#Drew them both Beautifully

[ciitor]

Double D hard Launch 💯💯💯🔥🔥🔥🔥

Double d attack

duncannnnnnnuh😜😚 first time drawing a townie kinda nervous

[aethercoreheart]

sylus | 2:07 PM

"Breathe, kitten, you're too tense."

Sylus tries to soothe you through the comms unit in your helmet. You hadn't realized it, but you're gritting your teeth, your jaw is clenched tight and you're holding your breath.

"And watch out, you're going to rip a hole through my jacket."

You're gripping his biking leathers so tightly, you had lost feeling in your fingers. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, elbows locked, afraid that if you moved even a little bit, you would fall off his bike.

"Maybe if you didn't drive like a maniac, I'd be able to relax a little," you manage to mutter.

He laughs into the comms, and you feel his sides move against your arms. He's thoroughly entertained, but you're fearing for your life. Sylus had promised you a relaxing afternoon ride, but all he'd subjected you to was him weaving in and out of traffic at ridiculously high speeds while you clung to his back like a terrified koala.

"We're almost there. And I drive like a dream, if I do say so myself."

You roll your eyes inside your helmet, wishing he could see it. He continues to speed along the freeway, but you notice that his swerves are a little smoother, his moves through traffic a little less daring.

Eventually, you exit off the freeway, and thankfully, Sylus slows down as he nears a set of traffic lights. He pulls up next to a car, also waiting at the lights. The driver of the car rolls his window down and motions to Sylus. Sylus flicks his visor up, and looks at the driver.

"Hey, buddy, nice bike! Compensating for something?" the driver chortles. He then looks at you. "And with a pretty little thing on your back too. Leave some for the rest of us, won't you?"

You feel Sylus tense up beneath your arms, and you're immediately worried for the driver. But instead of responding to his taunts, Sylus reaches over to the car. He goes for the rear passenger door and pulls it open. Then, he reaches to the front, and pushes the side mirror into the car. The driver, initially bewildered, realizes what Sylus has done and starts cussing both of you out. In the next moment, the lights turn green and while the driver is still dealing out a barrage of insults, Sylus flicks his visor down again and speeds off through the intersection. You hear a series of angry honks, no doubt the other cars behind that driver annoyed that they're held up at the set of lights. You can't help but giggle, and you imagine Sylus is smirking underneath his own helmet.

---

"Look after Natasha," Sylus had said, while removing his helmet. He had headed off, leaving you to clamber off the motorcycle.

"Natasha?"

"That's her name. The bike."

"Of course he'd name it Natasha," you grumble to yourself. He'd left you outside with the bike while he went inside the motorcycle workshop, your helmet in hand. He promised he'd be no more than ten minutes, but the late afternoon heat is starting to get to you. You are leaning against it, sorry, her, while you scroll on your phone mindlessly. To be fair, she is a beautiful motorcycle. The bikes that the Hunters use to get around Linkon are swift and silent things, only as big as they needed to be. But Natasha is large, she is impressive. Sleek and dark, she was beautifully designed, modeled after older motorcycles that used to run on a primitive source of energy - petrol. She drew the attention of people walking past the workshop. You would just smile at them, slightly uncomfortable at their stares. One young man had asked if he could take a picture. You agreed, hoping that Sylus wouldn't mind, but then decided you didn't care if he did anyway.

Sylus, please hurry up, you plead silently. You see a man walking in your direction, and he looks like he is trying to get your attention. You groan internally - if he had any questions about Natasha, you know almost next to nothing about her. He locks eyes with you, and you give him a brief, forced smile.

"It's gorgeous," he tells you, breathlessly, as he approaches.

You nod. "Isn't it?"

The man gives you a lopsided grin. "What's a precious thing like you doing driving something so big?"

You frown, and you open your mouth, about to tell the man to piss off, when you feel a sudden presence at your side. Sylus looms over the man, staring him down.

"Can I help you?" Sylus all but growls.

The man frowns. "J-just making conversation," he stutters.

You watch as Sylus's eyebrow twitches upwards. "Well, now, make like the wind and be gone."

The man scurries off, muttering under his breath, and you watch after him, still frowning.

"I could have handled him," you tell Sylus, annoyance tinging your voice a little.

"Of course you could have," Sylus chuckles. "But I don't want you doing the dirty work I should be doing."

You've lost count on how many times you've rolled your eyes today. Before you can come up with a witty retort, you glance at Sylus's hands. He's carrying something wrapped in a canvas bag.

"What's that? My helmet? Was there something wrong with it?"

He hands it to you. "Open it."

It's hefty and solid. It takes a bit of a balancing act, but you manage to unwrap it without dropping it. You gasp, and marvel at the object in your hands. It's a motorcycle helmet - obsidian black, so dark that instead of light bouncing off of it, it seems to absorb it. The helmet is covered in intricate gold carvings - it's a dragon, surrounded by blossom petals. You're entranced, and it takes you several seconds before you can address Sylus again.

"What is this, Sylus? I already had a helmet."

Sylus shrugs. "I had it custom-made for you. It's one of a kind, and fits you perfectly. Here."

He helps you put it on. He's right. It felt heavy in your hands, but light on your head. Your head feels secure and comfortable. The visor display lights up ,showing today's weather, time and traffic updates. You feel Sylus tap the top of the helmet, and the display turns clear, his red eyes peering in.

You remove the helmet, stunned. It must have cost a fortune. Sylus watches you admire it, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

"I couldn't have you riding around with me with just an old spare helmet," he says, so nonchalantly.

You cradle the helmet in your arms, suddenly feeling how precious it is to you. You clear your throat before you speak. "Thank you. This is beautiful."

The corner of Sylus's lips twitches upwards as he puts his own helmet on. "There was one thing I forgot though," he says as he climbs back onto Natasha.

"What's that?" you ask, climbing on after him.

"I forgot to get the word 'Kitten' engraved at the back."

[rafecameronssl4t]

73 Questions with Vogue || Drew Starkey x actress!reader

Summary: just you participating in 73 Questions with Vogue and it goes viral!!!

Warnings: fluff!!!

Word count: 1,935

A/n: It's been so long since I've written a Drew fic!!!!!!! Also I got inspired by my previous acc's fic so if it seems familiar to some of you who followed me from there, don't come at me, I loved the idea too much lol. CAN SOMEONE PLS SEND ME REQUESTS FOR DREW FICS???

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Hello!" You greet the interviewer with a bright smile, swinging open the door to reveal him and his camera. "Hi, Y/n! Mind if we come in and ask you 73 questions?" he asks, his tone friendly and warm. "Yeah, of course! Come on in," you say, stepping aside and holding the door wide open, gesturing for them to enter as the camera pans through the foyer of your house. The space is beautifully designed, with soft lighting that gives it a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

"Wow, what a gorgeous house you have," the interviewer remarks, his voice filled with genuine awe as his eyes take in the sophisticated yet comfortable décor. "Thank you!" you respond, the compliment warming you as you flash a radiant smile. "Is this your favourite house?" The interviewer asks, already settling into the rhythm of the questions as you lead them down the hallway and into the open-plan living area.

"Yes, it definitely is. It's in my home city, and Charleston means so much to me, just like this house does," you say, your eyes lighting up as you gesture around. The view of the beach through the large windows makes the space feel even more special. "I love the view," the interviewer comments, looking out at the sunset that bathes the room in warm golden light. "The sunset looks amazing from here."

"It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?" you say with a soft chuckle. "I love spending time in this room specifically. It feels like a little sanctuary." You both share a laugh, enjoying the peaceful moment. "What's your morning routine like?" The interviewer asks as the camera follows you through the coastal-themed living room toward the kitchen. You pause for a moment, thinking about your answer.

"I haven't had much of a routine the past few months because of work, but currently, I wake up to a strong cup of coffee and a walk through downtown," you share with a soft smile. "It’s become a little ritual to clear my mind before everything gets too busy." As you stroll through the warm, inviting spaces of your home, the camera captures the personal touches that reflect your personality—a mix of elegance and laid-back comfort.

A question about your career comes next, and you happily share some behind-the-scenes anecdotes from your latest film. "This," you begin, the affection in your tone unmistakable, "is a magnet Sydney gave me when we wrapped filming Immaculate earlier this year." You glance at the picture, a grin spreading across your face. "It’s a photo of the two of us in our nun costumes... let’s just say, not doing very nun-like things." You laugh, the absurdity of the memory still fresh, and hold the magnet up for the camera to focus.

The image shows the two of you mid-laughter, each holding a cigarette with exaggerated defiance, your habits slightly askew, as though caught mid-rebellion. "What's the best compliment you've received?" the interviewer asks, a hint of curiosity in their voice. You pause, your expression thoughtful. "Oh, that's a tough one," you say, your lips curling into a playful smile.

"I think the best compliment I’ve ever gotten was when someone said, 'You're like Meryl Streep… but, you know, with fewer Oscars.’" You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "It was the kind of backhanded compliment that made me laugh for days." The interviewer laughs along with you. "That’s a good one," he says, clearly entertained. As you make your way towards the outside deck, the interviewer continues with another question. "Texting, calling, or FaceTiming?"

You grin as you lean casually against the railing, looking out at the beach below. "Oh, definitely FaceTiming," you say with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I’m terrible at replying to text messages. I’d much rather see people's live reactions, y’know?" A more personal question comes next, and you smile thoughtfully as the interviewer asks, “How do you handle the pressures of fame?”

You nod, taking a moment before responding. "I lean on my family and friends—they keep me grounded. And I remind myself that pressure is a privilege. It means people care about what I do, and that means a lot." Your voice softens as you speak, the sincerity of your words clear as you step into your home office, showcasing the awards and accolades lining the shelves. The conversation turns to your personal life, and a warm, affectionate smile spreads across your face.

"Congratulations on reaching your two-year anniversary with Drew!" The interviewer says with a grin, and you beam in response. "Thank you!" you reply, your eyes sparkling as you think of him. "Drew is incredible. He’s my biggest supporter, my partner in everything, and honestly, just my favourite person. It’s been such a special journey since starting my career, and I’m so grateful to have him by my side."

"What's the key to a successful relationship?" He asks. You pause as you walk through the hallway, your gaze softening as you think. "I think it’s communication and a lot of patience. No relationship is perfect, but being able to talk things through and genuinely listen to each other makes all the difference." You smile, adding, "Oh, and laughter—if you can laugh together, you can get through just about anything."

The sound of the front door creaking open interrupts the moment, and a familiar voice rings out, instantly making your face light up. "Oh, there’s Drew right now!" you say, smiling brightly as you move toward the foyer. The camera follows you, capturing the scene as Drew enters, with Nellie, your cocker spaniel, bounding beside him. "Hey, baby," He greets you as he slips off his sunglasses, pulling you close for a tender kiss

When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he spots the camera. "Oh, 73 Questions with Vogue?" he asks, a playful grin tugging at his lips. You giggle, nodding your head. "I forgot you were doing that today," he chuckles. “Go ahead, continue your interview," he adds with a fond look before walking off with Nellie. As the camera returns to you, you make your way toward the stairs, glancing over your shoulder to find Drew already on the floor, happily playing with Nellie.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, captured by the camera momentarily fixated on the fleeting connection. "What's something people don’t know about you?" the interviewer asks, pulling you back into the conversation. You pause, thinking for a second. "I’m actually allergic to most flowers," you reveal with a sheepish laugh. "Really? I wouldn’t have known," the interviewer responds, clearly surprised. "Oh, absolutely! When we film Outer Banks, they have to shoot around the flowers, or I'd be a sneezing mess," you confess, casually walking backward while maintaining a steady gaze with the camera.

The tour continues through luxurious walk-in closet, filled with designer attire. “What’s your pet peeve?” You laugh, shaking your head in mock exasperation. "Oh, definitely when people chew loudly. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for me. Chase is notorious for doing it on purpose, so I avoid him during my lunch breaks," you add, giggling at the memory. "Where was the best vacation you’ve been taken to?" the interviewer inquires as you step into your shared bedroom with Drew, the ocean stretching out just outside the windows.

"I think I’d have to say Vienna with Drew for my birthday," you say, smiling over your shoulder as you look out at the view. “A song you replay often?” "Hm, I think Charlie, Last Name Wilson," you say with a grin, rifling through the records. "It never gets old, and it’s super catchy." You smile as you pick it out. "Most of you guys would know that this song is also Drew and Austin’s favourite, so we always play it on set," you chuckle. "Does the rest of the Outer Banks cast like it too?" the interviewer asks, laughing along. "They don’t have much choice," you joke with a grin.

"Is there anything from any set that you've taken home with you?" The interviewer asks eagerly. “Oh, I love this question!" you exclaim, opening a drawer to reveal a variety of souvenirs. "This is the bag my character 'Whiskey' from Glass Onion owned," you say, showing off the brown frill bag. "And here’s a pack of Italian cigarettes from Immaculate, they’re just props, by the way," you add with a wink.

You pull out a cowboy hat. "This one’s from Tom on the set of Billy the Kid," you explain. "And this," you say with a smile, holding up a ring on a necklace. "This is Rafe's ring, the one he gave my character." "What a beautiful photo of the two of you," the interviewer notes, pointing to the large black-and-white photo of you and Drew at a Vogue photoshoot above your bed.

"It is! That day was actually so special for us. We both got the call saying we’d been cast in our respective roles that we’d been auditioning for," you explain, your face lighting up with nostalgia. The interviewer then asks about Drew’s upcoming movie. "Speaking of which, Drew’s film Queer is coming out very soon. Are you excited to watch it on the big screen?" "Yes, of course!" you say, your voice full of pride.

"I was so incredibly proud of him when he got the role. He was definitely excited too, especially since it’s, you know, the Luca Guadagnino." You chuckle. "I got the privilege to actually be on set for a bit, and it was amazing. Plus, I got to catch up with Daniel," you mention. "It was really nice to see him again." You smile, the pride evident in your expression as you talk about Drew's accomplishments.

The conversation is interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, and both you and the interviewer turn your attention toward it. Drew’s head peeks around the corner, his grin lighting up the frame as the camera zooms in on him. "I made some iced teas—yours is half and half," he says casually, stepping into the room with a tray holding two glasses. You can’t help but beam as he hands you your drink. "Aww, thanks, babe," you say gratefully, your fingers brushing his for a brief moment as you take the glass.

Drew hands the other glass to the interviewer, who looks pleasantly surprised. "Wow, thank you, Drew!" he says with a wide smile. "Of course," Drew replies warmly before glancing at you. "Let me know if you need anything else," he says, shooting you a quick wink before stepping out of the room. The camera lingers on him for a beat as he walks away, capturing his effortless charm.

You take a sip of the iced tea, the cool, refreshing taste spreading through you as you let out a content sigh. "Is this something you drink often?" the interviewer asks, clearly curious. You nod enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely. I like mine half and half, and I drink it like 24/7," you say with a chuckle, the glass still in your hand. The interviewer grins before asking a more personal question. "I can tell Drew is very thoughtful. What’s your favourite trait of his?"

You laugh softly, caught off guard by the difficult question. "You can’t make me choose—I love everything about him!" you say with a playful grin, your tone light but sincere. The interviewer chuckles along with you, clearly charmed by your response. "Okay, okay, fair enough. But if you had to pick just one thing that comes to mind?"

You pause for a moment, your expression softening as you think. "Hmmm," you hum, swirling your iced tea absentmindedly. "I love the little things he does," you begin, your voice warm with affection. "Like how he always remembers my coffee order or when he leaves me little notes when I’m on set. It’s those small, thoughtful moments that really mean the most to me."

The camera captures your tender smile, and the interviewer smiles himself, visibly touched by your response. "That’s so sweet," he says, his tone genuine. "It really is," you smile, a soft, almost bashful grin spreading across your face. "He’s the best boyfriend I could have ever asked for," you say, your tone filled with warmth and sincerity.

The interviewer watches you with an amused smile, clearly endeared by the dreamy, almost schoolgirl-like look on your face as you think about Drew.

~

The Vogue 73 Questions interview quickly becomes an internet sensation, captivating fans. It was everywhere. Clips of your candid answers and sweet, unscripted moments—especially the one where Drew casually walked in with iced tea—became the ultimate proof of why you were Hollywood’s darling. Within hours of its release, the hashtag #73QuestionsWithY/n trends worldwide.

The comments section was flooded with fans losing their minds over the glimpse into your life. "Can we talk about how Drew KNOWS her iced tea order by heart? If this isn’t relationship goals, I don’t know what is." "Y/n casually being gorgeous, funny, and real in her Charleston dream home? I’m in love." "The way Drew looked at her when he walked in… I CAN’T. He’s so whipped, and I’m here for it."

Memes circulate, celebrating your witty remarks and playful demeanor, while your thoughtful insights and open vulnerability spark heartfelt discussions. The part where Drew sneaks into the interview with iced tea becomes a fan-favourite, with many dubbing it "the cutest boyfriend moment of the year."

“I love how real she is,” one fan tweeted, accompanied by screenshots of your answer about Drew’s little notes and coffee orders. Another post with a screenshot of you laughing at Drew’s confused “Oh, Vogue’s here” reaction read, “You can just tell they’re best friends. I want a love like this.”

The media couldn’t get enough, either. Everyone from gossip sites to prestigious magazines weighed in on how you’d managed to blend the glamour of your career with the warmth of your personality. The buzz reignites interest in your past projects and elevates anticipation for your upcoming ones. Your social media following soars as fans, old and new, praise your ability to remain grounded despite your success.

Meanwhile, Drew’s small but sweet cameo sparks renewed admiration for your relationship, with countless threads and videos dedicated to celebrating your bond. “Y/n and Drew are proof that true love exists,” one viral tweet declares, garnering thousands of likes and retweets. Another fan edits together a montage of your cutest moments from the interview, set to a romantic song, which quickly racks up millions of views.

Drew couldn’t stop teasing you about how viral the iced tea moment had become. “You’re lucky I didn’t walk in shirtless,” he joked one night as you scrolled through TikTok, finding yet another edit of you two. “Please,” you said, giggling, your hand affectionately stroking Nellie, “half the internet would’ve fainted.” “Half?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “I think you’re underestimating me, babe.”

[rafedarling]

𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐧’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: you and drew both decided to let rustyn celebrate his first christmas with both sides of your extended family. rustyn, at just six months old, steals everyone’s hearts with his bright smile and lively personality just like his dada.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff overload, mentions of breastfeeding and parenting dynamics, family gatherings.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. discussion can be send through my ask box, please feel free to send in anything. ⭐️ taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy @winniemoe @emberaurora @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore

“Merry Christmas!” you both called out cheerfully as the door opened.

Your mom appeared in the doorway, her face lighting up at the sight of her daughter, son-in-law, and grandson.

“Oh, Y/N!” she exclaimed, pulling you into a tight hug.

“And look at this little one!”

Her eyes softened as she bent down to stroke Rustyn’s cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” you said warmly, stepping aside so Drew could greet her.

Drew leaned in to give her a quick hug, careful not to jostle the baby carrier.

“Merry Christmas! We’ve been looking forward to this all month.”

“And so have we,” your mom replied, beaming.

“Oh, come in, come in! It’s freezing out there.”

As you stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you, and the sound of laughter and holiday music made your heart swell.

Drew’s family was already mingling with yours, chatting as if they’d known each other forever. It was exactly what you had envisioned when you and Drew decided to bring both families together for Christmas this year.

Your dad approached, his smile wide as he greeted Drew with a handshake that quickly turned into a hug.

“There’s my son-in-law! And my grandson,” he said, his voice filled with pride.

He leaned down to make funny faces at Rustyn, who responded with an excited giggle.

“Say hi to Grandpa,”

Drew said, gently lifting one of Rustyn’s tiny hands to wave. Your dad’s laughter echoed through the room, and you couldn’t help but smile at the sweet interaction between them.

After everyone had exchanged warm greetings, you and Drew found yourselves in the living room, where the Christmas tree stood tall and sparkling. Its ornaments glimmered and a stack of presents was piled neatly underneath.

Brooke, Drew’s sister, knelt down beside you with a brightly wrapped box in her hands.

“This one’s for Rustyn,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, how exciting!”

You exclaimed, settling Rustyn on your lap so he could reach for the present. Though only six months old, his chubby hands eagerly grabbed at the wrapping paper, his face lighting up with a toothless grin.

“You’ve got this, buddy,”

Drew encouraged, leaning over to help tear a small piece of the paper.

Rustyn squealed in delight as the gift was revealed; a soft, plush dragon. You gasped dramatically, holding it up for him.

“Look at this, Rustyn! Your first dragon! Say thank you to Aunty Brooke.”

Drew chuckled.

“He’s going to love that. I can already tell.”

“Speaking of gifts,”

Drew added, standing up to retrieve a bag from under the tree,

“Rustyn has a little something for everyone, too.”

He began handing out small, thoughtfully wrapped presents you had both prepared. Each gift had been chosen with care, personalized ornaments for the grandparents, matching scarves for the aunts and uncles, and even a little handmade card from Rustyn (with your help, of course).

The room is now fill with nothing but with laughter and gratitude as the gifts were opened.

Soon, the smell of roasted turkey and warm bread wafted in from the dining room. Everyone gathered around the beautifully set table, the centerpiece adorned with holly and candles. Drew helped you into your seat before settling into his own, Rustyn still securely strapped in his baby carrier.

As plates were passed and glasses were raised, Rustyn began to fuss, his face scrunching up as he let out a small cry.

“Oops, someone’s hungry,”

Your mom observed with a gentle smile.

You started to rise from your seat, but Drew placed a hand on your arm, his voice calm and reassuring.

“Babe, I’ve got this. You eat, I’ll calm him down.”

You shook your head with a soft smile.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll feed him. You should enjoy your food too.”

Drew nodded, helping you unbuckle the baby carrier. He handed Rustyn over carefully, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that made your heart flutter.

“Let me at least save your plate,” he said, his eyes warm.

You carried Rustyn to the living room, where the lights were softer and the atmosphere quieter which really help Rustyn calm down.

Sitting on the couch, you cradled him in your arms as you began nursing. The soft light of the Christmas tree lit the room, and the crackle sound of the fireplace added to the cozy ambiance.

About fifteen minutes later, Drew appeared in the doorway, holding your plate, now freshly refilled with warm food. A glass of warm water was balanced in his other hand.

“You didn’t think I’d let you miss Christmas dinner, did you?”

He teased, a playful grin on his face. He plopped down on the floor in front of you, crossing his legs and setting the plate on his lap.

“Now, open up.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,”

He countered, spearing a piece of turkey with his fork and holding it up to your lips.

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward to take a bite.

“You know, I could’ve waited until later.”

“And miss the chance to pamper my wife? Never,” he said, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

Rustyn, now full and content, gave a soft coo, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of your sweater. You glanced down at him, your heart swelling with love, before looking back at Drew.

“I think you’re spoiling us both,” you murmured.

Drew’s grin softened into something more tender.

“You two deserve it. Every bit of it.”

After dinner and more chit chat, the family gathered once again in the living room, this time for games and stories. Rustyn, now awake and in a playful mood, was passed around from grandparent to grandparent, each one marveling at his tiny hands and infectious smile.

Brooke pulled out her phone to snap a picture of Drew holding Rustyn, who was tugging at the festive Santa hat on Drew’s head.

“That’s definitely going on the family Christmas card,” she said, laughing.

By the evening, Rustyn had fallen asleep in Drew’s arms, his little head resting against Drew’s chest. You sat beside them on the couch, your head leaning against Drew’s shoulder as you watched the twinkling lights of the tree.

“Merry Christmas, Drew,” you whispered, your voice soft with emotion.

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N. I don’t think it gets better than this.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you reached for his hand.

“Thank you, for being such an amazing husband. And an amazing dad.”

He squeezed your hand, his gaze dropping to Rustyn’s peaceful face.

“Thank you for making me both.”

Drew tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss filled with all the love and promises of the years to come.

[dreamesamu]

THE THINGS HE TAKES FOR GRANTED

in which he takes a moment to justify himself after never noticing your little crush for him

starring. akaashi keiji x fem!reader

genre(s): angst to fluff, (super, like-) long scenario 

warning(s): none, i think so? except for clueless keiji and not proof-reading

author’s note: akaashi is just a major green flag in this (every haikyu!! boy is 😭) i feel too bad to write them red-flag-y.

choose your character: m. atsumu | k. akaashi

you’ve known akaashi for quite some time, starting from your last year of fukurodani academy and then serendipity brought you both ended up being each other’s classmate at a same college/university. bokuto kotaro was your best friend, the little owl introduced his favorite setter to you and the friendship of three gradually become established, and as if it can not be any more inevitably, you eventually developed a secret admiration for the pretty setter when you three have been closed enough. however, graduating separated ways, kotaro pursued his journey to become professional in volleyball while keiji, once said to you he wanted a place in the literature department.

truth be told, even if you promised each other you would still keep in touch and plan every weekend friend group meeting online or offline, you’ve never expect you would share every class in higher education life with your crush, the akaashi keiji. the great thing is you both are paired up for an presentation assignment in the major you and him pursue, you do have plenty of time to stay close and grab his attention from making gestures that he usually failed to realizes.

here you are again, happily humming your favourite song while carrying a box wrapped with a small detailed towel, some big rolls of assignment paper stuck underneath your arm as you make your way back to where you both planned to finish the project - the library. 

“keiji, i’m back!” you set your things respectively on the table, and akaashi nods with a smile on his face in acknowledgement.

“oookay, so here’s your today’s snack, I hope you’ll like it” you grin, tapping on the box before pushing it to his side as he receives it and casually opens it while speaking.

“hmm? are those sketches of our poster? you can always edit them on the computer, why the effort?” he chuckled softly before completely unwrapping the bento box.

“I’m not good at designing and stuff. I may draw as I like and you’ll be the one to edit it on the computer.” you puff your cheek out, hands resting on hips as you watch his reaction to your delicately decorated sweets in the box made for him.

“this looks amazing.” he smiles upon seeing the pastries you made, decorated beautifully with different kinds of fruit as each pastry has different flavours, you probably did not stay up so late last night just to make all kinds of flavours for him to show how much you like him. yeah, probably not.

"oh, it's nothing, I just hope it doesn't taste bad" you chuckle nervously while scratching the back of your neck, letting his praise send you up to cloud nine.

your actions falter when you see akaashi put back the box's cap on, set it aside as he leans over to reach the posters you drew.

"now then, can we start working on the project?" he spreads out the piece of paper, glancing at you as you stand there awkwardly, prefer him taking a bite to look through all of your efforts than just shrugging it off and go straight to the main part of your study session.

"what...? oh- um..." you trail off, a bit embarrassed. "wouldn't you like to try one out? it won't hurt to just have a taste of it..."

"maybe later, y/n. we have other things need to be done right now." he merely states, eyes study the poster in front of him, unknowingly sinking your heart.

"yes, right." you shift slightly, taking the sit by the opposite of him, trying to catch up with him on the progress.

you let your mind wanders off how many times you've lost count already while akaashi quietly focused on scribbling something in his notebook, every thoughts you have are always about keiji, your feelings and the stare you give him thinking it's discreet. what's stopping him from trying my tarts out? and how does he feel being around me? or is that his way of rejecting something without making that person feel bad? flooded your mind.

"y/n?" you realize his faint voice ringing somewhere "y/n..." the voice becomes clearer. "earth to y/n, you're staring." awh, snap. right.

you blink, startled before clearing your throat, mumbling a small apology as you try to get yourself busy with the work underneath you once again.

but akaashi just chuckles, his voice calm and reassuring.

"hey, you seem off today. it's lunch break, please make yourself comfortable." you fumble at his words, it's noon already? as he collects his books and tidy it up at one corner of the table before speaking again.

"yuri satsuki is inviting me to have lunch with her. would you like to also join? i think she wouldn't mind." he kindly offers, probably not knowing the words struck you shocked.

you know satsuki-senpai, she's a year older than you and has been a social butterfly ever since you set foot in student life. she is a nice person, you conceived, but not until you found out that she has a huge crush on your akaashi keiji, her behaviour in your eyes became somewhat annoying. in return, she did realize she had a rival to win over him, you acknowledge that through the smug look she gave every time akaashi was around her instead of you, that is how the tension gradually builds up between you and your pain-in-the-ass rival.

and now she's even invited keiji for lunch? you feel an uncomfortable twist in your belly, screaming that if you do not take further actions, you lose akaashi to her. but his way of discarding your hard work, also known as an attempt to get his attention earlier discourages you hastily. this comes to a realization: ever since he start hanging out with satsuki-senpai, he has never touched one of your cooks once.

"no, i'm fine staying here. you go" you force a smile waving him goodbye. he hesitates upon seeing the downward trend of your mood as well as the strange attitude every time he brings up yuri.

"what are you waiting for?" you scoff, trying your best to make it sound not so bitterly. he nods quietly before ruffles your hair, thoughtfully remind you to get something to eat before start working again, and he'll be back with you soon.

you groan for the nth time in thirty minutes since his last leave, deciding not to eat anything at all after you laugh bitterly to yourself seeing the bento box laid cold by his stuffs which corrects your thoughts that he is not going to appreciate what you did for him.

the chair scraped the floor when you stand up, attempting to compose yourself when you feel your brain need a break from overthinking such situations.

on the way out of the library, your eyes meet yuri satsuki's, assuming that keiji is just somewhere around here as his lunch break partner is the person you least excited to bump into.

"well, well. isn't that the girl whose best friend choose to hang out with me instead of her?"

excuse me?

"don't get too ahead of yourself, satsuki-senpai. just a friendly reminder" your tone evidently irritated as you flash her an unamused smile, trying to avoid her as soon as possible.

but the radio scene of her voice replayed all over your head, your mind goes muddy despite the fresh air you're trying to take in, you let out a shaky breath, tears brimming out.

maybe, he doesn't quite noticed the things I did for him after all...

---

"you're back. where were you?" akaashi worried tone surprises you after a quite fine time of trying to find you because your study desk in the library was empty.

"i was... out for fresh air. why?" your voice is off and he noticed that. he always knew when something is bothering you, and right now he definitely know that something is wrong.

"after i finished my lunch i got yours, 'cause i know when i'm back you would still hadn't eaten anything." his brows slightly furrow seeing your avoiding attitude.

"thanks, keiji." you said briefly, take the package from his hand and sit down on your seat, never forget to notice the pastry box still intact.

your strange attitude didn't just stop there, it confuses akaashi for a more couple of days of your avoidance, he dislike the way you put a small distance between you both in study sessions, you flinch and tense around him more often, your answers and conversations are brief and sometimes awkward as you seem to be more preoccupied and attentive rather than to communicate with him.

"good morning, y/n." he smiles, your state has been bothering him for days as he is paying attention to your fade grin and a small "hey" as a greet back.

then he fumbles. something is missing...

oh. but then, realization sets in him quite quickly: you didn't bring any homemade sweets today.

"y/n..." he hesitates, meeting your eyes as you lift your head up from the notebook you're scribbling on. "does your home perhaps... out of ingredients or something?"

you are stunned for a moment, knowing exactly what he was trying to imply, scared to look at him directly in the eye as you shift your gaze elsewhere, pretending to have forgotten.

"oh... you mean the pastries... I forgot to do it. I was busy yesterday"

lies. he see through it, you know that, but you can't just blurt it all out that you're heartbreaking because of his indirect rejection that never says he doesn't like you, but makes you feel like it did.

"hey... i know something is wrong, can you tell me what it is?"

there it is - the worried look on such handsome face that never fails to make your heart flutter. but you know, that is just his nature of being an attentive and thoughtful person, not just for only you, but for everyone in his orbit.

so his question remained unanswered.

akaashi has been extremely distracted due to the sudden lack of your affection on him. it's just doesn't feel the same. even if he refuses it but deep down, he misses your midday snacks, your bubbly laugh around him and that flushed cheeks you wear every time he caught you staring. it has been a whole week since, and the fact that you didn't join the friend group video call with bokuto last sunday was his last straw.

he misses you, dearly. and if he doesn't do anything now before your project is finished, he might find it difficult to approach you even when you are his best friend.

and then, on an another lovely morning in the college's campus, an emotion he thinks he's aware of stirring in his stomach at the scene of you handing out a bento box wrapped with the same detailed towel, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as the other boy laughs lightly, scratches his neck, sending regards with a polite bow before making his way back in the classroom, akaashi doesn't like what his eyes have witnessed, so when he met yours, the bitterful look sends shivers down your spine.

you turn away, begin to walk, you do not want to deal with your bothered heart right now, not if it has anything to do with him, with that thought, you choose to neglect it because it is just your one-sided feelings for him.

but you hear footsteps behind, next is a small "wait" escaped from his lips when he managed to catch up and hold gently on your arm. that stopped you midtrack.

"please. can we talk?" he pleads.

---

you find yourself trapped by his presence in a corner of the school's library. there's no point in avoiding now.

"i'm sorry." he states. "i like you, i should've known."

your eyes widen. why- all of a sudden?

akaashi glances at you, softly sighs before bring your hand up to his face and kiss your knuckles gently.

"i understand now, i was clueless, you have the very right to be mad at me." each sentences he speaks crack your heart, but at the same time, they give you hope.

you neither know how to react, nor what to say, you just stand there, completely speechless, it encourages him to continue his speech of pursuing you.

"the last time i went to have lunch with satsuki, she confessed to me." he stopped, watching your expression. "but i turned her down, then, she got angry and started to brag about you. i did not like what she said, so i got quite defensive and... that was when i realised."

"i didn't know when it started. i just knew that i didn't feel very comfortable seeing you bringing your pastries that was meant for me to someone else, and more it's because i didn't appreciate it."

he squeezes your hand, afraid if not, you'll slip from his grip and become somebody else's apple. he certainly dislikes the thought.

"i want your pastries back, i love them as much as i love you. please let me correct such a terrible mistake."

---

"yes, hello. i've received the box, thank you, my love."

akaashi spins his office chair slightly, softly speaking to the phone stuck between his cheek and shoulder with a smile while unwrapping a huge warm box of freshly baked tarts.

"keiji, bad news, i'm out of powdered sugar after that batch." your voice echoed on output, he chuckles.

"are you free after work? we can visit the supermarket to purchase some. i'll drive, consider this a date with me, 'mkay?"

© 2024 dreamesamu. all rights reserved.

[crushpunky]

drew and actress!reader have a stressful week

masterlist | actress!reader masterlist

based on this ask. warning: angst/arguing, but happy ending

The week had been a stressful one, with both y/n and Drew barely sleeping between hour long shoots and meetings, and its inevitable downfall began that morning when Drew forgot to pick up Charleston’s prescription.

“Drew, he needs those.” Y/n sighed as she closed the cabinet. She hadn’t meant to close it so harshly, hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cabinet. Drew sighed, running a hand through his hair as he ate a forkful of eggs. 

“Y/n, I know I just— I forgot.” Drew muttered. His under eyes were sunken, darkened from a lack of sleep and hectic week.

“You said you were going to get them yesterday after work—” Y/n continued.

“I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up on set, a’ight? I– I’ve had a busy week.” Drew said.

“I get that you’ve had a busy week, we both have… but he needs those. We can’t just forget—” Y/n put her hands on her hips.

“I get it.” Drew snapped, dropping his fork back onto the plate with a clatter, causing y/n to jump slightly. Y/n huffed, taking a sip of coffee before dumping the rest of it into the sink.

“Look, I get that you’ve had a busy week, but you don’t have to be snappy about it.” Y/n said. Drew sighed, rolling his eyes before standing up from the bar.

“I’m not being snappy, y/n, I’m tired and made a mistake and you won’t stop nagging me about it.” Drew said. Y/n scoffed, taking a step back from him as she crossed her arms across her chest.

“Nagging? Really, Drew?” Y/n chuckled incredulously. Drew shrugged dramatically, his eyes wide as he stood in front of her.

“I told you I know I fucked up but you won’t. Let. It. Go.” Drew groaned. “I’m busy and I’m tired and—” “And I’m not? I’m not busy? I’m not tired? You’re not the only one who is going through shit right now.” Y/n snapped.

“I never said I was!” Drew scoffed, throwing his hands up into the air. “You’re just making the situation a lot more difficult than it needs to be, ok?”

Y/n scoffed, turning away from Drew to head towards the door. Drew followed her, a few steps behind her as she slipped on a pair of sandals.

“Well, sorry for making your life so fuckin hard.” Y/n muttered as she grabbed her purse off the hook.

“That’s not what I said…” Drew sighed, grabbing y/n’s forearm lightly, stopping y/n from moving any further. She met his eyes, a frown on her face as she looked up at him, her under eyes puffy.

“No, I’m just… nagging, making it worse than it needs to be.” Y/n whispered. Drew shook his head, wrapping his arm around y/n’s shoulders before bringing her into his chest. Y/n sighed before wrapping an arm around his torso. Drew could hear a small sniffle as she burrowed her face into his shirt.

“I’m going to head in early. I need some time to… destress.” Y/n said against Drew’s chest. He let out a long exhale before pressing a kiss to the top of y/n’s head before stepping away.

“I’ll see you when I come in.” Drew murmured. The two of them stared at each other for a second, the weight of the stress hanging heavily between them. Y/n wiped a stray tear that had fallen before nodding.

“I’ll see you then.” Y/n whispered.

“Love you.” Drew said as y/n opened the door. 

“Love you too.” Y/n said, flashing a small smile before exiting out the door. As the door closed gently behind her, Drew let out a long sigh, running a hand down his face before turning to get ready for the day.

By the time it was time for their first scene together, y/n and Drew hadn’t had any chance to talk. Their lunch breaks hadn’t lined up, y/n had been shooting scenes with Caroline’s parents while Drew had been shooting scenes with Barry, neither of them seeing each other for even a moment in passing.

As their eyes met, the two of them gave out small smiles. Drew’s eyes lingered on her, scanning over the stringy purple bikini she wore and the gauzy white coverup that draped her frame beautifully. He wanted to reach out and brush her hair back or kiss her, but—

“Ok, can we get Caroline on the lounger and Rafe staring on the deck.” One of the directors directed before Drew could move an inch. The two of them broke eye contact, turning to make their way to their marks in order for the scene to begin. Y/n stretched out onto the lounger, grabbing the prop drink setting on the side table. Her eyes flicked up to watch Drew as he walked away, the tanned, freckled skin of his bare back practically glowing underneath the sun. He wore a pair of navy swim trunks which beautifully complimented his golden chain and Cameron family ring.

“Alright, everyone on their marks.” The director shouted, the set falling quiet. “And action!”

Drew (now Rafe) crossed the patio, his eyes trained on y/n (now Caroline) as she gazed out across the pool, sunglasses perched low atop his nose. As he got closer, y/n’s eyes lifted to look up at him.

“Hey, baby.” Drew murmured as he leaned down, pressing a long kiss to y/n’s lips and resting a hand on the curve of her hip. Once he pulled away he littered kisses along her jaw, slowly moving to kiss along the column of her throat. Y/n squealed, squirming out of his grasp as she looked up at him with a flustered smile.

“What is your deal?” Y/n chuckled as Drew pulled away, moving to sit at the end of the lounge. He looked away from her, moving to gently brush his hand along her leg.

“I… just wanted to talk to you.” Drew murmured, avoiding her gaze as he continued to move his hand along her leg. Noticing his avoidance, y/n sat up, bringing her legs closer to her and forcing him to look up. She quirked her eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.

“My dad, uh, called me.” Drew said quietly.

“Your dad?” Y/n repeated.

“Yeah.” Drew sighed, running a hand along his buzzcut. “He told me that he wants to sell Tanneyhill and… donate the cross.”

Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, her back straightening as she looked at Drew. Y/n nibbled at her bottom lip, her mind deep in thought before she spoke.

“That…” Y/n sighed. “That’s not a bad idea, Rafe. I– It’s the least you guys could do, I mean—”

“‘The least we could do’?” Drew scoffed, his brow furrowing. “Baby, donating that cross isn’t gonna do anything. It’s not gonna undo shit o- or bring people back, you know that.

“Yeah but, Rafe, it will help to rectify—” Y/n stammered, her heart hammering in her chest.

“‘Rectify’? How is this going to rectify anything?” Rafe said. “Peterkin’s still dead. My dad’s still gone. Sarah’s still a Pogue. I still… did all that shit. Donating a piece of gold that’s going to erase all of that… but it will give us the life we’ve always wanted.”

Drew reached forward, grasping y/n’s hand firmly in his own. Y/n met his eyes, noticing the slight… pain in his eyes that wasn’t just Rafe in that moment. Y/n bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling, the intensity reaching further than just that of the scene.

“I want to give you the life you’ve always deserved.” Drew said lowly.

“I- It’s—” Y/n began, but suddenly her voice cut off as she let out a sob, the pressure that had been simmering since that morning (and perhaps even longer) finally reaching a boiling point.

“Stop, cut!” Drew shouted as y/n collapsed into him. He held her tightly against his chest, practically feeling his heart break as she cried against him. Taking the memo, the crew quickly cleared away to give the two a moment.

“I’m sorry, Drew.” Y/n sniffled.

“No, no, I’m sorry.” Drew said as y/n peered up at him.

“No, I’ve just been so stressed and I was putting it on you and—” y/n rambled.

“No, I’ve been putting it on you.” Drew sighed, the two of them looking at each other for a second before they both let out hearty chuckles. Drew reached down to brush underneath y/n’s under eye.

“I’m sorry.” Y/n whispered, causing Drew to crack a smile.

“I’m sorry.” Drew whispered back, smoothing a hand down y/n’s arm as she sat up in the lounger.

“Thank you.” Y/n murmured.

“For what?” Drew chuckled, brushing a piece of y/n’s hair back.

“For being here. Even when things are hard.” Y/n said.

“Thank you.” Drew said breathily.

“For what?” Y/n’s brow furrowed.

“For being here. And being you.” Drew grinned, causing y/n to let out an airy giggle.

The two of them separated, sparing eachother one last glance before they prepared again for the scene, an understanding between them that even when things get difficult, they could count on eachother.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Casually Devoted. Part Two. "Going Offline." Erik Campbell X FEM!Reader.

Hellllllooooo! So, I know it has been legit a week since the last almost 10K Erik Campbell fic, but he is living in my head lately, so you get this delightful follow-up to Textual Relationship now! I already have ideas for a part three, Hell I have already started writing it, lord help me. I hope everyone loves this, I got a lot of nice comments and reblogs.

Seriously I am shocked by the influx of notes. I would be remiss to not mention the fact that the amazing, @28bohemianmoons, beta read this for me! The whole thing is so much better for it that it isn’t even funny, I am endlessly thankful, you have no idea the love poured into this by her, so let’s get into this!

Series Masterlist Here.

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 8.7K Erik Campbell X FEM!Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Casual Sex. Friend With Benefits Relationship. Cunnilingus. Cum Eating. Eating Pussy. Oral Sex. Vaginal Sex. Creampie. Restrained Reader. Dirty Talk. Multiple Orgasms. People Watching. Teasing. Banter. Blow Job. Throat Fucking. Messy Head. Vaginal Fingering. Piercing Play. Semi-Public Sex. Edging. Both Of You Are Down Bad But Trying To Keep It Casual. 

—

You know how some people tend to over inflate themselves and their abilities? Like a prospective job applicant embellishing their resume to get a leg up on the competition. Or the frat boy boasting to his buddies about how many chicks he’s hooked up with over Spring Break. Or even the attractive stranger you’re sexting promising you a mind-blowing time in the sack, given the chance. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out all the ways these scenarios can break bad and end up disappointing, instead of what was promised. 

Yet, somehow, against the odds, Erik is proving that he is, most definitely, a man of his word. 

He had commented on the pictures and videos you shared over text, mentioning how good your cunt looked. He divulged, in the heat of the moment, that he wished he could taste you and make you squirm on the end of his tongue. It was hot, in theory, and it helped get you off beautifully that night. But in practice? It turns out he wasn’t all talk. He didn’t set the bar too high, and now you are in fact squirming thanks to his mouth between your thighs. 

You truly had no idea how deeply this affinity for eating out was ingrained in him. Nor did you ever suspect Erik’s strong oral fixation. If only you knew that his love affair with eating out  began from the first time his tongue slipped over soaked velvety skin, and he heard the gasp it drew. That the moment he felt the way thighs tensed around his head and tasted that unique flavour, was when he became totally addicted; Only then you might have had half a clue of how much he loved to do this. It is quickly becoming obvious that he has cultivated a wealth of knowledge to reach his current level of skill. 

The most valuable and vital skills when it comes to being outstanding at eating out are as follows: One, adaptability, changing to fit the tastes of the individual, listening to how they respond and filling those needs as they arise. Two, consistency, it cannot be understated how important it is, after finding what works, to be able to maintain that for an extended period of time, as long as the receiver needs without faltering. Erik has both these skills down pat, burned into his brain, hardwired into his damn DNA it seems.

Normally, Erik would start with a little more build-up; taking time to strip your clothing away; kissing over your hip bones and inner thighs; just barely tracing his fingers where you wish his tongue was. He would be so featherlight and much too teasing to satisfy, until it gets to be almost too much, then fingers lift and lips take their place. Tonight’s scenario is different though, not as much preamble is required as this is far from an average encounter. It wouldn’t be the first time, but normally he eats someone out before he cums inside them, not after. A few quick, exploratory licks and then his tongue is focused on dealing with the mess he made before he really settles in to figure you out. He never really got the whole ‘being weirded out by your own cum’ thing. The taste of him mixed with you is better than it has any right to be, he swallows it back with ease and unfiltered delight. 

With that taken care of, he treats you to a few light swipes on and over your clit, then slowly with each following lick he provides more pressure. You shift your hips slightly, a hum slipping out as his tongue passes over and then back down, again and again. Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug, nudging him just a little closer. His mouth lifts, a wet sort of laugh escaping as he speaks, “You okay up there?” 

“Just, fuck, feels good-” You mutter and as you do, he suddenly licks again, much harder causing your sentence to break off as you exclaim, “-God!”, he laughs again, louder, his head tips forward, so his forehead rests on your lower stomach. You want to pout, desperate for him to continue, “C’mon Erik, please-” You pull his hair so he lifts his head, his lips are wet, blue eyes half lidded, there you find playfulness lurking, he coos condescendingly, “I know, I know, I’m being too mean, right?” 

“Yeah-” He drops back down, mouth latches back onto you, his lips wrap around your clit, he sucks noisily, messily. His tongue flicks over the nerve dense tissue he has trapped on all sides, the sheer slick heat of his mouth is indescribably good and makes your head fall back with a moan, “-ahhhh-”

There is no more teasing or pausing, just careful and purposeful moves of his mouth to bring you devastating pleasure in short order. 

This whole ordeal is enough to make your head spin to think about, let alone allow yourself to admire the irresistible visual you have right now.

Erik on his knees on your plush rug, hands cradling your hips, and fingers digging into your soft flesh, his lips latched on your clit, sucking with perfect pressure. His eyes closed in concentration as he focuses on making up for cumming early, doing his damndest to ensure your pleasure. You are flat on your back, ass near the edge of the bed, legs over his shoulders, fingers in his hair and breathing his name on an exhalation. Currently trying your best to hang on as sensation threatens to eat you alive. 

God, you needed this so badly; Much more than you previously realized. There is nothing quite like being able to lay back and have someone else see to your enjoyment; To completely give yourself over and do nothing but feel. The last time you experienced this kind of pleasure that wasn’t by your own hand escapes you. In fact, all thought does, your mind only capable of registering how he is making you feel; All coherent thoughts and attempts at intelligible speech long forgotten. Any potential to ruin the moment by overthinking how you smell, taste, or look, gone. Even how long you take to reach your end is impossible, self sabotage is not a factor here. 

He kisses, licks, sucks, you pulse, leak and ache, body tense. The feeling builds, and your breathing is a wreck, shuddering on every inhale and barely restraining sobs on the exhales. He has worked you up fantastically, and soon you are getting so close. You can’t get your mouth to work well enough to alert him properly, but something tells you that your trembling thighs on either side of his head let him know what’s about to happen. Your pleasure plateaus for a blissfully tortuous minute, just on the edge of oblivion but not quite there, it is just the right side of being almost too much until it all catches up with you, clicks into place and you cum. 

Your hand tugs on his hair again, keeping him as close as possible as you ride out your peak, you pulse against his tongue in time with the rhythmic contractions and the radiating waves of ecstasy that accompany them. Soon your orgasm finds its natural end, your body slackens, relief and relaxation setting in, going boneless against the mattress for a moment. Simply basking in the feeling, until Erik doesn’t relent. He continues to work, lick and suck, his tongue delves into you again, and you tense up once more, overstimulation setting in. You tug on his hair rather uselessly, a hard swallow, and you find your voice again, “Shi-shit, fuck, I-I’m done, please-”

You pull harder on his hair, but he remains locked down there, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough to keep his place, you beg a little more, “Erik, oh God, s’too much-” 

Trying to pry him off isn’t working, the only option you have to escape is up the bed, this is a challenge with how your legs are hooked over his shoulders. Your hand releases his hair and falls, gripping the sheets instead, you try to push yourself backwards up the bed. He doesn’t let you go that easily, he follows, it’s easy for him with the points of contact he has maintained so with your last hope, you moan weakly, “Please, please, stop!” 

Thankfully he only indulges himself for another second before his head lifts, a laugh spilling out, and he licks his lips, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” 

“You are the worst.” You roll your eyes fondly, struggling to catch your breath. He finally  takes your legs off his shoulders and gets up to fully join you as you stretch out back on the bed. Erik says, “Yeah, I’d say we are a pretty even match.” 

“I didn’t overstimulate you like that!” You argue, and he agrees, “No you didn’t, you just made me bust embarrassingly fast.” Erik then adds on, “Besides, soon as you said stop, I did.” 

Fuck, he did, if you had just actually told him to stop sooner you could have saved yourself there a bit, so much for accusations of not playing fair. Conceding, you say, “Alright, alright, the score has been settled.” 

“Mmm, not quite yet.” He hums, you raise an eyebrow, and before you can properly ask what he means, he has his hands on you again, starting to reposition you as he says, “I’m hard again, so how about round two?” 

He is full of great ideas. 

One of which leads to your current position; Face down, one cheek to the sheets, and your ass up. One of his hands is resting on the back of your neck, while the other is gripping one of your wrists, pinning it to your lower back. He is balls deep, and currently destroying you. 

When you are in control, it makes it a lot easier to take, you know what to expect. You are the one moving, shifting the angle, and can anticipate the sensations that will follow, but like this, pinned and made to take it? It heightens everything, ramps it up significantly, makes you moan louder, feel everything more intensely. It doesn’t help that he got a lock on your G-spot in record time, he got inside of you, slipped in and out a few times. Once he had coated himself in your ample wetness and then started fucking with the angle. He adjusted till he heard that choked off gasp and felt how your walls tightened in response that told him just where it was. Now he was being relentless, hitting it over and over again, you are moaning brokenly in such a delightfully debauched way. A breathless laugh rings out above you, followed by a question, “You alright?” 

You force the answer out, a low and embarrassingly wobbly, “Yessss-” 

“Yeah, fuck, you sound pretty good right now.” You can hear the smile on his face and the praise sinks into your bones, warm and pleasant, fingers curl into the sheets, eyes squeezing shut as you hold on. 

He doesn’t let up until you manage to cum again, hands free this time. In short order, satisfied now that your pleasure has been ensured, he pumps another load into you with a long groan, causing you to shiver.

Once he pulls out, your body sinks down to the mattress, you lay there on your stomach, cum leaking out and panting. You have thoroughly been taken down a peg, he can more than hold his own, he can ruin you if he decides it so. Erik falls onto his back beside you, trying to catch his own breath. 

It is quiet, it reminds you of another shared moment between you both, laying and breathing together, back then the only form of connection was the phone call. Now he is here, you can reach out and touch him if you want. It’s still kind of mind-blowing it all worked out this way. You are the first one to speak up, “Is it just me or was this-” 

“Amazing?” He fills in the blank, sounding a mixture of equally baffled but happy about it, and you laugh, pushing yourself onto your side you say, “Yeah! Like for a first time hooking up? Pretty unbelievable.” 

“To be fair, the whole thing we’ve had going on has been pretty fucking unbelievable.” He points out as he rolls to face you better, cheek resting on his hand, and you have to agree. It is quiet again for a moment, before you push yourself up to a sitting position and ask, “I could do with a snack, are you hungry?” 

“After all that, it would be weird to not be.” He responds. 

You reach for the box of tissues to deal with some of the excess mess before you throw them away and get up. Making the way to where you have your robe hung on one of the series of hooks on the back of your bedroom door. You select your usual one and slip it on and turn back to the bed to ask as you tie the belt, “You want something to wear?” 

“Well, it’d be nice, otherwise I’ll be walking around your place dick out.” He quips, and you say, “I wouldn’t complain about the view.” 

Tragically, he does put his own underwear back on, and you come back to him, another robe in your grip, and you hold it out. He takes it and lifts it to get a better look, taking in the black silk robe with the lace edged bell style sleeves. Erik lowers it and looks up at your face, asking in a tone that makes you want to bust out laughing,“Really?” 

“What? I ordered it a while back, and they sent the wrong size. It swims on me so it’ll totally fit you.” You say with a wide smile before saying next, “Besides, it’s in your favourite colour.” 

“You spoil me so.” He sighs as he gets up and slips it on, he ties the belt around his waist and finds that yeah it fits alright, however it hits high above mid-thigh. He holds the edges, swishing the satiny fabric and sleeves back and forth comically, “Pretty short, lucky for you that I am so secure in my masculinity.” 

You laugh lightly, before you said, “Lucky me indeed, you’ve got great legs, Show em off!” 

Soon, snacks were retrieved from the kitchen and brought back, you sit up in bed, sharing a bag of plain chips and a carton of chocolate fudge banana split ice cream between you both. 

“I gotta say, you really showed me, I was a total mess there when you were on top.” You praise him around your bite of ice cream, and he shrugs, brows creased as he said, “I had to defend my honour.”

“Consider it defended. You seemed to enjoy it when I was the one riding you, though.” You start, and he says, “Of course I did, just because I love taking it doesn’t mean I can’t give it and love that shit too.” 

“Same here.” You say easily, Erik laughs, head dropping for a moment, his hand runs through his hair, before he asks, “Did we really luck out that hard? Both of us are switches?” 

“Seems like but at this point? I think just about anything is possible if we are together.” 

“I think you are onto something.” Erik muses. 

The conversation hits a comfortable lull. You take a second to look at him, in the soft light of your bedroom, so close your knees touch, wrapped up in your robe. The sleeves are too short and slip down his forearms, bunching near his elbows, his scattered tattoos partly exposed. This is one of those moments that even when the visual fades, the feeling will stay, you will recall tonight and remember how this felt. You choose to revel in how comfortable this feels. 

After a minute more of snacking, you ask, “So you still want to sleep over?”  Erik nods, pulling the spoon out of his mouth, “For sure, been a while since I’ve done one.” 

“Oh yeah, fucking randos in bar bathrooms is more your style, isn’t it? Should I be honoured you actually came back to my place?” You ask as you pluck a chip from the bag, he is scooping out another spoonful as he says with that cocky air, “Yes, you really should be.” 

“And what if I wanna keep this going?” You smile but are asking it half seriously, hopeful this won’t be a one time thing, he says, “Oh careful what you wish for, if I hang around too long you might get sick of me.” 

He offers out the carton as the spoon is put into his mouth, you reach out to take it, your fingers brushing his briefly. You say sincerely, “I think I would love the opportunity to get sick of you.” 

You both make eye contact, and you swear you saw a softness bloom on his face for a  second before he’s reaching into the chip bag again. With his playfulness back in place, he quips, “Alright, your funeral.” 

You let out a laugh, playing along, “I won’t say you didn’t warn me, okay?”

After a lot more casual conversation and finishing your snacking session, a quick evening clean up happens. You settle down for the night, you loan him a phone charger, and soon you are passing out with Erik beside you pretty quickly. You sleep in later than normal, you have the day off. Assuming he has nowhere in particular to be, when you both are properly awake, you say, “I need to go grocery shopping later, so I don’t have much here, but you wanna go out for breakfast?” 

Erik rubs the sleep out of his eyes as he tells you, “Oh fuck yes, please.” 

He slips back into last night’s shirt and pants, you get dressed, and then you strike out.  Leading him to a nearby diner you loved, turned out he was a fan too, it is seriously so strange you’ve never run into him before. 

You are seated quickly, coffee cups are filled before you start looking over the menu. You watch as he adds sugar but no cream into his mug, filing away the little observation. Then you ask, “So I am curious, what kind of breakfast do you go in for?” 

“Depends on the mood and the previous night’s activities.” He shrugs as he flips the page. You press, “And what do last night’s activities call for?”

He hums in consideration before closing the menu with a satisfying clack. He announces, “Salty and sweet, chocolate chip pancakes and bacon.” 

“Your history of amazing taste continues.” You nod and he says, “Naturally.” Then he asks, “You?” 

“I think I need something classic, hearty, with serious protein. A mainstay; eggs, sausage, toast and hash with fruit on the side.” You close your own menu, and he lets out a low whistle, “You know what you want, and I respect that.” 

He holds his mug out, a raise of his brows as he says, “To a great first hook up, offline.” 

A smile takes over your face as you pick up your own coffee and gently clink yours against his, “Hear, hear.” 

You both take a sip, and you set down your mug, asking, “So you said ‘first’ hook up offline. Does that mean you want to do this again?” 

“I do, and I think you do too.” He asserts casually, and you joke, “Did my extremely shaky legs give me away last night?” You wouldn’t be surprised if they did, you didn’t stop fully trembling until about ten minutes post fuck. 

He snickers, elbow resting on the table-top and holding his hand out in a ‘trying to squish a fly’ gesture. His pointer finger and thumb almost touch as he answers, “Just a little bit.” 

“Okay, so you are right, I do want to repeat this-” You admit, but he cuts you off, “No shit.” You ignore him and continue, “Anyway! The way I look at it is like this, I think we are both the kind of people that greatly prioritize having fun. Would you say that’s accurate?” 

“Absolutely.” He agrees, and you say, “Good, I would too. So how about we do this as long as it remains fun? Deal?” 

“Deal.” He stretches his hand out, and you take it, firmly shaking on it. And so, it has been decided that as long as it remains fun and makes sense, you are going to keep meeting up for casual sex.

The waitress stops by, you place your orders, and then she leaves you two alone again, well, almost alone. There are four people at the table across the aisle from you, and they were being rather loud and increasingly obnoxious. 

They are all talking about how terrible their food is. When the waitress comes by again they proceed to complain to her, one of them bitching about how burnt their grilled cheese apparently was, and how unimpressed they were with everything overall. You had both eaten here plenty of times, so there was no way it was as bad as they were making it out to be. Your table was too close to theirs to talk about how insane they were being, but thankfully that is what phones are for. Barely holding in your laughs, you and Erik text about them while you wait for your food. 

“Oh my fucking God, are you hearing all this?” Erik asked, and you typed out quickly, “Can’t hear my own thoughts with how loud they are being, but see that one in the cardigan? She was eating her pancakes with her hands.”

Erik looked up from his phone, giving you a look that translated to, “Really?” 

Holding in a laugh, you nodded and typed out, “I swear, she is ripping off pieces and dragging it through the syrup on her plate.” 

His next text pops up to read, “And she has the audacity to complain that they are subpar? What a monster.” 

Eventually they leave and as soon as the door closes you both let loose, you start with an impassioned, “Oh my fucking Goddd-” 

Erik following up with an impression, arms crossed as he intones, “This is so disappointing, we used to know the owners you know, and this is just so awful, I don’t think we will be coming back-” 

“Good, don’t fucking come back! I never understand when people throw that out as a threat.” You reply, and he agrees, “Right? When someone annoying drops that on me, all I want to do is ask ‘Promise?’, like fuck off.” 

You both break down into a fit of laughter. You are glad that when the situation calls for blowing off some steam, you and Erik can be a little petty without judgment. While discussing how sticky it would be to eat pancakes with just your hands, your food is brought out. You both devour your breakfasts, and it’s as delicious as you expected. When all the plates are cleared away, you split the bill down the middle. 

You both head out onto the street, he is carrying his jacket and pocketing his wallet, you zip your bag closed and say, “What are you doing now?” 

“Going to head home. Since I have fucking work later might as well shower, get into clean clothes, yada yada. You?” He asked, and you said, “I have the day off, so just groceries, maybe some cleaning, but the rest of my day is wide open.” 

“Jealous.” He sighs. 

The pair of you are wondering the same thing. How should your good-bye’s go now that you are friends with benefits? Taking the initiative, you open your arms and invite him in for a hug. He steps in, talking you up on it, and leans down to wrap his arms around you. You return the action, giving him a firm squeeze. It is a nice moment. Until you ruin it, leaning into his ear and whispering, “Text me whenever you need a hole to cum in, alright?”

He laughs and pulls back with a playful shove of your shoulder, he fires back, “Yeah and if you need a living dildo to fuck, I’m your guy.” 

You start to walk off, a wave over your shoulder as you call, “Don’t work too hard, music man.” 

“I never do. Bye.” He calls in return as he heads off in the other direction. 

The rest of your day is uneventful, but good because frankly you are in an amazing mood. 

So Erik as becomes a bigger part of your life, texting becomes a bit more frequent, at times you still engage in your old dynamic; pictures passed back and forth, dirty or otherwise, but why do that when the band aid has been ripped off? Meeting up is just so easy. Much more often than not, if you are in the mood, you carve out a space in your schedules to meet up and find that infinitely more fulfilling. After this new arrangement is established, your next meeting goes like this.  

It has been about a week and a half since the last time you saw him in person. When you do hear from him, you are just getting home after a night out with a friend grabbing dinner and a movie straight after work. You feel your phone buzz in your bag as you are about to hang it up. You take it out to see a text from Erik, you swipe it open to see, “Oh my fucking Godddd!” Another comes in immediately after, “Fuck this day!”, and lastly, “I am going to fucking lose it!” 

“Oh no.” You mutter to yourself, fully aware that a triple text of this nature isn’t good. You  start to type a response as you take your shoes off, “What’s up? Talk to me.” 

His new text comes in, reading out, “You home?” You text back quickly, “Just got in.”  

Your phone starts ringing, you swipe again to accept the call, bringing the phone up to your ear, you say, “Erik? I’m here.” 

“Kill me please.” He says firmly, and you bark out a surprised laugh from the sheer drama of hearing a phrase like that straight off the bat. You respond to him as you walk down the hall and into the kitchen, “Yeah, hello to you too.”

“Hi. I reiterate, please, fucking kill me.” He says more urgently, and you laugh again as you sit on a barstool at the kitchen island, “Okay, okay, I promise, I’ll kill you, after you tell me what’s wrong in the first place.” 

He then begins to recount the source of today’s misery, “I had that big appointment I told you about today, the guy who was dropping over a thousand dollars on the snake thing. I sent you the finished sketch the other day.” 

You hum in acknowledgment, knowing just what he was talking about. He was pretty jazzed about this one. The sketch was phenomenal, he poured a lot into it, and that amount of money for a single tattoo is nothing to sneeze at either. “Course, how could I forget?” 

“Well, for some reason my alarm didn’t wake me up this afternoon, so I woke up late and had to fucking run to get to the shop-” Yeesh, you wince slightly and continue to listen to him. 

“-I make it on time and start prepping and shit, whatever. Then this guy messages me like ‘Heyyy sorry, can we push back an hour?’ and that was kind of annoying, since I’d rushed over to the shop in this heat. However, I could stop rushing around right then, so I was like ‘Yeah it’s fine.’” 

“Alright.” You say quietly, following along, and he presses on, “Cuz what else am I gonna say? Obviously, I don’t want to miss out on that amount of money, so I take my time, finish prepping some stuff. I get the stencil ready, even have a chance to run out to get a drink and a sandwich. Everything is ready to go, but THEN-”

You bite your bottom lip to restrain another laugh, and he continues recounting his story, “-he asks for another two hours! I was like ‘Okayyyy, are you sure you can do this today?’ And he says ‘Totally, I’ll be there.’ So I have two walk-ins for piercings and that’s fine, then I kill time working on some other sketches.Then he texts me again and guess what it fucking says?” 

You can see where this is going, you say, “He cancels on you?”, at the exact same moment that he says, “He cancels on me!”

“Fucking unbelievable.” You sigh and he says, “It is! I had most of my shift blocked off for this guy, so now I can either hang around and hope for walk-ins or bail out. The whole day is basically a wash.” 

“Did he reschedule?” You ask, and he laughs bitterly, “Yeah, he did. Next fucking week.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Even though the way he complains is funny, the situation he found himself in was not, and you genuinely feel bad for him. “So, are you going to hang around or what?” 

“No, I don’t think so, I am not the only one here anyway. I stepped out to call you-” Another sigh, and you can picture him rubbing over his eyes and his hand slipping up into his hair. You swear you can feel his frustration over the line. 

“There are some other people here now that will get first dibs on walk-ins, they came in because I was supposed to be busy.” He finishes. 

You see an opportunity, a chance for you to help, you pose a question, “Well, how about you come over? We could get a pizza, maybe fuck it out if you are up for it?” 

He pauses for a moment before asking, “Oh my God, are you serious?”

You reach over to pluck a grape from your fruit bowl, rolling it in between your fingers as you respond, “Yeah! Let me salvage your night.” 

He confesses honestly, “Yes, please, I think I really do fucking need that.” 

“Of course, come on over.” You encourage, and he says, “I’ll be there within the hour. I gotta take my station apart and clean up before I leave.” 

“Take as long as you need, see you soon.” You trade good-bye’s, and hang up. Popping the grape into your mouth, you get off the stool and make your way to the bathroom, intent on showering before he comes over. 

True to his word, he arrives within the hour, you open the door and there he is, looking pretty beat.You feel bad as you let him in, even more determined to try and cheer him up. You lead him to the living room and once he is seated on your couch in the living room, you tell him, “Wait right there.” 

“I don’t think I could do much else.” He sighs, hands slipping behind his head as he leans back into the cushions.You walk away to head into the kitchen, and when you come back you are holding two bottles of beer. His brows raise, and you offer, “Want a beer?” 

“Oh yes, definitely.” One of his hands comes from behind his head and reaches out for it. Slipping the bottle into his waiting hand, you take the seat beside him on the couch. He takes a sip and almost moans as he pulls the bottle back, “Hice Pale Ale?” 

“It’s my favourite. I am not huge on beer, but having a few of these on hand in the fridge to crack open after a long day is a must.” You say with a shrug as you pull your phone out of your pocket, he praises, “And you go on about my good taste.” 

“Only because it’s true. So, what kind of pizza do you want? Once I have the order in, you can bitch about your day some more.” 

You decide on two wood fire pizzas from that nice pizzeria downtown; one classic pepperoni, the other margherita and phoned in the order. More venting ensues, and before you know it, you’re both one beer down and onto your second. The food arrives partway through the movie you put on. The pizza boxes are opened on your coffee table, you both just eat out of them, not bothering with plates. It tastes pretty amazing. You glance over as he gestures to the screen commenting on something, and actually smiling. You are glad to see his mood has lifted considerably. 

By the time the credits are rolling, you are in his lap, some mid-2000s song you’ve heard countless times but couldn’t name playing in the background. The make out you are engaged in is getting rather heated, you have one hand on the back of his neck, the other buried in his hair. His hands are settled on your hips, his fingertips starting to edge up underneath the hem of your tank top. Your tongue slips out of his mouth for a moment as you nip at his bottom lip, before pulling back, and asking quietly, “How are you feeling? Better?”

“Better than I was.” He admits with a half smile that could make you melt if you let yourself get too caught up. Pushing that thought away, you grind yourself down, feeling how hard he is under you, “Yeah? Because I was thinking of one other thing I could do to help cheer you up.” 

He responds by arching his own hips up to meet yours before prompting, “I’m listening.” 

“I was just thinking about how tragic it is that I never got to suck your dick last time, how about we fix that?” 

One minute later you are on your knees between his spread legs, your hair out of the way with him hot and hard in the palm of your hand. 

You’ve been wanting to do this since the very first picture he sent you. No, dying to. So you waste no time leaning closer to make first contact with your tongue. Your eyes are turned up to his face, determined to catch every little reaction. When you pass over his piercing you feel him tense slightly, noticing the shift in his eyes and the sharp intake of breath. Oh, this is going to be so much fun. Your lips lock around the head of his cock, and your tongue lathes over it slowly while it’s in your mouth. You suck lightly and pull off of him with a wet pop, teeth hooking onto well polished metal, and tugging on it slightly. 

A fond roll of his eyes as he huffs out, “Jesus, you love to play with that shit, don’t you?” 

“Call it a kink. I didn’t hear you complaining last time.” You muse before you start to slip him back into your mouth. He breathes, “I’m an asshole, not an idiot.” 

You’d laugh if your mouth wasn’t already occupied with more important matters. An amused exhale through your nose would have to do as you focus on sliding him deeper.

Now, sucking dick isn’t quite as complicated as eating pussy, other than utilizing an excess of spit, there are two very important factors that should not be forgotten. The first and most crucial is enthusiasm, the second is that every good blowjob should include more than just your mouth. You have hands, use them. The first time you get on your knees for someone is exciting, but usually you don’t have this much lead up. To say you are desperate to do this for him is a major understatement. You are utterly ravenous for it. In your opinion, the best head is sloppy, messy, and you enjoy it more than you have any real right to. The act of giving pleasure is one you partake in joyfully, so you never have to fake your enthusiasm. 

You take him halfway down his shaft before bobbing back up, lips now wrapped around the defined ridge where head meets shaft, you suck slowly as you pull up the rest of the way. Then you let your lips part and allow the veritable river of split you’ve been building up in your mouth run down over your fingers. You start to stroke, spreading the lube and coating him in the process, and with that done you can really settle in. Mouth and hand work in tandem, you stroke and suck, taking him as deep as you can with your hand around the base before moving back up again. 

You do this for around a minute before you decide to really try and wow him, you move your hand away, and take him to the base. As soon as you feel his tip touch the back of your throat, he moans in a way that makes you want to press your thighs together. Your gag reflex isn’t that much of a bother when you are motivated enough. You bob up and down a few more times, fucking the tight opening of your throat with the head of his dick. One of his hands grips the couch cushion beside him, and the other comes to the top of your head. He moans again, with an undercurrent of confusion, “What the fuck-” 

You will never get tired of his reactions. Swallowing around him, letting him feel that simple action in full, you are rewarded with a choked gasp; A sound that will haunt your dreams for many nights to come. He pushes back on your head until he pops out of your mouth, strands of your spit following the motion and your eyes locking on his flushed face as the wet leash connecting you to him breaks apart. Erik utters a breathless accusation, “Youuu majorly undersold your skills.” 

You cock your head and smile softly, a faux innocence in your tone as you ask, “Did I?” 

Your hand comes back up, fingers circle around his base, you spit into your other palm, then reach out and grip him. Starting to stroke firmly, causing him to inhale harshly, “Yes, Christ, you fucking did.” 

“Maybe.” You sigh, twist your wrist on the downstroke, and watch in amused interest as his upper lip twitches and his brow creases in response. You continue on to say, “I just think actions speak louder than words.” 

Your thumb swipes over his tip, catching the stray bead of pre-cum there, “Why blab on and on when it is so much more fun to get on my knees and just show you what I can do?” Your hand lifts to your mouth, your tongue flicks over the pad of your thumb briefly before you ask, “Can I get back to blowing you now?” 

He nods once, and you sink back down into it immediately, taking him back into your mouth in one smooth motion. Suddenly deep throating him again, he moans out, “Oh fuck-”

You don’t stop, alternating between fucking him into your throat and stroking his shaft with your lips wrapped around his head. You are relentless, eating up every reaction you draw from him, and filing it all away to masturbate to later in all honesty. Until a few minutes later, he is moaning your name as he cums into your mouth. 

You wait until he stops pumping out cum and the twitching subsides, when he sighs in relief you pull back to see his eyes are on you. Perfect. While he is looking at you, your mouth opens, showing off the pool of cum coating your tongue; Then you make a show of closing your lips and when you swallow him back, you show him your now clean tongue. 

The look on his face is priceless. You climb back onto the couch beside him as you ask, “Good?” 

You knew it was, but you liked this aspect of your relationship, being kind of dickish to each other. Erik is a sarcastic kind of guy, very funny, and you like giving it back to him. You are positive he likes it too. He scoffs, “Yeah, of course it was good.” 

“No jokes?” You inquire, and he laughs as he finishes putting himself away, “No, I don’t think I can pretend that was bad even for a joke, you nearly sucked the soul out of me.” 

You sigh, “Don’t worry, I’ll get it next time.” 

He hooks an arm around your shoulder and pulls you in closer. You are reminded that he isn’t shy about his own cum when he initiates a kiss and his tongue slips into your mouth. Returning his affection with a moan is the most natural thing in the world, after all he is unfairly hot. He returns the favour, shows you that he is just as good with his hands as he is with his mouth. You end up cumming with two of his fingers buried inside you, grinding your clit against his palm, dizzy with pleasure. 

Erik leaves in a much better mood that night, and you were glad to help him out. The boost to your own mood was just a bonus. 

The next notable quality time you share is about two weeks later. It’s a hot day when you make the decision to drop in on him, since he mentioned that he was working. He was meant to be there to field walk-ins, so you decided to do the same. You’ve walked by this shop many times before you knew him; Had seen it in the many pictures and videos he sent you, too. But this is the first time you’ve actually been inside. You don’t arrive empty-handed though, you stride in with a smile and an iced coffee for him. 

The bell rings to signal your arrival, he looks up as you take your sunglasses off and place them on top of your head. He has surprise in his eyes, paired with a grin as he questions, “The fuck are you doing here?” 

You make your way over to him as you say, “I thought I’d be nice, bring you an iced coffee, help you cope with this hot ass day we are all suffering through.” 

Now close enough you place the iced coffee on the counter he is seated at, he picks it up and says, “Oh, and here I didn’t get you anything.” 

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to even the scales again.” You tease, leaning forward on your elbows. He leans nearer as he flirts back, “We always do.” 

He takes his first sip, and he sighs out, “God, that’s good, thanks.” You shrug with an easy, “Don’t mention it.” 

Erik asks, “Wanna sit behind the counter?”

You take him up on it, pulling over one of the cushioned stools on wheels. You sit down and ask, “What are you working on?”

“Trying to come up with my flash sheet to advertise, Friday the 13th is coming.” He sighs as he picks up his sketchbook and passes it over. You look over the half filled page as you say, “Oh yeah, cheap tattoo day, gotta be ready.” 

Your eyes scan over the themed sketches, admiring his work. After a minute, you ask, “Would it be weird to get a tattoo from you sometime?” 

He gives you a curious look, and he asks, “Why would it be weird? Because we fuck each other stupid like once a week?” 

You reply easily, “Uh yeah that’d be why. But hey, if you don’t think it’d be weird then I’ll take your word for it.” He already leaves the occasional hickey, what’s a more permanent mark between friends. A thought pops into your head, leading you to inquire, “Wait, did you ever do that?” 

“Do what?” He asked, and you responded, “Like tattoo a girlfriend or something before you broke up?” 

“Noooo, I have avoided that so far.” He admits with a laugh, shaking his head. You joke, “Oooh, fresh ground, virgin territory.”

“Such a freak.” He hums amusedly, and you double down, “Erik, you have to understand, this is very exciting for me.” 

“Adding corruption kink onto your ever-growing list, got it.” He holds his hand out to take his sketchbook back, you roll back on your wheeled stool, holding it out of reach, “I didn’t say I was done.” 

“Look as much as you want.” Erik drops his hand, and you go back to look down at his sketches. Staring down with great interest, and that is when you uncross your legs and lean back a little. 

He says your name and your eyes peek back over the edge of the book, “Yes?”

“Are you wearing anything under that sundress, orrr?” Erik asked, and you shook your head, confessing, “No I am not. Too hot, you know?”

“Too hot for panties?” He deadpans.

“I mean, it’s a black sundress, Erik! Yes, it is too hot for panties.” You defend, and he says, “No one made you wear black today.” 

“Rich coming from the guy whose closet is ninety-five percent black.” You quip, foot reaching out to nudge his black jean clad leg, you add on, “Besides, I thought you’d like it.” 

You spread your legs wider, his elbows come to rest on his knees, he leans forward. Watching his eyes drop significantly lower. He says, “I never said I didn’t like it.”  

 A bite your bottom lip before asking, “Well. Are you going to do something about it?” 

He does in fact do something. You get dragged enthusiastically into the very bathroom he took that first video for you, the door locked behind you faster than you could say a word. 

You are praying you can get this quickie done before anyone comes in, gripping the sink while his hands are on your body. The skirt of your sundress is bunched around your hips, and he is adjusting you, lifting one of your knees up onto the sink. Erik’s other hand is on your lower back, making sure he will be able to fuck you easily while he is standing behind you. Pressing himself against you, he slides easily as he grinds against you, and asks, “How are you this wet already?”

“Mighta edged myself in the bathroom of the coffee shop while they were making your order.” You admit, and he drags the tip of his dick up and down your slit, he spreads your wetness as he says, “I knew it, you planned this whole thing.” 

How can you be expected to do anything but capitalize on his impulsive nature? He slides into you, and you moan out, “Caaah-’nt help it-” 

He starts the pace out easy, sliding in and out of you slowly, and you revel in the stretch. You are content for this to be a quick and dirty fuck, and to see, secretly, if you could get home before all his cum runs down your thighs. 

Erik has other plans. He starts to adjust, shifting the angle just right. Your head turns up, looking into the mirror and meeting his eyes. Your eyes quietly questioning what he is doing, wondering why he isn’t railing the fuck out of you already, but the only warning he gives you is, “Wait, wait, hold on-” 

He fucks all the way in and strikes your G-spot so strongly, the stab of pleasure it delivers makes your back arch and punches the air out of your lungs. Your head barely misses hitting the mirror, “Oh fuck-”

“Therrrre it is!” He purrs. His hand that was on your lower back slides up, he grips the straps for leverage, and his other hand grips your hip firmly. You pant out, “You’re the wor-st, ha, you cocky fucking bastard-”

“Ready?” He asks in a sanguine way that blatantly ignores what you just said. Without waiting for your response, he sets a pretty brutal pace. 

He doesn’t stop, and it’s your turn to cum embarrassingly quick. You can thank the ten minutes worth of edging you gave yourself prior to this. It makes the climb scary quick, and you are totally helpless as he abuses your weaknesses with glee. Worst of all, you have no one else to blame but yourself for being so sexually open with him.

You claw at the sink while he pounds your orgasm out of you in five short minutes, biting your tongue so hard you worry you might draw blood. Barely managing to whine out an approximation of his name. Your walls spasm around his shaft as you ride out your orgasm, shuddering and gasping. Even after it ends, you are incapable of controlling the aftershocks. You only have to bear the overstimulation for a few minutes before he rushes out, “Fuck, gonna cum-”

He forces himself deep as he can one last time, reaching his own end and spilling inside of you; Your name staining his tongue. Your forehead touches the cool glass of the mirror, and you heave out a breath that fogs it up, mind glazing over yet still registering the sweat sticking to your skin.

When he pulls out, a rush of cum spills forth as opposed to a slow drip. You are a wreck, heaving and mostly supported by the sink. He asks, “You okay there?” 

You raise your head, eyes half lidded, and you moan out, “Soooo good.” 

He seems thoroughly amused, eyes raking over your form as you endure the aftershocks, the occasional twitches endlessly entertaining for him.  

“I’m gonna go make sure no one came in and heard you cum your brains out. Take a minute and clean yourself up, yeah?” He says far too breezily, he finishes securing his belt and unlocks the door. He leaves you there, cum staining your thighs and still reeling. Your mind drifts back to your previous conversation shared post-sex, the one revealing that you both were switches. Honestly, you do like rocking his shit, but there is something to be said for the times he flips it back and returns your ample efforts.

You do take the time to clean up and eventually you leave the bathroom to join him. He is sitting back behind the counter, pencil in one hand and iced coffee in the other. He looks far too normal, too put together. As if he didn’t just fuck you dumb in the bathroom. He is so attractive, it’s almost annoying. 

Erik doesn’t look up as he says, “Don’t worry. No one came in, so no one heard you.”

You come back to the counter and say, “Thank God. I was trying to be quiet, but someone wasn’t making it easy on me.” 

“Suuuure it’s all my fault that you couldn’t stop-” He starts mimicking your moans in an overexaggerated way, shifting in his chair and swaying back and forth in a jerky rhythm as if he were getting fucked. You laugh so hard you snort, hitting him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t relent. He only stops after you finally say, “Oh my fucking God, Erik!”

“Yeahhh-” He turns to look at you finally, “-you said that a few times too.” He says with a shit eating grin. 

You don’t linger much longer after that, you have a short conversation about texting to meet up again soon. As you are leaving, he calls out, “By the way, thanks again for the coffee.” 

“Anytime. Maybe you should swing by and visit me at work sometime.” You suggest, and you mean it. You slip your sunglasses back on as you leave.

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

I was thinking it would be cool to have a male fae Yandere that poses as a dancer to seduce a fem presenting reader. But like they used soft power to make them enter now they can’t leave. But it also feels very similar with the jester who i would love to see more of!

Yandere Fae x Reader

Moonlight filtered through the grand stained-glass windows of the Niowil Court’s ballroom, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the marble floor. Musicians played a languid, haunting melody, their bows sweeping over the strings, each note a delicate lure. Nobles in silks and velvet danced in slow, measured steps, faces hidden behind intricate masks of gold, silver, and porcelain.

But it was him who drew all eyes.

You didn’t know his name, only that he was the court’s favored dancer. His mask, a delicate creation of silver vines and crystalline leaves, framed piercing, luminous green eyes. His hair flowed like spun silver, his movements were water given life.

You should have looked away. Should have ignored the whispered rumors about the fae who danced at the Duke’s masquerades, of those who met his gaze and were never quite the same. But the first time those emerald eyes found yours, you felt something seize in your chest, a longing so fierce it left you breathless.

Now you stood at the edge of the ballroom, half-hidden by a towering marble pillar, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of the warmth in your veins. You had been invited—no, you had been chosen. The summons had come to your family’s modest estate in a sealed letter, the script written in a fine, swirling hand. An invitation too grand to refuse.

But why had they chosen you? Why did his gaze never seem to leave you?

“Lost, my lady?” a voice whispered, low and melodic. You turned, and he was there—close, far too close. He smelled of wild roses and the crisp air of a forest at dawn, his smile soft but his eyes hungry.

“I—no. I was only—” Words faltered under the weight of his gaze. His hand rose, fingertips brushing a loose strand of your hair back, the touch feather-light.

“You dance so beautifully,” you whispered, desperate for something to say, to fill the strange, suffocating silence.

“It is but a poor attempt to mirror your radiance,” he murmured, and the music swelled, as if answering his voice. “But would you grant me the honor of a dance?”

His hand extended, palm up, a fragile offer that felt more like a command.

Every instinct screamed to refuse, to run. But the moment your fingers touched his, the world shifted.

The ballroom melted away like mist under sunlight. You were standing in a forest of towering silver trees, their leaves glimmering with an unnatural light, the scent of roses thick in the air. His grip on your hand was warm, his other arm snaking around your waist, pulling you close.

“Let me go,” you gasped, but your body betrayed you, pressing closer instead.

“Go?” He laughed, a sound like a spring breeze, sweet but tinged with cruelty. “Did I not tell you, love? Those who dance with me are never free.”

You struggled, but his strength was effortless, his touch both a caress and a shackle.

“What do you want from me?”

“Only what you have already given.” His lips brushed against your ear. “Your gaze, your desire, your devotion.”

“Please…” The word was a whimper, and he smiled, fingers tracing down your back.

“Oh, my sweet,” he whispered, his eyes aglow with that unearthly light. “Your plea is the sweetest of music. Struggle all you like, it only binds you further.”

Around you, the walls seemed to close in, their pillars twisting together, forming an impossible, towering cage. His lips brushed against yours, a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs, your knees weakening, your mind clouded.

“Stay,” he whispered, a promise and a command. “Stay, and I will teach you the beauty of surrender.”

Masterlist

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

As per a suggestion, a short fic of being Caracalla's favourite concubine.

Life in the royal palace was comfortable, as a concubine you were afforded luxuries that you would never have dreamed of before. You had been plucked from poverty, yours was a poor life of struggle. Your father was all too eager to sell you off to the royal house, the price given for you would more than pay off the family debts and he did not care where you went.

It was an adjustment at first for you, you had never known a man before you were placed in the service of the Emperors, your virginity was eagerly plucked by them, relishing in the fact you were a delicate flower ready to be plucked, savoured and devoured.

Geta was rough with you, the times you had been with him in the beginning were hard, the other girls understood and looked after you, knowing all to well the malice in his touch. As the time drew on Geta asked for you less, he enjoyed ruining the new and untouched girls, it started to become less fun for him when you knew what to expect.

As of late it was Caracalla who called for you, by name he called for you now, wanting only your company and your body to enjoy. Each time he called you were met with extravagance, wine and food met you in his chambers, you both indulged eagerly before you pleasured him. This time he called you was no different, you entered the royal room that you had now become very well acquainted with; your eyes falling upon the emperor perched upon his bed, his eyes drinking you in once again.

Caracalla met you eagerly, taking your hand in his own, kissing up the length of your arm, wanting to devour as much of your body as he could. It made you giggle to feel his lips travel up your arm, a giggle that was very well received by the Emperor, it pleased him to know that only he could elicit such noises from you.

Wine was enjoyed as you spoke, he always chose you to join him because you listened, you made him feel heard and understood, it was only you he could be unburdened to, the other girls did not care like you did, at least in his mind.

You enjoyed these encounters with Caracalla, though you were a concubine he made you feel like a goddess when he called for you, supplying you with the finest wine and food when attended to him. Caracalla was also attentive in other ways, you never expected to enjoy your role as a concubine but he made sure to pleasure you as you pleased him.

This time he called you was no different, you drank and listened to his problems, laughing at his jokes and feeding his ego where needed. It wasn't long until he took you to bed, it must have been a bad day for him to bed you so soon, you did not complain though, it was your job to please him.

The feeling of the silk sheets beneath you was something you would never tire of, they made you feel like an empress, even if only for the night. Caracalla's hands roamed your body hungrily, the feeling of his ringed fingers over your skin made you moan softly, encouraging him to grope you more.

It was his lips that you enjoyed more, the open mouthed kisses he left along your body were like heaven to you, the way he adored you with his lips was divine, he only revered you this way, the other girls had never felt this level of reverence from him, it was only reserved for you.

Your body reacted beautifully to his touch, everything Caracalla did to you was like he was made for you, his touch tailored to your body. Once your felt his length press against you it made you moan, desperate to feel him and fill the ache you had for him. It did not take long for Caracalla to press into you, stretching you to fit him, a feeling that you enjoyed every time.

His rhythm was slow at first, enjoying every stroke and savouring the feeling of you around him, it was as if you were made for him. His pace quickened as you moaned beneath him, the beautiful noises you were making for him only spurred him on as he wanted to hear more of your moans. His hands roamed your body as he pounded into you, the cold metal of his ringed hands was like heaven, feeling then travel down your body to your core, aching for release.

Caracalla's hand found it's way down your body, his fingers hungrily rubbing against your clit, though you were only a concubine he wanted to please you as much as you pleased him, he almost craved the feeling of your orgasm, to feel your walls tighten around him was pure ecstasy.

The pleasure started to pool inside of you, his fingers rubbing your clit and hearing his sweet moans in your ear was enough to send you over the edge, arching your back into his body and your walls clenching around him. Caracalla's orgasm was notong after your own, panting through it before collapsing upon you, your bodies both now covered in sweat.

Of all the concubines you were the only one allowed to sleep next to Caracalla. All the other girls he would send away, but not you. You stayed next to him, stroking his hair and holding him. Caracalla never wanted a wife, he had you at his service and would need or crave anything more.

[chimivx]

under the influence -> jeong yunho

wc; 2482 warnings; smut, 18+, explicit sexual content, they are drunk continues straight from part four of nice for what. for more context, start the crazy series...

september 13th ~ friday ~ sometime after midnight

It happened fast, Yunho’s shirt hitting the floor.

Between lips on skin and hands drawing everywhere, you were both barely undressed and he was inside of you.

And it was right.

It was how it should be.

On top of him, hands in his hair, straddling his jeans while he pressed kisses to your skin, tugging the straps of your dress down your shoulders so hard that one almost snapped… It felt right, and his strong hands pressing into your hips told you that you would be here all night.

“So big,” you gasped, fingernails digging into his shoulders. Pressing his lips to your wrist, he opened his mouth and drew the kisses up your arm. Sliding your other arm around his bare shoulders, his skin smooth and hot to the touch, you drug your fingers through his hair and pulled, eliciting a groan from his lips now latched to your neck. His hands attempted to pick you up, attempted to move you, needed to move you. “Wait.” Your whine, the sound laced with a discomfort, made him look up at you, worried.

Softening his grip he slid his hands back over your thighs, moving beneath the cotton fabric hanging off your body. Giving your ass the gentlest squeeze, he blinked with the smallest nod. “Don’t move.” Thirty seconds and his voice was wrecked, ragged and coarse. “Kiss me,” he whispered.

Letting a shaky breath fall from you, you obliged, pressing your chest to his, your lips meeting in the middle. You moved quick, you wanted your lips to move faster, wanted his lips to move faster, but they wouldn’t. He forced you to take your time, every agonizing push of his lips into yours slower than the last. Even the way his tongue teased you, retreating when you’d lob yours toward it. Sharing the air, wet hot breath, swapping spit, back and forth, Yunho kept time though he knew you longed to swallow him whole.

The longer you kissed, the more you relaxed around him. Whether you spent five, ten minutes with your tongues tangled, his sliding atop yours tasting like the fruity bubbles you preferred over the liquor he poured, he didn’t care. He could sit here all night, you on his lap, your hands in his hair, your lips on his while he felt the effect he had over you in real time.

Yunho wasn’t something you could adjust to without proper care, you said the words yourself, so big. Even the first time, Yunho prepped you as much as he could, and all the times after that, he said the words to you, tiny little thing.

He slipped a hand between your legs, where your bodies met one another, and scissored his fingers around his length, where you gripped him so beautifully. Dragging them up along your folds, a deliciously sweet wetness coating the digits, he teased that bundle of nerves that made your body shake, a muffled moan spilling from your mouth into his.

“Got me all wet, baby,” he whispered, taking his lips down along your jaw to listen to you sing for him. Fingers twisting over your clit once more, your fingers on his shoulder dug further into his skin and the one in his hair yanked his head backward, his chin tipping up, his lips parting with a quiet gasp. Eyes screwed shut, you rocked your hips ever so slightly, Yunho holding his breath as he watched you writhe on top of him.

Every sound delicate, he drank them up, working his fingers until your brows met in the middle and each heave of your chest grew shorter. A groan escaped him when you circled your hips, comfortable enough to use him as you pleased. He couldn’t help himself, he had full control, but absolutely adored when you lost yourself in the ecstasy, in him.

Short, small bounces on his dick had him clenching his jaw, keeping it shut. His own moans and groans were trapped in his chest. If you weren’t thoughtless at the moment you’d be begging to hear them, and he’d listen. Yunho would give you anything you wanted, anything you asked for. 

Which is why when you whimpered, “Wanna cum,” he had no intention of stopping, nor was he about to switch it up. Circling over your clit the only thing he changed was the pressure, pushing the pads of his fingers against you, keeping up with how you bounced longer, harder, deeper. When you met his hips you took all of him, the tip of his dick kissing that sweet spot within you, and you stopped.

He could’ve unloaded right then, filled you with his cum as his name slipped from your lips in an exasperated whisper. Your hips rutting against his like a bitch in heat, the pleasure grew tenfold, even more so when Yunho drug his tongue up your neck, taking your earlobe between his teeth.

“You wanna cum, baby,” his whisper raspy, “Then, cum.” Your walls squeezed him whenever he spoke. Swallowing his groan, he said, “You’re fuckin’ me so good, you deserve it.”

Pouting, your lips parted and he caught them in a kiss, your words muffled and breathless. “Too soon.”

“S’okay,” he whispered, kissing you twice more, “You feel good, let it feel good.” A stifled moan fell from him. Tearing his lips away he looked between you, grabbing your dress by the fistful, tugging it up your body. “Fuck, Rory,” he muttered. 

Slinging both arms around his neck, burying your face in his hair, electric sparks ignited in your veins, a pressure building in your center, a band winding tighter and tighter with each buck of your hips. Grabbing his face, his cheeks putty in your hands, you tipped his chin up. 

Eyes hooded, awaiting instruction, Yunho couldn’t help himself. Thrusting his hips up into you once, it broke you. It tore you apart, shattered the last bit of composure you clung to. Clenching around him, squeezing him so tight he had to pray his own orgasm away, you sunk deeper on him, your knees tightening around his waist. Your head fell backward and the nastiest, most beautiful sound he’s ever heard came out of your mouth.

Yours were his favorite, the sounds you make, so genuine and raw, like you couldn’t think about anything other than the pleasure he was bringing you, that you were giving yourself. Watching you come undone, his lips parted, a smile pulling at them, he’s never seen you look more beautiful.

…And, three… two… one…

Wrapping a hand tight around the base of his neck you heave your body weight forward onto him, pushing him backward on the bed. Engulfing his lips with a feverish kiss, tongue pressed to his cheek, you pushed with your hand, the pressure forcing a groan out of the boy below you. Throwing your hips in a circle, meeting every thrust of his hips with a bounce of your own, a devilish smirk grew between the kisses. Yunho could feel it.

“There she is,” he whispered.

Pushing off of him, lips parting with a wet smack as you sat up, you buried your bottom lip between your teeth, keeping your eyes on him as you moved. Having done this before, many times, you were successful in keeping him a panting mess beneath you as you slipped your dress over your head, throwing it behind you somewhere next to his shirt. Eyes drawing down your body, taking in every curve, Yunho tensed beneath you, his body stiffening in more ways than one. 

Sitting up on his elbows, lulling his head back, his brows beckoning you for something, he groaned, “Aurora,” and gasped thereafter, your hands startling him as they wrapped around his neck. Leaning into him, pushing your bare chest to his, an act that had his toes curling, he let his weight take him back to his mattress. 

Lips so close to his, you fluttered your lashes. “You gonna get whiney on me, Yo?” Laughing within a breath, you poked out your tongue and danced it between the seam of his lips, before his jaw fell open with another gasp as you sheathed him within you and twisted your hips dangerously slow.

He did in fact whine, his lips parting to allow you all the access to nip at the flesh to your heart's content, tugging at the soft pink fullness as he whined again and his hips stuttered. His hands clamped around your waist, stopping you entirely. Tugging his head away, leaving you with no choice but to take your teeth to his neck, he flipped you over onto your back, pinning you in place.

“Fuck,” you whispered, throwing your hands around his back taken by surprise, eyes so wide he laughed at you. Lowering himself over you, caging you to the mattress, he nestled his nose against yours and settled his lips in a smirk.

“I know how this goes,” he said, his deep voice sending chills over your bare skin. With an agonizingly slow push of his hips into you, he speaks just above a whisper. “Rory in control, gets what she wants.” He pulled out, admiring how your jaw fell open as he took his sweet, sweet time pushing back in. “I know you like that, the power trip, using me to get yourself off, I like it too, you know how to sit on a dick.” Touching his lips to yours delicately, barely pressing a kiss there, a laugh left him in a huff of air. “But I know what you like even better, what you love.”

He lifted himself off of you and stood up, yanking you with him by your thighs, keeping himself inside of you. Trying to sit up, moving to your elbows, you whispered a shaky, “What?” but yelped as he reached forward and knocked you backward. He grabbed your hips tight, harsh fingers pressing into your curves where there’d surely be marks there tomorrow. Entirely too tall, he lifted you up, your lower half completely off the bed.

“Getting fucked,” he spat, and showed no mercy.

Grasping at his sheets, his blankets, a pillow, anything for stability, you couldn’t find any. Within seconds he knocked every sense, every thought from you, leaving with you nothing but him. His hands, his fingers, his sculpted chest, how he filled you, how he used you, how it was his turn. The pounding in your chest, living between your lungs, it was for him, it was because of him. Your skin, alight with a fire only he could put out, it burned for him. It was Yunho. It was only Yunho.

Watching you, how you shifted between lying completely limp and writhing in lust, he smiled. It was a confident smile, a cocky smile. Every other boy that lived beneath this roof, they’d kill to be where he was, kill to be doing what he was doing. Who he was doing. He had you whether you both cared to admit it or not, and you had him. He was the one you looked for, he was the one you’d run to, he was the one splitting you in half. You were in his bed, you came back to his bed. He knows you don’t know that he knows you had a taste of another boy, one who’s good at what he does, and yet here you are. In his bed.

The pride is quickly overwhelmed by a heat within his chest, swallowing his heart, chewing it up and spitting it out amongst his heaving ribs. It gutted him, he felt like he’d been shot, tumbling headfirst into a place he’s been too afraid to touch since the semesters started. Falling to his knees onto his bed, he laid you back down and lowered himself over you. Swallowing the last of your whines the guys would surely hear if they were in their bedrooms next door, Yunho kissed you, long and slow, like he had when you first sunk down on him. 

It was there, that gentle electricity that festered under his lungs. You kissed him back, desperate, and the feeling grew. With a few pushes of his hips he felt you tense, and he knew. He was right behind you. 

“Yo, please, I can’t… Please.”

Slipping a hand between your bodies he placed it where you wanted it and kissed your jaw as you threw your head back and sang for him. You, you, you. Intoxicated entirely with your being, like you were with him, he willed tears away and trailed his lips along your neck, coercing your high to find you. Short, staccato thrusts of his hips aided him along the way, maintaining his composure for your sake.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, kissing every bit of skin he could get his lips on, his tongue dragging along. Looking down at you, your glossy eyes completely fucked out, he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. “You can do it, I know you can, Rory, you’re so good.” Your hands gripped onto him, fingernails pressing crescent moons into his olive skin. Breath picking up, sounds almost nonexistent, he knew you were there. “My pretty girl, taking me so well, making me feel so fucking good.” You squeezed him and he moaned aloud, sparking your high, the white hot pleasure washing over you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, unable to control how his hips snapped, “Where do you want me?”

Shaking, clinging to him for stability, clarity, sanity, anything, or simply because your heart felt like a rock in your chest when you looked up at him, you parted your lips and whispered, “Inside.” 

One word barely spoken and he lost it. Pushing into you, small stutters of his hips as he spilled into you, his sigh packed a punch, the sound unlike one you’ve ever heard him make. With a smush of your noses he kissed you, nothing short of hard or powerful, he wanted all of you. Between shared air and heavy, glossy eyes, you gazed at one another, the dewy sheen over your skin keeping you close together, the room hot and sweaty. Neither of you wanted to speak, but he was the first to do so.

“Why’d you tell me to do that?”

You both spoke in whispers, eyebrows furrowed, low, the both of you dazed and equally a little confused.

“I don’t… I dunno.” You gulped. “Did you hate it?”

Disbelief grew where the confusion lived. “Are you kidding?” He let out the quietest laugh. “Hottest thing you’ve ever made me do.” Releasing a breath, shifting beneath him, still feeling him inside, you smiled. “Now I get to take you home with me.”Yunho pressed his eyes shut and groaned behind his teeth before he laughed breathlessly. “Shut up or you’ll get me hard again.”

nice for what masterlist | talk to me | ao3

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.

[theonottsbxtch]

GIVEN ENOUGH | LN4

an: nessa barrett's new album has been pure inspiration i swear to god, listen to given enough while reading this because LORD, i fully felt bad for this version of lando even though i wrote him

wc: 2.8k

LANDO EXHALED, HIS JAW TIGHTENING as he glanced at her from across the room. She was draped in a crimson dress that clung to her like a second skin, every inch of her perfect for the cameras that flashed relentlessly. The evening air was heavy with champagne and ego, the kind of event he loathed, but his manager had insisted. "Keep the image alive," they’d said. The golden couple, the picture of perfection. But the truth of it all lingered like poison in his throat.

She caught his gaze and smiled—small, distant, rehearsed. He knew the curve of her lips too well to be fooled. That wasn’t a smile for him. That was for the photographers. For the sponsors. For the endless charade they’d both been roped into.

Lando took a sip of his drink, amber liquid burning his throat. The taste was bitter, but not nearly as bitter as the memory of last night. Or the night before that. The endless cycle of her tears, his apologies, the shouting, the silences. She always cried so beautifully, like it was an art form, and he hated how it disarmed him every time. How it left him apologising for sins he didn’t remember committing.

Haven’t I given enough? The thought tore through him like a cold wind. He clenched the glass tighter, ignoring the laughter that rippled around the room. She always needed more—more attention, more promises, more of him. And he’d given it. Again and again, until he didn’t know what he had left.

And yet, she stood there, radiant and hollow. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to hold her or disappear entirely.

“You’re staring,” her voice came, soft yet sharp, as she stepped beside him. The closeness was suffocating, the scent of her perfume almost too much.

“Am I?” His tone was flat. Detached.

“Yes.” Her smile didn’t waver, even as her words dropped lower, meant only for him. “You should try looking at me like you actually care.”

He laughed, quiet and humourless. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, a warning, but she didn’t say anything else. She turned back to the crowd, her hand brushing his arm in a way that seemed deliberate, calculated. It was always like this—a performance. For everyone else, they were untouchable. Together. But behind closed doors, there was nothing left to save.

For a brief moment, Lando wondered if she knew how much she’d drained him, how much she’d taken. Probably not. She’d smile, shed a few tears, and take more. Because that was what she did best.

And he’d let her. Every single time.

Lando adjusted his tie, trying to loosen the invisible grip around his throat. The gala was a success, he supposed—if success was measured in hollow conversations and counterfeit smiles. The air hummed with whispers of power, of wealth, of people pretending to matter more than they did. She thrived in it. He endured it.

As she floated away to join another circle of admirers, he downed the rest of his drink. It was always like this: her holding court while he played the silent shadow. To the outside world, they were the perfect pair. To him, it felt like being dragged across broken glass.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the vibration pulling him back to reality. He fished it out, hoping for an excuse to leave, but the screen only held a reminder of tomorrow’s schedule. Another meeting, another event, another night like this.

He sighed, setting the glass down with more force than intended. The sound drew a few glances, but he ignored them. Instead, his eyes found her again, across the room. She was laughing now, the soft, melodic sound he used to adore. Now it only made him tired.

“Rough night?” The voice came from behind him, low and sardonic. Lando turned to see a man, older, sharp-suited, with the kind of smirk that made you want to punch him.

“Just another one,” Lando replied, his tone clipped. He didn’t know this man, didn’t care to.

The man nodded, his gaze sliding to where she stood, radiant under the chandeliers. “She’s something, isn’t she? Always knows how to light up a room.”

Lando didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

The man chuckled, a knowing sound that grated on Lando’s nerves. “But I suppose that’s the thing about women like her. They take everything you’ve got and leave you wondering if it was ever enough.”

Lando’s jaw tightened. The words cut too close, too deep. He turned back to the bar, signalling for another drink. The man didn’t push further, just gave a slight nod before disappearing into the crowd.

When the bartender slid the glass toward him, Lando stared at it for a moment, the amber liquid catching the light. How many of these nights had he survived? How many more could he endure?

“Lando.” Her voice was soft, cutting through the noise.

He turned to see her standing there, her smile as flawless as ever, though her eyes held that familiar edge. The one that always seemed to ask, Are you going to fight me, or are you going to give in?

“We should leave soon,” she said, brushing a hand over her necklace. “People will start to talk if we stay too long.”

He almost laughed at that. People always talked. It was the only constant in their world.

“Right,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He grabbed his jacket, the movement sharp, deliberate.

As they walked toward the exit, arm in arm for the sake of appearances, Lando felt the weight of her against him. To the onlookers, they were untouchable, unstoppable. But he knew better. She wasn’t leaning on him. She was pulling him down, piece by piece.

And no matter how much he gave, it was never enough.

The ride back to the hotel was suffocating in its silence. Lando stared out the window, watching the city blur into streaks of light and shadow. She sat beside him, her fingers scrolling idly on her phone, her face unreadable. They didn’t speak. They rarely did anymore unless it was for show.

When the car finally pulled up to the grand hotel, she stepped out first, the driver opening the door for her as though she were royalty. Lando followed, loosening his tie as they made their way through the lobby.

They looked like a power couple—walking in step, polished and composed. Heads turned as they passed, whispers trailing behind them like a faint echo. It was always the same. People admired what they thought they saw.

When they reached their floor, the elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. She stepped out first, her heels clicking against the marble. Lando followed a step behind, his feet heavier with each stride.

She stopped in front of her door, the number gleaming under the dim hallway lights. “Goodnight, Lando,” she said, her voice smooth, pleasant. Polished for the cameras that weren’t even there.

He nodded, already turning to head to his room further down the hall. But then her voice stopped him.

“Lando.”

He turned back, his hand still on the keycard in his pocket. She stood there, her hand on the doorframe, her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

“You’re in a mood tonight,” she said, her tone light, teasing, but there was something else in her eyes. Something sharp.

“Am I?” he replied flatly, his exhaustion bleeding through.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she took a step toward him, closing the distance between them. Her perfume reached him first, soft and heady, the kind he used to find intoxicating. Now it just felt cloying.

Her hands slid up his chest, her touch feather-light, deliberate. “You don’t have to sulk,” she murmured, her voice dropping lower, almost a purr. “You could come in. Stay with me tonight.”

He stiffened, his eyes searching hers. “I thought you said goodnight.”

She smiled, that perfect curve of her lips that had fooled so many. “I changed my mind.”

Before he could respond, she leaned in, her mouth brushing his. It wasn’t gentle. It never was with her. Her lips moved against his with a hunger that felt practiced, calculated. Her hands slid to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

He didn’t move at first. He didn’t want to. But then her tongue traced his bottom lip, and he gave in—not because he wanted to, but because it was easier. Because blowing off steam with her was less complicated than the alternative. Because if he left her standing in that hallway and found someone else, people would notice. They’d talk. They always did.

His hands found her waist, gripping tighter than he intended. She moaned softly against his lips, her body pressing into his as if she could melt into him entirely. It was almost enough to make him forget the hollowness behind it all.

Almost.

He broke the kiss first, his breath uneven. She leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips slightly swollen, her expression unreadable.

“Come on,” she whispered, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “No one has to know.”

The irony of her words wasn’t lost on him. No one has to know. As if they weren’t already a living spectacle. As if their lives weren’t dissected and discussed by strangers every day.

He nodded, wordlessly, and followed her into the room. Because it was easier. Because it was expected. Because it was all he had left to give.

The door shut softly behind them, the click of the lock cutting off the world outside. Her heels echoed against the hardwood floor as she stepped into the room, shedding her wrap and tossing it onto a nearby chair. The suite was immaculate—too pristine, too perfect, just like everything else in their lives.

Lando stood by the door for a moment, watching her. She didn’t glance back, already unfastening the clasp of her necklace and setting it on the dresser. The silence between them was thick, stretching taut like a thread ready to snap.

She turned, her eyes locking onto his. “Well?” she asked, her voice soft but challenging. “Are you just going to stand there?”

He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were stalling for time. He didn’t know why—he already knew how the night would go.

She closed the distance between them in two strides, her fingers hooking into his shirt and pulling him closer. Her lips found his again, more insistent this time, and he let her. His hands settled on her hips, his grip firm but distant. She pressed her body against his, the warmth of her skin bleeding through the thin fabric of her dress.

“You’re so tense,” she murmured against his lips, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You need to relax.”

He almost laughed at that. Relax. As if he could. As if this—they—weren’t part of the reason he felt like he was drowning. But he didn’t say it. He just let her guide him, her movements fluid and precise, like a dance she’d perfected over time.

Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, her fingers deftly working them open. She kissed along his jaw, down his neck, her breath warm against his skin. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to feel something. Desire, anger, anything. But all he felt was the gnawing emptiness that had been with him for months.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes searching his. “You’re quiet tonight.”

“Just tired,” he said, the words coming out flat.

Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t press. Instead, she reached for his hand, guiding him toward the bed. “Come here.”

He followed, his steps heavy, his mind already elsewhere. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trailing up his arms as she pulled him closer. Her lips found his again, her kiss slow, sensual, calculated.

For a moment, he let himself get lost in it. In the warmth of her skin, the softness of her lips, the way her body moved against his. It was easier than thinking, easier than feeling.

But even as he sank into the motions, a voice in the back of his mind whispered the truth: this wasn’t love. This wasn’t even connection. This was survival. For both of them.

Her hands slid lower, tugging at his belt, and he let her. Because if he stopped now—if he pulled away, if he walked out—he didn’t know where he’d go. Or what he’d do.

And so, he stayed. Not because he wanted to, but because it was what was expected. Because it was what he’d been trained to do. Give enough to keep the peace. Enough to make it through the night.

But even as he moved with her, his body going through the motions, his mind drifted. And he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could keep giving before there was nothing left of him at all.

A little while later the room was dark except for the faint glow of the bathroom light spilling into the corner. She’d slipped out of bed without a word, the soft click of the door barely registering in the haze of his thoughts. Lando lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The sheets were tangled around his waist, their warmth suffocating despite the cold air in the suite.

He ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. His body felt heavy, his mind heavier. The act itself had been mechanical—motions he’d gone through so many times before, with her, with others. It should’ve been release, a momentary reprieve from the weight he carried. But instead, it only added to the weight.

In the bathroom, water ran softly from the tap, and he could hear the faint shuffle of her movements. She was thorough, always. Her routine was perfect, every step deliberate. He imagined her wiping off her makeup, smoothing out the lines that cracked her carefully crafted image. She’d come out in a silk robe, her hair pinned back, her expression serene, as if none of it ever touched her.

But him? He was cracked straight through, and no amount of polishing would make him whole again.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, exhaling sharply. His mind churned, fragments of thoughts colliding like shards of broken glass. He could end this. He could say the words, let it unravel, walk away. She’d be fine. She always landed on her feet. And him? He’d finally be free.

But what then?

Lando swallowed hard, his hand falling back to the mattress. The truth of it burned in his chest, heavy and bitter: he wouldn’t end it. He couldn’t.

Because this—this mess of a relationship, this performance they lived—was the most stability he’d ever had. It was the closest he’d come to something resembling a home. And even though it was killing him, it was better than the void that waited outside of it.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers. There were none, of course. Just the same gnawing emptiness that followed him everywhere.

The bathroom door opened, and she stepped out, exactly as he’d imagined: her robe cinched at the waist, her hair swept back, her face bare but flawless. She glanced at him briefly, her expression neutral, then moved to the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight,” she said softly, slipping under the covers.

“Goodnight,” he replied, though the word felt hollow.

He lay there for a moment longer, the silence pressing down on him. Then, with a sigh, he pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Leaving?” she asked, her voice calm, almost indifferent.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for his shirt on the floor. “I’ve got an early morning.”

She didn’t respond, simply turning onto her side and closing her eyes. It was the same every time. No argument, no questions. Just this unspoken understanding that this was how it worked.

He dressed quickly, buttoning his shirt with practiced efficiency. His tie was a crumpled mess in his hand, but he didn’t bother fixing it. As he grabbed his jacket and shoes, he cast one last glance at her. She looked peaceful, like a portrait in a gallery—beautiful, untouchable, and completely detached.

He stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence out here was colder, emptier, but he welcomed it.

As he walked toward his room, his shoes dangling from his hand, he felt the familiar weight settle on his shoulders again. The routine was almost comforting in its predictability. Wake up. Smile for the cameras. Go through the motions. Give enough to keep the world spinning.

Because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[lou-struck]

Every Rose

Michael Kaiser x reader

W.C. 1.1k

~ After an intense game, Michael prefers nothing more than to lounge in bed with you in his arms. 

Warnings: Teasing, slightly suggestive behavior, and biting. 

a/n: This week I have been trying to get out of my comfort zone and write for characters I haven't written for before. I’m still ironing out some creases but I think I’m liking the vibes from this one. 

Not every professional athlete has the balls to make demands of their team managers. But even fewer actually get these demands met.

Michael Kaiser is one of those few stars who doesn't even need to make demands because he has the whole management staff tripping over themselves to keep him happy. The perks are limitless, especially when you are involved. When Michael reworked his contract, he made sure his people worked in the stipulation that you are allowed to travel with him anytime you want. 

So now, on the Club’s dime, you find yourself in the penthouse suite of the Luxury hotel near the stadium.

Lounging on the bed, you watch the Striker emerge from the bathroom. His wild, blond and blue hair hangs damply against his skin as he fiddles with the embroidery on his robe. You aren’t sure if he is just terrible at putting them on, or if he is generously allowing you, his loving partner, to get a sneak peek at his glowing upper half. 

His perfection is captivating. At first, you wanted to believe that watching him play was what drew you to him, but nope, there doesn’t even need to be a soccer ball for you to enjoy watching him.

He catches you slyly out of the corner of his eye. “Do you like what you see, Meine Libe?”. He smirks, flopping down next to you. Exhausted, he rests his eyes and sinks into the expensive pillows. 

“Mmmhmm,” you sigh as he reaches up, pulling you into his arms. “You played great today.”

Your praise brings a smirk to his lips as he peaks his eyes open. “I had to give you a show.” He settles back down onto the bed and his robe falls slightly revealing more and more of that beautifully intricate rose tattoo on his neck. 

“Oh really?” You hum. Your fingers seem to have a mind of their own as they dance closer to the ink. “You scored a hat trick just for me?”

“Fine, it was for both of us,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I couldn't allow myself to be outdone by Yoichi.”

“Still,” you frown, eyeing a purple and yellow mark on his leg, just below his navy shorts. He had gotten this bruise from a collision with a center-back during his third goal. “I saw you take that hit.”

“Oh this thing,” he rolls his eyes and pokes at the bruise. “He slid with his cleats up and everything and I still didn't get the penalty kick.”

“How rude,” does it hurt at all?”

At this, he tosses his head back and laughs, “Awe, it would take a lot more than a foul from some no-name defender to put me out of commission.” 

It's moments like these where his Greek-Hero level of hubris makes you laugh. You know he means what he is saying, but the fact that he actually says those phrases out loud is hilarious. His ego is a balloon, your job as his partner is to grab ahold of the string before he floats into the atmosphere.

“Cocky aren't you?” you tease poking the bruise lightly. And like the male soccer player he is, he yelps, the sound outweighing the actual pain felt. 

He grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, his sky-blue eyes shining with an innocent mask. “You hurt me, Meine Leibe,” he pouts. “However will you make up for it?”

A soothing warmth blossoms in your chest, spreading all over your body like a weighted blanket. “I can think of a few ways,” you sigh, leaning in and capturing his lips. 

His pleased hum vibrates your lips as he pulls you to his chest. “Much better.” He reaches over to your nightstand, finding the remote to dim the room lights, darkening the room until your entangled limbs are illuminated only by the mounted television.

Tonight’s match plays on replay. Having done more than your fair share of spectating earlier, you snuggle closer to your Boyfriend, not bothering to watch the game. When Michael notices your attention elsewhere, he pauses the screen and turns to you with narrowed eyes. “You’re not watching?”

His hand takes your jaw and turns your attention to the screen. The gentle, yet firm feeling of his fingers against your skin feels like electricity. You press a kiss to his index finger near your lips, lowering his hand. “I already watched it, and I can promise that my view was even better.”

“Then what will you do?” he asks narrowing his eyes. “If you go to sleep you’ll leave me all alone.” 

Your eyes catch a full glimpse of those blue roses on his neck, following the intricate design as it wraps around his arm almost protectively.  And your intrusive thoughts win. “Don’t worry about me, I can keep busy.” you giggle, resting your head against the pillow.

With a mind of their own, your fingers run along the ink wrapped lovingly around his skin. The tangle of vines and thorns is familiar, but you have never taken the time to examine them intimately. 

Starting with the crown on his hand, you commit every detail to memory before following the vines up his wrist. Despite your touch, Michael’s eyes are transfixed on the screen. But through the neutral expression on his face, you can tell he is enjoying being fawned over. 

“Careful Liebling,” he teases as you trace over the ring of thorns around his bicep. “You may pick yourself.”

“I’ll take my chances.” you chuckle, returning to the task at hand. 

Your laughter stirs something in him and in an instant he moves, flipping you to your back. Those gloriously tattooed arms resting on either side of your head. His eyes alight with blue fire as he takes in every inch of your flustered expression. “Don’t say I didn't warn you.” he coos zeroing in on your parted lips. 

His breath mingles with yours as you close your eyes. Getting lost in the surprisingly tender sensation and the herbal smell of the hotel's shampoo. The worries of the day just melt away as your head floats higher and higher until…

Your lip is nibbled on by sharp teeth. The stinging sensation brings you back down to earth as your eyes shoot open. “What the? Did you just bite me?” you squeak as he grins down at you like he just won the Golden Boot. 

“I tried to tell you earlier. Every rose has its thorns,” he murmurs, pressing a much softer, apologetic kiss to your now-swollen lip.

He didn't see that pillow to the face coming.

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @qardasngan @sarah22447, @isaacdaknight

[olive-main]

Heyyy! What do you think about a fanfic of Eris x Reader where they're both newly mated but Y/N lives in the Night Court while Eris has to look over the Autumn court. So he sends her tons of extravagant gifts while they're separated cuz he misses her and even the inner circle is like 'isnt this a bit much?'. Until they meet up again and Eris convinces her to live with him in Autumn. I hope you like the idea and thanks for hearing me out! 💕

Treasured Yearning

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Summary: Separated by their courts, Reader and Eris navigate the strain of their newfound mating bond. Eris, sends gift after gift to try and quell the unspoken longing. As the inner circle questions Eris’s intentions, Reader must choose between the home they know and the mate who waits for them in Autumn.

Wc: 1.2k

A/N: I changed up the plot a littttlleeee bit but it’s essentially the same thing. Send in more requests specifically for Azriel and Eris, especially if they’re angsty :b

——

The gilded box rested on the polished table in the House of Wind, casting tiny flecks of amber light onto the stone walls. The sunlight streaming through the open balcony doors caught the delicate pattern carved into the wood, turning the leaves of the Autumn Court’s sigil to gold.

You drew a deep breath, preparing for the familiar, turbulent mix of emotions. The gifts always came this way, beautifully crafted and painfully personal, each one a reminder of the mate you hadn’t seen in weeks. Eris vanserra, the High Lord of Autumn, who somehow still made you feel his presence across court borders.

Cassian leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I swear to the Cauldron, if this isn’t the most over-the-top thing he’s sent yet, I’ll eat my own boots for dinner.”

“Be kind, Cass,” Feyre murmured, her expression soft but strained, as though she was trying not to reveal too much. You could tell she was torn, watching your struggle but respecting your mate bond. Still, the strain in her voice was unmistakable.

“I’m serious,” Cassian insisted, his brows furrowing. “Six gifts in one week? That’s a bit much, even for a High Lord trying to win over his mate.”

You didn’t respond, carefully prying open the box. The velvet interior cradled a necklace—amber stones carved into perfect, tiny flames, each glowing with a life of its own. However this necklace was different from the others you’ve received, the second you grazed your finger against the stone a familiar warmth brushed against your skin as if he were here, holding you.

Mor leaned forward, her gaze sharp. “It’s manipulation,” she said, a note of disdain curling her lip. “He’s making sure you don’t forget him, tying you to him with magic and gifts. Typical Vanserra behavior.”

Her words cut deep, even though you knew she was trying to protect you. You wrapped your fingers around the necklace, the gems warm in your palm. “It’s not like that,” you murmured, but your voice wavered, and everyone heard it.

“Isn’t it?” Mor shot back, her eyes fierce. “You’ve been miserable since the mating bond snapped into place, and he’s… he’s in his court, playing High Lord. How is that fair to you?”

“Mor,” Feyre warned, but the damage was done. The room went still, and your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t fair—none of it was fair. The bond had given you a mate who was kind and cunning, fierce and surprisingly tender, but one who was tied to a court that had never been kind to you or your friends. Yet from the second the bond had snapped he had revealed what laid behind his mask of indifference. Since then the separation was an agony Eris tried to ease with every carefully chosen gift, every whisper of warmth that only made you long for him more.

You stood, the necklace clutched tightly in your hand. “You think I don’t know that?” you asked, your voice breaking. They all fell silent, their concern and pity hanging heavy in the air. “You think I don’t feel how unfair this is every single day? But he’s doing his best. He’s…” You took a shuddering breath, fighting to keep the tears at bay. “He’s trying.”

Rhysand’s gaze softened, and he inclined his head. “We only worry because we care,” he said, his voice gentle, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Worry, perhaps. Or doubt.

You didn’t have the strength to argue. Not after having one too many since they found out about Eris. So with the necklace in hand, you left the room, feeling the weight of their concern and disapproval pressing down on you. The wind whipped around you as you stepped onto the balcony, cold and biting, a stark contrast to the warmth you craved.

You missed him. You missed him more than words could convey, and no amount of gifts could fill the space he’d left in your life. You slipped the necklace around your neck, shivering as a warm, gentle pulse spread across your skin. It was almost like he was here, standing behind you, his hands on your shoulders, whispering reassurances you desperately needed.

It won’t be forever, you told yourself. But you didn’t believe it, not really.

——

You laid in bed tossing and turning, unable to sleep as a million thoughts ran through your mind. You were never very good with the unknown, and this whole situation with your family and Eris left too much to the unknown. So you decided that you wouldn’t wait, you wouldn’t sit around until things got worse or better.

Writing a quick note you watch as it disappears to Eris. In reply, he tugs on the bond. Relief washes over you as you let out a deep breath. Scribbling one more note for your family, you winnow away.

——

The woods of the Autumn Court were alive with the crackling energy of falling leaves and crisp, golden air. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting everything in shades of fire, and you stood in the heart of it all, wrapped in a cloak that did little to ease the chill seeping into your bones.

You heard him before you saw him. Footsteps crunching over leaves, his familiar step steady and certain. His copper hair gleamed like flames, his amber eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that nearly brought you to your knees.

He looked tired, but when he saw you, his whole face softened. “Y/N,” he breathed, and it was all the invitation you needed. You crossed the space between you, and his arms were around you, warm and strong, pulling you close like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“I hate being apart from you,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I hate all of this. Everyone thinks… everyone thinks you’re manipulating me. That you’re doing this for some sick plot.”

Eris’s hold tightened, and you felt the tension radiating from him. “I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from people who have spent their whole lives seeing the worst in me. But it’s not about them. It never was. It’s about our bond, love. I feel it. Every second we’re apart, it feels like something is tearing me in half.”

You pulled back enough to look into his eyes, searching for the truth. His face was open, vulnerable in a way few ever saw. “Then why haven’t you asked me to come with you?” you asked, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Why do we have to keep doing this?”

Eris cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tear. “Because I need to make sure it’s safe. Because I want you in Autumn, but I can’t put you in danger until I’m certain no one will use you to get to me.” His voice broke, and for a moment, the strong, confident High Lord you knew crumbled before you. “But I can’t keep doing this either.”

A shudder ran through you, and you pressed your forehead to his. “Then tell me to stay. Tell me to come with you.”

He closed his eyes, breathing you in. “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice full of longing and fear and love. “Please.”

And even though the Night Court had been your home, even though leaving meant facing a court full of enemies and allies who might not welcome you, your heart had already made its choice.

As always Ty for reading XOXO~

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 8!

in which my thesis proposal got accepted(!!), i made banana bread, and read some brilliant fics <3

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

at long last | tigersharks | 15.8k | E

Buck thinks, I want to be the one giving him pleasure. I want to make him feel good. I want to service him. service top buck <3 this one captures the buddie dynamic so so well!!

can i go where you go | heygirltimeformorning/@heygirltimeformorning | 2.6k | GA

Eddie gets crushed by a mudslide & confesses undying love. this is so beautifully written!! such lovely hurt/comfort while also having some really cute funny moments <3

cheeseburger in paradise | Bookworm0303/@insertlovelyperson | 20.2k | E

Eddie plans a vacation for the first (and likely last) time in his life. listen you don't even need me to convince you to read this. what you need to do is click that little link up there, read the excerpt in the summary, and then lock in and read all 20k of this glorious fic in one go. trust me, that's what you gotta do. i promise you won't regret it <3

fallacy of the local body | littleghost/@ghostlandtoo | 22.7k | E

Christopher is gone for the summer and Eddie is—aimless. Drifting. Everything is different, and he can't fix any of it, much less himself. He wishes he were different. Someone that doesn't have as much baggage, or misery, or so much empty time on his hands. Naturally, he wakes up one morning as Buck. oh, how much i love bodyswap fics <3 such a beautiful fic!! i love how this characterises eddie's reaction to the bodyswap so so much

i don't wanna miss you like this | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 9.6k | T

Eddie Diaz was living in El Paso—miles away from his best friend who needed him, struggling to cross the invisible distance his son was keeping from him. There was no quick fix for either—but he was working on it. And in the meantime, he could do something to help Buck feel better from afar. the loveliest fic <3 i especially loved reading the letters (and their formatting is so cool!)

i know that you need it | midnights/@rcgersromanoff | 12.7k | E

to say Buck is pent up would be an understatement. so Eddie gives him what he needs. truly an incredible fic!! so hot, so buddie <3

just a group of objects | teaspoonmoon/@young-waverer | 4k | T

Buck helps Eddie pack; Eddie spirals about how many of Buck's belongings they find, mixed in with his. They kiss about it. such a wonderful look at how intertwined buck and eddie's lives are <3 so lovely!!

love language | Daisies_and_Briars/@cal-daisies-and-briars | 3.8k | T

When Eddie reluctantly reveals he can speak Swedish, Buck ends up learning a lot more about him than he bargained for. listen this fic has my heart and the diaz parents can have my fists. great banter and such a good buddie dynamic <3

not doing this alone | carpediaz/@sofa-king-lame | 27.4k | M

The one where Eddie hires Buck as a nanny for Christopher and has to navigate falling in love with someone he shouldn't want (who definitely wants him in return). nanny buck <3 i love his love for puzzles and how easily he slides into the diazes' lives!!

tell me that you'll never let me go | farfromthstars/@doeeyeseddie | 5.2k | T

Eddie goes to Texas. Buck is being weird. It only takes them both five days to crack. love how this one captures eddie and chris!! and i loved the feelings realisation <3

the shapes that you drew | 061828 | 3.4k | M

Eddie comes home from Texas to find Buck in his house, and life continues on from there. i'm such a sucker for buck being in eddie's house when the diazes are in el paso, and this is such a brilliant example of that <3 so good!!

whistle, baby | ameliahart/@melliehart | 5k | E

There, on Eddie’s screen, is a stilled video of a blue eyed man with a cock in his mouth, cheeks hollowed as he stares down the camera. Across the top in bold letters reads the words “Hot Tattooed Hunk DEEPTHROATS and SWALLOWS [Blowjob POV]”. they're best friends and they're in love and i love them so much <3 i especially loved the pro/con bits in this one!!

your gravity (my depravity) | idiotsinkdaisies/@idiotsinkdaisies | 13k | E

Buck has always been good at telling when people want him, spent his later teenage years and early twenties honing this particular skill set. And now he’s learning how to recognize when men want him, how it is entirely the same yet entirely different. His boyfriend wants him. (This, he knows.) Eddie wants him. (This, this is new.) this fic is so so fun!! i love the firefam dynamics here and the buck characterisation is so good!!

[sofiasfanartcollection]

<3<3<3 I love it so much

A new chapter? In this economy? And it's a Ron and Leo chapter? Yeah, it sure is. This one's for you, Sofia!

[zorosangell]

First of all, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Can't thank you enough for gracing us all with your fics. They've made me smile and gush over em many times. Heaven knows I'm too far gone to be simping some more on Zoro but THE FICS JUST MADE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM SO MUCH MORE. You write and make me envision him so beautifully. The Inn Series are THE BEST and my FAVES so far. 💚

Lastly, an ask if you're still taking requests: Writing Zoro with a reader/OC with a dynamic where they're both equally strong parts of the Straw Hat crew and always draw inspiration from each other as they journey on together. Slow burn and idiots who don't know they have feelings for each other + a scene with tension while they're sparring/swordfighting? 🥺

⛥ﾟ・。 white lotus

synopsis: you and your squadron reprimand zoro and bring him back to the castle after he's found wandering around in your kingdom's forest. turns out, the crew is already there since, surprise surprise, luffy destroyed something he wasn't supposed to. now the crew has to plead their case... but while they're doing so, zoro can't seem to keep his eyes off a certain someone, nor understand the weird feeling in his chest at the sight of her strength.

cw: part 1/3 (possibly more), fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a bit of a simp, sanji is definitely a simp, reader has a facial scar (nothing crazy), reader is FIONE, i hate writing fighting scenes but with this series imma do my best

a/n: went a bit overboard with this one but i really enjoyed the concept (also plz forgive my upload schedule my life is chaos)

a/n 2: AND DON'T BE AFRAID TO SEND MULTIPLE ASKS I LITERALLY LOVE THEM IDK

With a soft sigh, Zoro rolled his shoulders, muscles melting into the rough bark of the olive tree he rested under as he shifted.

Smoothly, he tucked his hands behind his neck, letting out a faint yawn before tilting his head to glance up, a small smile rising to his lips at the clear sky and soft breeze.

A guy could really get used to this...

It was a known fact that Zoro was no stranger to hard work—he'd had the same, strict training regiment since the ripe age of ten—and was often very selective of the pleasures he allowed himself to indulge in.

But... if there was one secret satisfaction he found in everyday life, it was a good summer island.

Especially if there was nothing to be done.

No evil tyrants.

No endangered princesses.

No oppressed villages.

Don't get him wrong, he loved to fight more than anything—the rush of battle, the chance to test his strength against unbeatable foes, the ability to emerge victorious and land one step closer to his dream.

But everyone deserved a break every once in a while.

And now, after straying from the crew and getting lost in the sun-dappled glade bordering the southern ridge of the island, all the swordsman wanted to do was rest against a well-shaded tree, drink some sake, and take a solid nap.

That is... until you showed up.

The sound of a snapping twig quickly ripped Zoro from his slumber, his eye widening at the sight before him as he instantly drew one of his swords, managing to meet your spear with only a fraction of a second to spare.

The reverberations from your powerful clash tore through the tree he was leaning against as if it were butter, sharp cracks echoing through the empty clearing before it finally split in two, the pieces toppling on either side and exposing the splintered wood within.

Swiftly, you used your shield to push off, putting some space between you two before you launched another attack.

"State your name!" you barked, the iciness of your tone sending a cold shiver down the swordsman's spine. "What is your business on Nabis?"

The two of you collided once again, but rather than attempt another test of strength, you went straight for the head, Zoro managing to dodge by the skin of his teeth before pushing you off with a second sword.

'Goddammit, Usopp... told me this place was uninhabited.'

The man was shocked to say the least.

He had honestly never seen someone move so fast, nor get the jump on him so easily.

"I said state your name! What is your business here?!"

The words seemed to go in one ear and out the other as he finally got a good look at you, the will to listen leaving him.

You had smooth, silky chestnut skin that stood out among the polished, gold armor you donned, consisting of a breastplate, greaves, vambraces, and spaulders, along with a scarlet tunic that fell teasingly high, yet somehow still covered your ass.

Paired with that was your large, gold helmet, which only exposed your ears, nose, and mouth, and had a large, red mohawk running down its center.

But the statement piece of it all... was your eyes.

Although shaded slightly by the shadows of the helmet, they were still just as piercing and entrancing as they were in the sun, maybe even more so.

You stared him down with cold calculation, as if it would take nothing to cut him down where he stood.

And he found that hot.

He found that really hot.

"I will not ask you again, swordsman! State your name, and your business on Nabis!" you bared your teeth, your stance readying you for another attack.

"What's it to you?" he asked, having finally found his voice.

"We detained a pirate crew this morning. Their captain caused a scene in the middle of Leonidas Square," you raised your spear to point at him. "Are you an ally to a rubber man known as Luffy?"

At the name, Zoro groaned, fervently fighting off the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

'Of course...'

He leaves them alone for a few hours and everything goes to shit.

"What happens if I say yes?"

As your brows furrowed, your hand swirled your spear back into its upright position, a rather awe-inspiring feat seeing as it was about a few inches taller than you and made of solid gold.

"I bring you back to the royal castle where you will face the queen's judgement alongside your crew."

For a moment, Zoro paused, ruminating on the option.

It didn't sound too shabby, and if the whole crew was together, whatever forces were waiting didn't stand a chance.

"Fine, then," he sighed, sheathing his two swords before raising his arms in the air. "I surrender."

Still wary, you gave him a firm nod, slowly coming out of your rigid stance to stand fully erect.

Suddenly, a squad of a little over ten men emerged from the trees, grabbing hold of Zoro and cuffing his wrists with haki-imbued shackles, allowing you to step closer until you were standing right in front of him.

"Swordsman, in the name of Queen Calysta, you are hereby under arrest."

"Hey, Zoro! Ya made it!" Luffy cheered, grinning widely as the moss-haired swordsman was ushered into the throne room.

"That's not something to be happy about, Luffy!" Nami and Usopp exclaimed, both of them hitting him upside the head with their shackles.

"Ouchie!"

"I take it they found you wandering around in the woods, eh?" Franky asked, raising a brow as the man was moved to stand next to him.

"Was in the middle of a nap, actually," Zoro corrected with a sigh, eye slowly gliding to your form standing a few feet away. "A good one, too. 'Til someone had to come along and ruin it."

Now that he was really looking, he noticed that you were the only guard in the entire room with gold armor, the rest of the them donning some sort of bronze or worn silver.

His brows furrowed, slightly confused.

'Weird.'

Just then, a loud horn blew, every soldier standing at attention and turning toward the elevated throne.

"Now arriving! Her Majesty... Queen Calysta!"

A sharp flourish bounded off the walls, playing proudly as the woman entered the room, catching the awe of the entire crew.

She looked young enough to be in her forties, barely a wrinkle or vein in sight, but the locks of silver and deep grey cascading down her armored back proved that she was significantly older.

Though her walk still carried a certain aura, powerful and unwavering as she approached the steps, and eventually scaled them before sitting down on the menacing throne—it was decorated by the shattered fragments of enemy swords.

"And advising! High General of the Nabisian Army... Her Highness... Princess (y/n)!"

'Princess?'

To Zoro's thorough surprise, you were the one to step forward at the introduction, the man watching with a wide eye as you strode up to your mother's side, receiving an acknowledging nod from her before you turned to face the crew.

In one, smooth motion, you removed your helmet, your eyes finding the moss-haired swordsman as you finally revealed your face.

"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath, a faint tinge pink burning up his neck as his heart stuttered to a sudden stop, the skin of his chest tightening over itself and constricting his air supply.

You were hands-down the prettiest women he had ever seen; utterly gorgeous.

From your eyes to your lips to your hair to the rather prominent scar that spanned across the bridge of your nose, you were breath-taking, each feature only further accentuating your natural beauty.

"My dreams have come true! I'm in the presence of a real-life goddess!" Sanji squealed, eyes bulging out their sockets as his tongue lulled out his mouth, a singular trickle of blood rolling out his nose.

"My word! What a dazzling beauty!" Brook marveled, flailing his arms. "Miss, could you be so kind as to show me your panties?"

"Knock it off, you two!" Nami barked, kicking them both upside the head.

"Which of you is the one known as Luffy?" your mother asked, her powerful voice instantly shutting down all side conversations.

"That's me!" Luffy answered, proudly, his smile never wavering.

Though, the guards were quick to change that, roughly grabbing him by his shackles before pulling him forward and forcing him to his knees, their spears crossing above his neck to keep him from lifting his head.

"Hey! Watch it!" Zoro barked, brows furrowing at the treatment of his captain.

"The hell's all this for, anyway!" Franky exclaimed.

"We didn't do anything!" Sanji scoffed.

"Yeah, what's the big idea?" Usopp agreed.

"You destroyed the tribute to my father!" you bellowed, your eyes zeroing in on the crew's captain. "You besmirched his memory!"

"Hey, lady, I didn't de-birch anything!" Luffy fired back with a pout.

"What did you do this time?!" Nami groaned, utterly confused.

"I dunno! I have no idea what she's even talking about!"

"Luffy, remember when you rushed into the market and ate at every food stall?" Robin chimed, maintaining her smooth monotone.

"Yeah?"

"Well, after that you burped, and it was so powerful that it blew over and shattered the statue standing in the middle of the town square. I assume that's the one she's talking about."

"Oh! Now I remember! Yeah, I've never burped that hard before. That food was really yummy!"

"Apologize, you idiot!" Usopp exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah," Luffy nodded, bowing his head so low that his hat fell off his head, "I'm really sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

"Is there anything that can we do to make it up to you?" Nami asked, sincerely. "We can pay to get it fixed. Or rebuild it, if you like."

"My father was the hero of our people, and did not deserve to be burped on! What he has done is the ultimate disrespect!" you scoffed, sharply. "You cannot buy our good graces! The penalty for such contempt is death!"

"WHAT?!"

"Unless..." the queen piped up, calmly. "You can assist us with a problem of our own."

At that, your eyes widened, your head instantly snapping over to her.

"Mother, you can't—"

"Silence."

Pausing for a brief moment, you warred with her, eyes meeting in a silent, defiant clash before you finally gave in, taking a tentative step back as she turned to her personal guard, sharing a knowing look.

Without having to say a word, she summoned four servants to the throne room, each of them carrying a handle to a stretcher, which had a very sickly-looking boy sitting on top.

Looking closer, Zoro noticed that the kid looked an awful lot like you and the queen.

"Being pirates, you must have a doctor on your crew, yes?" Calysta asked, more as a statement than a question. "Step forward."

Timidly, Chopper presented himself, nervously fiddling with his hooves.

"The best healers this kingdom has to offer have tried and failed to cure this boy of his illness. If you can... then all will be forgiven."

With a silent nod, Chopper quickly ran forward, meeting the boy as the servants lowered the stretcher to the reindeer's level.

The doctor performed his tests with lightening speed and precision, completing all of which before finally coming to the conclusion that—

"I'm afraid he's infected with White Lotus disease," Chopper stated, removing his stethoscope. "It would explain his paleness, along with his labored breathing."

"White Lotus?" the queen raised a brow, stroking her chin.

"It's a rare disease caused by an invasive plant species known as White Lotus. They appear suddenly in bodies of fresh water, and release spores invisible to humans that are toxic to breathe in."

Rummaging through his bag, he finally managed to pull out a large vial of purple liquid, along with an empty syringe.

"Luckily, we've caught it before it could get any worse. If you'd waited any later, he would have certainly died."

"So you can save him?" you asked, hopefully.

"Mhmm," Chopper nodded with a smile, carefully injecting some of the liquid into the boy's arm, "Give him two shots of this a day, and he should be good as new in no time!"

A wide smile broke out onto your lips as you turned to your mother, the two of you sharing a look of relief.

The joy on your face sent Zoro's heart into a frenzy, flush burning all the way up to his ears now.

Damn, you had a nice smile.

"If you know what body of water he went to, you should definitely close it off to the people. Especially if they use it for drinking. And make sure your men remove the plant with masks so they don't get sick, too."

"Thank you, Dr. Chopper. We will do just that," Calysta grinned, standing from her throne. "As per our agreement, all is forgiven! And for saving my son, it would be my pleasure to make you and all your friends our honored guests at tonight's royal banquet!"

"All right! Party time!" Luffy cheered, the guards standing down at your command and allowing the captain to rise to his feet.

The throne room erupted with roars and whoops of joy, soldiers, servants, and Strawhats alike utterly elated to see that the young prince would be okay.

Among the chaos, your eyes managed to land on the green-haired swordsman once again, something warm thrumming through your stomach at the realization that he'd already been staring at you.

Although you were High General, and the crown princess at that, at your very core you were also a woman.

Hell, you were a person with eyes.

It was clear as day that the swordsman was incredibly, almost bafflingly handsome, and you'd be a liar if you said you weren't checking him out while your squadron perp-walked him through the woods.

Broad shoulders...

Strong chest...

Sexy voice...

Nabisian men were not small nor frail in the slightest, but even still, the man dwarfed most of them in both size and strength—if your clash told you anything.

And now that he and his crew were no longer enemies of the crown, it was no longer immoral to have more... unsavory thoughts about him.

Unable to resist, you flashed the man a smooth, coy smile, relishing in his obvious fluster as his back suddenly straightened, eyes seeming to flick toward everything but you.

Oh, yeah... you were gonna have a good time tonight.