Joel as a biker and I missed my biker!Joel so I thought this would be a fun way to revist him! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy 🥰The edit below was done by my amazing friend Ellie @mrsmischief209 isn't he gorgeous? Thank you beauty! 💕

Warnings: there's some tension at first over the neighbor bc she stinks, but it's soft and sweet and there's fluff and some funny parts and then it gets super se-x-y and sp-i-c-y at the end.

Joel Miller Masterlist

The front door to Joel’s house opens before you even grab the knob.

“Hey there darl…”

You stomp past him with clenched fists and turn with a huff.

He stares at you and takes a tentative step forward, his arms outstretched.

“Your neighbor…” you start before crossing your arms over your chest and mumbling out something he doesn’t quite catch.

“Neighbor?” he asks with raised brows as he steps into your space and pulls you against his chest.

“This isn’t exactly the greeting I was hoping for,” he lightly teases as his head dips and he places a soft kiss just below your ear. “What happened?”

When his lips press to your skin you melt into his embrace, your whole body going pliant until you’re curled around him. His lips trail along your throat then ghost across your lips as he takes your face in his hand and forces you to look at him.

“Your neighbor needs to take a hint Joel!”

“What neighbor and what do you mean?” His expression hardens and you can feel his muscles tense. “Are you ok?”

You start to get wound up again and wiggle in his grasp but he doesn’t let go. He leads you to the couch and sits, taking you with him and placing you on his lap.

He waits as patiently as he can until you’re ready to talk, his fingers gentle along your skin as he rubs your back.

“She was outside when I pulled up and as soon as I got out of the car she scoffed. I mean who scoffs so loud someone can hear them from across the yard!?!”

Joel’s brow furrows in confusion as he continues to listen.

“On this side?” he asks, pointing to the left of his house.

You nod before you go on.

“Then, being the nice person I am,” you say as if it’s so obvious, “I said hello and asked how she was.”

He smiles reassuringly before giving your cheek a kiss.

“Do you know what she said to me?”

You huff out the words and your face scrunches up in anger.

“What darlin’?” he growls out. “Tell me before I go over there and find out myself.”

“You can relax…it wasn’t that bad.”

He looks at you expectantly.

“She said…and I quote, ‘oh, it’s you. I can’t believe you’re still around. Thought he would have been through with you a long time ago.’ Then she looks me up and down like I’m a piece of poo!”

“Poo?” he repeats and the corner of his mouth twitches with a smile even though his muscles are still taut.

“Don’t you dare laugh! THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER! THAT BITCH WANTS MY MAN!”

“What?” he says, making a disgruntled face.

“She totally wants you and she’s acting like if she gets rid of me you’ll be all hers!”

“What?” he says again, tightening his hold on you.

“What do you mean WHAT?” you screech. “You heard me! UGH! The audacity!”

“What’s her name again?” Joel asks.

You spit out her name.

“Oh right,” Joel says dismissively. “Who cares darlin.’ I’ve never looked her way. Not even once. And I never will.”

You study his face, his eyes full of sincerity, and soften against him.

“I know,” you whisper. “But it wasn’t nice and I don’t want her trying to seduce you or something when I’m not here.”

You bury your face in his neck and hide.

He starts to shake with laughter and when you peek up at him his eyes are crinkled and he’s wearing a wide grin.

“That’s ridiculous!” he says between laughs.

He softens when he sees you’re worried expression, his large hand lifting to cup your cheek.

“Darlin’,’ he murmurs. “No one could ever take me away from you.”

“And you’re right it wasn’t nice. Honestly, I have a mind to go over there and tell her to fuck off.”

“God I wish you could,” you huff.

“Why the hell can’t I?” he asks.

“Because…it might make her try harder.”

“That makes no sense.”

You pat his chest. “I know but trust me.”

He presses a calloused fingertip under your chin and keeps your eyes on his when he asks, “then how can I make his better darlin’?”

“Stop being so hot?” you pout with a small shrug.

His head falls toward his chest and he chuckles.

“Darlin’…”

You hop off his lap, evading his grabby hands until you’re standing between his spread legs. You look him over.

“For one…stop sitting like that.”

“Like what?” he asks and looks down at himself.

“Like that!” you say with a stomp of your foot. “You’re manspreading so bad you’re practically taking up the whole couch and those legs!”

“I’m comfortable,” he says defensively. “Besides…what do you want me to do with this thing.”

He points between his legs with a playful smirk.

“JOEL!!!!!!!!!!” you whine. “That’s exactly my point. She’s probably daydreams about how big it is!”

His eyes go wide and he shifts uncomfortably.

“You should probably stop wearing such tight jeans too.”

“I’m not changing my wardrobe for nobody! Like I said, she can fuck off.”

“Ughhhh,” you sigh as you fall dramatically onto the couch. “Forget it. Even if you wore a bag you’d be hot. It’s no use.”

“You should talk,” he says as he grabs your ankles and pulls you down flat.

He positions himself above you, caging you in with his arms. “You’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You smile and play with the fabric of his shirt. “But the neighbor doesn’t give two shits about me. She likes you.”

“These arms,” you sigh dreamily and lightly scrape your fingertips along his biceps. “The tattoos…”

You emphasize the last word with a poke to his solid chest and his smile grows. Your fingers comb through the hair lining his jaw before they slide between the soft strands on his head.

“You know she probably goes nuts over your bike too,” you state with a roll of your eyes.

He presses into you, letting just enough of his weight settle on top of you so you can feel every inch of him.

“Pretty sure you went nuts over my bike…”

“Well YEAH. Of course I did,” you say, your expression full of ‘duh.’ “You…on that bike…pretty irresistible.”

He winks down at you, leaning closer until his lips are just a breath away.

“You…bent over my bike…that’s irresistible.”

You giggle and give his hair a tug, pulling his lips to yours.

“You wanna come help me?” Joel asks as he ties up his boots.

For a brief moment you just watch him, taking in his dark jeans pulled tightly across his thick thighs and his muscled forearms flexing with every movement he makes.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” you state decisively and lift your chin.

He gives you a lopsided smirk as he stands and takes your hand. “Good.”

He holds the door open for you and ushers you outside, stopping at his pickup truck to grab his tool box before he carries it to his bike that’s parked further down the driveway.

The neighborhood is quiet and when you peek over to the house next door it looks dark.

“She better not show up,” you mutter to yourself.

“What was that darlin’?” Joel asks, as he kneels to search for a tool.

“Hmm? Oh nothing,” you say and wave him off. “How can I help?”

As Joel’s kneeling down on one side of the bike and you’re on the other, hidden by the large machine, you hear a voice that makes you cringe.

“Oh Joel! There you are! I was hoping you could help me with something.”

You go still and wait. You can hear Joel’s sigh and see him stand and turn to your favorite neighbor.

“Hey,” he says blankly.

She smiles brightly and holds out a jar. “I just can’t seem to get this jar open for anything and I knew you’d be just the guy to ask…and here you are!”

She bats her lashes and steps closer to him. He quickly shoots his hand out and grabs the jar, effectively stopping her advance.

He takes it between his hands and twists the top once, easily popping it off.

“There ya go,” he says and hands it back to her.

She stands at stares at him in awe. “Oh wow. Thank you! You made that look so easy. You must have very…”

That’s as much as you can bear and you stand abruptly, causing Joel’s bike to wobble. The neighbor startles at your sudden appearance and her face goes sour.

“Oh yes,” you start with a saccharine smile. “His hands. They’re so big and strong and he knows just how to use them.”

Joel chokes out a cough to stifle his laughter and turns your way, winking knowingly. The neighbor drags her eyes away from you with a roll and pins them back on Joel, letting her gaze move down his body with appreciation.

“I love your bike,” she says to him.

You saunter over and stand next to Joel. He winds his arm around your waist and tucks you into his side.

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” you agree. “And the ride is even better.”

You lean into Joel and slip your hand inside his leather jacket. The way you emphasize the word ‘ride’ doesn’t go unnoticed and his fingers dig into your skin.

The neighbor ignores you completely and asks Joel, “is something wrong with it? I see you have all your tools out.”

“No,” he replies. “Just doing a tune up before we leave.”

With those words he releases you with a kiss and goes back to work.

“We’re going on an overnight trip,” you explain.

She gives you a look that screams, ‘I didn’t ask you.’ You go on anyway.

“We’re going to sleep out under the stars. It’ll be chilly at night…but Joel knows how to keep me warm.”

You giggle with your last words and lift your shoulders sweetly. The neighbors face scrunches up in anger.

“Alright darlin.’ Everything looks good. Let’s go.”

You twinkle your fingers at the neighbor and wait as Joel puts the helmet over your head and secures the strap. He then takes off his leather jacket and puts it on you, zipping it up to your chin. You snuggle into it with a big inhale and say, “smells so good.”

The neighbor face gets even more sour but both you and Joel ignore her and hop on the bike. He revs the engine a few times before taking off down the road in a blur.

Once Joel reaches your destination he pulls over and moves deeper onto the soft dirt before stopping. He holds the motorcycle steady as you climb off and start to remove the helmet.

His hands settle on your waist and he looks you over.

“How’re you doin’ darlin’?”

“Better,” you whisper. “She got the hint. And I think I’m really starting to understand why riding is so enjoyable.”

He chuckles and raises his brows questioningly.

“The speed, the wind against your skin, your body pressed to mine…all the vibrations.”

With those few words Joel’s entire focus shifts and his voice drops when he asks, “you like that?”

“Mm hm. I love it.”

“Darlin’,” he murmurs.

He closes the space between you, kissing you hard and grabbing your ass. He kneads your flesh and you arch into his touch. He doesn’t stop and gives your ass cheek a hard slap.

“Ohhh,” you moan. “Was that because of what I said earlier?”

“I liked everything you said. Now how about you turn around and bend over my bike darlin.”

Even as he says it he doesn’t wait for you to do it and spins you himself, pressing gently until your resting on the seat. He runs his hands down your back, reaching the waistband of your jeans. His hard cock grinds against you and you hiss in pleasure.

He leans over you, pressing a line of soft kisses down your neck while he makes quick work of your jeans, helping you wiggle out of them until they lock at your feet. His rough fingertips caress your newly exposed skin and he hums in appreciation before dropping to his knees.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Fuck darlin.’ I can’t wait to taste you.”

@hiddles-rose @littleseasiren @lorilane33 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @lizette50

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #biker!joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #biker!joel miller x reader #biker au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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purpledisastertwin900 · 1 year

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For all of the “Raph raised himself AND his brothers” fans out there I bring this train wreck of a thought (I’m a lil sleepy so sorry if it doesn’t make sense or if I repeat myself a lot-)

We do not in fact have any actual evidence that splinter was neglectful to the boys when they were little. In fact, we have the opposite.

All of these flashbacks indicate that Splinter acc spent a LOT of time with his boys-

With Mikey, he was obviously coached in his art, a smol child can’t paint like that no matter how talented they are so we can see that splinter put in the time/effort to get Mikey the supplies and teach him how to do it well. Which probably means he researched and learned it himself first, idk I just can’t really see Yoshi knowing how to paint/draw that well but that’s just a theory.

With raph and Leo, their lemonade stand is structurally sound: obviously not put together by an 8 year old, and there’s a lotta lemons lyin around that were probably a bit difficult to find, and just LOOK at their faces here they are definitely familiar with this kind of father/son shenaniganizing-also just LOOK at raph. That’s a happy child, one full of excitement and happiness, not a kid who had to grow up too fast. Also his dad is literally right there in the picture

And then with Donnie, I can’t really tell what he’s doing in the background (it’s a bomb) but what i take from that screenshot is that Donnie feels safe/loved enough to come to Splinter when he gets hurt. And Splinters taking care of him!! And, Donnie is wearing clothes, which shows that he went out and got clothes for them but also didn’t force the boys to wear them if they didn’t want to (see other screenshots lol) which also goes to show that he lets his boys choose who they wanna be and what they wanna do. At any point he could’ve forced all of them to train as ninja, at any point he could’ve made clothes mandatory, and at any point he could’ve forced them to drop things that made them happy like skating or science or art but nah. He was supportive every step of the way.

Now am I saying he was perfect? No. Am I saying he couldn’t have done anything better? No. What I’m saying is that Raph acc did not have to raise himself and his brothers. Splinter acc gave them a pretty good childhood, all things considered and it kinda makes me sad when ppl bash Rise Splinter or continue the neglectful parent trope. Again, I’m not saying he did everything right, he def could have spent more time with his kids on an individual basis and he should’ve been more present, but let’s cut him some slack bc he did a really good job at raising the boys. And he got so much better as the show progressed! But that’s another post lol. I’m also not trying to take away Raphs oldest sibling syndrome, he still def has that from being the leader and watching his bros while splinter was away-I’m just saying he didn’t have to do it ALL alone.

Look in the end he’s doing his best and his best was really good for what they had. He’s a good dad, he’s not neglectful.

#sorry if the pictures suck #click for better quality?? idk haha #Rottmnt #unpause rottmnt #tmnt #rise splinter #splinter is a good dad you guys #I will die on this hill #yes he made mistakes but he is improving phenomenally and that’s what counts #Hamato yoshi #splinter hamato #I’m also v sleepy rn so sorry if this don’t make sense #radios realizations

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everscorner · 21 days

Text

My Brother's Best Friend

Author’s note: The plan was to hold on to this one until the summer, but here I am posting it. It’s a slowburn, and there will be two parts. For those of you who want to visualise the villa, it was inspired by this one. This is only for fictional purposes only, and please don’t copy my work without my permission. Enjoy 🤎

Warnings: bad language, slow burn, not smutty but suggestive, brother’s best friend!Mason Mount, age gap but nothing significant, alcohol, fluff (???), frustrating Mason Mount, sort of love triangle (let me know if I missed anything).

university student!Reader x brother’s best friend!Mason Mount

Word count: 10k words

☀️☀️☀️

July 4, 2022

You don’t fancy yourself a negative person. Painfully shy maybe, even so, you’re not negative. But as you lay face up on your bed, you dread the day ahead of you. You contemplate missing breakfast, but that would make you rude. People can accept shyness, but no one likes a rude person.

What have I gotten myself into, you think.

And with a heavy sigh, you blindly reach for your phone, and find it tucked beneath the pillow beside you.

The time reads nine o’clock, on the dot, but you’ve been awake almost an hour now. Timewise, you’re cutting it fine, but maybe if you pretend that you forgot you had to meet your group for breakfast, maybe feign illness…

You scoff at the thought. You’re not negative, you’re painfully shy, and you’re a bad liar.

One look at you and your brother will catch you in your lie. But maybe if you explain the situation to him, he might understand. Or maybe he won’t understand, after all, he didn’t pay to fly you to Majorca only for you to spend the day locked up in your room.

It’s his fault anyway, you think as you toss your phone back onto the bed.

If only you had turned down the offer. More dread, this time mixed with regret. And now the question stands: if you’re so miserable at the thought of going upstairs to breakfast, why did you agree to come in the first place?

Well, that’s easy—Eleanor, your brother’s girlfriend. She had brought up the trip at lunch nearly a month ago, and pitched it so well, you couldn’t turn her down.

☀️☀️☀️

Sometime in June, 2022

“Do you have plans for the summer?”

The simple answer to her question was ‘no.’ There were plans, but none definite.

“I’m not sure, why?”

“B/N and I are heading to Majorca next month, and we thought it’d be fun if you joined us.”

Majorca, you had never been but had seen pictures. It was a beautiful island on your bucket list of places to visit.

“When do you leave?”

“July third.”

That wasn’t enough time to get your finances in order. And you could’ve asked your mum and dad for money, but you felt bad as they were already paying so much for your tuition.

“I can’t come.”

“Why not?”

“I’m broke.”

“Who said you’re paying?”

Your brow slowly raised, signalling for her to elaborate.

“You won’t have to worry about covering the bill, B/N’s got you.”

Back in February, your older brother had started working for a new company, and from what you had heard from your parents, he was earning quite well.

“Does he know that he’s covering my bill?”

Eleanor laughed, and assured you that he did. “It was his idea to invite you. So, should we book you a ticket?”

You contemplated the offer.

“Come on, think of the beaches… the warm sun… the men!”

She had you till the last bit. “I think I’ll pass on the men.”

She beamed.

“But the beaches and sun sound tempting, I can’t lie.”

“And you get to spend the summer with me and your favourite brother. All expenses paid.”

“And you're sure B/N agreed to this?”

She nodded and repeated what she had said earlier, that it was his idea. “And did I mention that you are his favourite sister?”

“Eleanor, I’m his only sister.”

She chuckled. “So what do you say?”

☀️☀️☀️

From that point forward, any other plans you had were indefinitely placed on hold. You would spend the summer with your brother and his girlfriend, and that was final.

A week from the trip, your mother was generous enough to take you shopping for a new summer wardrobe. ‘Just a treat,’ she had expressed over the phone. And your father? Well, he sent money. ‘Just a treat.’

And then you were sitting in the back of a black Mercedes Sprinter, being driven to a villa with your brother and his girlfriend. It was late, and you were tired, but you were excited to be in Majorca. And that made you chatty, which was apparently uncharacteristic of you.

“I can’t remember the last time I heard you talk this much,” your brother teased.

You lightly shoved his shoulder. “Stop.”

He laughed, “I didn’t say that was a bad thing.”

Eleanor slung her arm over your shoulder and pulled you in for a side embrace, “I’m just glad you came. We’ll have so much fun together.”

“Just a warning, little sis,” B/N chimed in, “Eleanor went a little crazy with the itinerary.”

“That’s not true.”

He held his hands up defensively, knowing better than to try to start an argument with his girlfriend. He was sure to lose. Instead, he dug his phone out of his pocket and began texting someone.

Eleanor was rattling on about the items on the itinerary when your brother announced, “It seems our party has arrived at the villa.”

Party? What party? You whipped your head towards your brother, “‘Our party?’ What does that mean?”

“Our friends.”

Friends? Up until that point, no mentions of friends had been made, so you were confused. You turned to Eleanor, “Which friends?”

“Oh, James, Edward, Maya, and her friend Jordan. She’s American.”

“And Mason.”

You whipped back to your brother—man, you were going to get whiplash. “College Mason?”

“No. Mason Mount, he’s a good friend.”

You had never met Mason Mount before, but you had heard your brother mention him a couple of times in passing. He was a footballer your brother had befriended at a party in Ibiza after he had saved him from a group of rowdy football fans who wanted a picture with him.

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed now,” he chuckled.

Not disappointed, confused. Why hadn’t anyone mentioned that part to you?

As if she could sense your panic, Eleanor lightly squeezed your shoulder and assured you that it would be fine. “They’re good people, don’t worry. It’ll be fun.”

☀️☀️☀️

Eleanor was right, they were good people and it was fun, just not your kind of fun. You walked into the villa and were greeted by James, your brother’s best friend from uni, and Edward, his boyfriend. The two of them were standing in the middle of the darkly hued modern kitchen, preparing vodka tonics for everyone, and they were quite pleased to see you.

“And you brought Y/N! Hello, love!”

You smiled. James was tipsy, you knew that because his face was flushed, his voice just a bit too loud. “Hello, James.”

He pulled you in for a hug. “It’s so lovely to see you again. Vodka tonic?”

You hugged him back, “Yes, please.”

“Already on it!” called Edward from his spot at the large kitchen island.

“You’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” James said as he released you from the tight embrace. “How’s the first year of uni? Or would you rather not talk about it?”

“Uni’s been good.” And because you thought the answer was too curt, you added, “Challenging, but good. I like it there.”

Edward appeared, bright smile and vodka tonic in hand. He handed it to you, and told you, “Let me know what you think.”

You thanked him, and raised the tumbler to your lips to take a small sip, but it was too tiny to taste anything. So you lied, “It’s good.”

And he seemed pleased.

James was telling you about their flight over to the island when he was cut off by the commotion behind you, a group of people coming up the stairs.

You turned around to see Maya and her friend Jordan, the American, and a guy you assumed was Mason Mount, come into the kitchen. More greetings, more volume, and more happy people. Maya was first to greet you, and then Jordan, and then Mason.

The other two walked over to the island to grab their drinks, but Mason stayed behind to make conversation.

“I’m Mason.”

“Y/N.” You felt your cheeks heat up under his cheeky gaze. What your brother had forgotten to mention in the car was just how cute Mason was. “Pleased to meet you, Mason.”

His smile widened, “Likewise. What are you drinking?”

“Uh…” your mind froze for just a split second. Of all the times your brain chose to act up, it had to be in front of the cute older guy. “A vodka tonic. Made by Edward.”

“Is it any good?”

You took a second, more generous swig from the tumbler, and grimaced at the taste. It wasn’t that it tasted bad, but there was far too much alcohol in your drink. “A little heavy handed on the vodka.”

He laughed. “Then I think I’ll like it.”

And then he walked away and you released a quiet wistful sigh. You had a crush, oh God. How would you survive the summer?

Edward took you to your room, and gave a mini tour of your floor. Your room was sandwiched between Maya and Jordan’s rooms. Inside, the walls were white, and mostly bare, with just a single picture hung up above your bed’s headboard.

There was a wardrobe to store your clothes; a sleek and elegant bathroom with a shower, a toilet, and a sink; a tiny desk tucked into the corner of the room; and a wide glass sliding door that led out onto a balcony that overlooked the rest of the neighbourhood. Also, the balcony was shared between the three rooms.

You placed your bag on the bench that sat at the foot of the bed, connected your phone to the WiFi, and made your way back to the main area, where a welcome party had commenced.

You spent the hour that followed observing your fellow villa mates. Some were drunk, most were tipsy, and you were way past the point of exhaustion, but you held on, not wanting to earn the label of ‘party pooper,’ and it was a struggle.

The group was divided in two. Your brother was out on the covered patio, animatedly telling a story to James and Edward, his arm possessively hooked around Eleanor’s waist. She wore a smile on her face, invested in whatever it was he was saying—you weren’t exactly paying attention—so smitten with her boyfriend. That’s the group you chose to hang around.

Inside, just a few feet away, Jordan and Mason were sitting next to each other on the sectional, and they looked rather cosy which made you speculate on the nature of their relationship.

They seemed comfortable in each other’s presence, Mason leaning into her as she showed him something on her phone, his hand resting on her knee, and it looked to be inching higher with each passing minute.

If only I was brave enough, you thought as you took in the scene before you.

But you felt you didn’t stand a chance. Not only was Mason friends with your older brother, which was bound to be an issue, a violation of some bro code, but guys like Mason didn’t go for girls like you.

It’s the simple fact of life, but it didn’t stop it from hurting any less.

You polished off the remainder of your vodka tonic, the once icy drink now at room temperature, and placed the glass on the table in front of you.

Moments later, you felt your phone vibrate in your hand. Claire. A text:

Claire 🐻: Yayyy!

Claire 🐻: I cant believe youre in majorca and i’m stuck at my grannys cottage :/

Claire 🐻: I’m jealous

She was responding to the text you’d sent her earlier. You were letting her know that you had arrived at your destination.

You: Kinda wish I’d joined you instead

Heading to the countryside with Claire was one of the ‘not definite’ summer plans.

Claire 🐻: Its not too late to change your mind…

You chuckled at her response.

Claire 🐻: Up for a late night call?

As far as you were concerned, there was no use in hanging around, but you didn’t want to make a fuss by announcing your departure. Instead, you excused yourself under the guise of someone who would return, and made a slick escape to your room.

You locked the door and launched yourself onto the bed with an audible huff.

☀️☀️☀️

You passed out after two o’clock, which meant you had a little under six hours of sleep, but you don’t feel tired. And now it’s morning, and it’s breakfast, and you can’t cook up an excuse to remain locked in your room.

There’s ten minutes till breakfast, and you don’t like being late, so you drag your feet to the bathroom and do your best to freshen up, but there’s just not enough time, and you still have to change into something breakfast appropriate.

Suffice to say, you’re the last one to arrive, and all eyes are on you as you walk into the kitchen/dining area. There’s a spread of food laid out on the table, and a bunch of hungover grown ups convened around it.

“You made it. I almost came down to get you.”

That’s Eleanor, and you’re grateful she didn’t come down. You tell a little white lie, that you had missed the alarm, and take your place at the table next to Maya, who looks like hell, the result of too many vodka tonics last night.

Across the table from you is Mason, who looks worse than Maya does. He looks to be in actual physical pain.

“Are you alright?” you question.

He shakes his head and looks like he might throw up right there on the table. It’s only then that you realise that Jordan is not here.

You turn to Maya, who’s devouring a cheese croissant, “Is Jordan not joining us for breakfast?”

She shakes her head, then swallows, “No, she’s too worn out. Someone kept her up all night.”

It takes you a moment to realise what she means by that. And then your cheeks heat up, and you wish you hadn’t asked.

“Got it.”

With a soft chuckle, she apologises for the TMI. As you plate your own food, you tune into the different conversations taking place around the table.

Eleanor is telling Edward and Maya about her plan to spend the day at the beach, and B/N is listening to James tell him about an old pal who recently contacted him about a project he wanted the two of them to work on.

Neither interest you, so you focus on eating your breakfast. And after some time, Eleanor proclaims, “So it’s settled then, we’re spending the day at the beach!”

And her tone is final—bossy.

“I think I’ll sit this one out.”

The table turns to Mason, who really looks to be suffering.

With an apologetic smile and slight shrug of his shoulder, he states, “I feel like shit.”

The corner of your brother’s lips curve into a knowing smirk, “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want to stay behind?”

Mason rolls his eyes at what B/N’s insinuating.

“Where is Jordan anyway?” he continues.

“Mate, shut the fuck up,” and despite feeling ill, Mason smiles, and blushes.

The table erupts into laughter, and you force a laugh, but you’re green with envy.

Mason doesn’t make it to the end of breakfast, and when you leave for the beach around 11, you don’t see him.

☀️☀️☀️

The sound of the waves lightly crashing into each other serves as the perfect soundtrack to your morning. There are other people on the beach with you, children running across the sand and into the shallow waters, and you’re happy—content.

“I also should’ve brought a book with me.”

You turn to Maya, who is splayed stomach side down on her brightly hued large beach towel, directly under the sun.

“When was the last time you reapplied your sunscreen?”

She can’t remember. “Oops. Do you mind?”

You place your book to one side, “Where is it?”

She sits up and extends her arm to Eleanor’s bag, that’s mere inches from where she’s sitting, for the lotion. She doesn’t have to dig far since it’s at the top of the bag.

“Thanks. I keep forgetting to reapply it, which is really bad for my skin. And not to sound vapid, but I’m not trying to age.”

She takes her place in front of your beach chair, and quickly unfastens the knots of her bikini top, but keeps her hands over her chest area. As you rub the lotion onto her back, she tells you about her boyfriend and how he was supposed to come onto the trip with her.

“He bailed at the last minute.”

Your lotion slick hands glide down to the middle of her back, where you continue to rub, “Did he say why?”

“He’s just an asshole.”

You both laugh at that.

“But it’s fine. I’ll have a better time with Jordan anyway, even though she’s currently ditching me for Mason’s dick.”

You flinch at her choice of words, the visuals of the two of them fornicating flooding your mind, and you’d rather not think about it.

“How do you know Jordan anyway?”

“We work for the same PR company. We have similar interests so we instantly hit it off.”

“Oh.” You lean back on your chair to assess your work, “Well, it looks like I’m done.”

She thanks you, calls you ‘a star,’ then moves back to her previous spot and starts lathering the rest of her body. You reach for your phone—which you have wrapped in a towel and placed under your beach chair to keep from overheating—to check the time.

You’ve been at the beach nearly three hours now, and you’re kind of over it. Plus you’re hoping to take a quick nap, the lack of sleep finally catching up with you.

“Hey, Maya. I think I’m going to head back to the villa.”

“You’re not joining us for lunch?”

The plan is to lunch at a restaurant a walking distance from the beach, but you’re more tired than hungry.

“I think I’ll pass. And tell Eleanor not to panic, I’m fine.”

Maya chuckles at that.

You pack your belongings into your cotton canvas tote, and raise off the beach chair. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

Eleanor has gone with your brother to search for a cove to take pictures for her Instagram, and James and Edward are splashing in the water nearby. You wave at them as you walk away, and are grateful when they don’t question your departure.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You whip back to Maya, “Yeah?”

“If you happen to see Mason and Jordan, tell them to come down to the beach. I’ll send them a text, but I doubt they’ll see it.”

You nod, but deep down, you don’t wish to see them.

The temperature has gradually risen since you first arrived at the beach, but under the protection of your beach umbrella, you didn’t realise the intensity of the sun. It beats down on your exposed shoulders and back, and makes you wish you had worn a cover-up.

The streets are empty, everyone in this particular area seemingly gathered at the beach, and you’re so lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the stranger that’s now walking beside you.

“Hi.”

You stop dead in your tracks, startled by his sudden appearance.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You instantly recognise his accent to be English, and he looks to be around your age.

“Hi…”

He smiles wide, his teeth exposed. “I’m Alexander, Alex.”

Your eyes drop to his extended hand, and you reluctantly extend your own to shake it. You feel it’s too formal though.

“I’m Y/N.”

Alex’s taller than you are; his pale skin dark from being out in the sun too long; his hair sandy blonde, sticking up in different directions; and his eyes a light brown. A cute face, and he’s smiling at you, making conversation.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

You shake your head, “Are you?”

He tells you that he’s here on vacation with his family, and that they come here every summer, so he’s quite familiar with the place.

“How about you?”

You tell him something similar: that you’re here with your brother and his friends, but unlike Alex, this isn’t an annual tradition.

“Nice. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

And then he asks where you are headed and without giving it much thought, you tell him, only to realise that you have made a blunder.

What if he’s a creepy stalker?

“You’re not some creepy stalker, are you?”

He laughs at your question. “No, I’m not.”

“That’s what a creepy stalker would say.”

He doesn’t give creepy stalker vibes, at least you don’t get that energy from him, and you honestly don’t want to overthink it. Alex seems nice, knows how to hold a conversation, and it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend.

He then offers to walk you back to the villa and you allow it, and on the way there, the two of you make conversation about the island and places to visit. And you think he might be flirting with you, but you’re not sure.

“Well, this is me,” you announce as you slow your pace in front of your temporary home.

“And what does your brother do for a living, exactly?”

You’re not sure what he means by that, so you choose not to answer him. Instead, you reply, “Thank you for walking with me.”

He tells you not to sweat it, says goodbye and tells you that he hopes to see you again soon. And then carries on his way.

Inside the air conditioner cooled house, Mason is perched on the large sectional in the sitting room, on a Facetime call with a friend. He sounds livelier than he was this morning, his earlier sourness replaced by a jovial mood.

Upon hearing you enter the living room, he turns in your direction, the smile on his face widening at the sight of you, and suddenly, you feel self-conscious. The sudden drop in temperature inside the house has caused you to perspire, and you’re a bit out of breath, and you’re sure you look a mess.

“Hey, Deckers,” he cuts his friend off mid-statement, “I’ve got to go, mate. Chat later.” And then he hangs up the call, and fully turns to regard you. “You’re back!”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, “I’m back. Are you feeling better?”

He shrugs, “Eh. How was the beach?”

“Warm, sunny. I liked it.”

“Then why are you back here?”

“To nap. I slept late last night,” you confess.

And when he beckons you over, you make your way to the sectional, and take your seat next to him—with space between you.

He scoots closer and assures you that he doesn’t bite. “So, what did you do at the beach?”

“Maya told me to tell you and Jordan to join them at the beach,” you blurt out suddenly.

Why, why, why have you done that? Your mind implores. And how does one recover from such? For a moment, you sit stunned, and wish the ground would open up and swallow you.

“For lunch. Maya told me to tell you to join them at the beach because it’s almost lunch.”

“Am I sitting too close?”

Yes. “No, it’s fine,” you lie, but it’s not convincing.

He smiles. “Then why do I get the sense that you are nervous?”

“It’s all in your head,” and you barely recognise your own voice. Who is this girl? And how is she so calm?

“It’s all in my head, huh?”

You place your hands over your face to conceal your smile and let your head fall back, “What do you want me to say?”

With a soft chuckle and a hand over your bent knee, he tells you, “I want you to be honest.”

The sound of a door closing downstairs disturbs the moment and you are reminded of Jordan’s presence. A few moments pass, then she appears at the entrance of the sitting room, in a bikini with a towel around her waist.

You don’t blame Mason for fixating on her, she really is so stunning.

“Are you guys back?”

It’s Mason who answers. “No, only Y/N. Where are you going?”

“Maya texted. They’re waiting for us at the restaurant, you coming?”

Mason moves away from you, and you feel your stomach drop—ouch.

“Yeah,” he raises off the couch, “Let me go change quickly.”

Your eyes drop to your fingers that are knotted on your lap. Your face is heating up for a different reason now, and you wish you had stayed at the beach with the rest of the group. Moments pass and you hear a slap sound, followed by Jordan’s giggle.

You sink further into the couch. It’s going to be a long vacation.

☀️☀️☀️

You successfully avoid Mason for the remainder of the day, but your luck runs out at dinner. In what you deem an unfortunate turn of events, you’re sat next to him at the restaurant, its tight configuration meaning that you were practically on Mason’s lap as you had your meal.

Arms and shoulders touching, knees bumping, and at one point, he has his arm draped over the back of your chair, the fabric of his shirt grazing the back of your neck. You try to ignore it, but he’s so close and smells so good, and it pains you to know that your feelings aren’t reciprocated.

And so you drink to numb your unrequited desires.

The sound of plates clattering and cheerful chatter fills the table. As previously mentioned, the restaurant isn’t large, with only five tables laid across the establishment, and they are all taken up by patrons who are here to enjoy the local cuisine.

It sits directly on the beach, a body of water a short distance from its front entrance, and its lack of walls makes it so you can see the ocean in the distance, waves rolling onto the shore, the sun setting in the horizon.

This is good, this is paradise, you think.

“It looks like Y/N’s got an admirer.”

You arch a questioning brow at your brother’s girlfriend, who sits directly across the table from you, her half-eaten plate of food now abandoned as she sips her alcoholic beverage. “I do? Who?”

“Okay, don’t turn now, but he’s sitting two tables away from us,” she seems ecstatic, “and he’s cute too.”

You like the sound of the last bit. Maybe a summer romance is in the cards for you after all.

“Okay, he’s turned away. You can look now.”

And you do so, only to discover that your admirer is none other than Alex.

“Oh, that’s Alex.”

“You know him?”

You swallow the last forkful of your meal then push your plate away from you, “Yeah, we met earlier. He’s here on vacation with his family. He’s nice.”

Enter Maya. “Just nice? Is that the best you can do?”

You get the sense that you have said something wrong—offensive even. “Yes, he’s nice.”

“Girl,” she continues, “you’ve got to do better than that. He’s clearly crushing on you, go talk to him.”

With wide eyes, you respond, “What? No!”

“Uh, why not?” they, Eleanor and Maya, ask in unison.

“Because that’s forward, and if he doesn’t actually like me, it would be extremely embarrassing for me.”

Maya turns to Eleanor, “Does she have a boyfriend back home?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Do you not want a summer fling? Or do you not swing that way?”

You laugh. You like Maya, she’s funny. “I can assure you his mind’s not on a summer fling.”

She throws her hands up in defeat. “I give up.”

“Maybe she’s not into guys like Alex. He looks like he’s a bit of a dweeb.”

Mason’s interjection catches you off guard, and you’re offended on the behalf of Alex.

“He’s not a dweeb,” you defend.

“The only word you could come up with to describe him was ‘nice.’ I think he’s a dweeb, friendzone material.”

And I think you should mind your own business, you want to retort, but you swallow your words, not wanting to make things awkward.

“Y/N’s into the bad boys, I reckon.”

That couldn’t be further from the truth, but you didn’t see the point in arguing with him.

“All I’m saying is that he keeps looking this way, and dweeb or not, he’s really into Y/N.”

Mason shrugs, and in a casual movement, his arm returns to the back of your chair. This time, his warm hand rests on the corner of your shoulder. “I don’t think you should waste your time, Y/N.”

You don’t respond, because you don’t trust your voice to not betray you.

☀️☀️☀️

It’s past three in the morning, and you’re tipsy from the liquor you consumed at dinner, and you can’t fall asleep, kept awake by thoughts of Mason. He currently occupies a too large portion of your thoughts, and it pains you because you know it will only lead to heartache.

Of all the people on this island, why did your heart choose to fixate on him? So stupid, so masochistic your heart is.

You grab your phone from its spot beneath your pillow and open the WhatsApp app to send a text to Claire:

You: Can’t sleep :/ wish you were here with me

She would know what to do in this situation. And if not, she’d find the perfect way to distract you from your moronic emotions.

You wait ten minutes to see if she’ll respond and when she doesn’t, you figure that she’s asleep, and decide to head out onto the balcony instead. Your mother’s words come to mind, ‘Fresh air clears a clouded mind.’

You pad across the cool tiled floor, and take caution not to cause a ruckus as you slide the door open. A light breeze greets you the moment that you step outside, and you inhale deeply through your nose.

And then you hear them, the distant moans coming from Jordan’s room next door. And your heart sinks at the realisation of what is happening. You weren’t aware she was with Mason again tonight.

Fuck, fuck, fuuuck!

More than anything, you’re frustrated at the fact that you care so much. He doesn’t like you, you’re his friend’s little sister, and he will never see you as anything more than that. And despite that knowledge, you’re bothered and you’re jealous and you think that life isn’t fair!

The icing on the cake—the most ridiculous part of this whole ordeal—is that you barely know the guy. But I guess emotions don’t work like that. The heart wants what it wants, or whatever, and you just have to accept that.

Fuck.

The moaning gradually intensifies and it suddenly feels wrong, dirty, to be standing out here. So you retreat back into your room, afraid that someone might catch you and get the wrong idea.

You’re not negative, you’re painfully shy, you’re a bad liar, and you’re not a pervert.

You dig your AirPods out of your tote, and listen to music to drown out the obnoxious sounds.

☀️☀️☀️

July 5, 2022

Breakfast the next morning is interesting. It seems you’re not the only one who heard Jordan and Mason’s impassioned moans. Everyone keeps teasing them about it, inappropriate jokes cracking from all sections of the table, making you wish you hadn’t come up for breakfast.

But eventually, the taunting ends, and the discussion turns to the day’s activities. B/N, Eleanor, James and Maya want to visit Castell de Bellver; and the other half, yourself included, would rather stay at the villa.

And so it’s decided that today, you will split up.

After breakfast, you accompany Maya to the beach because she wants shots of herself in front of the ocean, to ‘show my asshole boyfriend what he’s missing.’ And you’re not the best photographer, but the pictures come out decent.

You spend the rest of the morning texting Claire. The Castell de Bellver group leaves the villa around midday, and in their absence, a sort of party kicks off. You have come to discover that where there is Edward, there is booze. And music, obnoxiously loud music.

“You sure I can’t make you anything, love? I make a mean margarita.”

And because you can never say ‘no’ to Edward, you inquire, “A margarita?”

His face lights up, pleased at the prospect of you day drinking with him, “I promise to go easy on the booze.”

Jordan’s in the kitchen with him, but Mason’s nowhere to be seen. You have the first margarita, and when you finish it, they convince you to have a second. And you give in.

The volume at which they speak rises with every sip, and you witness them go from tipsy to borderline drunk in a matter of an hour. And in his borderline drunk state, Edward arrives at the conclusion that he wants to be near the ocean.

Why?

“Because I’m in mother fucking Majorca, bitches!”

And Jordan agrees.

Your flags go up, but you can’t properly articulate your concerns, the booze muddling your mind. You don’t think it’s a good idea for either of them to be near a large body of water in their state, but they’re out of the house before you can string together a coherent sentence.

Curse being a lightweight.

You think to follow after them, but then you realise that a tranquillity has descended upon the villa at their departure. And maybe it’s a selfish thought, but in their absence, you can finally read your novel.

You run down to your room to grab it, head out onto the terrace, and make yourself comfortable on one of the pool chairs.

This, you think, is what I imagined my summer to be.

And you’re basking in the solitude, lost in the words on the page, when-

“Where did everyone go?”

Right. Mason’s still home.

Without tearing your eyes from the page, you tell him, “The beach. They left about 10 minutes ago. I’m not sure if they took their phones.”

“And you stayed behind?”

“I don’t feel like sitting out in the sun.”

You hope that he might be repelled by your stoic tone, but he’s apparently not easy to deter. He makes his way over to where you’re sitting, and takes his seat at the foot of your chair.

“What are you reading?”

“A book.”

He’s amused. “I know that, but what’s it called?”

When you don’t respond, he reads the title on the cover.

“What’s it about?”

You give a brief summary of the plot.

“And do you like it?”

Oh god. “Don’t you want to join Jordan and Edward at the beach?”

“No.”

You drop the book to your lap, your finger placed between the pages to not lose your spot. Mason is in nothing but his board shorts, his face nap-swollen, sleep lines marking the one side of his face.

“You were napping?”

“Mm-hmm. Scoot over.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to lie next to you. So you can read to me.”

What? “It’s a boring book.”

“I don’t mind. Unless that’s you kind way of telling me to fuck off.”

And he smiles, which makes you smile.

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s not?”

You shake your head, “No. But I don’t think there’s enough space for the both of us.”

That’s not entirely true. It’s narrow, but the pool chair’s built just wide enough to seat two people.

“We’ll make it work. Scoot.”

And despite your better judgement, you do as he instructs. It’s a tight fit, but he fits—his body pressed right against your own.

“You comfortable?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Mm-hmm,” then you turn to your book, clear your throat, and start reading from where you left off.

You do your best to focus on the words on the page, but you’re very aware of Mason’s gaze fixed on your face as you read. And you feign indifference, but he’s so close, and it makes you nervous, and it makes you stumble on your words.

Why are you so affected by him?

He laughs at the funny bits, but for the most part, he’s silent. Listening. You expect him to get over it at some point, bored of the premise or the sound of your voice, but he stays put.

And at the end of the chapter, you close the book. “I haven’t bored you yet?”

“Mm-mm. Why d’you stop? Are you tired of reading?”

“A bit,” you shift in the chair, careful to avoid his sensitive area. “Are you sure you don’t want to join Edward and Jordan at the beach?”

“Why do I get the sense that you’re trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m not. I just figured you might want to–”

Your breath hitches at the feel of Mason’s fingers gliding up and down the skin of your exposed thigh.

“You figured I might want to what?”

He’s so casual as he asks the question, meanwhile, the words are lost to you, your brain malfunctioning.

“I figured…” you blank.

Suddenly, you don’t know how to speak.

A fuzzy feeling burgeons from the deepest pit of your stomach, and you know you have to get away, but you stay put because a part of you likes the fact that he’s touching you, but the other part—the reasonable one—sees the danger in his actions.

He’s leading you on. You’re nothing but an ego boost for him.

“Y/N?”

Say something, your mind screams at you, but your tongue’s heavy in your mouth—just a lump of lead.

“Earth to Y/N…”

“Hmm?”

“Are you still with me?”

Barely. Barely.

You lie perfectly still, afraid that if you move, it might ruin the moment. Under his touch, your body relaxes; your breath slows in tempo, shallow; and you catch yourself giving into him—and you don’t see the use in fighting it.

Thud.

Your novel hits the floor and the sound snaps you back to reality. You place a hand over his to stop its suggestive motion.

This is wrong and this can’t happen. What would your brother say if he walked in to find this sight? And Jordan? He was with her just last night.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

In quick movements, you peel away from him, raise off of the pool chair and without as much as a goodbye, scurry back into the house. You run to your room, shut the door behind you and lock it.

Stupid, stupid girl! Why would you act like such a buffoon?

“Holy crap…” you breathe out.

You’re aroused, your breathing erratic, and you feel like the biggest loser.

Why did you stop him? Your mind beseeches. Is that not what you wanted?

And now you can never face him, and he’ll never look your way ever again—not after this.

“Fuck.”

You might as well pack your bags and fly back to England. Or worse, come to terms with the fact that you’ve just ruined any shot of a summer fling with Mason.

☀️☀️☀️

An hour has passed since yours and Mason’s pool encounter, and you’ve managed to calm down but the embarrassment hasn’t been as forgiving.

You tried to call Claire, but she was out biking in the fields with her cousin and couldn’t talk. Reading was out of the question after you had abandoned your book on the terrace, and starting a new one seemed silly.

And so you sat and stewed in the feeling. And when that got too overwhelming, you listened to music to help drown your torturous thoughts. Would you ever get over it? Time would tell.

Around three o’clock, the Castell de Bellver group returned with the bad news that they didn’t get to see the castle. Apparently, in their excitement, they had forgotten to book their tickets online, and when they got there, the lines were too long.

“I take full blame, I’m generally an unlucky person,” Eleanor quips.

She calls it the ‘sightseeing curse,’ and launches into explaining the phenomenon, but you don’t catch a single word she says, your eyes fixed on Mason standing at the terrace with your brother.

The two of them are engaged in conversation, a smile on Mason’s face as he takes in your brother’s words.

“… But I did get you a gift!” Eleanor concludes.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” She digs into her Louis tote and pulls out a bright pink braided leather bracelet. “I didn’t know which colour to get.”

“Aw, Eleanor. Thanks.”

It’s such a sweet and unexpected gesture. She puts it around your wrist and it’s the perfect fit.

And then James comes from his room, looking for his boyfriend.

“At the beach with Jordan. I was actually about to head there, so I’ll let them know you’re back.”

And that’s how you escape Eleanor and her many stories. You love her, think she’s good for your brother, but man, once she gets started, there’s no stopping her. You grab your tote and phone from your room, then leave the villa.

There’s no definite plan for when you’re out the house, but it beats being in the same vicinity as Mason.

☀️☀️☀️

Edward and Jordan are still at the beach and they have befriended an elderly couple. Odd, but they’re still tipsy and they’re very happy to see you. After you tell them that the Castell de Bellver group has returned, they bid their company farewell and head back to the villa.

“You’re not coming back with us?”

“No. I think I’ll hang here for a bit. But I’ll see you soon.”

Jordan throws her arms around you and pulls you into a tight embrace. It amuses you how people are always the most affectionate in their drunk state. They blow a thousand kisses as they back away and then they are gone.

You take pictures of the ocean to post onto your story. On vacation mode, you haven’t been very active on your socials, which means that you’ve been behind on your friend’s summer activities.

You’re lost in your explore page when you hear a familiar voice call for you. It’s Alex, and he’s with his twin sister, Charlotte—Lottie.

Like you, they wanted to escape the house and the beach is the perfect spot to chill. And they invite you to join them,

“If you’re not busy, of course,” he clarifies and you appreciate his manners.

The rest of your afternoon is spent at the beach with the siblings, doing nothing in particular, but it’s a lot of fun.

Eleanor: Dinner’s at 8

Eleanor: You don’t have any allergies, right?

The second message was sent nearly an hour ago.

You: Sorry, didn’t see these. I’ll be home before then.

You send your response to her allergies question, and then you get an idea.

You: Can I invite a friend over for dinner?

You don’t expect an immediate response from her, but–

Eleanor: Only if it’s Alex ;)

You snort at her response.

You: It’s Alex

You: And his sister, Lottie

It’s been good spending time with your age mates.

Eleanor: Yes! The more the merrier.

Eleanor: Are they allergic to anything?

You invite Alex and Lottie over for dinner at yours, and when they accept, you ask if they’re allergic to anything.

You: No allergies, but Lottie doesn’t like peas.

☀️☀️☀️

It’s just past six when you and the twins part. At the villa, James and Eleanor are at the kitchen island, unpacking the groceries they’ve just come home with.

Your brother is out by the pool with Maya and Edward, and Mason is back to flirting with Jordan. The whole thing trips you up, and you conclude that it’s best not to dwell on it. Why lose sleep over something so trivial?

Because it isn’t trivial.

“What’s this I’m hearing about a potential love interest joining us for dinner tonight?”

James’s question catches you off guard.

“You told him?”

With an apologetic smile, Eleanor says, “He asked who Alex was and I didn’t know what to tell him.”

Oh goodness. “Alex is a friend.”

But James isn’t buying it. “A friend, huh?”

You laugh, “Yes. He is.”

“Then why are you giggling like that?”

“Nervous habit,” you take your seat on one of the stools at the island. “And I’m not sure if this will change your mind or not, but he’s bringing his twin sister.”

He dramatically stops mid-movement. “You’ve already met his family?”

“Who’s met who’s family?”

You really wish Mason would stop butting in your conversations like this. Your eyes follow him as he makes his way over to the fridge, where he grabs himself a bottle of water.

“Y/N. Her friend,” James winks knowingly at you, “is coming over for dinner tonight, and she was just telling me how she’s already met his family.”

“Not family, just his sister,” you clarify.

“Right, his sister.”

“Which friend? The dweeb?”

It annoys you that Mason keeps referring to Alex as that.

“Alex. His name is Alex, not dweeb.”

“Watch yourself,” James jokingly warns Mason.

But Mason doesn’t seem all that phased by your clear irritation. “So he’s coming over tonight?”

And you think your mind might be playing tricks on you, but Mason seems jealous.

“With his sister, yes.”

But you’re not interested in having this conversation with Mason in the kitchen, so you excuse yourself.

For the first time since the moment you landed on this island, you have something to look forward to and you don’t need Mason, or anyone for that matter, ruining it for you.

☀️☀️☀️

At your request, Eleanor and Maya came to your room to help you put together a look for tonight. Eleanor was the stylist, Maya the make-up artist and hairstylist. The transformation is like something out of a coming of age film, and you’re not mad about it.

“Who are you? And what have you done with my sister?”

If B/N was standing close to you, you’d shove him.

“What’s the occasion?” he inquires.

James can’t wait to tell him about Alex, which starts discourse on the nature of your relationship with your guest. They’re all like the annoying older sibling, teasing and prying, but you’d be lying if you said you aren’t entertained.

It’s Edward who comes to your rescue, extracting you from the chaos to pull you to the kitchen, where he makes you a drink.

“For courage,” he says as he hands it to you.

All eyes are on Alex and Charlotte when they arrive, and you’re tense. Jaws clenched level tense, nervous to see how your villa mates would interact with your guests. It’s your brother who makes the first move.

After introductions are made, Edward offers your guests drinks, and the rest is history. For the most part, Alex and Charlotte, stick with you, but every now and again, someone will walk over to make conversation.

When it’s time to eat, everyone makes their way over to the dining area. Alex takes his place on the seat to your right, and Mason insists on taking the left chair.

“So, Alex,” Maya starts and you already regret it. What is she going to say? “Where are you from?”

Phew.

Maya’s question launches an interrogation. Suddenly, everyone at the table—minus Mason—is a detective with questions. Where he was born. Where he’s studying. What he is studying. Future plans. All of it, they want to know, and they’re relentless in their pursuit to the answer.

Eventually, you have to interject and remind Alex that he doesn’t have to answer their intrusive questions, but he assures you that it’s fine.

“University College London, hey? That’s not far from where you’re studying, Y/N,” Eleanor notes.

Despite spending nearly three hours with the twins this afternoon, the topic of your studies never came up.

“Is it?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you? She’s at the Chelsea College of Art and Design.”

Alex turns to you, “What are you studying?”

“Interior design.”

“Ah! An architect and interior designer, a match made in heaven,” Jordan observes.

You pretend to not hear Mason scoff beside you.

What crawled up his ass and died?

Despite Mason’s clear sour mood, it’s a good night. You weren’t sure how the night would go, but it went smoother than you had anticipated. Even your brother, whose reaction you dreaded the most, was pleased.

And as the night wraps up, you’re glad that you invited the twins over.

When you walk them out, you notice that Charlotte walks ahead of her brother, and you make nothing of it until…

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow? Because if not, I’d like to take you out.” Alex’s nervous as he asks the question.

The two of you are standing in the middle of the driveway. The backtrack to your moment are the cicadas and the distant music coming from the villa. It seems there will be another party tonight.

Your face heats up from the nerves. It’s not your first time being asked out by someone, but it still gets to you. You tell him that you are in fact available to hang out, and the two of you exchanged numbers.

And then he asks to kiss you. So in the middle of that driveway, the two of you share a chaste kiss.

What you don’t realise is that Eleanor and Maya are watching the whole thing unfold from the window, and so when you come into the house, they greet you with a million and one questions.

“When are you seeing him again?”

“How was the kiss?”

“Was he a good kisser?”

“Are you in love?”

Uh… “You saw that?!”

Neither is apologetic, despite the clear horror in your tone. There’s only one question on their minds: is the summer fling on?

You laugh. “I don’t know.”

“Well, when are you guys hanging out again?”

“Tomorrow.”

Your answer pleases them. They both squeal from excitement, and you almost can’t believe that the two women in front of you are approaching 30.

☀️☀️☀️

After the night you’ve had, you can’t sleep but you know better than to sit out on the balcony because Mason and Jordan were flirting again tonight, and you think you saw them kiss by the pool, but that could’ve been the lighting.

Either way, you weren’t going to risk it.

In your sleepless state, you did what anyone in your position would do—get on a late night call with your best friend.

“Wait… when did you meet a guy?”

You hadn’t told Claire about Alex because up until tonight, you didn’t see the point in telling her about him. He was neither a friend or potential romance/fling. You explain that to her, but she’s dissatisfied.

“Well, is he hot?”

You wouldn’t use the word ‘hot’ to describe Alex. You find him cute, but you don’t want a repeat of the ‘nice’ incident, so you search your mind for a more suitable adjective.

“He’s charming.”

Claire laughs, really loudly. So loud, you have to pull your AirPod from your ear. “Charming? What, is he ugly?”

“Claire, no!” you join her in her laughter, careful not to be too loud as you don’t want to wake the house. “No, he’s actually really cute.”

“I don’t trust you anymore. Does he have an Instagram?”

He probably does, doesn’t everyone have it at this age? But you unfortunately don’t know his last name.

“Okay. Where’s he from?”

You don’t know the answer to that either. Do you know anything about this guy? “He’s studying in London, though.”

“Okay, that’s something.” And Claire likes the sound of that. “If everything goes well between you, you could have yourself a boyfriend when you get back.”

Uh, she’s definitely jumping the gun, but you don’t tell that to her. You let her bask in her fantasy.

“At least one of us has got something exciting going on in their life. From now on, I’m living vicariously through you.” She goes on to tell you that she hates it at her grandmother’s cottage. “There’s virtually nothing to do. The other day, I started–”

“Claire, could you hold for one moment?”

You think you heard a knock sound from your door.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just thought I h–”

It sounds again, but it’s clearer this time.

“Someone’s at my door.”

“At this late hour?”

You climb off of your bed and pad across the room to your door. You figure it’s Maya or Eleanor back to interrogate you some more.

“It could be Eleanor.”

There are so many possibilities for who might be standing on the other side, what you don’t expect is for it to be Mason.

He’s still dressed in what he was wearing at dinner, and he seems distressed over something. And you’re ashamed to admit that you’re concerned, and that your immediate response is to want to help make it better.

“Can I come in?”

His simple question catches you off guard. “Hey, can I call you back in a bit?”

You don’t wait for Claire’s response before you hang up.

The right thing to do would be to turn him away. That’s what a normal, sane person would do, but your curiosity has always outweighed your normality and sanity.

“If you’re here to insult Alex, I swear I’ll–”

“I’m not here to insult your friend,” his voice strains ever so slightly at the word ‘friend.’

Seriously, what’s his beef with the guy?

“Then why are you here?”

Mason looks over his shoulder then back to you. “Please let me in.”

Your mind cautions against it, but you’re deaf to its warning. You don’t listen to it much, your mind, at least not when it comes to boys.

“Only if you promise to behave.”

“You have my word.”

And that’s good enough for you. You move out the way to let him pass, and once he’s inside, you close the door and lock it. The last thing either of you need is your brother, or anyone, walking in and getting the wrong idea.

You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that this is wrong.

But that thing about your curiosity and the fact that despite everything you have internally said about Mason, you’re fascinated by him, drawn to him in a way that makes no sense to you. Infatuation is weird that way.

“You journal?”

Mason’s standing at your desk in the corner, examining the objects littering the surface. There’s a journal, a pen, half drunk bottle of water, and a few of your beauty products.

“Sometimes. I haven’t done it in a while though, so I’m trying to get into it again.”

You brought out the journal for two reasons tonight: first, to document your first kiss with Alex, and secondly, to vent about Mason.

“So, what brings you to my room, Mason?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

You think the answer vague and leaves you with more questions like, “Can’t you read a book? Listen to a podcast? Music? Watch a video on YouTube…”

Have sex with Jordan. You don’t say that option because you realise that it’s petty—there’s no reason to bring Jordan into this.

“Yeah, but then I thought I’d come see if maybe you were also up.”

There’s something about the way he says that.

“What, did Jordan kick you out of her room, then?”

And you instantly hate yourself for asking that, and hate what it insinuates. If you wanted to show him that you had no feelings for him, that’s no way to show it.

With a smug smile, he responds, “No, she didn’t kick me out.”

“Well, I am. So please leave.”

“But I only just got here.”

“Yeah, well you disturbed my call.”

At some point, earlier in your conversation, you noted that he sounded tipsy. If you didn’t know better, you’d probably miss it. You attribute his strange mood to that, and in another scenario, you’d be fearful, but you trust Mason.

“I’ll be silent, I promise.”

Your face twists in disapproval.

“What, you don’t trust me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” There’s a brief pause, and then, “Oh, you were on the phone with Alex just now.”

“No, my friend Claire.”

“Were you telling her about me?”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. I was telling her about Alex, actually.”

“What about him?”

God, how old is this man? And why on earth are you flattered by this stupid behaviour? Seriously, what’s wrong with you?

“That’s none of your business, actually.”

“So what’s the deal with you and Alex anyway?”

You really hate this question, not because it’s Mason who asks it, but because you genuinely don’t know what to tell people. Just a few hours ago, Alex was nothing but a friend, and sure, you shared a kiss, but surely that doesn’t change anything.

Or are you the bitch?

“Who wants to know?”

“Me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m curious. Want to know if I still stand a chance.”

A chance? A CHANCE? “Mason, I’m really tired and I’m not in the mood for mind games.”

You watch as he moves from his spot at the desk to your bed, where he takes his seat at the end of it. Usually, a bench sits where his feet are, but Maya moved it earlier.

“Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Why? Are you kicking me out already?”

“Maybe.”

“But I didn’t say anything to offend your friend.”

“Yeah, but Claire… she’s expecting me to call her back.” And because you don’t care anymore, you add, “And I’m really not sure why you’re here.”

“I told you, I couldn’t sleep.”

“And I gave you options to help with that.”

“And I appreciate the recommendations, but–”

“But nothing. Mason, if someone walks in here, all hell will break loose.”

“Why? It’s not like we’re doing anything?” and cheekily, he adds, “Unless you want to.”

That prompts memories of your pool encounter. The feel of the tip of his fingers floating across your skin; the scent of him, one you can only describe as Mason; and the way he made you feel.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“How old are you?”

His brows knit together, and he seems perplexed.

“My brother’s 29, Eleanor’s 27. How old are you?”

“23.”

That makes him four years your senior. Age is nothing but a number, and whatever, but that’s a significant gap to you. But then again, you’re also jumping the gun here. Should this happen, if it happens, it would be nothing more than a summer fling.

Who are you kidding? A summer fling? Girl, this is the same man who was hooking up with Jordan just days ago.

“Well, I turned 19 this year.”

And surely, he must know that. I mean, you know that your brother doesn’t go around telling people your age, but surely he could see it.

All he can say is, “Fuck.”

And you agree. Fuck.

“Well, are you just going to stand there?”

“As opposed to doing what?”

“Sit with me,” he says. And when you make no movements, he adds a polite, “Please.”

Bad idea. You don’t trust yourself around him. Frankly, you think he should leave the room before you do something you’ll both regret, but the truth is that you like having him here, sitting at the end of your bed like that.

He’s so handsome, and there’s a certain glint in his eyes, probably from the alcohol in his system, and his hair’s so inviting. You just want to run your fingers through his locks.

“What are we going to do?”

It’s a rhetorical question because there’s nothing to do. For one, your brother would have a coronary. Not to mention the age gap, you know Claire wouldn’t approve of it. And his thing with Jordan, and your thing with Alex, and everything.

But his smile, the sound of his laughter…

Your legs begin to move to Mason of their own volition. You stop before him, and for some time, the two of you just stay like this, your hands in his hair, his hands at your hips.

#mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount one shot #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fanfiction #mason mount fluff #mason mount imagine

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fantasyandshit · 3 months

Text

The light and the dark

Type: series

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron sister reader

Part: 1/?

Other parts here

Summary: Yn is the youngest of the four Archeron sisters, growing up life was rough her and her family always made it.

(A/n, it’s been a minute since I read the series, especially first few so timeline might be slightly off.)

“Yn?” I hear Feyres voice call as she nears the shack we call a house, nose red from the cold and limping slightly as she carries the deer atop her shoulder. I make my way over quickly, taking the dear from her shoulder and slinging it across my own much to her protest and heading inside. “I thought Nesta was supposed to be chopping wood?”

I set the deer down with a thump, “when I got back it wasn’t done, figured rather than fight and get nowhere, I might as well do it myself.” I shuffle around the small kitchen, taking a knife from the counter and moving back to the animal.

“Yn.” I stop and turn to my sister with an eyebrow raised. “Please go have Elain fix you up or something? You have dried blood across your face and who knows what’s hiding under your clothing. Seriously how many times have I told you to rest after the fight rings?”

A humorless chuckle leaves my cracked lips as I lick them before turning back to the table and begin slicing the meat. “I’m fine Feyre. I promise, I’ll clean myself up later. You on the other hand need to go sit, there should still be wood near the fireplace, if not, tell me and I’ll go grab some of the logs I just chopped.”

Feyre sighs before going to join the rest of the family by the hearth, knowing she won’t win in this debate.

———

Later, I’m carving at meat when the door is blown off its hinges and a beast stomps into the room- a fae. Immediately the knife in my hand is pointed its direction and I’m in front of my family, however gets a knife of her own and is by my side.

“Who killed the wolf.”

I’m stunned before it repeats itself, “who killed the wolf.”

Several moments go by, before I speak out. “I did.” At the same time of Feyre and I see the beast turning towards her- it knows. Before I can properly think, I charge at the beast, knife landing in its leg before it bats at my face, throwing me to the wall. “No!” I hear Feyre call before all goes black.

———

I wake up in a carriage, Nesta and Elain in front of me. There’s a pain in my face, back, legs, ribs- everywhere. “What’s-what’s going on?” I try to push myself to sit up but am pushed back down by Elain. “Where’s Feyre.”

I’m fuming by the time Nesta explains, “you let her leave! Just like that! You let her leave! Are you mental!”

“Yn please calm do-“

I point my finger to my sister “No! No Elain I will not calm down! Your two let Feyre leave with that beast!”

“You do not speak to her like that.” Nesta growls, one of her deadly glares directed my way.

“Do not- You’re mad for how I spoke to Elain? Feyre is gone! Gone! What if it was Elain? Would you care then? Oh precious Elain can’t go but Feyre- oh no one cares about Feyre!” My voice raises as I glare back at my eldest sister.

“You keep your mouth shut.”

“No! Fuck both of you! I’m going to find Feyre.” I climb from the stable carriage only to see we’re at a manner, bigger than our past one but I don’t care. I need to find my sister.

———

I know it isn’t much and there isn’t any Az yet but trust he will be here soon. Love y’all.

#azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #acotar #nesta x reader #elain x reader #feyre x reader #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #series

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obm-avenquire · 1 year

Text

Obey Me! Seven Minutes In Heaven Hell

[I’m honouring my rotten god awful roots from hell. Put up with it. I hope this gives someone whiplash. I am writing this both as a joke and with complete sincerity and i wont be explaining myself if you get it you get it if you dont then i hope youll find it entertaining anyway. I used my own deviantart for 2012 for reference for this]

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

Another day, another party in the Devildom.

You have no idea how any of them have energy for all this - it feels like every week someone will pull some cause for celebration out of thin air and suddenly they’ve hired a catering company and a truckload of helium balloons. Of course, Diavolo - fuelled by his unending fear of missing out and need for enrichment - enables it every time, doing everything he can to get himself and everyone else you know invited. Which is…fine, you like seeing them all. In moderation. At none noisy crowded events. Ah, well. Such is the burden of a dating sim protagonist. Slumber parties at the castle are a little less high maintenance at least.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Asmodeus calls your name, waving you over with Demonus-flushed cheeks before dragging you away from the balcony and back into the big guest room-turned-common-room-sleeping-area. You definitely think there’s a better way to phrase that, but you barely have time to think when Asmo is pushing you to sit down in the collective circle (his strength always surprises you, and he’s maybe just a little too tipsy to regulate it properly), pressing a kiss on your cheeks before running off to herd together the rest of the group.

You look around the circle, giving Satan an affirming but vague nod that he returns with an equally innocuous smile, which you accept as you always do and go back to your usual little headcount. Belphegor was dozing on the sofa, threatening to sprawl over Satan (who was ‘gently’ repositioning him whenever necessary), Mephistopholes (who had invited himself) was preaching his very special gospel to Beelzebub at the snack table while Asmodeus did whatever he could to wrangle the younger away because his plate was basically just a tower of snacks at this point and he could always get more later so if he would just pleeeeaaaaasssee-

You stop paying attention, instead giving Simeon and Raphael a little wave as they walk in.

“Welcome back,” You shuffle over slightly to make space for the two of them, Simeon sitting down next to you as Raphael decides to stand rigidly slightly off to the side just a little behind the sofa, and just…stay there. Well, whatever makes him comfortable, you guess. “Did Luke arrive safe?”

“He did, thankfully,” Simeon smiles, tucking his phone into the pockets of his trousers, “I can’t believe Serun broke all their bones and had to be hospitalised again. I feel awful not being able to visit, but, well…” He sighs, shrugging, “He wanted to go himself, and insisted he could manage, so…You know how he i-”

“What? I only came because I was promised melon cake!” You’re not sure where Thirteen popped up from, but she’s already on the armchair in the corner, kicking her legs over the armrests as she rolls her eyes. “What a waste of time.”

“Oh! Well, he still finished that, actually, so-” There’s a distinctive arcane shink sound that cuts Simeon off mid sentence. “Now, Raphael, put the spear away, you can’t do that here-” Ever the stickler for manners, it seems. Oh well. Not your problem.

“Hey, so I’ve been meaning to ask.” Thirteen raises her eyebrows at your voice, pupils knife-like and theatrically bitchy in the dim candlelight. “Why are you covered in soot.”

“Well,” She scoffs, clicking her tongue, “Since someone-” She glares at Solomon from across the room, who smiles very nicely and innocently through his conversation with Barbatos- “Decided to ‘dismantle’-” She does incredibly heavy and repeated air quotes with her fingers, “My special little bomb boy it exploded all wrong!”

“I understand completely. I’m sorry someone would ever do something so awful to you, you don’t deserve that even slightly.” She snorts, balling up the tissue she was using to wipe the ashes off her forearm and throws it at your head. It disintegrates in midair before so much as making contact, and you squint over in the sorcerer's direction. He’s not even looking your way, and Barbatos whispers something you can’t make out to him as Thirteen groans and throws up her hands in frustration, sliding into what must be an incredibly uncomfortable position. It doesn’t seem to bother her, though, and she picks at her nails grumpily. Oh well!

“-Stop complainin’ already, would it really kill ya to join in?” Mammon is doing everything in his power to pull Levi through the door by the collar of his coat, but the younger seems to be trying to retract his own head into his shirt like a turtle to try and get out of it.

“You’re killing me you’re the worst and I hate youandIhopeeverythingbadeverhappenstoyoua-”

“Yeah yeah whatever. Shut up and sit.” Mammon slings his arm over Levi’s shoulder, dragging him down into the circle just as Lucifer and Diavolo finally come back from whatever it was they were getting done.

“Lucifer, don’t make that face!” Diavolo nudges his bestest of friends, who looks particularly miserable, even as Barbartos silently refills his glass before they all, too, sit to join, the prince and his right hand man on the final empty sofa, the butler instead choosing to kneel neatly a little off to the side from Mammon and Levi. Satan adeptly shoves Belphegor upwards at just the right timing for Beelzebub to sit down (his twin slumps right back into his shoulder). Mephistopholes complains that there isn’t a proper place to sit til Mammon trips him and he ungracefully tries to pass it off as deciding to sit on the floor as Thirteen barks a sharp laugh at him.

A pleasant hum of conversation settles through the room, Asmodeus stumbling into hugging Solomon, whispering something between the invocation trio that you can’t quite make out before spinning around and clapping his hands together (cutely. It’s important to emphasise that he did this so so cutely) to get everyone’s attention.

“E---veryone!!!” He waits a few seconds for silence, shooting a glare at whoever dares to continue in the wake of this very very important announcement. “It’s time for a very special game! Have we all heard of 7 minutes in heaven?” He bounces on the tips of his feet in excitement despite the lukewarm reception. “Okay well that’s a mostly no then I guess- Honestly! I know it’s a human world thing, but really?” He pouts, and you note that Diavolo’s visible excitement has increased exponentially already.

“Allow me to explain,” Solomon cuts in, confirming your suspicion that he’d been somehow roped into this. “Two or more participants are selected - in our case by drawing lots - to go into a closet or equivalent and do whatever they like for 7 minutes.” Everyone seems a lot more attentive, suddenly. “Ah, of course, we’ll be taking magic precautions to make sure that there’s no cheating, and certainly no one breaking into the closet before time is up,” He grins, clearly enjoying this already.

“The heck.” Mammon grumbles, oddly fidgety all of a sudden, “There ain’t even a closet in here,” Leviathan nods aggressively. He’s sweating.

“Hm? Oh! That won’t be a problem, haha! Barbatos was kind enough to offer to help out with that,” The aforementioned butler steps aside to reveal a simple wooden door on the wall that decidedly hadn’t been there earlier. “We even made sure it was sound-proofed! You know, just in case.”

“What a curious game! Shall we start right away?” Diavolo beams, inadvertently cutting off Mephistopholes, who’d just opened his mouth to no doubt complain that this sort of juvenile and inappropriate game had no place at a gathering with the Devildom’s one and only prince.

“Yes!! Everyone write your name on a piece of paper, okay?” Asmo begins handing out paper and pens to everyone, shushing any complaining he meets. “You don’t have to play! It just means you’re boring and no fun and that you’ll never get a chance like this again.”

Better write your name, then. You’d hate to miss out.

You watch as Barbatos collects everyone’s paper slips, dropping them into a glass bowl and shaking periodically to shuffle them well. You immediately lose track of yours, so you figure that it’s worked. After what feels like a slightly inordinate amount of time, everyone seems to have put their name in the bowl - sure, some were more…begrudging or in need of convincing than others, but that’s normal! Anyways-

“Oooo I’ve been waiting for this all evening!” Asmodeus grabs the bowl, tap-tap-tapping along the rim for effect, perfectly manicured nails making a pleasant ASMR-esque tink noise. “Right, first u-”

“Uhm, how do- how do we know you’re, uh, not rigging this?” Asmo whips his head around to stare open-mouthed at Levi.

“Excuse me? I would never-”

“Mm, there’s no guarantee though, is there?” Asmodeus pouts at Satan, grumbling something about being personally offended and making sure to snitch next time Satan asks him for a favour.

“Fine! Since I’m so untrustworthy and awful-” The smile is switched back on as he saunters over to you, swishing the bowl around carefully before holding it out to you. “Why don’t you pick? No one will complain then, right?”

The silence in the room means yes, presumably.

“Go on hun! Don’t be nervous-” He winks, and your mouth quirks into a smile to humour him, carefully reaching into the bowl for two slips of paper, pulling them out and carefully unfolding them to reveal-

✧─── ･｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

[As is tradition, I'll be uploading the individual 'endings' as I write them :) I'll be putting a poll up on my account for who to write first (within reason, I don't think tumblr will let me put up enough options to cover everyone) so feel free to suggest people in the replies/tags too!! there will be no luke option becuz i dont know how to put hardware destroying malware in clickable links yet sory :( feel free to simulate the experience urself tho!!]

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brighttears · 11 months

Note

I have a request!!

I cannot stop thinking about Joel noticing that the reader leans into his touch but is scared to initiate anything herself. So when he finds out that her ex made her feel insecure for being clingy, he immediately talks with her and tries to tell her how she deserves all the touches she needs ❤️❤️

It's just so sweet!

Joel Miller x f!reader

No physical description, no use of y/n

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: pet names (darling, sweetheart, good girl, baby), a little hot and heavy but no smut, mentions of previous mental/emotionally abusive relationship and reader is not fully recovered, reader’s former relationship is with a man

A/n: Sorry this took so long hope it doesn’t disappoint eeee ! also referring to Joel as ‘boyfriend’ does something to me boy oh boy

—

You try replacing touching Joel with looking at him, listening to him, just trying to soak up everything you can, hoping for something to be enough to relieve the yearning ache you’ve always felt for him. When you first got to the point in your relationship where you could touch freely, it was difficult to hold back—you’d wanted it so much and fantasized about it too often beforehand. When Joel does want physical affection, you give him as much as he’ll take, and you always have the solace of how he holds you every night. Still, you have to reel yourself back in constantly. You’d rather have that than a repeat of your ex, though. Joel is different from him in many ways—he is a better man, a good man, and you know he’s not him, but you can’t shake what your ex had told you, and you don’t want Joel to start hating you for being clingy like he had. So, you keep the dog that drools for him at bay; but as it turns out, the leash isn’t as tight as you thought.

You were at the Tipsy Bison that night, chatting with Tommy and Maria on your way out. Joel leaned against a post with you at his side, already standing close, but then he casually slung his arm around your waist, pulling you to him, brushing his thumb up and down your hip. You were barely able to follow the conversation after that, and when you had to ask Tommy to repeat his question, your boyfriend decided it was time to say goodnight.

He held your hand the whole walk back, and you once again had to ask him to repeat something he’d said, distracted both by the warmth of his large hand in yours and digs of anxiety about your behavior. When the touch breaks as you enter the house, so over you does a wave of anxiety and shame. You bow your head deeply, trying to hide your burning face, and go straight up to the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, you take your time untying your shoes, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the talk you’re sure Joel is about to give you. You’ve been trying so hard, but you’re still too clingy—freakishly clingy. No one likes someone like that. That last relationship was for two years, and you thought you’d loved him—that is, until Joel came into your life—and he was the one that left. Don’t mess this one up. you scold yourself.

When Joel walks in, causally unbuttoning his flannel, you keep your eyes on your laces, but as he moves, you can tell he’s looking at you. Left in his white tee, Joel folds his flannel up in his hands, then tosses it onto the bed as he sits down next to you.

“I’m sorry,” you begin for him, “it won’t happen again. I can control myself. I’ll be better about it. I promise.” your mind is fogged with anxiety, your chest knotted tight.

“What?”

You look up at him and his brow is furrowed, but a smile plays at the end of his lip like he thinks you’re joking. You blink. “I mean, like about being clingy, I know I have a problem with it, I’m sorry.” you turn your head back down, closing your eyes and shaking your head, hating yourself.

“Clingy? When did I ever say I have a problem with you bein’ clingy?”

“Well, I just,” you try to hide frustration in your voice, targeted only inwards, “I know I am, and that I’m just too much with that stuff, and I know that's just like unattractive and I didn’t mean to humiliate you in front of Tommy and Maria like that, I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself and you,”

He interrupts, “Woah, woah, where is this comin’ from, darlin’? Who put all that shit in your head? Cause I know I never said anythin’ like that.”

Afraid of a scowl, you keep your head down as you explain yourself, feeling another pang of guilt in your chest. “Well, my ex, I was really clingy, I mean, I am really clingy, but he, you know, taught me about it.”

“Taught you what?”

“Just that, you know, it’s—bad, and embarrassing when I do it in public, and annoying.”

“Your ex told you all this?” Finally, you look at him timidly. He’s leaning forward with his hands on the bed, looking at you with his brow knit with confusion and concern.

“Well, yeah,” you reply sheepishly.

“Okay, well first of all, that’s all bullshit,” he chuckles lightly, “you’re not clingy. Clingy’s different. An’ if this is about, you know, touch, I like you touchin’ me.” He nudges you with his shoulder, making you chuckle despite your mood. “An’ this ex a yours, well he’s just one man—actually, sounds more like a boy than a man, talkin’ t’you like that—but just cause he did’n like it doe’n mean no one else does, or that it’s bad. It’s not bad, sweetheart,” Joel shakes his head lightly, “nothin’s wrong with… liking to be touched.” his eyes travel up and down you and he shifts his torso towards you, supporting one hand on the bed, and with the other, he takes your chin with his thumb and index to angle your rosy face to look at him. “You deserve all the touchin’ you want, baby. If this is what you like,” he moves his hand slowly over your cheek, and you lean into it, “this is what I’ll give you.” Instantly you’re liquid in the cup of his hand, warmth making your eyelids lazy. You let out a sigh, near overwhelmed with, just, Joel. Those big beautiful brown eyes wander over your face and he gently presses his hand into the weight of your head and you automatically lean further into the pressure and warmth. He smirks, “I like you like this.” You giggle, easily with all of you feeling lighter.

Your anxiety has washed away completely. You can be an easy forgetter, but ground easily with Joel. He’s your man, he loves you, he’s always held your body like he needs it. You can’t even fit in a thought of your ex with Joel so close to you, holding the weight of your head, and god, those dreamy eyes on your lips.

You slide your hand up his forearm and wrap it around his wrist, then turn your cheek just enough to start kissing his palm, keeping his gaze.

Joels’ eyes flash and then he takes his hand away to take your waist and sits further back on the bed to pull you on to straddle his lap. You yelp and giggle but you’re barely actually thinking, just feeling him. He kisses you tenderly and you smooth your hands up his chest and to his face, lips slow, impassioned, and heavy. You’re on autopilot, letting your body move how it wants over Joel. Joel’s hands slide around to splay on your back and he pulls you into him; it pushes a breathy moan out of you, electricity humming over every inch of your front pressed against his body, warm and sound. Your head is angled over his shoulder and he trades your lips for your neck. The pressure of his hold, feeling all of him right up against you, relieves your ache for him, you feel it dissipate and it escapes out of you in a drawl of his name. At that, he clutches you tighter, and you feel a buzz as he hums into your neck. Then he takes his lips away, making you let out a deep breath, his nose and top lip still ghosting over your skin as he says in a husky purr, “Y’know, you’re not the only one who likes this.” Eyes closed, you let out a breathy chuckle, feeling it move against his body. Joel loosens his hold so you fall back just enough to be able to look at him, his head tilted up slightly to meet your eyes, “So don’t be afraid of touchin’ me, sweetheart.”

“Okay.” You respond, almost automatically—if he ever wants to convince you of something, this would be the way to do it.

“Good girl.” He kisses you once and then enfolds you again in a tight embrace, you hum a sigh, resting your chin lazily on his shoulder, arms around his broad back, and you want to stay here forever. You skim your hands up and down his back and he sighs deeply. Then, quiet and muffled against you, he says, “God, I want you all over me, baby.”

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lains-reality · 8 months

Note

I sincerely apologise for writing this. i feel really conflicted right now. I have been getting suicidal thoughts lately because of my circumstances. Sometime I feel like I don’t even want to exist. I came to non-duality from loa. I spent 3 years trying to “manifest” a peaceful life. Trying to escape from my circumstances and wake up to a completely different life.

I make myself promises to like “manifest my desired life my the end this month” or “to stop making the same mistake” but I end up breaking them. I felt like I over consumed alot and now I don’t know where to begin or what to detach from. I tell myself that I’ll throw my phone aside and start applying but then I get caught up in my problems again and it’s just a cycle on repeat.

I have to say I’m quite ashamed of myself. Not being able to accomplish anything in my life and disappointing those around me despite knowing the law of assumption and now non-duality.

This is probably the most stupidest thing I have ever asked but could you simply non-duality in a a few sentences? I feel like I have come to the point where I can’t even trust myself to stop over consuming and wishing for change. Thank you.

you might benefit from this and this.

i really would like you to read this!

the body-mind, the "I" you think you are, i'll call them sam!

give up trying to manifest. give up trying to change the world with sam's thoughts and feelings, its torture.

here's the main point:

simple mindfulness is what gurus have asked of us. not convincing, denial or forcing. its observing.

observe the habit of 'you'. you take the "I" to be the body-mind, sam. sam is a habit, and is sustained through attachment and aversions. drop them.

all you need to fix is your wrong identification. let go of sam and all their stories.

if you find yourself forcing, suppressing, or trying to get rid of sam (something that you don't do), then remember this: god is already perfect. the answer is to surrender.

there's no image or role to maintain. you can just be.

here's a more in depth reminder.

there's so many words for Self: Absolute Perfection, Bliss, Infinite Being, Supreme Reality. i want you to remember I AM. I AM is complete and whole, alone. its just beingness. just as it is. before the world and sam, you are conscious. before wanting, you are conscious.

nondualism's goal is letting go of all the concepts that stop you from seeing Self.

the body-mind is a thought. its an idea. you are already detached from sam. but you don't see it bcs you are identified with them right now. you are attached to your character, and we want to release all those attachments.

"the identity is a shadow. it is not us. analyze your mind briefly, and you will find that is nothing but a byproduct of societal conditioning, peer opinions, books, movies, whatever content you've most willingly consumed." - luvcompass

the mind is just a bunch of thoughts, feelings and memories. are you a thought? are you a story? are you a memory? are you a feeling?

sam is. but you are not sam.

sam doesn't want sam and all the stories anymore (likely because you think you are stuck as sam). but sam never was. sam is an idea, a story. they are a thought in the mind. because you are identified as sam, you see sam. without your awareness on sam, sam wouldn't be.

Unless they understand who they really are, that Vanessa (sam) is a habit and nothing more - that nothing has existence outside of awareness, including her, that awareness assigns reality and is the only reality - they're always going to struggle to control something and get frustrated they don't see what they think they're aware of. What you're aware of is what you're being. You can't be aware of being something new while also being Vanessa. [source]

The ego is an activity, its not innate, its FORMED.

"Ego (sam) is not an entity. It is an activity. It is an optional activity of identifying itself with a fragment that Consciousness is free to make or not, from moment to moment." [source]

and by habit of taking the "I" to be sam, it continues.

focus on respond vs react. start catching yourself out when you say 'i am ...', start asking questions to yourself abt who 'i' is. start watching your thoughts. learn how to feel your emotions when they come up, don't run away from them or they will continue to come up until you deal with it. this is a process of allowing.

"I make myself promises to like “manifest my desired life my the end this month” or “to stop making the same mistake” but I end up breaking them."

i want you to accept now. you are sam, so you see sam. stop chasing a future that will never come. there's only ever the present moment.

To be identified to your mind is to be trapped in time: the compulsion to live almost exclusively through memory and anticipation. This creates an endless preoccupation with past and future and an unwillingness to honor and acknowledge the present moment and allow it to be. The compulsion arises because the past gives you an identity and the future holds the promise of salvation, of fulfillment in whatever form. Both are illusions. — Eckhart Tolle

what would happen if you stopped using the past as a reference? what would happen if you stopped projecting past stories into the future? what would happen if you stopped thinking of a tomorrow?

"i felt like I over consumed alot and now I don’t know where to begin or what to detach from."

start with "who am i?". anything you can outgrow? not you. anything you can observe ? not you. in the absense of it, you don't disappear? not you. it changes and you don't disappear? not you.

how do you know you are sam except by your belief that you are sam?

"I have to say I’m quite ashamed of myself. Not being able to accomplish anything in my life and disappointing those around me despite knowing the law of assumption and now non-duality."

read this. also, there are no others. you are seeing yourSelf play out.

let go of the shame, regret and guilt. read the linked post, and watch the source from the first quote, it'll help. i also want you to watch this.

give yourself compassion. give yourself space to grow. sam is a random person just like anybody else, so why chastise them for stuff that just happens?

sam cannot do anything in the first place. (what is sam gonna do to change the infinte? why would the infinite need changing anyway?)

you are putting pressure on sam to change the world, but really Self orchestrates all. sam is just another creation of Self. this entire world is Self's expression. give up intellectualising what sam did, maybe it has nothing to do with you and it just happened?

sam is not a problem or mistake!

sam is already part of infinity and exists whether sam likes it or not. you are unconditionally accepted already as perfection or else you wouldn't be here.

“All you need is already within you, only you must approach your self with reverence and love. Self-condemnation and self-distrust are grievous errors.” - nisargadatta maharaj

i'm sorry i wrote too much, but i hope this helps! please be safe!

#lainsmail #i think this is my best work? lol #it took so long to write

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yandere-romanticaa · 3 months

Note

To the anon who was asking abt sex! Here’s my two cents based off of experience..

1. Cockwarming is not like,,, pleasurable. Like when I read fics abt it and the reader is all squirmy and whatever it really doesn’t make sense. If the guy isn’t moving then it doesn’t really feel like anything, and it gets a little uncomfortable after a few minutes of no movement. It’s kinda like using a tampon. I definitely think that the pleasure derived from this is more mental than physical. Only the guy really gets anything physical out of it.

This kind applies to vibrators too. Like internal vibrators are not crazy stimulating but it is enough to make you distracted. But to each their own I suppose.

2. Sex in general. Internal stimulation (P in V) is good, and if I had to describe it I would say it feels like a bruise repeatedly. It’s hard to describe. Like it hurts but not in an ‘ow’ way, it feels good. Definitely a feeling that gets the legs shaking after repeated thrusting against that spot.

BUT, I cant finish without stimulation to my clit. It’s definitely different for everybody, but in my case I need clitorial stimulation or else it just feels like I’m on the edge the whole time (which, by the way, is a very unsatisfying feeling).

And thrusting it all in like in one go isn’t possible, remember that your vagina is one giant muscle, and when you stretch a muscle to hard and fast it strains and it doesn’t feel good. Foreplay is very helpful bc it loosens you up first, but even then you can’t force it in at one go. You kinda gotta start with the tip first and use short movements to slowly fit the whole thing in.

AND YES!!! THE STRETCH HURTS!!!! If you aren’t prepared properly or your partner just shoves it in it feels like your skin is being stretched (like a rubber band being stretched so much that it’s about to snap) and it’s a sharp pain and you could tear. SO FOREPLAY MATTERS!!!!

3. Cervix stuff… 😭😭😭 Guys. You can NOT thrust into the cervix. These fics are LYING TO YOU!!! It’s literally like trying to thrust through bone, the cervix is hard and even inserting thin items like a Q tip fucking HURTS. Unless it’s like monster fucking with ovipositors then it’s just straight unrealistic. A díck can NOT push through.

Some women find it painful even when their cervix is just thrusted against. (It doesn’t hurt for me so I don’t mind but majority of all the gals I’ve spoken to DONT like it. One of my friends even threw up during sex one time from the pain.)

4. Mind break. Not a real thing. Sorry. After so many rounds, no matter how high your drive is, the sex just starts to feel uncomfortable. Don’t push yourself past that point, listen to your body and know your limits. Because once it feels uncomfortable it kinda starts to hurt. This applies for the guys too. It just stops feeling good after a while and you leave that sort of lust-haze and become very lucid (post-nut clarity LMAOOO), which also makes you feel the discomfort even more.

So yeah, mind break via sex just isn’t a thing because your body literally has a limit. Overstimulation is real but your body has limits for that too. Like after so many orgasms I can’t touch my clit or it feels like a sharp pain. (Again, everyone is different but that’s just me)

And yeah. That’s all I can rlly think of.

This was an interesting read!!!!! I think that smut may or may not have poisoned my brain a little bit so this felt like a breath of fresh air. Of course, one should never take smut too seriously as it is primarily for entertainment, but it really does feel like things can mess you up if you're an inexperienced pookie such as myself!

Truth be told, sex scares me. Like, a lot.

I am in my early 20's and there is this societal expectation that I need a boyfriend. I also live in a fairly conservative country which honestly doesn't help me at all. And it's low key expected from couples to just go at a few months into the relationship, sometimes even after a few weeks depending on the person. That's how most of my friends/acquaintances did it anyway.

Just the thought of a man seeing me so naked and vulnerable like that, it brings tears to my eyes. It legit scares me so much. Buddy, if you see me in my birthday suit you are NOT going anywhere LMAO, you'll have to marry me, I'm sorry -

I've been called an uptight and boring prude for having this kind of mentality and I get it. But I can't help it, I just can't. I don't think I'll ever be able to have that kind of physical connection with anyone unless I know them inside and out 😓 I'm too scared and too insecure for my own good... I also have a few stretch marks on my stomach, which I really hate, I really do. I don't think I could handle the humiliation of another person ever seeing them.

#♥️ girlie says #🤍 anon asks

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i-amyou · 2 months

Note

hi :)

i’m sure you’ve already talked about this so sorry if i repeat a question but i’m just tired of “needing” to remind myself that i am “ ” i want to get to a point where i can’t unsee it like you’ve mentioned a few post down. i have to constantly remind myself i am not the body it’s not something that is “stuck” with me if you know what i mean and even there i feel like i don’t KNOW it. i feel like im just repeat something that i don’t necessarily believe and when i go within it’s silence it is “ ” but i literally means nothing to me idk what to explain.

i don’t want to ask a “how to” questions but i’m just confused on how to get that knowing if there’s nothing to do. is what i’m feeling rn enough?

You won't find it as long as you keep trying. What can possibly ever be, is right here right now. You don't have to do anything, no need to remind yourself of anything. You're always THAT.

Just BE. Be present in the Now. Observe and notice. Whatever thoughts come up let them, you don't have anything to fight or resist against so why are you trying so damn hard.

There is no point to reach because all there is, IS NOW. Right here. Notice that.

#ask #nothingness #consciousness #awareness #beingness #realisation #advaita vedanta #nondualism #nonduality #advaita

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

Note

hi! if you’re still taking requests could you please write something about being pregnant and you’re getting some hate from harry’s fanbase about your body and harry reassures you about how you’re beautiful and all that, maybe some smut if you can?? i’m feeling a bit insecure about my body today and i really wish i had someone to help me through that 😓 if you don’t want to no worries, i love your work 🫶🏻

I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to do this, but I hope it can help remind you exactly how wonderful, stunning, and loved you are!

“No.”

“Angel…just come here—”

“I said no.”

Harry’s eyes narrow playfully as he regards you from the bed. “Baby, if I have to pick you up and carry you back over, I promise you aren’t gonna like what happens next.”

You snort from your place inside the closet, although truth be told, you don’t doubt that he will. “I’ll be there in a second, okay—”

“No, not okay. I want you here now,” he insists, and you suck in a quiet breath as your lids squeeze shut, willing yourself not to cry.

After a moment or two, you turn around and face him, taking a hesitant step closer as he offers a sympathetic smile.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “That’s it, come on. Right here.”

He pats his parted thighs until you slip yourself between them. And once you do, he takes hold of your hips and keeps you firmly planted to your spot.

“Now…tell me what’s going on up here, hm?” he whispers, reaching up to tap his finger along your temple. “Tell me, Angel.”

A beat as you debate how much to share. “It's...nothing. Really,” you sigh, not exactly in the mood to divulge the abuse your mind has been putting you through for the past few days.

Well…weeks, actually. Months. Years.

“Eh, wrong,” he declares teasingly. “Try again.”

You look down at him, throat burning from the force of attempting to keep yourself together. “I just…I don’t know. I can’t seem to find anything to wear that I feel…good in.”

His playful attitude seems to diminish, brows pulling together as his lips purse and he looks up at you. “S’your mind being mean to you again?”

“Probably,” you mumble, glancing down at his shirt, hoping to focus on that instead. The look in his eye isn't helping the pit in your stomach. “Or maybe I’m just finally seeing myself for what I am.”

“And what are you?”

You tangle your fingers in the material on his chest. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “I’m exactly who they said I was.”

“Who?”

You go quiet, not exactly thrilled with the idea of reliving it.

“Who, Angel?” he repeats a bit sterner, shaking your hips once.

You roll your lips into your mouth. “The comments. All the comments. Everywhere. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, Tumblr. At your shows, on the street, from some of those girls at the party. They’ve made it very clear that I’m not your type and I just…I don’t know. I guess I didn’t see it before, or I didn’t want to see it before but now I do, and I just don’t—”

He shakes you again until you stop, palm reaching up to cup your jaw and force your eyes on him. “Hey, easy, okay? Enough. That’s the fucking love of my life you’re talking about, yeah? I don’t wanna hear that shit—”

“Yeah, well I don’t either, but here we are,” you huff, yanking your head away so you can look back down at the floor.

But Harry isn’t so easily deterred, quickly taking your face in both his hands this time around as he brings your attention back to him. “All right, well let’s start with this: they can go fuck themselves. They don’t know my type. They don’t know jack shit about me or what I like—”

“Har,” you interject with a pointed look. “It’s not that hard to guess that your type is skinny and blonde—”

“No, see, fuck that, too,” he scoffs. “Look, am I gonna sit here and pretend there haven’t been a few coincidences? No. There’s a pattern, I see that. But that’s not why I dated them. I dated them because of who they were. Because of how I felt when I was around them. Because of their intentions and their morals not because of the way they looked.”

It’s a nice argument. Almost believable, too. You know Harry like the back of your hand. You know what he’s drawn to. Know that he cares about what’s in someone’s heart first and foremost.

But you also know that he’s a man and men are pigs and horny all the goddamn time.

“I believe that you believe that,” you tell him. “Doesn’t change the fact that the world expects you to be with someone that looks like…you know, not me.”

That handsome face of his falls into a frown. “You think I make my choices based on what the world expects of me?”

You sigh, head shaking once. “No,” you whisper, rather ashamed. “No, I just…I guess I wished I saw something else when I looked in the mirror.”

He stares at you for a moment. Quietly. Purposefully. Then, he stands.

You scramble back as he grabs your hand and leads you toward the corner of the bedroom where your full-length mirror resides.

Oh, great, you think, feet dragging a bit as he places you in front of your reflection and settles in behind you.

“I’m gonna tell you what I see, yeah?” he declares as he peeks over your shoulder to meet your eye in the mirror. “And you’re gonna fucking listen to me. Not to them. Not to your anxiety or your overthinking. Me. Just me. Deal?”

Not like you really have a choice, you sigh again as you nod once.

“Good girl.” His fingers delicately begin to trace down the slope of your shoulders and down your arms as your breath hitches. “I see the arms that held me the night I found out my friend had died. The arms that make me feel safe and loved. The arms that carried each and every one of those flowers to my mom’s house for her birthday and the arms that let me be the little spoon when I need it.”

Your teeth pull at your lip in an attempt to keep from smirking as his touch travels from your arms to your waist and you watch rather intently.

“I see the hips that I grab onto when I’m fucking ruining you against the wall. The hips that I grab onto when you sit on my lap and grind that pretty ass against my cock when you think no one is looking. I see the hips that I squeeze when you’re dancing with me in that pretty red dress I fucking adore,” he continues, his voice a gentle purr, and suddenly, you don’t feel like smirking anymore.

He moves back up, fingers sweeping down the back of your neck before dancing around your throat and along your jaw.

“I see the face of the woman I love. The lips I love to bite until they bleed. The eyes that look at me when I’m doing something annoying, or stupid, or just a little bit dangerous. The eyes that watch me when I ruin you with my tongue, or when I dance around the stage, or when I get into the shower even though you think I don’t notice.”

You’re not quite sure you’re breathing at this point, his pointed gaze still on yours through the reflection as his hand begins to fall to your chest.

“I see the body that brought you to me. I see your heart in the little things you do. The way you speak. The way you make sure everyone around you is okay before you check on yourself. I see your heart in the way you trust me. The way you sacrifice your sanity just to follow me around the world on the world’s tiniest tour bus. In the way you play my mom’s dumb Rabbit, Rabbit game every month because it makes her so happy and no one else will play it with her.”

Now you do laugh, head shaking as you glance down at the floor.

But he brings two fingers to your chin to raise it back up once again as he leans closer, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

“I see the legs that shake when I tease you,” he murmurs. “The thighs that squeeze around my head when you come. I see the skin that looks so beautiful when it’s sweaty and sticky and soft under my touch. I see the ass I could bounce a quarter off of. I see the curves I love to run my tongue along. I see the dips that fit mine like a fucking puzzle piece. Like it was always meant to fit. Your body in mine.”

You’re leaning back against his chest, now hardly able to stand as he nearly brings you to his knees with his words alone. You’re almost annoyed at the way he’s managed to play you and yet…you know that everything he says, he means.

When he’s sure he has your full attention, he slips his arms around your waist until he can press his palms to your stomach, chin on your shoulder as you suck in a longing breath.

“I see the body that holds our baby,” he says softly, and you feel the tears sneaking their way to your eyeline. “The body that made our baby. The body that carries it, protects it, nourishes it. The stomach that looks just as glorious now as it did the first time I saw it. The stomach that I love to run my lips along. To taste, to have, to bite until it’s my name you see when you look in the mirror.”

Your head is spinning, filled with more voices than you can count. And every comment. The ones online, the ones telling you that you’re not who you should be, and now…his.

And then suddenly, it goes quiet.

Until all you hear…is him.

“I see the love of my life,” he continues as your eyes meet his again. “I see you. I see the only person I want to see. The only person I want to come home to. The only person I’ve ever truly wanted. No matter what they tell you, no matter what you tell yourself…it doesn’t change what I see. No numbers, no sizes, no comments. I just see you. I see the person that makes me feel safe and the body that gives me the kind of hard-on that has me wanking off in a coat closet just to get some relief.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry, so you do both as he smirks and reaches his knuckles up to catch a stray tear falling down your cheek.

“I know that this isn’t something that I can fix, no matter how good I am,” he adds teasingly. “But I want you to promise me something, yeah?”

You nod.

“Next time you hear anybody else’s voice but mine…you come straight to me. So I can show you exactly who you are to me.”

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you turn around and kiss him. Fingers in his hair as you slip your tongue past his and try with everything you have to let him know how much you love him. How much you appreciate him.

How much you need him.

He’s more than grateful to have you on him like this, already attempting to pull you back toward the bed, but before the tender moment can pass, you take a second to breathe and press your forehead to his.

He waits patiently, keeping his hold on you tight as you work to find the right words.

“I love you,” is all you can say, lashes falling shut, overcome with emotion and need. “I really fucking love you.”

“I love you, Angel,” he replies, laughing a bit as if he can hardly believe how lucky he is.

Then, he kisses you again.

“Now let me see you.”

~ Full Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

#harry #harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles blurb #harry styles request #harry styles fluff #harry styles prompt

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lola-legendary · 2 months

Text

Apology Post (with extra info)

TW! Suicidal thoughts/Intrusive thoughts, poor grammar

(Note: Every hate message I receive referring to the post below will be posted here as well. Pin of shame, bastards!)

I edited this lightly to add some extra information and move the TLDR up here, and added a cut.

Now, with the explanation, things have calmed down a bit. However, due to poor conduct, asks are going to be turned off until Sunday (25/2) and anon asks will be on back at 1/3.

If it continues when I resume anon asks, everything will be off again.

TLDR: I felt guilty and my mental health deteriorated because of the war, so I blocked the Palestine tag and received heavy backlash.

So the post I am referring to is this one. (Note: Said post has now been deleted by yours truly.)

Here, I will detail why I made this post, the events leading up to it and the backlash.

Some background information: I am a 14–year-old girl with unmediated anxiety and depression.

I have always been concerned about human rights. Even when I was a child, I would ask my mom, “Why do we have wars? Why can’t everyone get along?”

I tried to write a letter to my principal asking for more extensive sex ed, but scrapped it once I remembered that I was in a catholic school.

And when the Ukrainian war came along - biggest incident since I got access to tumblr - I was a staunch supporter of Ukraine. When I wasn’t in uniform, I made a point to dress in blue and yellow. No one noticed, of course.

In the early days of the Palestinian Genocide, I was eager to reblog any and all information that crossed my dash, even though I knew I couldn’t do anything to help. If you scroll down deep enough, you can find my posts.

However, as time passed and the war went on, whenever I saw those posts, I started getting thoughts to off myself. Those included, though not limited to:

“Oh, wow, look at you scrolling tumblr while millions are dying. Good job you, why don’t you go and join Hitler in hell, you’re contributing to this mess.”

And it got so bad that I would have mini panic attacks whenever I saw some posts like that.

I blocked the tag last year.

At that time, I sent an anonymous ask to @justagingerwithredhair, one of two people I trusted decently with my mental issues.

I can’t find it anymore, but it went something like this:

“Ginger, I’m sorry but I had to block the Palestine tag, it’s detrimental to my mental health and I can’t deal with it anymore”

and it was received positively.

Yesterday (in my timezone), I posted the post seen in the photo. I had not enough brainpower to realise that it could be taken both ways.

I was blocked by at least one person and received the following anonymous ask.

You can see my response in my blog, but I will repeat it again.

I am not a terrorist, a genocidal maniac, an Islamophobic bitch or a Zionist.

I have spoken out against Israel. I watch videos of Islamophobic people with disgust. I was outraged when the Holocaust was not required teaching in my school. I believe the Israeli Government is in the wrong.

If you keep this up I will be the one hanging from buildings.

You have made me write a post about my life that’s longer than 90% of my fanfictions. Congratulations.

@tobefree-in-palestine

#free palestine #palestine

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padfootagain · 4 months

Text

The Last Ones On Earth (IV)

Chapter 4: An Age

Hello, hello! Here is a new chapter for my Darkling series!

I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

****

Pairing: The Darkling x reader

Warnings for the series: mentions and depictions of violence and warfare, mentions of trauma

Warnings for the chapter: None

Summary: You and the Darkling are a team, even if no one knows it. Beyond being a team, you are the only one he trusts, and he's the only one you care about, and you're each other's true love. But if you've kept your secrets hidden for a long time, now that the Sun Summoner is fighting against you, it's time to reveal who you are, and what you are capable of...

Word Count: 2744

Masterlist for the series – The Darkling’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Alina stares at you as if you were a ghost. Or perhaps a dragon. Or a strange mix of both.

You give her a minute to register your words, you can almost call them a threat. You doubt that she’s weighing her options, though. You reckon she simply tries to understand what your words mean.

And then it’s back. The pride in her gaze, the rise in her chin, the tightness in her jaw.

Stupid girl who believes herself important…

“You say you want to talk, and yet you use threats already.”

“Who was put in chains to see you again?” you reply with amused sarcasm.

“And we were clearly right to mistrust you,” Zoya crosses her arms before her chest, her beautiful features slightly distorted by anger.

“Indeed!” you shoot her a smile. “It was pretty reckless to let me see all of you so easily.”

“David vouched for you,” Genya replies in a grim fashion, and David averts his eyes to stare at the carpet.

But your smile softens as you turn to him.

“Thank you, David. That was very nice of you.”

You turn towards Alina again. You notice that her hands ae touching.

Your smile grows, this time, more threatening, almost predatory.

“Child, let’s not make a mess. I simply want to talk, I haven’t come to hurt anyone.”

“Say that to the soldiers outside.”

“Collateral damage, I’m afraid,” you shrug. “I’m not going to hurt anyone in this room, I promise.”

“If you side with the Darkling, is your word worth anything?”

You raise a surprised eyebrow.

“If you truly knew him, you’d know how foolish that remark is. The Darkling is a lot of things, but he does stay true to his words.”

“And by ‘a lot of things’, you do include mass murderer, of course,” Nikolai points out.

“Coming from a man whose main occupations are pirating and inventing mass-destruction weaponry, I do find the remark particularly ironic.”

But you heave a sigh, tired of losing time you don’t have. There is too much work to do. Grisha to rescue, friends to bury, a whole nation to lead…

“Now, please, Alina. Again, I will not hurt you, so come sit down so we can talk.”

“I’ve never liked you,” the girl mumbles under her breath, her hands slowly moving, and you can see glow coming from her fingertips.

You roll your eyes.

“If I fought every person I didn’t like, only three people in this room would still be alive, including me. And you would not be breathing anymore, Starkov. But as I can’t choke you to death with my bare hands the way I truly long to, please, don’t do anything stupid and sit down.”

With a frustrated sigh, Alina closes her fists, but lets her power subside, and at long last, joins the gathering around the wooden table again.

“We will not yield when it comes to destroying the Fold,” Alina stubbornly declares.

“I am aware of repeating myself, but it will not work without the Fold,” you reply.

“You cannot destroy entire villages!”

“You cannot force people to change if you give them a chance to remain as they are.”

“People can change.”

“They can,” you nod in agreement. “But most of the time, they don’t want to. Why would they? If what you are asking for goes against their own interest, why would they change?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

You snort at that.

“Please… Don’t be so naïve. Of course, some people have enough compassion to not hurt Grisha. But the majority will take centuries to reach this kind of tolerance. And in the meantime, people are dying. Our people.”

“We are all Ravkan,” Nikolai argues.

“Are we? Because when I was arrested by your men a few weeks ago and kept in a cage without water, food, or anything against the cold for three days, waiting to be executed that more Grisha were captured because, and I quote ‘it would be a waste of energy to set up the gallows just for a couple of them’… without any sort of trial or justice whatsoever, I did not feel very Ravkan… but I did feel very much Grisha.”

Nikolai doesn’t answer, instead he looks guiltily at his hands.

“I don’t care about Ravka,” you answer in honesty. “I don’t care about Shu Han, I don’t care about Fjerda, or any other nation. At the end of the day, we are all humans. And we are Grisha, and otkazat’sya. The Fold is not to be used as a threat against Ravka alone, that’s the whole point. It’s the only weapon in our possession that is powerful enough for all Grisha to be safe, no matter where they come from.”

“I do not condone what has been done to you,” Nikolai finally speaks, his voice slow and measured. “But if people are turning against Grisha, it is because of the Darkling’s actions.”

You roll your eyes at that.

“This has been going on for centuries, it is nothing new, they simply have an excuse to do as they please without any repercussion, and they enjoy their newly-found freedom to slaughter all the Grisha they want. It happens again, and again. We have tried to be useful, we have tried to prove people we are no threat, we have tried working hand in hand with kings, and it doesn’t work. The Fold is our last chance.”

“You speak as if you had done all of that, but you are barely older than us,” Zoya spits in a venomous tone. “Who do you think you are, Maeve?”

“Y/N,” you interrupt her.

The girl frowns.

“What?”

“My real name is Y/N. Maeve is only my latest identity, I’ve had many of those before.”

Suddenly, Alina’s eyes grow round, and she finally seems afraid of you.

At long last, some intelligence…

“Are you a spy?” David asks, taken aback by your statement.

But you shake your head.

“Not exactly.”

“You are like him.”

All turn to Alina as she speaks again, her voice uneasy.

“You said you are a powerful Durast.”

“Incredibly powerful,” you correct her.

“You are like the Darkling.”

“Aleksander. That’s his name.”

He’ll hate you for saying it out loud, for revealing something so personal about him.

Aleksander. His first name, his true one. The one only you and Baghra know. The one that tastes of the young man you met all these years ago, unconscious in the snow somewhere near Fjerda…

All around the table frown. As if they never wondered what his name was. And perhaps they truly never cared to wonder. Perhaps the title was enough. It’s easier, anyway, to stare at a man you send to die on a battlefield and see only a rank, a title, and not the human wearing it. It’s easier too to kill an enemy if he is but a shadow, a symbol, and not an actual breathing man.

You lean a little over the table, your forearms resting on the hard surface, your fingers intertwining together.

“Aleksander and I are extremely powerful Grisha. Just like you, Alina. Just like Baghra. Just like Saints.”

“I don’t understand,” Mal admits.

“Grisha draw great strengths from using their powers. The more powerful you are, the better your health. Some of us are so powerful, we are virtually immortal. Or, well, if you smash my head with a sword, I will die. But I barely age at all. I can leave for thousands of years.”

“Bullshit,” Nikolai curses.

“I’m afraid not. It is a great curse, indeed. But power always has a cost.”

“Some would consider themselves lucky to never age. Especially my mother, considering all her efforts to hide her true age…”

“Well, my dear prince, your mother has not seen people dying for hundreds of years.”

Again, Nikolai looked away.

“You said that Alina was like that too…” Mal insists, and you don’t fail to notice the way Alina flees his gaze.

“Indeed. She will without a doubt outlive all of you, and your descendants on many generations.”

“If it’s so unbearable, why are you still alive? We wouldn’t be in this mess if you and the Darkling had given up,” Zoya adds bitterly.

But when you turn to her, your stare is filled with a cold fire that shushes her.

“Many powerful Grisha kill themselves, after a while, after it’s too much to see all the people you love die over and over again. Aleksander and I were lucky, we found each other. And don’t forget that without our efforts, the Little Palace would not exist and Grisha would have never known any type of safety. We were the first to manage to live for longer than a couple of years at the same place, while using our powers, and remain safe.”

“You speak as if you were there when the Little Palace was built,” David frowns.

“I was there,” you correct him. “I built the place. Literally. I am a Fabrikator, after all.”

“You do expect us to believe you?” Mal scoffs, but Alina shushes him quickly. And you can see on the faces of the others that their opinion of you changes as they realize that Alina does, indeed, believe you.

And rightly so. After all, you are telling the truth. The way you had planned to do.

You choose your next words carefully.

“I have seen the same pattern again and again. I know what will happen, because I have seen it before. I have tried every other way to help Grisha: hiding, fighting, being useful, being tamed, being strong… it doesn’t work. It never works, because otkazat’sya are afraid of our power, because they feel different and thus frightened. You ask me to wait, that we are in no rush to change the world, but I have been working towards that goal for hundreds of years. I am not in a rush, I am patient, indeed. But things must change, eventually. And we have an opportunity here that will never present itself again for things to finally go the way we want.”

You heave a sigh, and you seem tired now. Despite your face untouched by the many years you have spent on this earth, there is something new in your gaze, a sadness that doesn’t fit the youth of your features. It seems ancient, brought by a pain too great to have occurred in only a lifetime.

“If you want proof, I can tell you everything you want to know. I’ll tell you how Aleksander and I met. How we ran. How we hid. How we fought. All the things that we tried to help Grisha and how it always failed. How we were betrayed and how we survived. If it can prove my point, then so be it.”

“How old are you?” Alina asks after a short silent.

Her voice is cautious, slow. As if she’s afraid of your answer. And perhaps she is. She should be. After all, it shows how powerful you are, how much of a threat you can be. To her, who is doomed to a deathless life as well, it also means facing the truth about her lover.

Your smile is smug when your lips curl upwards and you answer.

“I’ll turn 889 in a couple of months.”

Over 400 years ago

Os Alta – over the grounds of the royal Palace

Your hands moved relentlessly in those days. There was so much work to be done. You had help, of course, from otkazat’sya workers but also from other Fabrikators. It was the name that was chosen for the Grisha sharing your powers, along with a colour: purple, like the petals of flowers, like berries, like poisons…

But on this room, your work was to be done in solitude. No one could know about the changes you were bringing to Aleksander’s War Room. It would protect you from eavesdroppers, fire, and many other threats. It would be a safe room. Even if Aleksander’s plan in the army seemed to be working for now, you reckoned you couldn’t stop being cautious. You needed safety, as always.

“You are working too late, my love.”

The warm voice filled your heart with something both peaceful and excited. You couldn’t refrain a smile as you turned to your husband, who was walking inside the room and closing the door behind him.

“You must rest,” he insisted, but you shook your head.

“I am perfectly fine. Besides, I can’t work on this room during the day, it’s too risky.”

Of course, he knew you were right. Still, he wished you could rest more, he wished you could be safe and wouldn’t have to hide…

Soon. He hoped it could be soon. With this safe haven you were building together, it could be the answer to everything. Perhaps it could even be a home…

You chuckled fondly as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you close.

“You’re distracting me!” you complained in faked annoyance, and Aleksander knew perfectly what you were doing.

“You love it.”

“I do not! I am busy!”

“And I am tired and long for a good night of sleep in a comfortable bed with my beloved wife.”

“Is it not too risky?”

“We are safe for now, let’s enjoy it, while it lasts.”

“Do you think this could be it? That we could finally remain safe?”

“I do not know. I hope so.”

“But we’re both too old for foolish hopes, huh?”

You exchanged a sad smile.

“We should not be seen as a couple,” Aleksander went on, and he knew he was breaking your heart a little by saying that, the same way he was breaking his own. “It would be too dangerous.”

“I agree. We are both powerful, we will live long lives… It would be too frightening for the otkazat’sya.”

“Build us a room where we can be ourselves, my love. We will pretend the rest of the time.”

You turned in his arms to face him, and his hand immediately raised to rest over your cheek.

“I’ll make you pay for that,” you warned him, and he raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Really? Will you? And how could I repay this debt towards my favourite Fabrikator?”

“An awful lot of kisses will be required. And some cakes. Lots of sweets.”

You both laughed at that, despite your shared tiredness, despite all the things you had been through. A bright laugh made of bright hope, a fool’s hope perhaps, but hope all the same. The sounds filled up the empty room, and echoed in its blank space.

“So, we’ll hide that we are married?” you asked after growing quiet again, and Aleksander nodded, although you could see it pained him to do so.

“It’s safer this way. If I am to step up, I will have many enemies.”

You nodded, tugging your head on his chest, so he could rest his chin on you.

“We’ll make it work,” you reassured him, feeling the tension in his body, the fear too. “We’ll make it work, Aleks.”

“I know. I’m just… worried that you might… that I might lose you.”

“You won’t lose me. I’ll be right there. And I’ll steal an awful lot of kisses in this room.”

“Is it safe already?”

“Safe enough for us to have this conversation, yes.”

“Can you lock the door?”

“Already done it.”

He chuckled.

“You’re getting good at using your powers without moving your hands.”

“I still had to move a finger, but my hands didn’t touch.”

“That’s my wife. So powerful.”

But he felt you tensing in his gentle hold.

“It will be worth it, right? All these moments together we’ll have to sacrifice, all this fighting, all this work… tell me it will be worth it. Tell me we’ll make it.”

He took your face in both his hands to force you to look up at him.

“It will be worth it,” he assured you, and in his dark eyes, you saw no lies nor doubts. “We will make it through. You and me, the way we have planned. The way we promised each other we would.”

“Until we’re the last ones on Earth?” you still asked in a trembling voice, even if you didn’t doubt him.

He nodded, a smile on his lips as he pulled you in a tight hold again.

“Until we’re the last ones on Earth, my love.”

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