#I’m tempted to write a post about everything I didn’t like

[historyartthings]

Whoever wrote the ‘commotion time’ sections in Becoming Elizabeth…. when I catch you-

[livingdxadwriter]

A Little Thing Called Fate

Erik Campbell X Alt!F!Reader

Summary: When a rough night leads you meet him. One piercing later and a what if, you end up in his chair one more time after hours. You definitely want to come back for more.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, mdni, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, riding, sex in the tattoo parlor, choking, Erik is a slut what can I say, lil dom!erik, piercings (nose and nipples), reader is a tatted pierced baddie and you will love it, I also feel like Erik is 24-25 so let’s roll with that

WC: 4.1k

A/N: I’m gonna be so fr, I wrote this like a week ago but I was so tired and overwhelmed I didn’t even want to edit it. Mind yall I started writing this the night after I saw FD in theaters. This shit has been brewing for a min. But I finally proof read it. This was originally longer but I realized it was too much happening for one lil fic so I split it into two. I’ll post the follow up when I have time, for now is this.

Meeting him was completely out of impulse. Coming back for more, was also a thrill seeking impulse. But it was a feeling you couldn’t get enough of. 

It all started as an impulse driven by your best friend after a particularly rough shift the night before. You put up with so much fucking shit at that shitty run down bar less than ten minutes away from your place. All of that to put yourself through school at twenty-fucking-three, to say that you were so goddamn miserable that only putting yourself through deliberate pain would make you feel, something, anything. 

It was absolutely an impulse when you allowed her to drag you to the shitty—and let’s be honest—sketchy tattoo parlor down the street. And at nine at fucking night, this place definitely gave you weird vibes. You were just hoping that whatever poor fucking soul was stuck at this place wasn’t a weirdo. 

Erik was so over this shit. Over these shitty fucking customers who bitched about everything, over his dipshit boss who made him lock up by himself for the third time this week, literally all of it. He was very tempted to just close before he was supposed to. He sure as hell didn’t think anyone was taking a stroll in the middle of the night on a random fucking Wednesday to get tattooed or pierced. He damn near jumped out of his chair as soon as that clock hit nine, both thanking and cursing at whoever was pulling at the strings of his life that his night would finally be over. 

“Shit, shit, shit.” You cursed, all but rushing inside the tattoo parlor with your friend in tow. You stopped dead on your feet when you damn near ran right into a guy. Were you staring? Yeah, you were definitely staring. It wasn’t until your friend nudged your back that you actually said something. “Shit, hi, sorry. I’m sorry, are you still open? That’s a dumb question, you were probably about to close. We’ll come back later—“ 

You were talking so fucking fast Erik could barely understand you. But truthfully? He just wasn’t paying attention to anything you were saying, like at all. He was more focused on how fucking pretty you were. And just how fucking hot your tattoos were. And how nice your voice sounded. It took him a minute to register just what the fuck your were saying. 

Wait, you were leaving? 

Oh, fuck no. 

“No, no, it’s all good. I just thought nobody else was gonna come in. I can definitely get you.” He was looking right at you as he said it, not realizing you weren’t, in fact, alone. “Like, both of you. I can only do piercings though. If you want a tattoo you’re gonna have to make an appointment and shit.” 

Good fucking save, dude. 

You were definitely smiling, like a fucking dumbass. And you were definitely staring, too. You were counting how many tattoos you could see, and wondering if he had more you couldn’t see under that black tee. Erik was looking at you like he was expecting you to say something, which you quickly realized. 

“Oh, no, yeah, that’s cool. My friend just wants her tongue pierced, if that’s cool.” You eventually replied, swallowing a bit. Erik nodded, a small grin of amusement on his face as he pointed to the waiting area with his head. 

“Yeah, cool. She just needs to fill out this, like, liability form, y’know.” Erik sighed, as much as he hated the fucking paperwork, he knew he had to do it. You both nodded, and waited. And as Erik was looking through the drawers for the paperwork, his eyes glanced back at you. “What about you? You’re not getting anything?” 

“Uhhh, I don’t think so. I wasn’t really planning on getting anything.” You shrugged. It wasn’t that you were opposed to the idea, you were just suddenly a flustered, nervous mess. 

“You sure? I see you already got a nose ring. Just do the other side. I think it would look pretty sick.” He shrugged as he handed your friend the form without even so much as looking at her, just looking right at you. Which he knew he probably shouldn’t do because it was fucking rude, but he just couldn’t help it when you were literally the prettiest thing he had ever seen. 

The look you gave him was downright sinful. A soft gasp of surprise and a smile you tried to hide biting down on your lip. Most people didn’t look at you long enough to notice that you had anything pierced, or they just didn’t care enough. But Erik definitely noticed, he noticed every little detail about you he could ingrain in his memory. All your piercings, all your tattoos, or the ones he could see, anyway. As much as he could. He was damn sure he could recognize you if he ever saw you again. Fuck, he hoped he saw you again. 

“Sorry, I usually don’t make girls cry ‘til after the first date.” Erik joked, his tone so quiet and low only you could hear it. You giggled a bit as you wiped the tear that slipped from your eye as he screwed in your new nose stud. He was so goddamn close your stupid heart was beating out of your chest. 

He usually gave them another reason to cry, he thought. 

You gave him a big-eyed look, lips curved up into a grin of amusement. He was definitely flirting with you, and you usually shot down any attempts by most guys that hit on you at work. But you didn’t want to shut him down, quite the opposite actually. 

“Oh? Well, fuck. What happens after the second date, then?” You decided to follow along, feigning innocent curiosity, but it was a little hard to mask that your curiosity was anything but innocent. Erik didn’t mind. 

Erik had a lopsided grin on his face and shrugged his shoulders as he rolled away in his chair to discard the used needle. 

“Guess you’re gonna have to figure that one out on your own.” He gave you a devious look, shooting his shot as he walked around to the cash register, remembering that there was in fact another person here other than the two of you. Which definitely ruined his mood, he would totally fuck your right here and right now if you were alone. 

You clicked your tongue as you stood, tilting your head at him the slightest bit as you debated on whether or not you wanted to follow that far along. You normally weren’t too receptive of random guys hitting on you so openly, you had an aversion to it, actually. But him? Him you would fuck on the nearest surface of this goddamn place without even knowing his damn name. 

“Maybe I should, huh?” You shrugged, batting your eyelashes in a way that made him want to shove his cock down your throat until you gagged. He blew out a chuckle as he leaned over the counter, his icy eyes staring you down like he was plotting something far from innocent. 

“I’m Erik.” He finally offered, flashing you a large grin that melted your fucking brain. 

You offered him yours. 

Erik definitely wanted to see you again. 

~~~~~~~~~~

You leaned against the brick wall, one hand held your vape to your lips and the other held your phone against your ear as you listened to it ring. It rang twice before Erik picked up. 

“Hey babe. What’s up?” You immediately smiled like a fucking idiot at the sound of his voice, there was always a little humor to him that made it seem like he enjoyed talking to you as much you did him.

A little over a month you had been hanging out. How the fuck two dysfunctional freaks like the two of you have managed that is a mystery, to both of you. You made out in an alley on your first date, he ate you out on your second. Surprisingly enough, you haven’t fucked yet though. But it wasn’t for lack of trying, you definitely wanted him to fuck you stupid, but even a mess like you has some self-preservation. Erik was just happy to be there. He does whatever you want, when you want, and he’s more than okay with that exchange. 

“Just taking a break. I’m fucking sick of these people.” You blew out a breath, a cloud of smoke coming from your mouth and nose. Erik laughed. 

“Oh, I felt that. Can you believe this fucker is having me close alone, again?” He scoffed, shuffling around the shop trying to find something to kill time with or else he’d be bored to fucking death. 

“Oh, you think that’s bad? My manager just yelled at me in front of like four people ‘cause I told him I wouldn’t come in on my day off. Mind you, I have fucking midterms I have to study for and this bald fuck wants me to work six days in a row when I’m not even supposed to be full time!” You damn near shouted into the empty alley, but Erik heard you loud and fucking clear. He was trying not to laugh at your outburst, but it was a little amusing. But deep down he liked that you would tell him anything on your mind, he liked to listen.

“He just wants to look at your tits in those tank tops, I’m telling you.” He snorted but quickly stopped when you gritted his name through your teeth. “Jokes, babe. Your manager is an asshole, I know. My boss is a prick who thinks I’m his bitch. We have shity bosses. Should we like… kill ‘em? We can make it look like an accident.” 

Now that made you laugh, snorting into the back of your hand at his morbid sense of humor. No matter how shitty your day had been, hearing the outright nonsense that came out of his mouth made your day a little less miserable. 

“Okay, fucking morbid.” 

“Okay, well, not if it's just an accident. Weird shit happens all the time.” He said nonchalantly, clicking his tongue a bit when you scoffed. “Just saying.” 

You fell into silence for a minute, as you simply tried to wind down before you had to return to the loud music, sticky bar, shitfaced men old enough to be your father trying to hit on you, or calling you a bitch, there was no in between. You just wanted to disappear and never be found. Your eyes shot open as an idea popped in your head. 

“Hey Erik,” he hummed in acknowledgment and waited for you to continue. “If I asked you to pierce my nipples, would you do it?” 

Erik nearly choked on his Redbull when he heard you. He cleared his throat, excitement getting the best of him as he ignored the two dudes who had just walked in. 

“Are you serious?” 

“I mean, yeah? You have yours pierced. And it’s kinda hot, so. Would you?” You bit your lip a bit nervously, excitement settling in your own stomach as you waited for his answer a bit impatiently. 

“Oh, fuck yes. Is that even a question? What time do you get off?” He held up a finger to the guys who were shooting him daggers as he held his phone to his ear. 

“One.” 

“Sick, just come here, I’ll wait for you.” 

You were giddy and overwhelmed with anticipation the rest of your shift. 

~~~~~~~~~~

“Can you take your shirt off while I lock up?” Erik said as he went to lock the door. You snorted.

“Okay, well at least take me out to dinner first.” You rolled your eyes as you pulled your black tee over your head. Erik shot you a confused look. 

“I have. The fuck you mean.” 

“Oh, right.” You snorted a bit at Erik’s annoyed look as he sat in front of you. He stared at you like he was waiting for you. 

“Bra, please?” He said blankly, almost unconsciously falling into his work persona. He was used to anxious people coming in to get work done, not knowing what to do and scared of the process. He was strangely good at peaceful comfort. No rushing, not passive-aggressive directions, just straightforward and calm instructions. He didn’t get anything out of having jittery and anxious clients he could potentially hurt if they moved too much.

Your lips fell open a bit embarrassed and you laughed awkwardly. “Oh, yes, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, baby. Just relax for me.” He reassured you as you took off your bra and set it on the armrest of the chair with your shirt. He was trying to be professional, he truly was, but he definitely felt his cock twitch in his jeans. “I’m gonna touch you, like a lot. I promise it’s not sexual. Not right now, anyway.” 

His naturally silly demeanor calmed you down and you nodded, letting out a long breath as he did his work. It was definitely nerve wracking, your heart was pounding so loud and you were shaking a little. Erik reassured you with a kiss and a squeeze of your thigh before he sterilized everything. 

“It’s gonna hurt but I promise it’ll only be a second. Just breathe in for me.” 

Yeah, it definitely fucking hurt. But you had so many tattoos and piercings you so couldn’t say you weren’t used to this kind of pain. Erik was talking you through the whole thing, which definitely helped focus your mind on other things. He was done screwing in the jewelry for the second one before you even realized. 

“See? All done. Good job.” He announced as he rolled away in his chair to dispose of the needle. You giggled, biting down your smile as you looked down to admire your new addition. You couldn’t deny it, it was hot as fuck. “Okay, I can get hard now.”

Your eyes shot up to look at him and you gasped, “Erik, please.” 

“What?” His voice was high pitched like he was trying to defend him from your outrage. But you really weren’t that offended. “Okay, listen, I just pierced your tits, as if you could somehow get even hotter. I’m just a guy, doll.” He defended himself as he stood in front of you. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes and batting your eyelashes. 

“A slut at that.” You teased and he sighed through his nose, his cock getting progressively harder each time he caught a glimpse of your freshly pierced tits. God, he had issues. 

“Says the girl that asked me to pierce her tits at one in the fucking morning just because it would be hot. So who’s the slut?” He tilted his head at you, grabbing your face to usher you on your feet. “Promise I won’t touch ‘em I just wanna look while you ride me.” 

Your lips parted open, sucking in a deep breath at his words. You knew he could get dirty really fucking quickly, but it still sent a sense of excitement through your body. The rational part of your mind screamed that this was a bad idea. But when did you ever listen to reason? Another part of you drove most of your decisions, especially when it came to guys. And for Erik? You were a bitch in heat, at that. 

Before you realized Erik had taken you to his station towards the back of the shop, where he did most one-on-one sessions when needed. He would sanitize it later, right now he could not give one fuck about any of that. 

You were straddling his lap in nothing but panties, shamelessly rubbing yourself against the hard on in his jeans. His shirt was somewhere he doesn’t remember, in solidarity with your state of undress. He was moaning into your mouth, fingers laced in your hair as he held you against his mouth. 

His free hand slipped between your bodies to feel just where you were soaking through your panties. You whined into his mouth as he tugged the fabric aside, exposing your swollen clit to the cool air and the rough fabric of his jeans. He pulled back from your mouth to spit on his fingers, blue eyes swallowing you whole as your eyes rolled back when his fingers rubbed deliberate circles on your sensitive clit. 

“Oh, you needy little slut, look how wet you are. Already making a mess over here.” He laughed, a smug grin on his face as he coated his long fingers with your slick. His mouth fell into an oh gesture, coaxing you mockingly as he slid his fingers into your pussy. “Lucky for you, doll, I like things real fucking messy.”

With his free hand he brought you down to meet his mouth, fingers laced into your hair as he fucked you with his fingers. You were moaning and whining into his mouth as he tongue kissed you and you were grinding down on his hand with each curl of his fingers and flick of his wrist. 

“Please, please, Erik. Need it.” You whined into his mouth, chest heavy, surely dripping on his jeans. He blew out a laugh, pulling back to watch your face as he curled his fingers in the most thigh shuddering way possible.

“Yeah? You want it?” He asked mocking, rutting his palm against your sensitive clit, his fingers buried to the knuckle. “You wanna get fucked now? That what you want?” 

You nodded frantically, words getting caught in your throat. Erik was tempted to torture you more, make you beg for it, but alas, his cock was starting to feel real fucking uncomfortable in those skinny jeans he had on. He said nothing as he pulled you down by your hair, tongue kissing you, so messy and sloppy, his fingers leaving you empty to fumble with his belt and zipper. He groaned in relief when his cock was finally free from the confines of his briefs. His hand left your hair to hold your panties to the side just enough for him, ready to shove his cock inside you. 

Erik rubbed his tip over your clit, coating himself in your slick, his tongue in your mouth. And then you felt it. The pathetic sound of disbelief that left your throat was so loud Erik actually heard it.

“Erik,” you gasped, a bit of shock and alarm coating your voice, immediately looking down between you, not believing it was in fact what you thought it was. “Erik, what the fuck. Oooh my God.” 

Were you drooling? Maybe a little.

“What?” He laughed a little, very amused by your shock. But he was also amused by your look of awe. He hadn’t been with too many people after he got it, he had gotten looks of apprehension, a weird look once, but you? You looked anything but freaked out. “You’ve never fucked a guy with a dick piercing?” 

You shook your head, slowly lifting your head to meet his eyes. The look he gave you made you clench around nothing.

“Go ahead then, sit on it. I know you’ve been wanting to. So do it.” 

Erik sat up, eyes never leaving you as he waited for you to make your move. It was with a shaky hand that you grabbed his cock and slowly slid down. Your mouth fell wide open as his ringed cock pushed its way inside your cunt. You damn near wanted to cry at the feeling of his ring brushing your walls.

“Fuck, Erik. That feels so—” You couldn’t even finish your thought, your eyes rolling back slightly as you rocked your hips, both hands flat against his chest as you dragged yourself along his cock.

It was with a groan that he gripped your hips, digging his nails into your flesh and staring at your freshly pierced tits with blown eyes each time you bounced on his cock. His cock definitely twitched at the sight.

“Oh, I know. Feels fucking good, doesn’t it?” He spoke with smug pride, sitting up all the way until his chest was flushed against your stomach, careful not to snag or touch your piercings, he wrapped one arm around your waist and bucked his hips, meeting you in the middle. He sat so deep each time he fucked into you, you could feel his goddamn ring bruising your cervix.

“Yesyesyes. Feels so good.” Your little gasps and broken sobs fell in his ear as your head fell into his shoulder, at this point doing nothing more than rolling your hips against his each time he slammed into you. Your arms were thrown around his neck as you clung to him, crying pathetically into his shoulder.

“Such a pretty little thing, and such a slut, letting me use you however I want.” He spat, panting a little, each brutal drag of his cock only bringing you closer to your release. You were sputtering nothing but incoherent curses and babbling that kind of sounded like his name, your face deep on his shoulders and eyes screwed shut. “Whatcha hiding for? Take it like a big girl.”

His hand came up under your jaw, long tattooed fingers sprawled over your throat and he forced your head back, enough to be able to see your face. And he most definitely saw the way your eyes rolled back into your head and your lips fell open into a little gasp when he squeezed your throat the slightest bit.

“Of course you love that shit, huh? Like it when I hurt you a little? Choke you a little? Fuck your pussy wide open?” Sure, Erik liked hearing himself talk sometimes, but he definitely felt the way you were squeezing the fuck out of his cock with each filthy word he spat at you. He squeezed a little tighter, pounded into you a little deeper, leaving you a twitching and shuddering mess when he loosened his grip on your neck.

“Ooooh, fuckfuckfuck. Yes, God, yes, I love it.” Your broken words came out in between your soft cries, your fingers pulling and tugging at his hair with each passing second that you felt your orgasm near. You needed it so fucking bad. “Please Erik, need it, need it so bad.”

“Need what, baby? Need to come? Is that what you need?” He was mocking you now, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he admired each twist and frown of your eyebrows, a mixture of pleasure and discomfort that made you so fucking delirious. You nodded, mumbling desperate pleas. “You deserve to come, don't you? You’ve had a hard day, huh? Mmm, yeah, you deserve to feel good.”

Erik used his arm around you to hold you right where he wanted you, angling his lips just enough to drag his pierced tip over your tight walls each time he rutted his hips against your cunt. And he didn’t stop when your body twitched and shuddered on his lap, gushing and dripping all over his jeans.

“Fuck, yes, that’s it.” He grunted, his head falling back and lips parted as he fucked you through your orgasm, his own not too far behind now, unable keep himself together. He wouldn’t be able to even if he fucking wanted to. “Where do you want me, baby? Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside me, please. Want it so bad.” You whine, your words falling in his ears like a fucking prayer. You pressed your forehead against his, fingers laced in his dark hair, rolling your hips down as he gave you a few more sharp and deep thrusts.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me I swear.” He blew out a laugh, his mouth falling open and his nails digging into your side deep enough to leave marks as he spilled himself deep inside you. “Take it just like that.”

It wasn’t long before you became painfully aware of just how cold this damn place was, the ceiling fan blowing cold air against your bare back. You clung to him, still on his lap with his cum stuffed inside you. It wasn’t until your mixed releases started to seep out of your cunt and dripped onto his jeans that Erik sighed.

“Fuck, you’re messy.” He teased, smirking at the offended gasp you let out, pulling back just enough to shoot him a glare.

“I’m messy? Dude.” You scoffed, your lips slightly curved into a smile as you held his face in your hands. 

“Nah, you’re right. You’re a slut.” He looked up at you, a grin on his face and blue eyes full of mischief. Yeah, you couldn’t lie about that. You said nothing, your eyes fixated on his, your heart pounding against your chest and your stomach fluttering as you thought about how fucked you were now.

And that? That you thought about for fucking days. Any other man? Completely fucking ruined for you. You just wanted Erik, and you kept coming back for more.

[afireintheflame]

POV Missing Your LaDs Guy

I was inspired by another creator’s writing about scents and wearing items of clothing that belong to your LI. I will tag the creator when I find the original post!

I’m gonna try and do a multi-fic post but my fics tend to be on the longer side about these men (^_^; I can’t stop myself from wanting to say more!

TW: Smut light, scent based triggers

Pairings: Rafayel X Reader and Sylus X Reader

If you guys like them I’ll definitely try and write ones for Caleb, Zayne, and Xavier

Reblogs appreciated ❤️

Rafayel 🐟🔥🎨🛁

Rafayel was never too busy for his favorite cutie—but every now and then, even you couldn’t pull him away from his work. This time, Thomas had made it crystal clear: Rafayel had to be at his next gallery showing, no excuses. It was outside of Linkon, and unfortunately, you couldn’t take the time off to go with him. So, in classic dramatic fashion, the two of you parted ways with Rafayel pouting like a child, insisting he should just kidnap you for the next two weeks. And honestly? The idea was tempting. But after the last gala—where you both got a little too drunk and made a bit too much of a scene—you couldn’t risk him getting on Thomas’s bad side again.

Still, that didn’t stop him from sulking all the way to the airport, one hand in yours, the other gripping his sketchpad like it was an emotional support canvas.

“I should just cancel the whole thing,” he muttered as you reached his terminal. “Tell Thomas I had a spiritual awakening and need to stay home for artistic reasons. Maybe something involving paint fumes and divine visions.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how would that explain the flight and hotel already booked in your name?”

“I’ll tell him I was possessed. By a muse. You.” He shot you a grin, though it was soft around the edges.

The first boarding call echoed, and his fingers curled a little tighter around yours before he pressed something into your palm.

You looked down. His keys.

“The studio’s yours while I’m gone,” he said. “Sleep in the bed, paint on the walls, eat the cookies I definitely didn’t burn. Just don’t fall in love with anyone else while I’m away.”

You stared at the keys, your throat catching a little. “You said your studio was sacred.”

He smiled, cupping your cheek. “Exactly.”

A final boarding call cut through the moment, and you rose up to kiss him—slow and steady, like it might be the last quiet moment for a while.

“Go,” you whispered. “Before I let you kidnap me.”

He groaned, dramatic as ever, but he turned and walked away—backward for the first few steps just to keep you in sight. One last blown kiss. One last wink. And then he disappeared into the crowd.

The next day, you let yourself into his studio by the sea.

The place was exactly as he’d left it, warm with sunlight and bursting with Rafayel’s strange, vibrant energy. The smell hit you first—not just the ocean, which lived in the air like a heartbeat, but him. Salt and fire. Burnt matches and shells ground into paint. Every pigment he mixed carried something of the beach outside—chalky whites from crushed sand dollars, deep blues born from tide-worn glass, and the faint tang of salt in everything he touched.

You slipped off your shoes and padded across the cool floorboards, letting the space wrap around you. The walls were cluttered with art—some chaotic and bold, some so intimate it almost felt wrong to look. His easel stood in the center of the room like an altar, canvas still wet with whatever he’d been working on last.

The cookies were there too. On the counter. Slightly overbaked and left beneath a note that read: If they taste weird, blame love. Or the fact I was thinking about your thighs again.

You laughed quietly, then wandered toward the stack of canvases leaning against the far wall, drawn by some invisible thread. One by one, you sifted through them. Landscapes. Abstract bursts of emotion. A few commissions.

And then—you.

Moments you hadn’t even realized he’d been capturing. You curled up in his favorite cardigan, the soft wool bunched around your wrists. You leaning on the balcony rail, lost in thought. You, laughing, hair a mess, eyes squinted from too much sun.

And one… unfinished. Just your face. Quiet. Real. No dramatics. No posing.

You traced the edge of the frame with your fingertips, heart full and aching all at once.

Rafayel may have been halfway across the country—but somehow, he’d left a thousand pieces of himself behind.

You moved through the studio like a quiet tide, your fingers brushing over tabletops, paint jars, the curve of an empty teacup beside a half-sketched landscape. The silence wasn’t lonely—it was heavy with him, as if Rafayel had only just stepped out to grab something from the beach and would be back any second, cardigan flaring behind him, curls tousled by the wind.

You wandered deeper into the space, passing his neatly folded scarves on a chair, the faint scent of sandalwood and sea lingering in the air. Then you stepped into the bathroom—and stopped.

His bathtub.

If the studio was sacred, the bathtub was its hidden chapel. You’d teased him about how seriously he treated it—how he called it “a portal to another plane” after long painting sessions. But standing there now, you understood.

The soft light through the frosted windows. The mosaic tile around the edges, each tiny piece hand-placed, many painted by Rafayel himself. And nestled all along the side of the tub—your favorite bath bombs, oils, and soaps. Sea-salt lavender. Rose quartz shimmer. The one that smelled like warm citrus and driftwood. He’d remembered them all.

A note sat propped against a jar of soaking salts, written in his looping, dramatic script:

“In case you miss me too much—these all smell like me. Or at least, like the version of me who wants you to relax, feel adored, and remember that even if I’m away, I’m still absolutely obsessed with you. Use them. Soak. Pretend I’m sitting beside the tub reading you weird poetry. (I probably am, spiritually speaking.)”

You laughed softly, brushing a thumb over the edge of the paper. Trust Rafayel to turn a simple bath into something holy. You could already imagine it—his voice echoing off the tiles, reciting Lemurian poems or something ridiculous he made up on the spot, one hand swirling the water lazily as he watched you with those knowing, stormy eyes.

Maybe tonight, you’d light the candles.

Maybe tonight, you’d let yourself miss him just a little more.

You sank into the bath with a sigh, the water turning silky as your favorite bath bomb fizzed and dissolved, releasing soft floral notes and a shimmer of warmth that clung to your skin. The scent reminded you of him—salt and citrus, something wild and thoughtful all at once. You closed your eyes and leaned back, letting the water hold you the way his arms used to.

For a while, you just breathed. Let the quiet hum of the sea outside wrap around you like a lullaby. You could almost hear him reading beside you, voice low, words floating somewhere between poetry and seduction.

Time blurred.

Eventually, the water cooled, and you stepped out, skin flushed and wrapped in the oversized towel he always called your “personal cloud.” You padded barefoot through the studio, glowing from warmth and the kind of peace only Rafayel could conjure—even from miles away.

You made your way to his bed—round, queen-sized, draped in soft linen sheets that always smelled faintly of cedar and the sea. The windows stretched around it in a half-moon curve, offering a perfect view of the ocean below. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting streaks of gold and blush across the waves. You curled onto the bed, damp hair trailing across his pillow, watching the tide shimmer under the setting sun.

It was impossible not to think of him here.

He’d said it once, half-asleep with your legs tangled in his and his hand resting over your heartbeat: “You were always meant for the ocean. The way you move, the way you feel. That saltwater kind of beauty. Untamed, but gentle. Just like the tide.”

At the time, you’d rolled your eyes, teased him for being dramatic. But now, with the sea glowing outside and his scent still on the sheets—you finally understood what he meant.

Maybe you were meant for the ocean.

And maybe, in some strange, beautiful way… you’d been meant for him too.

The sky outside melted into shades of lavender and honey, the waves rolling in a steady rhythm like the breath of the world itself. You sank deeper into the bed, letting the ocean soothe the ache in your chest—but it wasn’t quite enough. Not without him.

The sheets were still warm from the sun, but you missed his warmth. His weight. His presence. You sat up slowly, eyes drifting toward the worn armchair near the window where he always draped his cardigans.

One was still there.

You rose and crossed the room, fingers brushing over the soft knit fabric before pulling it into your arms. It was his favorite—cream with a blue and red argile pattern woven through it, smelling faintly of his cologne and sea salt. You slipped it on, sleeves too long, shoulders wide and comforting, like being wrapped in him.

As you settled back into bed, something crinkled beneath the pillow.

Frowning, you reached underneath and pulled out a small audio recorder. Simple. Classic Rafayel.

There was a little sticker on the front. A doodle of a seashell and a tiny note scrawled beneath it in his loopy, artistic handwriting:

“Play when the sea isn’t enough.”

Your heart jumped.

You clicked it on.

There was a moment of static, then his voice—low, warm, a little teasing, like he was speaking from just over your shoulder.

"Hey, my cutie. If you're hearing this, it means I’m not beside you—which, frankly, is a crime against romance and art and probably international law, but we’ll let that slide for now."

You smiled, heart clenching.

"I know you’re probably curled up in my bed right now, wearing one of my cardigans, looking like some soft ocean spirit that wandered in from the tide. I hope you took a bath. If not—pause this and go. Seriously. I left you the good stuff."

A pause. A soft breath.

"I just… I didn’t want you to feel alone in the silence. Not here. Not in a space that knows you almost as well as I do."

"Every brushstroke, every color I mix—there’s you in all of it. You’re not just my muse. You’re the whole damn palette."

Another pause. Softer now.

"So rest. Watch the sea. Wear my cardigan till it smells like you. And when I get back, I’ll paint the sunset exactly how you looked tonight."

Static again. Then silence.

You held the recorder to your chest, eyes burning, Rafayel’s voice echoing in your mind like a lullaby pulled from the tide.

He wasn’t here—but he was everywhere. In the scent on your skin, in the rhythm of the waves, in the cardigan curled around your frame.

And in that moment, wrapped in him, you didn’t feel alone at all.

The room had gone dusky, shadows stretching long across the bed as the last light of day dipped below the horizon. You were still curled beneath his blankets, his cardigan wrapped around you like a second skin. The audio recorder sat beside you on the pillow, still warm from your grip, Rafayel’s voice lingering in your ears like an echo.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand, thumb hovering for a moment before switching to the front camera. The soft golden light of the setting sun kissed your features. His cardigan hung off your frame, oversized and familiar, the sleeves bunched at your wrists. You looked like you belonged here—like you’d been painted into the moment.

You snapped the photo. No filter. No caption.

Then you opened your messages and typed slowly:

me:

goodnight, my fishie prince. the sea isn’t enough. come home soon.

You added the photo and hit send before you could overthink it.

Almost immediately, the little “typing…” bubble popped up.

Then:

rafayel:

cutie.

you’re lucky i didn’t see this before boarding or i would’ve turned around and let thomas sue me.

i’ll paint that look the second i’m back.

sleep in my spot tonight. dream of me. i’ll dream of you.

Your heart fluttered.

You tucked the phone to your chest, smiling as the waves outside rolled softly against the shore, steady and endless.

Maybe the sea wasn’t enough.

But the love he left behind in every corner of this place?

That was more than enough to hold you through the night.

The room had grown quiet, the hush of the sea outside the only sound as the last of the sun slipped beneath the horizon. You nestled deeper into his bed, tugging the cardigan tighter around your body. Your phone rested beside your pillow, his message still glowing faintly on the screen.

You turned it face-down.

Then let your eyes close.

Sleep didn’t come all at once—it arrived in slow waves, gentle and warm, like fingers combing through your hair.

And then, you were there again.

Back in the park, that first chilly autumn morning when he showed up with two cups of coffee and paint on his cheek, his hair wind swept in the breeze like some romantic mess of a man. He’d handed you the coffee with both hands and said, “I didn’t know what you liked, so I brought six sugar packets. I can be trained, though. Like a well-kept dog. Or a mildly feral raccoon.”

You laughed in your sleep.

Another memory bloomed—his studio, months later, when he let you smear paint across a fresh canvas just because you said you were curious. You’d made a mess. He’d kissed you anyway, paint in your hair, his hands on your waist, whispering, “There’s nothing more beautiful than watching you become part of my chaos.”

And then the beach.

The night you watched the stars together, wrapped in a blanket, his voice low and dreamy beside your ear as he told you stories about gods made of salt and women who controlled tides with their laughter. He said you were one of them—obviously.

Memory folded into memory like watercolor seeping into wet paper.

All of them vivid.

All of them soft.

And in every single one—Rafayel, smiling at you like you were the masterpiece he’d never be able to finish.

A week passed.

The studio had started to feel like a second skin. You knew where Rafayel kept his half-finished sketches, which mugs he favored for tea, which corner of the windowsill he always left cracked open for the salt breeze. You’d fallen asleep each night wrapped in his cardigan, surrounded by his scent and voice, lulled to sleep by waves and the low hum of his love lingering in every room.

But today—the silence buzzed with something new.

Anticipation.

The airport buzzed with the usual chaos—luggage wheels clattering, voices echoing off high glass ceilings, the dull murmur of announcements overhead. But none of it mattered. Your heartbeat had claimed your focus, drumming fast in your ears as you stood near the arrivals gate, scanning every passing figure with a quiet desperation you tried not to show.

Your phone buzzed.

rafayel:

Landing in 20. I expect dramatic eye contact across the arrivals gate. Maybe even a slow-motion run. Optional kiss. Mandatory swoon.

You laughed out loud, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too hard as you texted back:

you:

I’ll bring the swoon if you bring that paint-smudged artist look. Deal?

rafayel:

I’ve missed you so badly I’m considering doing the whole proposal-in-the-airport thing. But I’ll settle for holding your face and not letting go for ten full minutes.

The sun was just starting to dip by the time you reached the terminal, casting the glass walls in amber light. People bustled in every direction, voices echoing across tiled floors. But your eyes were only searching for one thing.

Then you saw him.

Moving through the crowd like he belonged on another plane of existence entirely.

The top buttons of his white shirt were undone, collar loose in that casually undone way that only he could pull off. His violet hair was tousled from the flight, a few strands falling into his blue-pink eyes—eyes that found you instantly, lighting up like a canvas catching first light.

You didn’t run.

But you moved.

And so did he.

He dropped his bag before he even reached you, closing the distance in a few quick strides. His hands found your face the second you were close enough, thumbs brushing over your cheeks, and he let out the breath he’d clearly been holding for days.

"Hi, cutie," he said, voice a little rough from travel, but still so unmistakably him. "God, I missed this face. No painting, no dream, no color came close."

You leaned into his touch, smiling so hard it almost hurt.

"You’re real," you whispered, and that was all it took—he pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you with that same warmth you'd been craving every night in his bed.

His cheek pressed against your hair, and you felt him smile.

"You kept my cardigan warm, didn’t you?"

"Every night."

"Good. Because now I need it to smell like you."

The arrivals gate faded away. The noise. The movement. Everything. It was just him, you, and the warmth between your bodies—finally closing the distance.

You didn’t head straight home.

Rafayel slipped his fingers between yours the second you stepped out of the airport, tugging you gently toward the coastal road. His bag was slung over one shoulder, shirt half-untucked, violet hair catching the fading light like brushstrokes in motion.

The car ride was quiet, peaceful.

He didn’t let go of your hand.

And when the beach came into view—the same stretch of sand you could see from his studio window—you pulled off onto the side, kicking off your shoes as he did the same.

The tide was low, the breeze soft and cool. Sunset spilled across the ocean in melted gold and dusky pinks, casting a glow over everything. Rafayel breathed in deep and closed his eyes for a moment, like he was letting the sea wash away the weight of time spent apart.

Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Did the sea take care of you while I was gone?”

You laughed softly. “It tried. But it wasn’t the same without you.”

He grinned, blue-pink eyes reflecting the sky. “You know,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tiny, spiral shell, “I saw this and thought of you. Kept it with me the whole trip. It’s not much. But it was the only thing that reminded me of home.”

You took it gently, fingers brushing his. “I am home,” you whispered.

That made him pause—just long enough for emotion to flicker in his expression. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, resting his forehead to yours.

“You know you were always a part of the ocean” he said softly. “But I think… I was meant for you.”

You stood there like that, the waves lapping at your feet, your bodies pressed together, hearts syncing in the salt-kissed silence. And as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, you let the moment settle between you—unspoken but understood.

Love didn’t always need grand gestures or fireworks.

Sometimes, it was as simple as a quiet return.

A cardigan left behind.

A beach at sunset.

And two people who chose each other, again and again.

—————————————————————————

Sylus 🐦‍⬛🐉🌹💥

It was rare that Sylus ever made you wait, especially on a date night. He’d hurriedly finish his business deals so he could relax into your embrace, but tonight this deal was different and unfortunately was bleeding into date night.

“I promise, kitten, I’ll make it up to you.”

You read the text, you knew he would but it still sucked waiting for him. You hadn’t seen each other in several weeks. The Association kept you busy with overseas missions, and Sylus was dealing with more unrest in the N109 zone as one of the crime heads had been taken into custody. Now, there were turf wars and shady dealings to see who would take over. Sylus naturally was targeted, being the leader of Onichynus, was anything but peaceful.

You missed him, his warmth, the smell of his cologne with a hint of gunpowder, your thoughts drifted as you wandered your shared bedroom. Before you realized it, you were standing in front of the walk-in closet. You opened the double doors and instantly gravitated to his jackets. You tenderly ran your fingers against the sleeves, the material soft and silky. He always had impeccable fashion sense, everything was either designer or professionally tailored, one of a kind for him. You grabbed your favorite jacket he would wear lazily over his broad shoulders. The black fabric embroidered with crimson feathers smelled of his cologne, gunpowder, and rain. You couldn’t help yourself and slipped your arms through the sleeves. The jacket wore you rather than you wearing it, but it didn’t matter. It felt like being held by him, the weight of the material mimicking his gentle embrace. You pressed the sleeves to your cheeks, taking in the warmth like he was cradling you with his hands. You were tearing up, trembling, and slowly lowered yourself to the plush carpet of the closet.

You missed him. The way he made you feel safe, the look in his ruby eyes saying, “As long as you’re with him, any place is home.” You catch yourself looking at all the clothes, each sparking a memory of your time together: his riding jacket, the freedom of speeding down the N109 zone, the leather trench coat, and tussling his silver hair pretending to get the snow out.

You grabbed some of his clothes, donning them like makeshift armor. You know it’s only a temporary fix, but for now, you feel a bit more at ease waiting for him to come home. The business deals normally ended messily these days, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

A soft chime pulled you from your thoughts—a message, but not from Sylus this time.

Unknown Sender: “Your man’s making moves. Might not walk away clean tonight.”

Your stomach twisted. It was vague, unsigned, and all-too-familiar with the kind of cryptic language used in the underworld. You stared at the message, your fingers tightening on the cuffs of his jacket.

You shouldn’t worry. You knew Sylus. No one navigated the criminal underbelly of the N109 Zone better than he did. But still, this deal was different. Bigger. Riskier.

You rose from the floor slowly, the heavy fabric of his jacket still wrapped around you like a shield. You crossed the room and tapped into the secure comm line he’d given you, not for check-ins or sweet nothings, but emergencies. You hesitated, thumb hovering over the button. Was this one?

Just as your finger grazed it, your screen blinked to life. A video call. From him.

You answered immediately, breath catching when Sylus’s face came into view. He looked exhausted—silver hair mussed, the collar of his shirt undone, crimson eyes shadowed and sharp. But he was alive. Whole.

And when he saw you wearing his jacket, something in his expression shifted. Softened.

“You waiting for me like that, Sweetie?” he said, voice low and warm despite the tension you could sense in him. “You’re gonna make me speed through this meeting and blow someone’s car up just to get back faster.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, a watery laugh escaping you. “You’re late.”

He sighed, leaning back against the wall of wherever he was—dim lights, a flicker of movement behind him. “I know. Things got complicated. I’ll be home in one hour. Two, max. I swear it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you murmured, trying to smile.

His eyes held yours through the screen. “Kitten. I always keep my promises to you.”

The call ended before you could say anything else—likely someone had pulled him back into the fray. You were left with the echo of his voice and the lingering tension in your chest.

Still… something about his face had told you he meant it. That he’d crawl through hell to keep it.

You stood there for a long moment, wrapped in the comfort of his scent, his presence lingering in every thread. And even though the night stretched long and uncertain, you felt a little steadier, knowing that somewhere out there, Sylus was fighting his way back to you.

The rain had started not long after the call ended—fat droplets smacking against the windows in chaotic rhythm. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the low, slow rumble of thunder that seemed to crawl across the sky. You stayed curled on the couch, still in his jacket, eyes flicking to the door with every creak and shadow.

Then came the sound you’d been waiting for: the lock sliding open.

You were on your feet before the door had even finished opening.

Sylus stepped inside, head bowed, silver hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. Water dripped from the hem of his coat, running in rivulets down his neck and into the dark fabric clinging to his frame. He kicked the door closed with the back of his boot and looked up at you.

That tired smirk pulled at his lips, even as the storm clung to him. “Told you I’d make it back, didn’t I?”

You didn’t respond right away. You just crossed the room in a few quick strides and threw your arms around him. His jacket soaked yours instantly, but you didn’t care. You buried your face in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of rain and gunpowder and him, now fresh and raw.

His arms came around you slowly, as if taking a moment to process that he was really home, that you were really there waiting for him. He leaned his cheek against the top of your head, exhaling deeply.

“I missed you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured back. “I missed you too, Sweetie. Every damn second.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes, though rimmed with exhaustion, held that flicker of warmth that only ever appeared for you. You brushed wet strands of hair from his forehead.

“You’re soaked,” you said.

“Storm caught me on the way out. Didn’t want to stop.” He looked you over, registering the jacket still draped over your shoulders. “That mine?”

You nodded. “My armor.”

A real smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Then let me trade you for something warmer. I’ll get cleaned up—won’t take long.”

But you held onto him a second longer, not quite ready to let go yet.

“You’re here now,” you said softly. “That’s all I needed.”

Sylus pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. Gentle. Reassuring. “And I’m not going anywhere tonight. That’s a promise I can keep.”

The storm had softened to a steady drizzle by the time Sylus emerged from the shower, dressed in a dark fitted shirt with the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows and a pair of soft lounge pants that were definitely not designer. His damp silver hair curled slightly at the ends, the clean scent of his soap replacing the smoke and rain.

You had set the table in the meantime—nothing extravagant, just a warm meal for two and the comfort of being in the same room again.

He padded barefoot into the dining area, eyes locking onto you immediately. That quiet look passed between you again—the one that said we made it through another night—and then his gaze dropped slightly as he walked closer.

You noticed the cuts when he sat down. Small, angry red lines along his knuckles and a shallow graze at the sharp edge of his jaw. Faint, but fresh. Evidence of how “complicated” the meeting had really gotten.

“Sylus,” you murmured, reaching over before he could deflect.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said, not pulling away when your fingers brushed over the skin near his jaw. He winced slightly. “Okay, maybe just a little worse.”

You turned his hand over gently in yours, examining the bruised knuckles. “And this?”

He shrugged, almost sheepish. “Some people don’t like losing leverage.”

You didn’t press. You knew how these deals went—how easily a dinner table could turn into a battlefield.

Instead, you got up quietly, grabbed the small medkit from the drawer, and returned to your seat beside him. He let you clean the cuts in silence, his gaze soft and steady on you the entire time.

“I can’t stop you from getting hurt,” you said quietly, wrapping a thin bandage around his hand. “But I still hate seeing it.”

“I know.” His voice was low. “But I’d rather come home to you a little bloodied than not at all.”

You blinked, your hands stilling. His honesty always caught you off guard when it came unannounced like that—raw and real, without the silk of his usual charm.

Dinner was quieter than usual, but not uncomfortable. He watched you between bites, eyes lingering not with possessiveness but with something steadier. Devotion. As if reminding himself that no matter what storms he walked through out there, this—you—was what he came back for.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” he said softly, near the end of the meal.

You smiled faintly, leaning your chin on your hand. “I always will.”

You’d just finished clearing the dishes when Sylus leaned back in his chair, watching you with that unmistakable gleam in his eye—the kind that usually came right before he got exactly what he wanted.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping a note lower, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I walked in.”

You turned, curious. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes roaming over you, still wrapped in his tailored black jacket, the sleeves rolled to fit, the hem hanging loose just past your thighs. “That. Seeing you in my clothes.”

A slow smirk curved his lips as he stood, crossing the room in a few unhurried strides. He stopped in front of you, one hand lifting to brush a thumb over your collarbone, just beneath the open lapel. His touch was light, but his gaze was anything but.

“It’s dangerous,” he murmured, “how good you look in this.”

You arched a brow, trying to stay coy. “Dangerous how?”

Sylus leaned in, his nose brushing the side of your jaw as he whispered, “Makes me want to keep you like this. Just mine. Wearing only what I give you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers traced down your side, slow and deliberate, stopping just at your waist. His lips hovered near your skin, not quite touching, sending goosebumps across your chest and arms.

“You walk around like this,” he said against your throat, “and I forget how tired I am. I forget how messy the world gets. All I can think about… is how soft you’d feel underneath me.”

His hand slid behind you, resting on the small of your back as he pulled you flush against him. His heat bled through the layers, even through the jacket you’d borrowed. “You wore this like armor earlier,” he murmured. “But now it feels like a gift you left waiting for me.”

You leaned into him, lips brushing his ear. “Maybe I did.”

He exhaled, a low sound deep in his chest, as if your words untied something inside him.

“Bedroom. Now.” His voice was husky but restrained, barely leashed hunger laced with reverence.

And when he kissed you—slow, deep, possessive in the way only a man in love can be—it felt like all the waiting, the longing, the storm, had led to this one inevitable moment.

He didn’t need to say it twice.

The moment you reached the bedroom, Sylus was already behind you, one hand at your waist, the other slipping under the hem of his jacket as he pressed you up against the wall. His mouth found yours again—hungrier now, no longer restrained. He kissed like a man who had been starving for weeks, and finally had his first taste of warmth.

You gasped against his lips when his hand slipped beneath the fabric, tracing along your bare thigh. “Still wearing this for me?” he murmured, dragging his mouth down your neck.

“Wasn’t planning to take it off,” you whispered.

“Good,” he growled. “Because I want to unwrap you slowly.”

He turned you around with a fluid motion, letting your back press against his chest as he tugged the jacket open, exposing the softness beneath. His fingers skimmed over your stomach, trailing up under the thin shirt you wore beneath—his shirt.

“You even wore this,” he said, almost reverently, as his hands slipped beneath the fabric. “You really missed me, didn’t you, Kitten?”

You nodded, already breathless, hips arching back into him instinctively.

He guided you to the bed, laying you down as if you were something precious and breakable—though the hunger in his eyes promised anything but gentleness. The room was quiet except for the sound of rain against the window, and your shared breaths as he peeled his shirt off you, inch by inch.

His mouth followed, kissing every new patch of skin he uncovered. “You wear me so well,” he whispered. “But I want to feel all of you.”

When you reached for his shirt in return, he let you strip it away, revealing the fresh cuts you’d tended to earlier—his battle scars, earned and endured just to make it back here, to you.

You sat up enough to press your lips to the bandage on his jaw, then his collarbone, then lower—until Sylus gave a low, shaky laugh and gently pushed you back down.

“Sweetheart, if you keep that up, I’m not going to last.”

“Then don’t,” you murmured, pulling him back to you. “Just take me.”

And he did.

He was slow as he worked his way inside you, watching your expression for any signs of pain, but you looked in pure bliss, and he continued.

When down to the hilt, he started to move the fullness inside of you, making you gasp and cry out. “Keep up with those sounds, kitten, and I won’t be able to hold back,” he growled. You wanted him to ravage you as a way to make up for the time lost.

With every breathless moan, every tangled sheet, and whispered promise, Sylus made good on his word. He worshipped every inch of you like he’d been waiting years. The world outside, the chaos of his empire, the dangers that clung to his name—none of it mattered in this room.

Here, it was just you and Sylus.

And by the time your name was falling from his lips in a hoarse whisper, bodies slick with sweat and hearts pounding in sync.

The storm outside had softened to a gentle hum, raindrops tapping rhythmically against the windowpane. The kind of sound that made you want to stay wrapped in blankets for hours, limbs tangled and hearts steady.

Sylus didn’t move right away. He lay beside you, breathing hard, one arm draped over your waist, the other buried beneath you, holding you close as if letting go wasn’t an option. His skin was still warm from the heat you’d both shared, his silver hair damp with sweat.

You turned your face into the crook of his neck, pressing a soft kiss just beneath his jaw. He exhaled slowly, his hand brushing lazy circles across your spine.

"You okay?" he murmured against your temple.

You nodded, your voice still a little hoarse. “Better than okay.”

His hand paused for a second—just long enough for you to feel the weight behind it. “I didn’t hurt you?” he asked, quieter now.

You looked up, touched by the concern in his ruby eyes. “No, Sylus. You were perfect.”

That seemed to ease something in him. He pressed his lips to your forehead and lingered there, breathing you in. “You scare the hell out of me, sometimes,” he whispered. “The way I feel about you…”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “I know. Same here.”

For a while, you lay there in silence, your breath syncing with his, the only sounds in the room the storm’s fading echo and the occasional thrum of city life far below the Onychinus base. Sylus eventually shifted, gently rolling you into his chest before grabbing a soft towel from the nightstand drawer.

“Stay still, sweetie,” he murmured, carefully wiping at the slickness on your thighs, taking his time like he was tending to something sacred.

You flushed from the tenderness of it all—how this man, feared across the N109 zone, now handled you with such reverence. When he finished, he tossed the towel aside and helped you pull on one of his oversized shirts.

He threw on a pair of loose black pants, then padded barefoot into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with a glass of water and a warm cloth to clean your face. You drank, not realizing how parched you were, and he pressed a kiss to your cheek when you finished.

“You always take care of me,” you said softly, watching him as he climbed back into bed and pulled the blanket over both of you.

“Of course I do,” he said, brushing your hair back from your face. “Because you’re the one thing in this whole damn world I can’t afford to lose.”

You snuggled closer, letting your hand rest over the steady beat of his heart. “Then you better keep making it back to me.”

His laugh was low and tired. “Always, Kitten.”

And in the warmth of his arms, with the storm now nothing but a lullaby, you finally let yourself drift to sleep—safe, loved, and held like a treasure in the arms of the most dangerous man in the zone.

_________________________________________

I really enjoy writing these and I hope you all enjoy it too! I love Sylus so much he stole my heart and has really been a comfort character as a lot of his mannerisms match my irl partners. Rafayel is so sassy and fun to write for! Truly my favorite fishie

[obvithe-bestsoph]

meeting his parents. - barca boys (and marc)

summary: how lamine yamal, pablo gavi, pedro gonzalez, pau cubarsi, and hector fort would ask you calm you down when you're nervous before going to spend your first Christmas with his family. a/n: the long awaited 100 follower special! to some people this doesn't seem like many, but to me, i would forever be grateful for just one, so this is a big deal in my mind! i would like to specially thank @nngkay for being around this blog, more or less since the beginning, and @vvssqqz6 for constantly liking and reblogging my posts! thanks to @pedricos for giving me ideas and motivation to write. and thank you to you. for reading this, (hopefully for liking it), and to anyone who has supported my writing in any way in the past! here's to another 100, love, - obvithebestsoph 💕💕 masterlist requests genre: fluff/comfort. warnings: none.

You stared blankly at the half-packed suitcase on the bed, then at the closet, then back at the suitcase. “This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m just meeting his family. It’s not the end of the world. I shouldn’t be this nervous.”

Still, your heart’s going crazy, and your hands can’t stop fidgeting. You’d packed and then unpacked three times already, trying to find the perfect thing to wear to impress Pedri’s parents. Pedri walked in a moment later, phone still in hand, but his attention almost immediately shifted from the Instagram post he was looking at to you. “You okay?” he asked, his voice calm and even as usual. 

You looked up, giving him a nervous smile. “I feel like I’m going to forget how to speak the moment I meet tu mamá.” He chuckled, tossing his phone onto the bed and walking over to sit beside you, “You’re overthinking, sol (sunshine). My parents are going to love you.”

You give him a fairly sassy look. “You have to say that.” “No,” he said, giving you a sassy look back, and bumping your shoulder gently with his. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

Pedri took your hand in his, running his thumb slowly over your knuckles. “My mamá’s going to be obsessed with you. She’s been asking about you for weeks. And my papá? He already likes you. He said anyone who can make me this happy and in line must be some sort of saint.” 

You let out a small laugh, despite the nerves. “So I’ll be fine?” “You’ll be perfect.” he grins.

You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder, grateful for how effortlessly he calms your nerves. “I just… I want them to see how much I care about you. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Pedri turned toward you slightly, his voice quiet and genuine.  “You already show me how much you care every single day. They’re going to see that too. And if they don’t see it in the first five minutes, my mamá will get out the baby photo albums to embarrass me, and, if you pay attention, you’ll be her favourite forever.” You smile into his shoulder. “Tempting. You were a cute ass baby.” He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “Just be yourself. That’s who I love, and that’s who they’ll love, too.” 

Pedri stood up and offered his hand to you. “Vamos, we have a suitcase to pack, a flight to catch, and my mamá made croquetas. If you’re nervous, eat first. That’s her rule for everything.” You laughed and took his hand, butterflies still fluttering, but in a different way now. 

Maybe, just maybe, it would be okay.

You sat curled up on Pau’s bed, knees hugged yo your chest, your suitcase still half-zipped and lying on the floor. Everything was packed. Everything was ready. But you weren’t.

Your mind kept spinning in circles. ‘What if they don’t like me?’ ‘What if I say the wrong thing?’ ‘What if I somehow embarrass Pau or myself in front of his whole family?’

You barely noticed the sound of footsteps before you felt the bed dip beside you. Pau didn’t say anything at first - just sat quietly, his presence calm as always, like he knew you needed a minute or two. 

Finally, you glanced at him. “Is it obvious I’m lowkey freaking out?” He smiled gently, his green eyes warm and soft. “A little. But only because I know you.” You groaned and hid your face behind your knees, “I’m sorry. I know this is supposed to be exciting, and it is, I promise. I just… I don’t know. Meeting your parents feels like a really big deal.” 

Pau nodded slowly, taking his time to respond. “It is a big deal. But that doesn’t mean it has to be scary.” You looked up at him, your brows furrowed. “Aren’t you nervous?” He shook his head, and then reached for one of your hands, his fingers wrapping tightly around yours. “No. Because I know them, and I know you. And I know how much they’re going to like you.” 

You let out a shaky breath. “What if I say something weird? What if I don’t say enough? What if tu mamá thinks I’m too quiet? Or what if tu papá-” “Hey,” Pay cuts you off gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “It’s okay to be nervous. But you don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be yourself. My parents… they’re kind people. They’re not going to judge you. They’re excited to finally meet the girl I’ve been talking about for months.” 

A small smile makes its way onto your face. “You’ve been talking about me?” He smiled, his own cheeks going a little pink. “Kind of a lot.”

That made you laugh, and Pau laughed too, a little shyly, his eyes crinkling at the corners nonetheless. “Mi mamá’s probably already made ten different things to eat just because she doesn’t know what you like. She’s going to spoil you. And mi papá… he’s quieter, like you and me, but he’ll ask about football or something to bond with you.”

You look down at your joined hands, then up at Pau again. “I really want to make a good impression.” “You will,” he said simply. “Trust me.”

And the way he looked at you right then - so sure, so confident, so proud - you started to believe him. 

You squeezed his hand, another smile forming on your lips. “Okay, let’s go then.”

Pau smiled back, standing up and offering you his hand to help you up off the bed. “You’ve got this. And if anything gets weird, I’ll fake an emergency and drive us back.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

“Okay, lowkey, what if your mamá hates me?” You asked the question halfway through putting on your jacket, frozen in place with one arm through the sleeve. Ferran looked up from where he was zipping up the duffel bag by the door, eyebrows raised, clearly not expecting that level so suddenly. 

“Hates you?” he repeated, blinking like you’d said something in another language. “What are you talking about?”

You let your arm flop uselessly out of the jacket and sat down on the bed, letting out a long digh. “I don’t know, Ferran. She’s your mamá. She probably has, like, sky-high expectations and perfect Valencian princess ideas of the girl her only son’s supposed to bring home. What if I disappoint her?”

Ferran stared at you for another few seconds, before slowly standing upright and crossing the room towards you, trying, and failing, not to laugh. 

“Valencian princess ideas?” he repeated, amused. “Do you hear yourself?”

You groaned and fell back on the bed, arms splayed out dramatically. “I’m serious.”

He climbed onto the bed next to you, propping himself up on one elbow as looked down at you. “Vale, escúchame, reina (okay, listen to me, queen). My mamá isn’t scary. She’s just a mamá. And she’s going to love you.”

You cracked an eye open. “You’re just saying that because you love me.”

“Exactly,” he said, kissing your cheek, “and soon, she’s gonna see that too.”

You turn to face him fully, propping your chin on your hand. “What if I talk too fast? Or sat something dumb in front of your papá? Or like… accidentally curse during dinner?” Ferran laughed again, then leaned in until your noses were almost touching. “Then you’ll fit right in.” That made you smile, despite the nervousness still bubbling in your stomach. 

He reached over to brush a piece of hair behind your ear, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got nothing to prove. You being you? That’s all they want. My sister’s already excited to meet you. My mamá’s probably baking something right now just because I told her your favourite dessert.” Your heart smiled. “You told her that?”

“Of course I did,” he said, as if it were obvious. “You think I’m not bragging about you every chance I get?”

You roll your eyes but the felt starts to ebb away.

He leaned in slightly, giving you a soft kiss. “Vamos. I’m excited.” You laugh and get up, resuming putting on your jacket.

Lamine noticed you nervously adjusting your shirt for the millionth time in the last five minutes, your eyes flicking between the floor and the couch. You hadn’t said anything aloud, but he could sense the tension that’s building up inside you. He knew how important today was for you. Meeting his family for the first time, especially during Christmas, was bound to bring a wave of nervousness over you. You were excited, of course, but you couldn’t shake the anxiety in your stomach either. 

“Hey,” he said softly, elbowing your side to get your attention, “¿qué ocurre (what’s wrong)?” You turn your head to look at him and smile tightly back at him, “Yeah, I’m just… nervous, I guess.” Lamine frowns, “Nervous? About what?” 

You sighed and fixed your hair yet again. “I really want them to like me, Lamine. It’s your family, they’re important to you, so I want them to like me. I don’t want to mess anything up.” Lamine smiles at you reassuringly, slinging an arm around you in a casual fashion. “I promise, they’re going to love you. Mi mamá’s been pestering me to meet you, and Keyne’s hardly scary. You’ll be fine.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, raising an eyebrow. “You say that now, but what if I say something awkward or do something weird? What if they don’t think I’m good enough for you?” He just laughed, shaking his head. “You’re not going to mess up. You’re perfect as you are.” He smiles more softly now, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, “They’re so excited to meet the person who makes me so happy. You have nothing to worry about.”

His words were gentle, but as they usually do, they carried a confidence that made you feel lighter. Lamine talked about them so fondly, you knew they’d be kind, but the thought of being actually in the same room as them for the first time still made your palms a little sweaty. 

“Besides,” Lamine continues, more playful now, “if you ever feel too nervous, just hang out with Keyne. He gives the best hugs and he’ll happily tell you all about all his soft toys and their names.”

You laughed, “I’m sure I’ll be fine, so long as I don’t embarrass you.” 

Lamine’s face softened once again as he turned your face to look at him. “You could never embarrass me, mi amor. You mean so much to me, and my family knows that, and I’m excited for them to see it in person too.” 

You take a deep breath, feeling the weird tossing of your stomach soothe as the moments pass. Lamine was right, annoyingly, he often is. His family would see how much you both love each other, and they’d understand. There’s nothing to be nervous about.

“You always know how to calm me down,” you whispered, leaning into his side, his body warm, as usual. 

Lamine kissed your forehead. “That’s because I’m always around your anxious ass. I’ve cracked the code on how to make you see sense again.” he snickers, and you playfully slap his arm. 

After a few more moments of laughing, the room goes quiet again and Lamine smiles at you. “Ready to go?” He holds his hand out for you to take as he stands up to leave. You nod and lace your fingers with his, heading towards the front door. 

“Te amo (i love you).” he murmurs as he kisses the top of your head. “Yo también te amo (i love you too).” you smile up at him, and he smiles back.

You were pacing again. Back and forth in front of Pablo’s bed, feeling too restless to sit still. Christmas in Los Palacios. With his family. His parents. His sister.

You froze when you heard a soft laugh behind you. 

“Bebé,” Pablo says, calling your attention as he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a teasing, but soft, smile on his face, “you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Cálmate.”

You gave him a look, but he was already walking towards you, his presence alone making the nerves calm slightly. “I’m freaking out, Pablo,” you said, the words coming out faster than your normal tone. “What if they don’t like me? What if I say something weird or-” “-trip over something? Spill wine on mi mamá’s couch? Bring a dish with ingredients that someone’s allergic to?” he offers, raising an eyebrow with that stupid, teasing smile still on his face. 

You groaned and slapped his chest. “You’re not helping!”

Pablo laughs, pulling you into his arms. His arms slide around your waist like they have done a million times before, like that’s his favourite place for them to be, and maybe, it is. “I am helping. I’m making you realise how silly it sounds.”

You sigh, resting your forehead against his chest, the steady beat of his heart against your ear. “I just… I want them to like me. I mean, they’re your parents. This is kind of a big deal.” 

“They’re going to like you.” he said firmly, and when you looked up, he was already looking down at you with those big, perfect eyes of his. “They’re going to love you, actually. Because I do.”

Your breath hitched ever so slightly at the way he said it, so very certainly. Like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “You do?” He rolled his eyes with a grin. “Of course I do. Do you really think I’d take any girl home for Christmas? Mi mamá might cry. She’s a crier. Mi papá will pretend he’s chill, but he’s probably going to ask about your entire life story 10 minutes after you meet him. And Aurora? She’ll be happy to have another girl her age-ish around.”

“Dios mío.” you mutter, burying your face in his hoodie. “But they’ll love you,” he said, his voice a little softer now. “Because you make me ridiculously happy. You’re the first person I’ve never been nervous to bring home.” Your heart squeezed a little. All your nerves, your doubts, your ‘what-if’s - they didn’t disappear, but they felt quieter, dulled by the way Pablo seemed so confident and the way he held you tight. He made you feel like you already place in his family, even if you hadn’t actually met them yet. 

You wrapped your arms tighter around his waist and then dropped them to your sides in a final squeeze. “Vale, I’m ready.” “Good,” he murmured, kissing your temple. “Because they’ve been ready for you since the second I told them about us.”

You were sitting on the edge of the couch, nervously twisting the strap of your bag in your hands. Your suitcase packed, coat hanging by the door, and Marc had already triple checked the passports and plane tickets. Everything was ready for the flight back to Barcelona… except for your nerves. 

Marc popped his head in from the hallway, grinning like he did, cheeks slightly pink from the cold air outside. “You ready?”

You hesitated. “Almost.”

He paused, then walked over, his smile softening when he saw the way you were chewing your bottom lip. “You’re nervous.” You sighed, leaning back on your hands. “Is it that obvious?” Marc sat down beside you, pulling you closer to him. “You’re usually the confident one between us. I’ve never seen you sit this still.” 

You let out a quiet laugh, then groaned. “I just… I want to make a good impression. I mean, it’s your family. What if they think I’m not good enough for their son or something? What if they don’t even like me?!”

Marc turned to face you fully, his expression serious, but soft. “Hey. Cállate, idiota (shut up, idiot). You’re overthinking this. First of all, that’s not even possible. And second, they’re not trying to like you. They already do. I’ve told them all about you. About how kind you are. How funny you are. How you’ve got this really annoying habit of stealing my hoodies and acting like it’s yours-”

You playfully smacked his arm, but he grabbed your hand before you could pull it back, lacing his fingers with yours. “I’m serious,” he said, voice quieter now. “They’re excited. Mi mamá’s been texting me asking what kind of snack you like, and mi papá’s already made a list of places to show you in Granollers. You don’t have to prove anything to them.” 

You blinked, taken aback by how certain he was. How calm. How much he believed in you. “You don’t think I’ll say or do something dumb?” Marc chuckled. “If you do, they’ll probably just think it’s funny. Like I do.” That made you smile, your nerves softening just a bit. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you let yourself breathe for the first time all morning. “Okay, I’m ready now. I think.”

Marc pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you there for a moment. “Good. Because mi hermana’s already threatened to disown me if I don’t bring you home soon.”  You laughed again, the tension finally beginning to ease. “How nice of her,” you reply sarcastically. 

He grinned and then stood up. “Vamos. You’re about to be the favourite in the family, and I’m not even mad about it.”

You took his hand, heart still fluttering - but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. It was from the way he looked at you, with nothing but love.

You sat at the kitchen island, holding a mug of hot chocolate that you hadn’t touched in 10 minutes. Your bag was by the door. Your phone was charged. The car had a full tank of petrol. You’re due to leave in five minutes. And yet, you’re still spiraling. 

Across the kitchen, Héctor is humming to himself while getting his last few little bits ready, completely unbothered, like he wasn’t about to bring you home to meet the people who literally raised him. 

“Do you think your mamá and papá will like me?” you asked suddenly, your voice barely louder than a whisper. 

Héctor froze and turned to face you slowly, like he wasn’t sure if you were joking. You weren’t.

“Wait,” he said, wa;king over with a soft, confused smile. “You’re actually nervous?” You looked down at your hot chocolate. “Yeah… like, very.”

He leaned against the counter beside you, gently tugging the mug out of your hands and setting it aside. “You do realise my mamá’s probably already planned some sort of girl’s night for the two of you or something right?” Your head snapped up, “What?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. She’s excited to finally have another girl around. She even said, and I quote, ‘bring that sweet girl of yours around so I can finally meet her properly and feed her well.’ Her words. Not mine.”

You blinked. “That's oddly comforting.”

“She’s a mamá. It’s how she shows love,” Héctor said with a shrug, brushing his fingers over your wrist gently. “And my papá? He’s more reserved, but if you ask him anything about the garden or football, he’ll fall in love with you instantly.”

You let out a soft laugh, the knot in your stomach loosening by a fraction.

“No sé (i don’t know),” you mumbled. “I just… I want to be enough. For them. For you.”

Héctor’s hand immediately found yours, his fingers warm as always. “Oye,” he said, tilting his head so you’d meet his eyes. “You’re already enough. More than enough. You don’t have to try and be anything you’re not.” “But-” “Nope.”

He cut in softly, giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m serious, I wouldn’t be bringing you home if I wasn’t sure - if I didn’t want them to know the person who makes me the happiest.”

Your heart fluttered. 

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re not auditioning for anything. You’re just coming home with me. And they’re gonna love you, because you’re you.”

You leaned into his touch, letting out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “Vale. Let’s go meet your mamá and see what kind of terrifyingly welcoming night she has planned for me.”

Héctor grinned. “That’s my girl.”

And just like that - your nerves didn’t disappear completely. But they shrank under the warmth of his voice and the certainty in his eyes. With him, it didn’t feel so scary anymore. 

[revelboo]

Me at your post:

Question. Have you ever thought about writing for the Constructicons? (Not with Prowl though). I think it would be hilarious.

Rewatched their G1 episodes today. Title is the song ‘Drive’ by The Matches. An attempt was made. 18+ 🌶️

Drive

Constructicons x Reader

• “I’m just saying. A little appreciation.” Exchanging a look with Long Haul, Scavenger tries to ignore Hook’s grumbling as they work. Pushing against a tree until the wood splinters and breaks so he can shove it over and drag it out of the way. Pausing to tip his head up at the night sky and wonder where home is. “We’re out here busting our afts and do we get any thanks?” Hook demands. No. What they’d gotten was their energon rations cut because in the Decepticon hierarchy, they’re not much higher than Insecticons. He doesn’t like it, but understands. Being forged here on this miserable mudball not Cybertron means being looked down upon. And he has no idea where Cybertron is among those glittering stars. Can it be home when he’s never set ped there?

• “We do our job. A fragging good job,” Scrapper says, trying to keep the peace as Bonecrusher utters a harsh laugh and Mixmaster just shakes his head at him. Like he doesn’t see the scorn. Knows the others think he’s oblivious, but he’s knows they’re looked down on until they’re needed. Devastator demands their respect, but on their own? They’re second class citizens. If even that. Some of the other Decepticons are all too happy to sneer at them, to assume that since they didn’t come from Cybertron they’re less.

• Bending to gouge up a handful of soil and to intake through his vents, separating out the individual components in his head, Mixmaster growls. Scenting those trace amounts of energon that are the whole reason they’re out here in the middle of nowhere. “No one wants to hear that, though,” Mixmaster mutters. “They want us to work and keep quiet. It’s here.” Glancing at his brother when Bonecrusher bumps him. “They’re scared of us,” Bonecrusher growls, beginning to aggressively clear the land of trees, movements sloppy and giving away that he’s been into the high grade. But they all know it’s Devastator that’s feared, not them. They’re tools. Nothing more. Disrespected and mocked by the rest of the Decepticons. Something they all feel and that gets compounded when they’re combined. That dissatisfaction growing every time they combine, spreading and feeding on itself when they separate again. Reaching a boiling point with no outlet to let off some steam. Except to destroy something. And there’s nothing here but trees.

• Exhausted and not even tempted by the hot, greasy smell of fast food in the bag in the passenger seat, you go over the list in your head again. Trying to remember if you’ve gotten at least a little something for everyone. That you’re ready for the upcoming holiday. You’d volunteered to work the day before for the extra cash, but you keep wondering if you’re forgetting something. Distracted you almost miss the huge, dark shape that comes sailing out of the woods. Slamming a foot on the brake as your car slides with a scream of tires, a tree slams into the road ahead of you and goes end over end in a shower of pine needles and broken branches. What? Toggling your emergency lights on, you put the car into park and get out, wincing at the biting cold. And your breath catches as it sinks in that a tree chucked like a javelin even though there’s no wind, no plausible explanation, nearly took you out. Squinting into the dark woods, your skin prickles as a red glow flares in the shadows. Then five more.

• Hears Bonecrusher laugh and Long Haul turns to follow his stare. Sees the tiny shape through the trees silhouetted by the headlights of the car behind them. There’s no way the little human can see anything more than the glow of their optics. But there’s a whisper of excitement twisting through him as Scrapper says, “Bottle of engex to whoever squishes it before it ruins everything.”

• Heart in your throat as those red glows shift and a branch cracks, there’s a roar from the trees that crackles through you and you forget the car. Forget everything beyond the animal need to get away. Running as trees crack and get uprooted with thunderous noise behind you to send you racing across the road and into the woods on the other side in a blind panic. Don’t even know what’s chasing you, only that you don’t want to find out. Is this what a rabbit feels like with hungry foxes snapping at its heels?

• Heavy peds tearing up dirt and leaves as he tries to overtake Hook, Scavenger hears Mixmaster calling out to the organic. Laughingly saying they only want to play. You’re surprisingly fast for being so small, but even noisier than Bonecrusher somehow. Energon pumping through his lines as you break from the trees, just a little shadow silvered by the moon, almost unreal looking as you pelt through the tall grass. Catches a glimpse of terrified eyes when you glance back and then you go down, disappearing completely.

• “Where’d it go?” Hook growls, reaching to push Scavenger out of his way as the rest of his brothers catch up and he realizes there’s a sheet drop, the ground giving way so suddenly you hadn’t seen it in time to react. Leaning down to look at the still form lying in the shallow stream at the bottom, there’s a momentary flicker of disappointment. Because chasing you had made him feel more alive than he’d felt in a long time. The hunt a high almost as sweet as combining.

• Lingering at the edge of the ravine, spark pulsing still with the excitement of your fear, Scrapper’s aware of Mixmaster and Bonecrusher shoving at each other. Of Long Haul and Scavenger both still staring down at their quarry. Turning away to order them back to work, he hesitates as Scavenger bumps his arm with a fist. “It’s still alive.” And he hears the low, pained sound from the little human. “Pretty fun to chase,” Long Haul adds, shooting him a look. Primus, are they wanting to keep you? Like a pet? All five of his brothers are staring at him now. Waiting for his decision. And groaning in defeat, he gestures at the drop. “Fine, but I’m not cleaning up after it.” Because you’re a distraction, something to keep them from dwelling on how unhappy they all are.

Next

[perrywrites]

Hiii, your absentminded murmuring and handholding writings were so good!!! The handholding scenarios were so sexy and intimate, and the murmuring ones made me laugh but we're also really hot at the same time. Would you consider extending the absentminded murmuring one to other characters? I'd love to see how you would write that scenario with Reo, Chigiri, and Kaiser (if you don't write Kaiser, since I can't see anything for him yet, then I feel like Barou/Shidou would be particularly funny (and hot)).

AAAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH, I'm so giddy, I'm glad the intimacy came across well 🤭🤭🤭 and omg... the Shidou one is 100% gonna turn into a public indecency case ngl LMFAO 😭😭😭 like w that man girly u gotta be the rational and restrained one... if you say something like that all. bets. are. OFFFF!

Also all 3 ended up being really long so for the sake of character limit, I'll be posting Kaiser right after, how does tumblr work and how do I post longer writings??? 😭😭😭

Absentmindedly murmuring that you want him inside of you during practice part 2;

NSFW 

Includes; Chigiri, Reo

Part 1 (Isagi, Hiori, Bachira) and part 3 (Kaiser, Barou) and part 4 (Nagi, Shidou, Kunigami) and part 5 (Sae, Rin, Karasu, Otoya, Yukimiya)

Where Chigiri is ‘silently’ possessive (no, because seriously, I can’t be the only one who can just smell the silent cat-like possessiveness and jealousy radiating off of Chigiri, right??), Reo is lovesick as always.

Chigiri: he can feel your eyes burning passionately into his back - he doesn’t even have to look at you to know, he has a feeling you want something… You want him. But still, he glances to catch your dazed stare, finding himself amused by how your fuzzy eyes hazily trail after his form, your pouty lips parted slightly like you’re in a trance. He’s going to have to teach you to be subtler, though, because even as he can feel his heart squeeze in his chest from how cute you are - it’s taking everything in him to be rational and not burn the eyes of every man there - because he doesn’t want anyone else to see you right now. Because that kind of adorably inviting expression on your face should only be seen by him. Not anyone else, just him. The moment it’s his break, he’s sauntering over to you, prideful for anyone else but casual for him, an eyebrow raised. Even as he’s standing infront of you, you continue to stare up at him all dreamily, so he crosses his arms, huffing exasperatedly at your dumb look. He hasn’t even touched you yet, isn’t it too soon to make such a dumbed out expression? “You’ve been staring at me all practice, and now that I’m standing infront of you, you’re just going to be silent, hm?” He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowed playfully. It’s when you say what you say, that his eyes widen instantly. And then his eyes narrow again, except this time it’s no longer playful. Oh, you dared to say that alright. You want him inside, huh? He shifts on his feet, agitated. You couldn’t wait until after practice to tell him that? He can tell you didn’t mean to entice and tempt him as you did, with how out of it you seem, but… Knowing that you’re so out of it in the first place because of how badly you want - no - need him does something to him. And all of a sudden he finds himself fantasizing about having you in a way that makes heat rush through his body, you being all adorably submissive and ready for him, obedient as you always are, all cute whines as you plead at him with your misty eyes to just give it to you already. But of course, he won’t, and this time he won’t be dragging it out for a kind of sadistic affection to see you pout and whine, or to elongate this time of intimacy as long as possible, feel you as closely as possible. Oh no, absolutely not. This time, he’ll punish you. He’ll make you wait, even as his cock is painful and aching, even as you cry out and beg for him, your walls fluttering around nothing, he’ll make you wait for daring to let yourself voice this and be so alluring somewhere another man could see you. And also because now he feels incredibly irritated that he can’t just have you right now, that he has to wait for practice to be over, dammit. For now, he reaches his hand out and roughly ruffles the top of your hair, a successful attempt to get you to snap out of your enamoured trance and get that dumbed out look off your face right now, dammit. And as you look up at him, all wide eyes and confusion, he says, “Go wait for me in the car.” Because no way in hell is he going to let you sit out here or anywhere else and let someone catch you making a face like that again. It doesn’t matter whether it’s him you’re entranced with - of course it’s him - he can’t stand the idea of another man looking at you making that kind of face when he’s the only one allowed to see you like that. Don't forget, after all, he's the one you belong to.

Reo: at first he doesn’t pay much mind to your gaze, after all he’s used to your frequent visits to his practice, and it’s not weird for you to admire your own boyfriend and cheer him on. But he starts paying mind when a teammate elbows him and chuckles discreetly, waggling a teasing eyebrow as he makes some remark about Reo’s ‘busy night’ ahead. He looks at the man for the audacity he just stupidly sprouted to be daring to make a remark about his - Reo’s - sex life; baffled and eyebrow raised, Reo throws a couple of dismissive cold words before turning away - and then he glances towards you and ah. No wonder. Well, that explains the tomfoolery that just transpired. Although Reo responded like that to his teammate’s crass comment (of course he did, who the fuck did he think he was to try and joke around with him of all people about his partner and his’ sex life? Even if they aren’t protective or possessive like him, any other half-decent of a boyfriend should be responding like him, he thinks), now he just feels excited to be the target of your lovelorn gaze. Oh, you love him that much, do you? Want him that much? A part of his brain goes mushy and fuzzy from affection, you’re just too cute, and all his. The moment it’s time for his break, he rushes over to you, impatiently, longingly, desperately - though he tries to seem like he’s normal as he smiles at you and accepts the water bottle from your loose, dangling grasp. Thanking you sweetly and in what he hopes is a casual manner, he downs his water quickly to speak to you about your persistent stare. He cups your cheek, leaning down towards you, eyes creased and pupils saturated with love. “You’ve been looking at me the whole time like that, something wrong sweetheart?” Voice an affectionate coo, he asks you, half-teasingly, expecting you to turn bashful and avert your eyes, to allow him to chase you around with teasing like always. Except you say something that makes something lodge inside of his throat instantly, smile frozen on his face from pure shock. Did you - did you just? Quietly, he asks you to repeat your words, and when you do, in a sugary melted voice, Reo is at a loss of words. You’re still looking at him all yearningly, dazed eyes thick with desire; he can tell how out of it you are. Oh, you really do want him that much right now… And wouldn’t he be a bad boyfriend if he didn’t give it to you right now when you’re all cute and desperate like this? Wouldn’t he be just the worst if he didn’t bend you over somewhere, anywhere, sometime soon, and stuffed you full of his cock? Oh, wouldn’t he be just a sick bastard undeserving of you if he didn’t trap you into a mating press and just kept jackhammering into that wet pussy just meant for him? Breed you full of his cum and love? Just keep on loving you until you cried big fat tears and begged him ‘no more Reo, ah I can’t, p-please, I’m too sensitive!’ like you always do? ‘What’s wrong sweetheart, weren’t you the one asking for it?’ He snaps out of his little daydream when his coach calls him back to practice, saying the break is over. Reo nods, but he doesn’t move, his feet stuck as he looks down at your delirious eyes. Practice be screwed, he needs to get you home now and get inside you goddammit. 

Also this was the exact expression I imagined Reo making at the nameless teammate LMFAO

[orpheusluvr]

No Space (Norton x Female Reader)

NSFW WARNING

AHHHHH I’M SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN ALMOST A MONTH - writer’s block sure is awful, as I currently have 15 unfinished idv fics just sitting there untouched in my drafts and I have no idea if I’ll ever get to continue/finish them and publish them 😔 but luckily I managed to come up with something quick and fresh rn and finish it in one sitting so WOOOOOO

This is hella rushed btw, I just needed to post something ASAP 💔

Anyways this fic is basically you and your other teammates decoding the last cipher but only 3 can decode on this one and Norton basically attempts to decode too (I think you get the idea of what happens next 🙂‍↕️) also it’s summer skin norton btw cuz it’s my fav skin and I love writing about him with it yuhhhh

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Another cipher had been decoded, which meant that there was just one more left. You found a nearby cipher and started decoding on it, while pinging your teammates to let them know your location so that they can come and help you.

The hunter was nowhere to be seen, strangely enough. Perhaps Alva was still chasing Norton, you assumed.

Naib began sprinting in your direction, while Eli also ran beside him. They both began helping you decode.

“Have any of you seen Norton?” You ask.

Naib shook his head.

“Must be busy playing with his magnets.” He scoffed.

“I’ll send Brooke to find him.” Eli said.

Just as he was about to send out his owl to search for Norton, he finally came running from the corner. His blonde hair swayed with his movements, while his open shirt flew behind him.

He stopped as he observed the cipher.

“Hm…no space for me, it seems.” He said.

“Yeah, no shit. Maybe make yourself useful and go to the exit gate while we finish this.” Naib said.

Norton gave a laugh and shook his head. He glanced at you.

“Nah, I’m gonna pass.” He said, walking towards you.

You were too busy decoding to even notice that he was right behind you. That was until you felt him. Your heart stopped for a moment as you felt his skin brush against yours as his arms moved towards the cipher.

Naib coughed.

“What the hell are you doing, Nort?” He said.

You gulped as you felt something poke against you. You knew exactly what it was, but you didn’t dare bring it up.

“I’m being useful.” He gave a crooked grin.

“Dumbass, you’re making Y/N uncomfortable. Just look at her.” Naib said, looking at you.

No, you weren’t feeling uncomfortable. In fact, you were enjoying this sensation. So much that the pool in your panties was enough evidence to back that up.

You always had a thing for Norton. Both of you would sometimes flirt here and there. But you had never imagined being in a situation like this, considering that he never decided to move things further.

Maybe the extremely short skirt you were wearing had awoken something inside him.

“Oh, my bad. Sorry Y/N, am I making you uncomfortable?” Norton whispered in your ear.

You continuously shook your head, your face reddening while struggling to speak.

“See? She’s fine.” Norton looked at Naib, who glared at him.

“Pfft, whatever. The poor girl’s probably too scared to even talk.” Naib said.

Norton moved upwards, and you immediately let out a whimper, covering your mouth in embarrassment. Naib eyed you suspiciously.

“Sorry…I failed a calibration…” you said, quietly.

Was this really happening, you ask? In front of Naib and Eli, too? Why did Norton decide to do something like this, something that you longed for so desperately, during the worst moment?

But what you didn’t know was that Norton loved taking risks.

After the cipher had finally been decoded, you let out a relieving sigh. Naib and Eli began running off to the exit gate, but Norton however had refused to move off from you.

But you were glad. Because now the both of you were finally alone. Unless Alva decided to find you.

“Norton…why are you doing this?” You ask him.

“You just look so tempting, with that skirt and everything.” He said, slowly grinding against you.

You bit your lip as you felt his clothed length graze against your clothed entrance.

“Just…be quick.” You pleaded.

Norton gave a smirk, not saying a word as he slid his hands up your thigh and pulled your panties down, then removed the belt to his shorts and freed his throbbing cock.

You arched your back, giving him easier access to his goal.

“Fuck…I never knew I’d ever be able to see you in this position.” He laughed to himself.

He pushed himself all the way in, his tip kissing your sweet spot in an instant. You threw your head back and let out a loud moan, feeling blissful at this sensation.

“The other 2 must be waiting for us so we gotta…finish…quick…” you panted.

“Don’t worry, I don’t go slow.” Norton whispered in your ear. And he was right. He immediately thrusted at such a quick pace that it was hard to keep up with his movements as your body was violently being rocked back and forth against the cipher machine. He slid a hand up your shirt, caressing one of your breasts and playing with the nipple while his other hand grabbed tightly against the side of your waist.

“Ngh…you feel so good…so damn good…” Norton groaned, feeling satisfied at the way your walls hugged his cock so tightly.

You felt like you were about to reach your climax, when all of a sudden your heartbeat increased. And it wasn’t because of Norton.

“N-Nort…” you whimpered.

“Hm? Gotta cum?” He said, completely unaware of what was going on.

“H-Hunter…nearby…” you managed to say.

Norton then realised that his heart was also beating fast.

“Shit…” he said, slowly pulling out.

You both lowered yourselves, trying your best to hide. Norton protectively held you close, your head resting against his bare chest while your legs quivered, still awaiting your climax which was slowly fading away due to the fear that had taken over your pleasure.

Alva was still nowhere to be seen, and eventually your heartbeats returned to normal.

Norton gently lifted you up in his arms.

“We should continue this at the manor where it’s safer.” He said.

You nodded, but then let out a sigh. You weren’t able to hit your climax, and the feeling was making you uneasy, but at least this time you wouldn’t have any interruptions. Hopefully.

[sbdskate]

Laws Of Attraction (Part 10) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies(kind of) -> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings (18+): sickening amount of fluff, language, angst, *SMUT*: oral (m + f receiving), fingering, hand job, p in v, overstimulation if you blink

Word Count: 6,892

A/N: If you’re here, congratulations! You made it to the end. A big thank you to everyone that has commented, shared, liked, etc. I can’t believe it’s been over a year since my first post. I had a vision when I started writing this in the middle of the 2022 season, not quite sure where it would lead, but I’m happy with where it landed and I hope you are too. I hope you like wine with your cheese, because this is ~cheesy~. Also, this is my first time writing smut so (1) if you are a minor please do not proceed; (2) if you do like/read smut, I would appreciate any kind of feedback. A big thank you to @cutelittlefakejourneys and @burningcupcakefire for beta-ing. Thank you @paddockbunny, @monzabee, and @silverstonesainz for the insights and words of encouragement. As always, thank you for reading.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue 1

Daniel paced the hallway. He wasn’t accustomed to not getting what he wanted. Sure, in the last few months he had had his fair share of disappointments, but this was different. He was tempted to knock on your door until you answered, but thought the better of it.

He played through the moment in his head again, no different than analyzing a post-race debrief. What went wrong and how could he improve? He was professional during the signing. He knew you loved Geri, you only casually brought up Ginger Spice in conversation no less than a dozen times over the last few months. He knew you’d love to actually meet her – who knows, if everything went well it certainly wouldn’t be the last time for you. He didn’t force himself on you – at this point he knew you were like a cat and he needed to wait for you to come to him or else he’d scare you off. It seemed like the only thing keeping you from ripping each other’s clothes off was your job. Or so he thought.

Now he was confused. It was clear you hadn’t meant to say what you said – but you said it. I could kiss you. Can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube. Four words that looped in his brain. He had spent so much time dissecting the meaning of the word “could,” he felt like he could be a lawyer too. But he had taken his time closing the space between you in the hallway. When he leaned in, you leaned in too. You had ample time to tell him off if he had misconstrued the whole thing, and he would never think less of you if you did, but you didn’t.

No, what just happened was not a rejection. You were just skittish. Like a cat hiding under a bed, you just needed to be coaxed out – slowly. You were food motivated, he’d learned that about you during your first outing in Belgium when you put down more bon bons than he thought was humanly possible. Yes, all you needed was to be approached with patience and understanding - and maybe the promise of a full belly.

-

You leaned against the door and squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassment already crashing over you like a tidal wave. You knew you were being ridiculous and immature. What was it that you were still afraid of?

You stripped off your suit immediately, it felt stuffy and heavy as you overheated, the reminder of your attorney-client relationship falling to the floor. You threw on the first thing you grabbed out of your bag - why did it have to be that pesky yellow dress again?

You paced your room for what felt like hours. Your professional activities with Daniel had officially come to its natural conclusion and yet you were still hesitant to move forward. It didn’t help that you were in a country that banned the cohabitation of unmarried couples, so really, what were you even going to do?

Despite the confessions exchanged back in Mexico and the kiss in Brazil, it was never guaranteed that anything would actually happen once Daniel’s legal affairs were settled. Frankly, you still weren’t fully convinced the conversations ever actually happened. You refused to believe the lingering stares and little touches that lasted a little too long were anything more than pure coincidence.

In spite of all of it, you remained unconvinced about how Daniel actually felt about you. Over the years of failed relationships and first dates that ranged from awkward to bad, you had grown wary and skeptical of romantic pursuits. For all you knew, all his lip-service was simply an elaborate ruse to get in your pants. You thought on this worst case scenario, which really wasn’t so bad. God forbid you have one night stand with a Formula 1 driver and live to tell the tale. It would be a lie to say you wouldn’t be hurt at first if you were correct, but you would eventually be fine. You had been happily single and independent for years, it would simply be a return to your de facto state.

And even if you could take him at his word, you couldn’t help but wonder what that relationship would look like when you had to resume work for other clients and the luxury of constant travel and proximity ceased. How would you continue to keep in touch? How often would you actually be able to see each other in person? Your first relationship was with The Firm, and you knew you weren’t ready to give up your livelihood for him. Then there was the other issue of paparazzi and tabloids - the forced spotlight that would fall on you, resulting in the lack of privacy and anonymity. You had no desire for fame, yet he seemed to be designed for it. You could go toe-to-toe with opposing counsel any day, but you weren’t sure you had his mental fortitude to withstand the cruel and unsolicited opinions of strangers on the internet.

You weighed the pros and cons over and over again in your head. For someone with such a demanding job, it made no sense that it all felt so overwhelming and complicated. But it was telling that the Australian was the first person you wanted to confide in. He was the only one who could ever quiet the constant hurricane in your mind that caused you to spiral if left unchecked. In this moment, you needed him to ground you.

You had been raised to leave hotel room minibars alone unless you wanted to bankrupt you and your entire family for two generations. Going against everything you believed, you took a nip from the stock. Hoping the small amount of liquid courage would do the trick, you checked your reflection in the mirror one last time before venturing to the room next door. You would simply have to assume the risk of the unknown aftermath.

With shaking hands, you opened the door only to be met with Daniel’s presence before you. He jumped slightly at the sudden movement. You did a poor job hiding your astonishment that left you frozen in place.

“Oh… hi?” Your eyes remained wide. He looked around and scratched the back of his head, appearing to be as surprised and confused as you were.

“Hi – I uh,” he took a moment to give you a once over. “I’m sorry are you about to go somewhere? You look nice.” You felt your face turn red immediately, the bravery you built up moments ago dissipating in an instance. He shifted his weight, quickly correcting himself. “Not that you don’t always look nice! I just – you look nicer than usual. I mean-” He seemed uncharacteristically nervous and was digging himself a hole. You looked around the hall to ensure it was empty and took a deep breath to save him from digging any deeper.

“Yes actually. I was going to see you.” He seemed surprised and relieved at the answer.

“No way, I was about to see you!” He shook his head when he saw you bite back a smile. “Obviously, I’ve been standing outside your door,” he laughed nervously, his confidence shrinking by the second. “Not for very long though! You didn’t need to know that. But I wanted to come to say I’m sorry about before, I was too forward back there. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just figured, you know, since we went pencils down and everything, maybe we could-”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” You walked backwards as you took his hand, leading him through the doorway. He didn’t fight your lead.

“-you don’t know what I was going to ask.” You leaned back, allowing the door to click behind you under your weight.

“It doesn’t matter. The answer is yes.” You gave him a reassuring smile and gently squeezed his hand bringing him closer. “With you it will always be yes.” It seemed both of you were at a loss for words, but they were unnecessary as he took a step towards you closing the small gap that remained. His eyes were enchantingly curious as they gazed into yours. You only looked away for a millisecond, distracted by the tongue that broke free from his mouth to moisten his plump lips. You took a deep inhale in anticipation, your heartbeat bordering on palpitations as his lips closed in.

The moment they met yours, immediately you knew you never wanted boundaries with this man ever again. One hand cupped the side of your face while the other grabbed your waist to pull you closer. You wrapped your arms around his neck in an effort to eliminate any remaining iota of space between the two of you. Your lips danced and moved together in unison, neither of you wanting to come up for air. His firm calloused hands roamed your body, unsure of where to rest. There were so many parts of you he had never touched before and he wanted desperately to become acquainted with them as quickly as possible. He squeezed your shoulders, ran them down the lengths of your arms, moved to the small of your back up towards your neck, in your hair.

The feverishness of it all began to slow, as he tried to memorize every peak and valley. He reverently moved his hands from your waist, dragging them up the length of your spine, one hand finding its way to your hair as though he wanted to remember every hair follicle, the other keeping your body firmly pressed against his. The leisurely pace only teased you, and each spot he touched left your body buzzing. He slowly brought his other hand to find yours again, repositioning so your fingers interlocked. The sweet gesture felt suddenly sinful when he pinned them to the wall, dragging them up the door until they were next to your head. The motion made your head spin, warmth spreading between your thighs, and you inadvertently let out a soft moan.

Ravenous for more, he firmly pressed your bodies together against the door, almost knocking the wind out of you. He pulled away only for a moment, his eyes pleading.

Can I?

You nodded your head frantically, capturing his mouth once more while guiding his hands to the parts you desperately needed touched. One gently cupped your breast while the other roughly grabbed your ass, kneading the muscles underneath. You both groaned in unison at the new sensation.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you,” he mouthed breathlessly before finding your neck, hoping the feeling was mutual. You didn’t say anything back, but he could tell from the pant of your breath and the pulse under his lips that it was. You threw your head back as he sucked, licked, and nipped at the sweet spot as he gently grazed his thumb over your bra, immediately feeling your nipple form into a stiff peak underneath. Being mindful of your noise level, you bit back a moan that ended up coming out as a pathetic whimper. You shamelessly pushed your hips against his and squeezed his hand on your breast, encouraging him to explore and desperate for more contact.

You instinctively widened your stance for him to perch himself between your legs. His hand played with the waistband of your underwear through your dress, trailing down to your inner upper thigh.

“Stop teasing,” you hissed. He only smiled into the kiss in response, his tongue pushing into your mouth to shut you up.

Your hands followed their own curious whims. Those pecs that you had gotten an eyeful of several times felt warm and firm under your touch. Your palm dragged down the ripples of his abs, gently landing over the front of his pants. You gasped feeling him harden under your touch for the first time, eliciting a low growl from him in return. His hips pushed forward in frustration, eager for more. You allowed him some relief, undoing his belt and pants, cautiously reaching inside. Your eyes widened.

“Holy shit,” you muttered as you grabbed around his length, your hand suddenly feeling quite small. He looked you dead in the eye, that familiar cocky smirk and twinkle returning to his face.

“Come on,” he flashed you a wicked grin. “You knew it had to be big.” You laughed at his boldness, which only inspired him to double down. “I know how to use it too.”

“That’s some awfully big talk.” You already had goosebumps from your head to your toes, but you weren’t going to let him know that just yet. You would make sure he worked for it. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“It’s not the only thing I know how to use.”

He captured your mouth in a gentle, chaste kiss as he used one hand to pull up the hem of your dress. His other hand snuck under the skirt, slowly dragging it across your skin. Rough and calloused from racing, they felt tantalizingly delicate.

“I was going to prove it, but it looks like I already convinced you.” He drew little spirals around your clit over your panties, barely applying any pressure. You bit your lip and looked up to the ceiling, praying for relief from the building tension. To your chagrin, his hand began to pull away.

“No. Please,” was all you could muster, your brain searching for more eloquent words that escaped you.

“Please what?” You reached for his crotch, hoping the action would suffice as an answer, but he grabbed your wrist to pin it to the door. “You have to use your words.” You felt the words on his breath that seeped through your skin.

“Please touch me.” Frustrated, you used your free hand to try to get him to fully take your dress off which was only getting in the way. He obliged, releasing your other hand to get a hold of the fabric. You put your arms up as he gathered the material over your head. Throwing the garment aside, he pulled away slightly to observe you for a moment. His eyes widening as they moved down your frame, trying and failing to hide his growing smirk.

“Do you always wear pretty underwear when you close a deal? Or are these for me?” He played with the pink lacy textile between his fingers, admiring how they accentuated the contour of your waist and hips.

“Both,” you gasped as he dragged a finger down your front. It passed over your clit, down to the fabric covering your entrance, smiling feeling how embarrassingly soaked you already were through the thin material.

With a chaste kiss on the cheek, he proceeded to leave a trail of kisses down your neck, chest, stomach, until he reached the hem of fabric. He continued over the garment, bypassing the spot he knew you needed him to your inner thigh. The gentle touches and the scruff of his beard almost tickled, panting as he moved down your body.

He looped his thumbs around the sides of your thong, pausing to look up hopefully for permission. You nodded with lidded, lustful eyes. He couldn’t hide his dimples and he continued to tease, dragging your panties slowly down your legs, taking care to pick up each foot to get you out of them. Your heart swelled as you observed him treating you so delicately, like a fragile porcelain doll. His trail of kisses started again from the bottom, beginning at your ankle, to the inside of your knee and again to your upper thigh until he reached an apex.

“Hold on.” You weren’t sure what he meant at first. Then without warning, he grabbed your hip and threw your opposite leg over his shoulder, finally diving into your center. Your hands instinctively found their way to his head to stabilize yourself, accidentally letting out a yelp in the process which soon after turned into a low moan as his tongue swirled slow circles around your clit. “You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled into your skin.

The vision of him on his knees fully clothed, contrasted with your nakedness enhanced his touch and sent you spiraling. Your hands raked through his gorgeous curls as he lapped you up. The pressure he applied gradually increased, culminating to him inserting a finger in you, then two. You slapped a hand over your mouth as the pressure pooled and he found his rhythm with his tongue and fingers. He knew you were close when your legs started to shake and squeezed around him. The waves came crashing over you as you bucked your hips erratically. He removed his fingers so that he could stabilize you, but his mouth never stopped.

He finally put your other leg back on the ground when your hips slowed and stood up. Your legs almost buckled from underneath you but he caught you before you could fall, lifting you to walk to the bed.

You watched him carry you wordlessly, your brain still short circuiting from your orgasm only knowing enough to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. Not because you thought he’d drop you, but because you wanted to be as close to him as possible. It still wasn’t close enough.

He sat himself down on the bed with you landing in his lap, legs still wrapped tightly. There had never been a time where the two of you have been in the same room and exchanged so few words. You continued to stare at each other, simply amazed to be in the same space and sharing skin after three long anguished months of resisting forbidden fruit.

Your gaze fell to his swollen lips that you desperately wanted to taste again, still shiny with your essence. His hand pressed up your back until he grabbed a fistful of hair, bringing you in fervently for another kiss. It was the kind of kiss that enveloped you, that turned your legs to water and caused currents in you to flow creating bountiful energy that begged for release. Your hands roamed from his shoulders, down his chest and abs to the hem of his shirt. The two of you pried it off together and he threw it somewhere on the floor. Your mouths met again gluing your torsos together, your currents crashing in a tidal wave of electricity and emotion.

You unwrapped your legs to straddle him, lightly pushing him backwards. He pulled you with him as you both fell into the bed, smiling into each other and little giggles filling the air. You rolled your hips over him, annoyed with the layers that still separated you from the waist down. You reached down, sloppily pushing at his pants to demonstrate your displeasure. He understood your message, weaving his arms past you to finish the job and shimmying his legs until they were off. You reached down the waistband of his boxer briefs, teasing your fingertips just underneath but not going further. It thrilled you to feel his muscles tense underneath your touch. He nipped your bottom lip when your hand moved further south, and you could feel his jaw clench.

He pulled away suddenly, and you couldn’t place the look on his face which made you nervous.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! It’s just…” his hand cupped the side of your face, caressing your cheek. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

Your heart swelled at how delicate he was with you, at how much he cared. But you didn’t want to be treated delicately. And now you almost felt bad about how much you’d teased him up to this point. Almost.

“Do you know,” you said sitting up, your hand ghosting over the outline of him through his boxer briefs, “I had a sex dream about you. Right before the Japanese Grand Prix.”

“No,” he ground out.

“You had my legs spread on a desk in some McLaren office.” You felt his whole body clench again as you slid the last piece of clothing down his legs. As though the thought hadn’t crossed his mind every time you admonished him for not paying attention or not taking things seriously in those early days. The frequency of course increased, to every time you bent over, smiled, or played with your hair, to simply existing. For once, he was the one blushing and you found it entirely endearing. “I’ve literally dreamt of fucking you for three months. I want you and I need you. Now.”

His pupils dilated at your words, and his hands moved possessively from your face down to your ass where his fingers sank into your skin hoping to mark and keep you. He tried to find the words to communicate how badly he wanted and needed you too, but blood was no longer flowing to his brain and no words seemed perfect enough for you. His shaft twitched against his toned stomach, eager for your touch. You relieved him, wrapping your full hand around his impressive length pumping up and down a few times, your gentle grip slowly firming with each stroke.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. His hand found your waist and you felt his grip tighten as you continued. You slithered down his body until your mouth aligned with him, spitting over his tip. He felt voyeuristic watching the saliva drip from your tongue. You looked up to see him gripping the sheets for dear life.

“Is that alright?” He nodded fervently.

“Only if you want to,” he croaked out. Bless this man, who just wanted to make sure you were comfortable even though it looked like his eyes were going to roll back into his head.

“I do. Very much,” you insisted. You dragged your tongue slowly from the base of his shaft to his tip. “You made me feel good.” Lick. “Now I want to make you feel good.” His shallow breath hitched when you finally took him in your mouth. Your eyes watered as he hit the back of your throat, you looked up to make sure he was still breathing. You found him slack jawed, but eyes full of lust. He brought a hand to your head. You prepared your gag reflex expecting him to force your rhythm, but instead simply pushed your hair out of your face.

“Fuck, you look so good.” You felt the slickness spread between your thighs at his praise, adding a hand to his base where your mouth couldn’t quite reach. You increased your speed, moaning into him. He happily absorbed the vibrations, reflexively bucking his hips into you. You tasted salty precum at his tip and could tell he was close.

“W-wait,” you slowed your pace but didn’t remove him as you looked up again. “I don’t want to finish yet. Not like this.” You slowly pried yourself off him, finishing with a satisfying *pop* as you released him. You saw his chest rise and fall at an alarming rate. He helped pull you up, interlocking your fingers in the process.

“What do you want?” you asked, knowing you would do whatever came out of his mouth without hesitation.

“Grab my jeans?” You couldn't hide your skepticism, but nonetheless begrudgingly left the nicest seat you’ve ever known to find his pants somewhere on the floor. You resumed your spot on his lap as he frantically searched his pockets, finally locating his wallet and fished out a condom. Everything else found its way back to the ground. Eyes wide, he maintained a death grip on the condom. “You’re sure?”

You smiled. You thumbed his jawline as you brought your foreheads together. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” It took him about four seconds to process what you said, but when he did closed the gap between your lips in a messy and desperate kiss that sucked the air out of you. It dizzied him too and only pulled away when he remembered he had to open the condom. You leaned back to give him some space as he struggled with the wrapper. His brow furrowed in frustration as he tried to steady his shaky hands.

“I swear I’m usually a lot smoother than this,” he muttered. You bit back a laugh.

“I believe you.”  

“You just make me nervous,” he admitted, uncharacteristically bashful. “In case you couldn’t tell.”

“Hardly noticed,” you said sarcastically, but reassured him with a giggle. “It’s very endearing, if it makes you feel any better.” You calmly grabbed it from him.

“It does,” he confessed as he let you take it from his hands. Without breaking eye contact, you ripped the wrapper easily with your teeth. You felt him twitch under you as you wriggled yourself against him in content, allowing him to feel your arousal. He swallowed thickly. “Where did you learn that?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” you smirked. You moved off him for a moment, and he took the chance to stroke himself a few times, watching you absentmindedly. How your hair, now perfectly tousled, fell around your shoulders. How gravity worked miracles on the swell of your breasts. How your waist sloped into your hips and thighs. You patiently presented the condom back to him and he used all his concentration to take it from you to roll it down his length. He looked at you hopefully when he was done and you rewarded him with another kiss, your hair cascading around the two of you creating a protective curtain around your new little intimate universe.

You both watched as you eased yourself onto his cock, voyeurs of your own lust. Your moans harmonized as he bottomed out. You felt deliciously stretched and full. Complete. You began slow to adjust to his size, teasing him in the process with your agonizing pace, rising up to the point of almost dismount before sinking back down again engulfing his full length.

“Does this feel good?” you cooed, already knowing the answer as you swirled your hips with him bottomed out inside you, tormentingly slow.

“Yes. Fuck yes,” he groaned as he palmed your ass. “You’re so fucking tight.” You dragged a hand from his chest, down the ripples of his abs, towards where the two of you intercepted. With his jaw clenched, he sank his fingers in your hips, trying unsuccessfully to steady them as you continued to rock. “You look so good with me inside you.”

He lifted his hips to meet yours as proof of his enjoyment, the new angle jolting you forward slightly. A moan escaped as you found a rhythm as you rolled your hips back and forth, itching for the friction of his skin against your already swollen clit. Your pace quickened as his length hit that sacred spot deep in your core over and over. The bounce of your tits mesmerized him. Unable to resist, his mouth found a nipple, flicking his tongue back and forth over the sensitive peak that had you seeing stars.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you whimpered. You felt the pressure pool and coil in your lower abdomen. Your eyes closed when he grabbed the back of your head, gently pulling your hair.

“Look at me. I want you to look at me when you come.” All you could do was nod in response, worried that any sound you might let out at that point would alert the whole building. It was impossible to look away from his gaze even if you wanted to. You bit your lip as the pressure continued to build, hypnotized by the repetition and sensory overload. You rocked back onto him a final time before reaching your release, collapsing on forward onto his chest and his name falling off your tongue like a prayer as your hips slowed and stuttered.

Yes

Daniel

He’d never heard a more beautiful sound before. His mouth caught yours again, absorbing the moans that continued as you rode out your orgasm. He wrapped an arm around your lower back to pull you flush to his chest and began to upthrust, building to an excruciating pace. You held onto his shoulders for dear life.

“W-what are you doing?” You knew you sounded pathetic, barely able to form the sentence. He smirked.

“Getting you to Number Three.”

“I can’t,” you whined. He pulled you close and rolled the two of you over, taking care to remain buried inside of you. You gasped at the sudden movement, eyes wide when you landed on your back.

“Three’s my lucky number.” He gave a few slow pumps before pushing himself up to spread your legs. He admired the change in your face at each new angle, each expression more perfect than the next. He brought his thumb down to your clit and watched you whither under his touch. With the new view he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “Don’t worry, I’ll do the work this time.”

You couldn’t argue with his logic. The only response you could give were incantations of profanities as he fucked you into the mattress and his gentle finger rubbing the sensitive nub just above where your bodies joined. He glistened as beads of sweat formed over his body, enhancing the contours of his muscles with each thrust. It was all too much. You felt your walls begin to clench again, your body eagerly anticipating its reward.

Daniel saw your mouth mold into an “o”, the slight twitch of your muscles, and felt the pressure that was building inside you. He prayed you were close knowing that his stamina would soon run out.

“That’s it. Come for me.” Daniel counted his blessings that he should be so lucky to have a front row seat, not once, not twice, but three times to your orgasms. You were so beautiful. Too beautiful. He couldn’t stop himself from chasing his own high as he watched you twist and contort under him. His thrusts became more frantic and erratic as your moans filled the room until he spilled into you, lurching forward but catching himself before fully collapsing on top of you.

Finally the motions stopped, except for the quickened rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch your breath. You blinked at each other a few times, still unable to move or think. Daniel broke the silence.

“Holy shit.” You couldn’t help the stupid grin that formed. You pressed a hand to his cheek just to make sure he was still real.

“That good, huh?” He begrudgingly began to move and pulled out of you, rolling over to your side. He propped himself on his elbow and looked down on you, absentmindedly drawing patterns on your soft belly.  

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to grab dinner. But that was way better.” You both laughed as you nuzzled into each other, still peppering the other with butterfly kisses and holding onto the belief that the world was the size of a queen-size bed.

Eventually he got up to go to the bathroom. As soon as he left your side, the intrusive thoughts returned and you began mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable goodbye. You watched silently as he searched the floor for his underwear, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil. This was fun you repeated in your head. It will be a good story to tell you tried convincing yourself.  

He came back to bed and snuggled up against you.

“Now what?” he asked innocently. You squinted back at him, laughing slightly.  

“That’s an awfully loaded question, don’t you think?” He seemed confounded for a moment.

“I mean, I was just thinking we could get food now? What were you thinking?” You forgot that men could be such simple creatures. Maybe it was the audacity that allowed them to go about life blissfully unaware or unconcerned about hypothetical what if’s and unintended consequences of their actions. But for now, maybe you needed to think like a man too. You didn’t need to solve all the world’s problems in one night. Maybe all you needed was to just enjoy whatever this was for whatever time was left before you got on a flight tomorrow to return to reality.

“Yeah, I guess I worked up an appetite.” He broke into a wide grin. He grabbed your face to bless you with a kiss on the forehead before fetching the menu.

“Great. I’ll order us room service.”

-

Your eyes fluttered open the next morning. Scenes from the night before played on a loop in your head. Sweaty bodies entangled in a sea of limbs. In your experience, men who were that charismatic and that good looking rarely knew what to do with the bodies they had been blessed with. And yet…

You were afraid to open your eyes, not ready to let go of the memory that brought a smile to your face so you kept them closed a bit longer. Instead, you extended a hesitant hand to the other side of the bed expecting to feel the warm body of your evening companion, but you felt nothing. You reluctantly opened your eyes.

“Dan?” Your voice was soft and hoarse from sleep. Nothing. Maybe he hadn’t heard you.

“Daniel?” You tried again, a bit louder this time. Still no response.

You slowly got out of bed half asleep, the line between your dreams and the real world still not quite defined. You zombie-walked to the window, delicately drawing back the blackout curtains of the hotel room. You winced as your eyes adjusted to the natural light. Your clothes were still on the floor where they had been unceremoniously discarded, but the other outfit that had kept them company had disappeared. Your heart fell.

“Daniel?” you tried one last time, voice cracking slightly. Maybe he was in the bathroom. Maybe he had eaten something bad yesterday. You knocked on the door before cautiously opening it. You stood in the doorway a beat too long, unable to move from the empty space. He had been so convincing, so charming, and you fell for it. You had been so guarded and careful, you thought you had sniffed out any unsavory motives and you still were left feeling used and abandoned.

You blinked back tears before they could fall, hiding your defeat from no one in particular in the privacy of your hotel room. You wiped your eyes, chugged a glass of water, for some masochist reason put on your Enchante sweatshirt and got back into bed. It was still early, maybe you could sleep another few hours before you had to get ready to go to the airport. Maybe that sleep would help you forget and ease the overwhelming humiliation and melancholy that fell over you.

As you began to drift off, a noise at the door startled you awake. You realized it was the sound of the door key and grabbed sheets to cover yourself quickly, unsure what else to do.

“I’m not ready for housecleaning!” you yelled uncertainly, praying it was in fact hotel staff and not a burglar.

“Hey hey hey, it’s just me. Good morning to you too.” You slowly peaked your head from under the covers, shocked at the sound of the reassuring, achingly familiar Australian accent. The driver stood in the foyer, his hands overflowing with bags and precariously balancing two coffee cups. You sat up a bit more as you processed the sight in front of you.

“What-?” you trailed off. He seemed nervous, but a smile never left his face.

“I, uh, wanted to surprise you with breakfast. There’s a little place down the street. But you looked so peaceful sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you, so I grabbed your room key. But I realized when I got there I didn’t know what you liked, and my phone died, so I kind of got one of everything…I hope that’s ok. I didn’t mean to scare you –“

As he rambled, you had silently gotten out of bed to grab the cups from his hands, placing them on the table along with the insane amount of bags, one by one. With all obstacles removed, you enveloped your arms around his neck and stamped his lips with a kiss. He was surprised by the sudden gesture but returned it eagerly, his hands still familiarizing themselves with you. He blinked a few times when you pulled away.

“I promise I will get breakfast for you every day if you like it that much.” You laughed with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and you looked away.

“I thought you left,” your small voice shrank in embarrassment that you had jumped to conclusions so quickly. You couldn’t bring yourself to explain further.

But you didn’t have to. He wrapped you in a bear hug crushing you into his chest, his lips nuzzled into the crown of your head, his body heat invigorating you.

“I’m sorry, I should have texted or let you know where I was.”

“No, it’s silly. I was being overdramatic.”

“It’s not silly. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“But what does that mean?” you asked in exasperation. He pulled away and looked at you in disbelief that you would even ask such a question.

“What do you want it to mean?” You bit your lip in frustration.

“Daniel, don’t be obtuse. In a couple of hours we’re getting on different planes to go to opposite sides of the world.”

“And?”

“We’re not going to see each other.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I know people with private jets.”

“I still have to work.”

“I’ll come to you.”

“My apartment is small.”

“I can pack light.”

“What if you meet someone else when we’re not together?” He let out an irritated sigh.

“I don’t want to meet anyone else.”

You were stumped. He could read the confused look on your face and gently grabbed the sides of your shoulders. “You know, for someone so smart you can be really dumb sometimes.” You crossed your arms.

“Hey!”

“I know it’s hard for you to believe for some reason, but I want to give this a real shot. I want to take you on a proper date. See what things look like when I’m not paying you to spend time with me.”

You looked down, feeling a little guilty about how much you doubted him. You couldn’t help that you were risk averse by nature.

“Did you just… Socratic method me to get me to understand that you like me?”

“Did it work?”

“Let’s just say you have a bright future as a law school professor if this whole driving thing doesn’t work out.” You paused for a moment, still trying to wrap your head around everything. “So… you really want to give this a go?” He rolled his eyes.

“Is it really that hard to believe?”

“I mean – yeah, a little. The world that you operate in is just so much different than mine. Your world consists of beautiful people.”

“You’re beautiful,” he retorted. You blushed but didn’t let the comment throw you off your stride.

“You know what I mean. Your world is glamorous and luxurious. My world is average. It’s a lot of take-out, it’s late nights on the phone with Joe, it’s boring suits, it’s work - without the recognition and without the spotlight. You could have any actress or model or singer in the world and you pick me. Can you blame me for being skeptical?” His face fell slightly as he realized that you didn’t think your shine was bright enough for him. But it was quickly replaced with something mischievous.

“What are you talking about? You’re a singer,” he said matter-of-factly. You rolled your eyes.

“You’ve unfortunately seen me do karaoke, we both know that’s a lie.”

“Your morning shower performances beg to differ.” He laughed at the terror that flashed before your eyes as you threw your hands over your mouth, but quickly reassured you. “I’ve listened to you every morning since we got here. It’s the best part of my day, until I see you.” He pried your hands from your face, holding them in his. “And the last thing you are, is average. Can we please just try?”

You bit your lip, unable to contain the blush spurred by his words of affirmation. The squeeze of his hands on yours caused the dormant butterflies in your stomach to flutter their delicate wings and rise to your chest. A comforting warmth enveloped you, it rose to your cheeks and the answer was there plain as day on your face for him and the world to see. No, it couldn’t hurt to try.

“Only if… you’ll do a duet with me.” After holding his breath for what seemed like eternity, his joy and happiness hanging in the balance waiting for your response, he broke into a toothy grin that used every dimple and laugh line on his face. Without skipping a beat, he threw you over his shoulder and made his way to the bathroom leaving a trail of your giggles in his wake.

“I’m ready for my audition.”

[suniix]

small bite | (botw) link x reader

synopsis | reader gets cute agression and bites link

word count | 624

note | two posts in one day is insane but sorry i’ve fallen into a rabbit hole ever since totk came out so have another blurb!! 😣 first time writing for link so idk how i feel about it 💔 (also yes i just did one for inumaki i like the idea leave me alone)

The campfire made crackling sounds as Link fed it more logs. The sun had set long ago, the moon rising to take its place and casting a white glow across the land. The two of you had been traveling for a long time without breaks, so when you suggested that the two of you should rest for the night, Link offered no complaints. You were tired, the horses were tired; a break would benefit everyone.

You sat on the ground, far enough away so you wouldn’t get burned but close enough to still feel the warmth of the fire. Link took a seat right next to you on the floor, holding up mushroom skewers with a grin.

“Seriously? We just ate not too long ago.” You laughed, accepting the skewer nonetheless.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the small dinner Link had made (though, to be honest, you know he’ll make more, his stomach is like a void that never gets full). Finishing your skewer, you close your eyes, basking in the ambiance of the night. Somewhere in the distance, there was a cricket chirping. The grass tickled your legs as a small breeze passed through, making you shiver. It’s moments like this that give you hope for a new life after Ganon is defeated. Soon, you’ll have peaceful nights like this every day.

A rustling sound brings you out of your thoughts. Turning to look at Link, you noticed him preparing another skewer. You hold back a laugh, knowing you were right. Link hears you nonetheless and raises an eyebrow, almost as if saying, ‘What?’. You wave him off, a small giggle managing to escape. “It’s nothing, you keep eating.”

Link rolls his eyes, but you don’t fail to see the small smile growing on his lips. It’s not often that you get to see it, but he has a really nice smile. You wish you had the Sheikah slate right now to capture it.

In this moment, you can’t help but admire how beautiful he is. The light from the fire gave his sun-kissed skin a golden glow. His eyelashes are long, something you’ve commented on several times while on your journey together, casting shadows against his cheeks. Actually, his cheeks are unusually round today.

You’re tempted to squish them.

Silently debating whether or not to squish, you figure he wouldn’t mind. He does it often to you; this is only fair. Link turns to look at you as you lean in, half expecting you to kiss him, but instead you cup his cheeks. He gives a confused hum as you gently squish them for a few moments.

Slowly, you begin to pull him close to you. Now, Link thinks, now is when you give him a kiss. To his surprise, you bit his cheek. He doesn’t pull away; he just silently sits there as you bite his cheek.

When you pull away, Link is sitting there, confused. Link raises his skewer to you, gesturing for you to take it. This causes you to burst out laughing. “No no! I’m not hungry haha, just wanted to bite your cheek!”

“.. you sure?” Link asks, half expecting you to bite his cheek again.

“Yes, Link, I’m sure.” You laugh. You grab his free arm and wrap it around your shoulder, snuggling into his side for warmth.

Link goes back to eating, pulling you closer with his arm, still wondering where your sudden urge to bite him came from. While he was distracted, you turned to his arm that’s wrapped around your shoulder and bit his forearm. He flinches, once again caught off guard.

“If you’re hungry, please tell me.. I promise I didn’t eat everything and can make you another skewer.”

thank you for reading till the end! :D

masterlist

[shysuccubusstuff]

day 5: first time! diluc

Content: Anal + First time + Praise kink + Degradation kink + Creampie + Squirt + Aftercare + Non proof-reader.

Word count: 1,6K

Note: Sorry for posting late, I'm filled with assignments... Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, let me know if you have any character you want me to write about!

It had been such a long day at your work, being forced to smile to all those half-drunken men while you tried to avoid them from touching you. You let yourself melt against the cold bed, feeling completely drained from working at the Angel’s Share. That day Diluc had been unable to go to the tavern, as he had to stay at home doing vast amounts of paperwork, then attending to a few meetings with representatives from other regions.

Suddenly, you felt two warm hands on your waist, without moving an inch, you felt your tiredness fading away. “Diluc?” He didn’t say a single word, simply snuzzling against your neck, smelling your sweet fragrance against your skin. You run your fingers through his hair, making him feel a bit shy from acting all clingy with her lovely wife. “Did you miss me that much?” He turned you around, his face slightly flushed as both of you locked eyes.

“I did. The negotiations were draining, I almost felt my brain trying to leave my own head.” Diluc rested his head against your shoulder, leaving soft kisses all over your shoulder and clavicle. “I missed you so much dear.” He wrapped his arms around you, his chest pounding rapidly against your ear, just another proof of how much he loved you. It didn’t take much time for you to start feeling something hard pressing against you. Even if you tried to act completely innocent, it was almost impossible to simply ignore the bulge that was pressing against the curvature of your ass. “I…I’m sorry, dear. I’ve been quite stressed and being this close to you has made me a bit… excited.”  Diluc’s face flushed as he tried to get away, being quickly stopped by your own hands grabbing his hands and making them stay in place.

“There’s nothing to feel ashamed of, right?” You smiled at him, moving one of your hands towards the bulge that had already formed in his pants. “Let me take care of it, yeah?” Just as you were about to kneel down, his gloved hands stopped you.

“Dear, I… I think I can handle this on my own, I don’t want to bother you, plus, you must be tired as well from work. Let me just get this done quickly so---” You pinched his cheek, interrupting his monologue.

“Why would I leave my cute husband to “handle” it on his own? It’s not like I don’t miss your body against mine every night, you know?” His face flushed even further, making it almost as if his face was somewhat matching his hair.

“It’s just that I got some… weird thoughts because of one of the gentlemen who assisted to the meeting, you don’t have to concern yourself, really.” Diluc moved away, slowly getting undressed as he got himself comfortable. While he unbuttoned his shirt, you walked up to him, touching his warm skin while letting your hands trailing down his abdomen.

“Don’t you want to tell me all about them…? I’m ready for everything you want, you know?” Your hands kept massaging his upper body, going up and down his abs and leaving soft kisses on the curve of his neck, sending goosebumps all over his body.

“He… He talked about some new fun he had found with his fiancé… they tried…well, tried uh…doing it from behind…” His face was about to burst, his hands playing with the buttons of his shirt. You smiled playfully, touching his chest and letting your fingers play around his nipples.

“Don’t you want to try it? I’m ready if you want to…” You whispered against his ear, tempting him as he felt his erection grow.

“I…I don’t want to hurt you… so we’ll take it slow, ok?” Diluc took your hands, kissing each of them with pure love and then moving, he left his shirt on top of the chair, as well as his trousers. He returned to you, carefully taking off the flimsy nightgown that he loved so much. He took you on his arms, carrying you bridal style and letting you lay on the bed. “I’ll try to be gentle, let me prep you.” He took you carefully, putting you backside on his lap, his erection rubbing against your tummy. Diluc opened the bottle, letting the liquid fall on your ass, as well as on his fingers. He started by playing around that place, his other hand playing with one of your nipples. He slowly introduced one of his digits, letting you whimper as he started to prep you. “Just like that dear, let me take care of everything.” It didn’t took you that long to start to feel it, small moans and whimpers leaving your lips as you got used to the feeling.

Before you realized it, you were already taking three of his fingers, while Diluc kept playing with your nipples and his velvety voice whispered soft praises. “You’re doing so good my love, I’ll try to change my fingers with my length, just don’t rush it, ok? It’s ok if you can’t take it today.” He lifted you up, carefully sitting you on his lap, both of you facing each other. Diluc started to kiss you, his tongue tracing your lips, asking for your permission so he could enter your mouth. As soon as you opened your mouth, his kiss was gentle, even despite you were able to feel his raging erection against your ass. While he kissed you, he lifted you up, aligning his cock with your entrance, the tip slowly entering you, your hands gripping his shoulders.

“I…I can feel it twitching” You bit your lips as you tried your best not to moan. Diluc kissed your hair as an attempt to distract you from the stretch, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he finally bottomed out, a moan leaving his lips as he let you get accustomed to his member inside. “I can feel it in my tummy…” Fat tears formed in your eyes as you felt him inside you. “It’s too big, you’re stretching me out…” You hugged him tightly, his warm body making you feel completely at home.

“Don’t move, you need to get accustomed… Archons, you feel so nice around me, dear.” He kissed your face, wiping your tears and making small circles with his thumb on your back. He kept doing that until your tears stopped.

“…Move, I think I am ready… I am not some kind of porcelain doll.” Diluc smiled at your overconfident comment, specially taking into account how you were crying just from him filling you up.

“There’s no need to rush, dear. I really don’t want to hurt you.” Diluc moved his hips slowly, his arms barely lifting you up so he could start to trust into you. Of course, you couldn’t just let him handle it, as you forced him to stop lifting you up, his tip reaching that sweet place, causing you to roll your eyes back as you bit his shoulder. “Dear… I told you to be careful, I’m trying my best to calm myself, but you just had to keep on trying to lure me in…” His eyes were completely glazed, the veins of his arms bulging as he kept you in place. “Do you really want me to break you? Turn you from my sweet wife to a dumb slut who will do anything to be filled.” Your face flushed, your body reacting to those foul words that left your sweet husband lips. “Archons, you got even tighter when you heard me say that, that must be your answer, right?” You nodded in silence, trying to hide your flushed face as you kept your arms wrapped around him. “Just remember you were the one who gave me your permission.” As soon as he said that he lifted you up, leaving just the tip inside of you and suddenly slamming himself against you. He kept repeating the same action again and again, not stopping even as you cried and whimpered each time he hit that spot. Suddenly, he laid on the bed, lifting your legs up and not letting you lower them, his hands pushing against your own head as he kept on punishing your poor entrance, slamming against you and filling the whole room with the lewd sounds of his thrusts and your filthy moans.

“I’m sorry! Sorry for edging you! I just wanted to tease you a little!”  Your words left your mouth in the form of babbles, fat tears running down your cheeks as the sensation started to overwhelm you. “Just slow down! I’m gonna die!” Diluc chuckled a bit as he realized he had been able to completely dumb you down, drool falling down your chin as you were unable to close your mouth from the constant moaning.

“I’ll make it up to you sweetheart… I’ll make sure to pamper you my whole life, yeah? Just keep being my sweet wife.” You nodded enthusiastically, your words turning into soft mumbles as your brain tried to form a single sentence. He kissed the top of your head, a sweet treat in contrast with the rough treatment you had been enduring for over fifteen minutes. Soon, you started to feel his dick twitching, warning you of his incoming orgasm. He kept on moving his hips, not stopping even as he felt your insides twitch as you left yourself cum all over him. Luckily for you, it didn’t take him much longer to reach it himself, his warm fluids filling you to the brim.

The room was suddenly completely in silence except from the pants that both of you were letting out. After a few minutes, Diluc was finally able to recover, cautiously moving you before going to the bathroom, the sound of running water filling the room.  Shortly after, you felt him lifting you up, the warm water surrounding both of you, the last thing you felt was the soft sponge cleaning all your body, as well as his soft lips peppering your whole body with kisses.

[ireadwithmyears]

A Happy Medium (Part 2): Too Much

Pairing: Tech/fem Reader

Previous part

Word count: 2.4 K

Tags/warnings: 18+(minors DNI), smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, discussion of and working through clitoral hypersensitivity, lots of communication, check-ins, and Tech talking you through it, some praise, light aftercare

Summary: You and Tech attempt a redo of an experience that didn’t go so well for you the first time. As the saying goes, if at first you don’t succeed, try again. In other words, Tech begins to learn the ways in which he can make your body tick for him, and all you have to do is lie back and enjoy.

Authors note: I continue to surprise myself by writing things that are short. It’s a pleasant surprise, though, and I hope you enjoy this little treat. There will be a final part to this, which will be the culmination of everything this pair has discovered and learned together. You’ll have to be patient with me, though, as i’m not sure when, at the time of posting, this will be completed. However, I hope this satisfies in the meantime😜

You haven’t played a game of “too hot, too cold” since you were a kid, but you suppose, in principle, this process holds a similar premise. 

“Tech.

Your voice comes out through gritted teeth, and you can’t help the way his name falls from your lips in almost a whine as, yet again, his lips make a tortuous path up from the crease of your knee all the way to the juncture of your thighs before pausing, letting his warm breath brush deliberate and tantalizing just at the place where you want him most before he moves, switching to the other leg and repeating the process.

“There is a purpose to my method,” he lightly chides, lips ghosting over your stomach as he takes his time moving closer and closer to your mound. “Drawing heat to the area will increase blood flow, and therefore arousal, making your clitoris more receptive to touch and less likely to respond with the degree of hypersensitivity you were previously experiencing. But the only way that this will work effectively is if I begin slowly.”

“I think you’re just using it as an opportunity to be a tease,” you huff, and his lips twitch upward when your eyes meet his.

“Perhaps,” he deadpans, and you barely stifle a gasp as he nips your inner thigh in warning, hands reaching up to effortlessly pin the hips you had been trying to raise in an effort to gain an ounce more than what he’s willing to give you. “But regardless, your impatience will not tempt me to move faster.”

He lets his cheek rest against your stomach, tongue poking out to slowly, experimentally dip to trace your mound, letting the underside drag downward just enough to tease over your clit hood before pulling away, watching how you squirm in response.

“It’s for your own good.”

You actually whine this time, and Tech, unmoved, remains impervious to the needy sound as he lowers his head once more, bringing the flat of his tongue to trace upward along your outer lips, repeating the action on either side and stopping before he touches your clit.

“Remember your words,” he reminds you, meeting your eyes from where he’s settled between your legs. “Not enough if the sensation is lackluster. Too much if what I am doing is overwhelming or painful.” 

See? You think to yourself. Exactly like “too hot, too cold,” except with a much less innocent purpose when played in this way.

“Well, I’m certainly not getting enough right now,” you grumble, pretending to be annoyed.

“Really?” Tech asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And what about now?”

His tongue lightly circles your entrance before trailing upward along your inner lips, and just before he reaches your clit you tense, not really feeling overwhelmed but bracing for it regardless. He notices, eyes reflexively glancing up to observe your face.

“Is that too much?” he asks, keeping his voice neutral.

“N-no,” you say quickly, shaking your head and swallowing. “I just, I just got nervous.”

Tech hums, face thoughtful. His hands move from your hips to lightly knead at the tensed muscles of your inner thighs, coaxing them to soften.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. He is rewarded with your quick nod in response, and, satisfied, he continues. “Then I need you to trust that I will be closely monitoring your verbal as well as nonverbal responses, and if you tell me that something I am doing is not to your satisfaction, I will not attempt it again.”

“I know,” you say quietly, meeting his eyes squarely, because you do. If it were anyone else, you would be skeptical. But this is Tech, whose skills of both adaptability and observation are second to none.

“Now then,” Tech murmurs, giving you one of his pretty, small smiles. “I am going to experiment using only the flat of my tongue if you are amenable.

“I am,” you nod your head, taking a breath to center yourself.

“I am going to start with the clitoral hood, as you especially seemed responsive to stimulation there,” he explains before his head lowers once more, letting his tongue sweep in a broad arc over your mound, lightly resting it against the hood of your clit. He presses slightly, applying just a small amount of pressure and you moan, eyes closing.

“T-that’s good, Tech. Oh, fuck.”

You interrupt your own sentence with a gasp as he lightly but rhythmically flutters his tongue, tapping the flat of it against the hood of your clit.

“And here?” he asks, moving to explore just beneath your clit in slow, long strokes.

“Not enough,” you admit, and he hums, moving back upward but this time dragging the underside of his tongue back-and-forth against the top of your clit, which is maddening, causing your toes to curl and your hips to buck instinctively, whimpering in delight.

“I would like to know if this,” Tech says, adjusting to let the flat of his tongue trail downward, very gentle as he presses it directly against your clit, “is too much.”

Your thighs twitch, tensing as he repeats the motion, preparing for the overwhelming, painful throb to follow, but it never comes. 

“I-I think that’s okay,” you say, slightly breathless and more than a little surprised. Tech remains there, engulfing the entire surface area of your clit in heated, pleasant tingles as he pleasures you in slow, gentle strokes.

“And I presume that this,” Tech murmurs, his voice just above a whisper before he tentatively drags the tip of his tongue through your folds, lightly nudging it against your clit.

“Too much,” you cry out, finishing his sentence for him, and he, as promised, immediately retreats back to the hood, seeming to deem it as his safe zone as he presses several light, soft kisses against it as if in apology.

“There it is,” he breathes, voice a soft mumble against your skin. “You communicated your needs to me so beautifully. That is precisely what I want.”

You blush, and his fingernails drag along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, delighting in the shiver it draws from you. 

“As I suspected, broad as opposed to very targeted stimulation appears to be most effective,” he says, looking up at you with a soft expression. “I am curious, though.”

He lightly flicks the tip of his tongue against the hood of your clit, before teasing the area with small circles and you shutter, your eyes rolling back.

“That feels good,” you confirm, and he looks up at you, both knowing and pleased.

“Fascinating,” he says, almost to himself. “Your clitoral hood appears to be much less hypersensitive in comparison to the clitoris itself.”

“Teeech,” you groan exasperatedly, and this time, he does look up, an apologetic smile on his lips as he gives his head a small shake.

“Is this a suitable apology?” he asks, before dipping his head, and with deliberate care, taking the hood of your clit between his lips, lightly sucking to apply soft pressure.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” you gasp in a surprised whimper and he hums, a gentle vibration against you that has you keening.

“I believe I have sufficiently learned what you find enjoyable,” Tech states, as perfectly composed as if he’s just discussing the weather. “But would you also permit me to use my fingers, so that I can deliver internal stimulation as well as external?”

“Please,” you groan, almost convinced that you would let him do anything right now if he just keeps using the talents of his lips and tongue to make you feel good.

He nods, satisfied, before lowering his head once more.

He presses the flat of his tongue against you, hard enough that you’re gasping, hips lifting involuntarily. At the same time, one finger languidly teases around your entrance before smoothly pressing inside, causing the breath to escape you in a soft moan instead, hips once more settling as your eyes close and your lips part.

Your limp muscles and soft sounds, as beautiful as they are to behold, don’t last long. Tech makes quick work of undoing your dignity and composure, and soon you’re thrusting your hips against his finger, letting out a whine as he teases you with his tongue.

“Tech,” you whimper, your hands twisting within the sheets, bunching them into your fists. “Please, I need more. It’s not enough. I need, ah—”

Your stream of words ends in a moan, your head falling back as a second finger joins the first, Tech experimentally curling them upward, one slow brush against that one spot inside you with the pads of his fingers and your eyes are closed, stars shattering your field of vision for a moment.

He begins to work his fingers inside you in slow, purposeful strokes, but finding that you’re not giving him the reaction he wants, he adjusts, allowing his thrusts to become quick, fluid motions of his wrist, keeping the press of his fingers a steady, building pressure as he massages your G-spot, allowing himself to be guided by the sounds you make—the small twitches of your hips and your thighs as you begin to lose control beneath him.

“Tech, Tech. I, fuck, I—”

And then whatever you were about to say to him doesn’t matter, because with his free hand he’s pressing gently against your stomach and there’s a subtle, but distinct increase in pressure and you’re coming, hips lifting to press his fingers as far inside you as you can get them, letting out a sharp cry as his lips enclose around the hood of your clit, tongue just barely grazing along the edge as your vision temporarily goes black.

It feels amazing, and it also feels like too much but also not enough, and you’re wondering if you’ve ever had an orgasm that’s lasted this long, and oh, your legs are shaking? When did they start doing that? 

You blink, Slowly coming back to yourself as you settle against the bed, feeling Tech’s hands, strong against your thighs as he keeps them held apart, and you register by the feeling of your own tensed muscles that he’s probably preventing them from closing around his head. You blush, looking down at him between your legs as he slowly pulls his fingers from you, raising them to his lips.

“Well,” he says, after taking his time to lick your arousal from his fingers as he crawls up the bed towards you. “I believe that was a much more successful attempt this time. How did it feel for you?”

“It felt good,” you murmur, reaching out your arms for him and turning onto your side to face him. Your cheeks are flushed, and he obligingly settles down at your side, fingers softly brushing against your hip as he contemplates you.

Sensing that nothing further is forthcoming from you, he clicks his tongue, thoughtful as a furrow appears between his eyebrows. 

“Please do not feel the need to extricate certain details to make me feel more satisfied with myself and my performance,” he states, reading you like a book as he so easily often can. “This is something that we are both learning how to accommodate, and the only way we can effectively do that is through transparency and communication.”

“It was intense,” you settle on after a moment, shaking your head as you try to explain. “It felt good, but it also felt like it approached very quickly and came out of nowhere, and once it started going, it was just a lot, and that still felt good, but it also felt overwhelming at the same time, and I’m not really sure how I feel about it.”

To your surprise, Tech only nods his head, expression thoughtful as he eyes you.

“All of that is understandable,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow. “Perhaps a slower build would be much more beneficial and effective to bring you to a more satisfying orgasm. I believe my technique can be refined to fit that. We can also experiment with other methods, if that is of interest to you.”

“Like what?” you ask, mirroring his position to look up at him.

“Mm...there are many variables that could affect how different things will feel for you. We could try experimenting with things such as positioning, toys, and blended stimulation, if you would like to try it.”

“I would,” you agree with a small smile, because if nothing else, all of that just sounds like a lot of fun.

“I shall continue to conduct research into this matter,” Tech states, nodding his head. “Regardless, I do not think we should engage in any penetrative sex tonight as we had previously planned. Your assessment of how your last orgasm felt leads me to believe that you will become overstimulated quickly, and I do not want to contribute further to that, nor do I want to put pressure on you to reach completion again.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, suddenly feeling a bit guilty because here he was, doing all the work and what reward was he getting for all of it? “There’s, there’s nothing I can do for you?”

Sensing your hesitation, he sits up, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before adjusting you, settling you to lie with your head in his lap, fingers lightly playing with your hair as he reaches for his datapad on the nightstand with his free hand.

“You may stay here and rest or converse with me while I work,” he says, and by all accounts, his voice carries a note of contentment. “Perhaps it should also be stated that you have already pleased me immensely today. Both your vulnerability and trust that you placed in me tonight, I confess, was quite satisfactory for me to behold.”

You wouldn’t believe him if he were anyone else. But this is Tech, who always states with complete honesty what he believes without reservation. So, you do, softly conversing with him into the night and letting the gentle fingers that sometimes stray to your hair to run through its strands, combined with the light, rhythmic tapping against the datapad’s screen to lull you into a warm, comfortable sleep.

Tech, unbothered by the stiffness and cramping that slowly crawls into his legs, decides that, as he opens a new document to start conducting research of a much more personal nature, he does not want to disturb you, and using the excuse to contact you indulging his curiosities far into the night, he works on, watching over you with adoration until morning.

Thank you to @moosgraphics for these wonderful bad batch dividers, and thank you all so much for reading. If you enjoyed it, please consider dropping a reblog, as they’ll always give stories a better boost than just a note, and they are very much appreciated

[meet-me-backstage]

༺ 🐑 ༻

𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐨

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 (SNEAK PEEK)

‘Joel,

Built the first proper fence today, all on my own. Got blisters all over my palms, and I cursed loud enough to wake the whole county. But I did it. Dixie nearly chewed through the rope post again, Juno dug up one of my tomato plants, and the hens laid eggs in the hayloft instead of the coop... I’m figurin’ it out.

Speakin’ of the coop — I fixed it. Took me the better part of a week and two splinters I’m still digging out of my fingers, but the hens are roosting proper now. There’s one that reminds me of you—serious little thing, always standing off to the side like she’s makin’ sure everyone else is behaving. I named her Judith, but I’m tempted to rename her Joel.

The evenings are the hardest part. Everything goes still out here when the sun dips behind the ridge and work is done for the day. It’s quiet in the way that makes you think too much. I sit on the porch with Juno at my feet (she’s getting so big already), and I keep expecting to hear your boots on the porch boards.

I wonder what you’re up to all the time

Sometimes I wonder what you’re up to—whether you’re still waking up before dawn, still arguing with George over who gets to herd the sheep. I hope things are good. I hope your fences are holdin’ up better than mine.

Did you get that radio working?

I got one for my porch.

Do you turn yours on just to fill in the silence too? What about when you miss hearing my voice? If you do miss my voice. It’s what I do when I miss hearing yours.

They’re fiddly things aren’t they?

Juno sends her love (in slobber, mostly).

— your Sunshine’

༺ 🐑 ༻

‘Sunshine,

Read your letter four two times, then once more just to make sure I didn’t miss anythin’.

I let out a real belly laugh when I read about that hen o’ yours. Haven’t laughed like that in a long while. Not since you were here, tryin’ to chase that lamb into the barn. You ended up flat on your ass in the mud and pretended it was “international land awareness”. George side-eyed me like I’d lost my damn mind. Think maybe I have.

He misses you. Whines more than usual, always wants to take the long trail past the lake like he’s expectin’ you to be there, splashin’ about or sittin’ on that rock and tossin’ pebbles. He barks for you outside your cabin every mornin’, thinkin’ you’re needin’ a wake up call. Every time the mail comes, he runs out to the box — he knows it’s from you — no one bothers to write me as often as you do. Don’t know if that means somethin’ — if I mean somethin’ to you. I’m in my damn head too much. Clearly. He brings the envelopes to me like it’s some kind of treasure. I keep ‘em like they are. They’ve gotta be some o’ the most precious things I own.

Radio’s workin’ again. Took some fiddlin’ alright, but I got it. Picks up this one station late at night—plays old country, mostly. There’s a hum it makes, right before the music kicks in. Caught me off guard the first time. Thought maybe you were there, talkin’ soft about nothin’ and everythin’ like you used to. Funny what your mind does when you’re missin’ someone it’s quiet. Empty silence. I know what you mean now. Used to like it. I don’t anymore. I hate it.

Juno sounds hellbent on undoin’ half your work, but I can’t say I’m surprised. She really has got your stubborn streak. You’re fightin’ tooth and nail out there, and I got no doubt you’ll make somethin’ special of that land. You always had a way of makin’ things grow, even when they didn’t want to.

Stay safe. Don’t forget to eat. Do you miss those dinner’s with me out on the porch? I miss makin’ ‘em for you.

— Joel’

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝!!! 🫶🫶

༺ 🐑 ༻

[alarajrogers]

Writers Tell You What They Believe, Not Who They Are

I’ve been percolating this post in my head for a while.

I want to talk about the Neil Gaiman situation. How there are, apparently, people out there who are trying to declare that there’s evidence in his writing for what he turned out to be, who blame the fans who were taken advantage of or who still find the writing beautiful no matter what the man is. Those people are wrong. They point at previous examples of writers who showed their true colors like JK Rowling, but this is not that situation.

I’m going to contrast this to Rowling, and to Orson Scott Card, another writer many of us (particularly us older ones) loved before he turned out to be a shit. In fact, I’ll start with him.

But first, I’ll tell you: Writers do not tell you who they are. They tell you what they believe. Sometimes those match. Sometimes they do not.

I was a huge fan of Orson Scott Card, and read everything he wrote once upon a time, so I know he wrote kindly and sympathetically about gay men and boys. He didn’t give any of them love or a happy ending, but most Card characters don’t get love or a happy ending, so this was not notable. Thus it surprised many of us when he came out swinging against gay marriage, and some people viewed him as a hypocrite.

He wasn't.

Card’s work repeats a theme over and over: older men have to hurt children and young people, raise them harshly, crush their dreams, in order to save them, or the nation, or the world. Over and over again. It’s relevant that Card was abused by his father as a child, so we can certainly see how tempting this paradigm would be for him. These older men suffer, because they sympathize with the young ones. But it has to be done, for the sake of everyone.

Around the time he was campaigning against gay marriage, Card said, in a forum post that unfortunately appears to have been lost forever, that we can’t have gay marriage because men would naturally want to marry men. Men just understand better and are naturally simpatico with other men, and presumably the same is true for women. So if we had same-sex marriage, all the men would marry other men, and human reproduction would stop, and the species would die out.

Leaving aside what this implies about Card himself and what he was obviously not letting himself realize about himself, this means his opposition to same-sex marriage is exactly what he told us, in his books, over and over, that he would have to do, when he became an older man. Older men hurt young people to force them to conform to what society needs. If men being allowed to marry men could destroy the human race, of course it’s his job as an older man to prevent it, no matter how sympathetic he might be to gay people’s desire to love each other. They have to suck it up and endure heterosexual marriage, like he has to, and like he assumes most married men have to, or humanity dies.

He's wrong, and his belief is honestly kind of repulsive because it means he assumes every man who says he loves his wife is kinda lying, or at least, made himself believe it. But he’s not a hypocrite. He told us what he believes, and it matches what he does.

Now, JK Rowling. I was an adult when Harry Potter came out, so I was never a huge fan of Rowling. I’d already read better fantasy, for children, by female authors, from England… Seriously, Rowling is kind of mid when compared to other fantasy writers for kids. But Harry Potter was pretty cool. I liked the fact that she presented us with an obvious villain, an absolute asshole, a cruel teacher who bullies the kids, plainly in league with the main villain… and then made him turn out to be a hero. Someone who, the whole time, was sacrificing himself to keep everyone, including Harry himself, safe. And who was, nonetheless, still an asshole. I liked that. “You don’t have to be a good person to do the right thing.” Sounded to me like a good message.

Rowling’s beliefs seemed pretty bog-standard white suburban liberal. Of course diversity is important, that’s why there are token members of several races. Fascism is bad, of course. The circumstances of your birth don’t matter nearly as much as what you make of your life. Child abuse is bad.

But there was stuff that people who were not raised as white suburban liberals kept pointing out. Like… Rowling doesn’t think it’s important to do enough research to have a real Chinese name for her one Chinese character. It’s not going to be a problem that Irish, Scottish and Welsh children – all oppressed by England once upon a time and in many cases still oppressed – are going to school in Scotland with English children; the only conflicts will be between houses. Slavery is of course bad, but have you considered that maybe some slaves want to be slaves and you should probably leave them to it? If a woman is sufficiently evil, it might be a good idea to arrange for her to be raped by centaurs. Women who look mannish are figures of fun and probably bad people. Fat people are bad. We do not at any point need to think about the question of, in general, what would wizards from oppressed Muggle families do if brought into the wizarding world and trained, because, well, that’s not worth thinking about.

Also, while Rowling might not consciously be an anti-Semite, she did come up with one of the most vicious collections of anti-Semitic tropes and applied them to her goblins, who are money-obsessed, bankers, have pointed noses and ears, and are not treated kindly by the narrative as non-human magical creatures the way Hagrid himself and any of his pets are.

Also, she gave us “Dumbledore is gay” in Word of God, but couldn’t be bothered to put it into the book that is heavily about Dumbledore’s past, which goes into detail about his close friendship with a fascist who despised the Muggle-born, where establishing that he loved Grindenwald would have made the whole relationship make more sense and make Dumbledore more sympathetic.

So… she ended up becoming a TERF. And this felt like a betrayal to those of us who saw in her beliefs the same liberal ideals we held. Except… she was never intersectional. She never told us she cared about minority humans. Her bad guys were fascists because they wanted to dominate the Muggles – a group that includes all of us, actually – and to purge “half-bloods” and Muggle-born, which, again, all of us are Muggle-born and we would be if we suddenly got that owl from Hogwarts. It’s real easy to hate fascists who want to put the boot on your neck specifically. She got a little bit into fantastic racism with the prejudices against Hagrid, but other races – like the goblins! – were just treated badly because that’s the way it is, and Harry never thinks to push back against obvious injustices unless they affect him and his friends.

She was always a bit skeeved out by “women who look like men”, and then the TERFs radicalized her and told her that trans women are a dire threat to cis women and that trans men are sad little girls who’ve been brainwashed to give up their womanhood, and she believed them because none of this contradicted anything she told us she believed. She very clearly told us in the books that she really didn’t care about anyone who wasn’t a white British human, and she has next to no consciousness of how the Irish, Scottish and Welsh actually perceive the British, and while the Weasleys are poor because they have way too many kids on a government worker’s salary, they have no class consciousness that stands in opposition to Harry’s, or anyone else’s. Rowling just doesn’t empathize with people who aren’t like her. So it wasn’t hard to get her to hate people who never did anything to her, because they were different enough that she could be convinced they were dangerous.

Neil Gaiman is not like that.

Like most good writers, Gaiman told us what he believed. And I think he was sincere in those beliefs. Even after he himself became a monster, I think he believed what he believed because those themes show up consistently in all his work, from the Sandman to his more recent works. And I’m going to point out the relevant ones, that seem to have an impact on this discussion.

We make our own hell with our guilt. Lucifer said so in A Season of Mists, despite it contradicting DC continuity and some stuff Gaiman himself did, such as Nala being condemned to hell by Morpheus. It is still consistent in most of his depictions of Hell. The angel Remiel is corrupted by being forced to punish sinners, but it’s the sinners’ own guilt that demands punishment, not a directive from God.

Desire is capricious and dangerous. Desire wants to destroy Dream for reasons we are never given. Alone of the Endless, Desire is never shown in a positive light. (Despair is, in places. Desire, never.)

Predators deserve to die or suffer a fate worse than death.

This is important to note. A lot of Gaiman’s villains don’t really suffer much of anything; their ability to do harm is removed, that’s it. Such as John Dee, who murders an entire diner full of innocent people. But predators and people who betray people who look up to them and trust them… they suffer.

In Sandman, Richard Madoc, a writer who can’t come up with ideas, catapults to fame when he takes the Muse Calliope as a sex slave, imprisoning her, dominating her, and repeatedly raping her. Morpheus punishes him by driving him mad, with a torrent of so many ideas he cannot express them all, and he ends up destroying his own fingers trying to write the ideas down on the wall in blood. This is a particularly horrifying fate for a writer, and a particularly horrifying fate for a writer to imagine.

Prince Franz Drago of Bohemia, in A Study In Emerald, is an eldritch abomination, as are all the royalty of Europe in this particular AU. He is brutally murdered by two of the most beloved characters in the canon of English-language literature. One of the two explains how Drago was lured to his death, in a way that the character (and the author) intend to justify the murder: he was promised a virgin girl, raised in a convent, who had never seen a man. The sight of Drago would have pitched her into “a perfect madness”, which Drago would have feasted on while raping her. For being the kind of entity who would want to do this, and probably has done it before, Drago was eviscerated. We are intended to sympathize with the murderers.

There are other examples, of people looking up to someone they respected, only to discover that person was lying, or betrayed them. These people are killed, or their plans are ruined. I’m not going to list every instance of that here. But this is a thing Gaiman believes, a theme that appears multiple times.

Gaiman also believes that we make our own hell. It wasn’t until I watched the Lucifer series, and had some experience with people who do awful things, many of whom have managed to twist things around in their head so they are the victims, that I thought: if you know what you’re doing is evil, why are you doing it? Many of the people I know who do terrible things simply don’t recognize that what they’re doing is bad. Like Rowling and Card, both of whom think they’re doing the right thing. They’re not going to punish themselves in Gaiman’s Hell. Maybe someone who murdered in a fit of rage, but not someone who thought of themselves as the victim, or as someone entitled to do what they did… which seems to be a lot of bad people.

And Gaiman believes that Desire is the cruelest of the Endless, and has nothing positive to say about them.

Gaiman told us what he believed, and we were calmed, and pleased, because we believed those things too. Trans women are women. All people deserve dignity. There is no one we have the right to look down on, and everyone has their own reasons for doing things, even evil people. Demonstrate empathy for all. This sounds like the beliefs of someone who is very, very safe. Like… a year ago I would have put Neil Gaiman on a list of “Least Likely To Have Problematic Skeletons In The Closet” creators, which just tells you, I pay too much attention to what writers believe when I think about what they do.

Because people don’t always do what they believe.

Sometimes they know what they’re doing is wrong. Sometimes it goes against everything they believe. And they feel hellish amounts of guilt for it. But they still choose to keep doing it. Maybe telling themselves they’re slaves to their own desire, that they cannot stop themselves. Maybe telling themselves it’s okay, fooling themselves that people they overpower with force of personality could have said no if they hadn’t wanted to. Gaiman at one point admitted to impostor syndrome. To not being able to quite grasp how successful he was, how people looked up to him. Maybe he was able to fool himself into thinking that if you pressure someone who looks up to you, who you have economic power over, into having sex, you’re not raping them because if they’d really fought back they could have stopped you. (Never mind that you had too much power over them and they were lulled by your public persona, sure you were safe, until you weren’t.)

Trust me, I am not here to praise Neil Gaiman, but to bury him. (And unlike Marc Antony in Shakespeare’s play, I sincerely mean that.) The fact that he knows better, that he believes people who are doing what he’s doing should die or suffer fates worse than death, that his writing strongly implies that he feels intense guilt over it… but he does it anyway.

Anybody got that gif of Chidi Anagoyne from The Good Place saying “But that’s worse. You get how that’s worse, right?”

No one could have read Gaiman’s work and thought, this is a sex predator into domination and rape. Because Gaiman has consistently condemned people who do that, in his writing. And his writing is all we knew about the man.

You know how you read some fanfic authors, and you can see their personal fetishes glaring out at you? You can’t do that with Neil Gaiman. He’s a better writer than that, and he’s good at hiding the things that turn him on, because he’s felt guilty about them from the beginning. He’s told us what he believes, not what he thinks is sexy.

He knows what he did is wrong. He feels guilt over it, or he did when he was writing Sandman and having fantasies, maybe. He knew it was wrong when he did it. And he did it anyway.

The only hint we could possibly have ever taken was that Gaiman thinks the people who do terrible things know it, and feel guilt over it, and demand to be punished for it when they get to Hell. When we see a world around us of people who feel no guilt whatsoever for the terrible things they do, maybe we should have questioned?... but it could have been the naivete of a young writer (young-ish, at least…) who genuinely wanted to believe the people who do terrible things feel guilt for it. I know I wanted to believe that, and I was horrified at how not true it turned out to be.

I hope he burns in the hell of guilt he’s made for himself. Because he told us what he believed, and we all believed it too. We forgot that a person can do things they believe are wrong.

[soulthrifted]

Can’t Escape You ↴

About - The reader has been through many relationships and in return has had their heart broken many times in various ways. They fear having their heart broken again, but there is just something so tempting about this Hermes boy. The way he makes them feel. The way he treats them, it’s surreal and like nothing they’ve ever felt. Maybe this time will be different.

Pairing - Luke Castellan/Gn Reader

Warnings - kissing (fluff)

A/N - This is my first time ever posting one of my writings on a social platform so any critic is welcome!! Also, please let me know if there is anything else you’d like to see me write :D

In a world where heartbreaks were familiar scars, I had found solice in the comforting rhythm of solitude. Yet, there, on the horizon of my guarded heart stood a figure. Luke Castellan. There was just something about him. Something about the way he looked at me. Like I wasn’t something just for him to devour, but something he was willing to savor. Something about the way he made me feel. Like I wasn’t just something he could have when he wanted and toss me to the side when he didn’t need me, but something he would cherish and adore for every second he had me.

He makes me feel different. He makes me feel special. I suppose that’s why I’m here now. On the shoreline of the lake late at night. It’s past curfew and I’m not meant to be out, I know that, but I just couldn’t stand the crowed cabin any longer. I needed to get out. I needed to think.

My thoughts are cut short when I hear a twig snap behind me ‘shit’ I think to myself. I’m caught. That’s when I hear a familiar voice call my name out. The voice of the boy that’s been haunting my every thought. It was only Luke.

“Is that you?” He asks as he approaches me.

I nod my head. Though, I’m not sure if he can see me. It’s rather dark, so I say “Yeah, it’s me.”

He sits down beside me in the sand and I can feel my heart rate begin to pick up at the proximity. His leg is touching mine. Now that I think about it, he’s always finding ways to touch me. Wether is during sparing and he is “fixing my stance” or taking my hand to drag me somewhere.

“What’re you doing out here so late?” He asks me, and I wonder the same thing about him.

“Just needed somewhere quiet to sit and think” I can feel Luke’s curious gaze on me as I stare out at the glistening water. “Why’re you out here so late?”

“Same as you.” I can still feel his curious gaze on me as he speaks. It’s almost as if he’s challenging me to look at him. “What’s on your mind.”

“It’s—“ I sigh and lean on his shoulder “I don’t know, it’s complicated.” I continue to watch the water as it ripples under the moonlight.

He places his arm around my waist and I can feel my skin ignite under his touch. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I’m just overwhelmed is all.” I finally look at him with a reassuring smile. “Nothing you have need to worry about.”

Luke nods his head accepting that I’m not willing to talk about it just yet and I thank the gods he doesn’t push any farther. He turns to look out at the water and I do the same. “I see why you like it out here. It’s quiet.” He turns to face me again “Do you come out here often?”

I nod my head. “Yeah, I usually sit out here to get away from everything, from everyone.” I let out a content sigh before laying my head on his shoulder. “I used to think it was nice to be alone here, but I think I like it better with you with me.”

Luke chuckles and I can feel the blush build up on my face. I’m not usually so confident, but the mix of drowsiness and the comfort of the situation drags it out of me. “Really?” He asks me, almost whispering. “Am I better company than your thoughts?”

I nod my head. “You are my thoughts. Almost all of them. No matter where I go I cannot escape you, Luke Castellan.”

Luke pauses for a second and I lift my head from his shoulder. Had I made him uncomfortable? My racing thoughts are silenced when I hear him talk “Can I ask you something?” I nod my head, too nervous to say anything “May I hold your hand?” His question catches me off guard, but I nod my head almost instantly.

He takes my hand in his and it feels as though electricity is running through my body. He’s so gentle, so careful. My hand isn’t much smaller in comparison to his. His fingertips just barely extend past my own. He interlocks his fingers in mind and looks up from our intertwined hands and into my eyes. “The truth is, I came out here to do the same. To try and rid my mind of you. You’re all I can think of of. How beautiful you are, how perfect your eyes look under the sun, how your hair frames your face perfectly, how kind you are to everyone around you. You’re all I can think of and I know—“ He pauses “I know you haven’t had the best experiences with relationships, but I really do hope you’d be willing to give me a chance. I want to prove to you that there is more than just heart break. I want to show you how beautiful love can be. How beautiful our love can be.”

His words surprise me. Of course, I’ve had my suspicions that he liked me, but hearing him admit it out loud is something entirely different. He’s different. Everything about him is different. He says my name and it snaps me out of my daze. “Please.” He says softly, almost begging. All I can bring myself to do is nod my head

“I—Yes, Luke. I’m willing you give you a chance—is a chance. Gods it’s all I can think about.” He smiles and it feels as though the Earth has shifted. That smile, that beautiful smile. I can’t help but smile back at him.

his hand that isn’t holding mine makes its way onto my cheek and I watch as he glances at my lips before returning his gaze to my eyes. The look he’s giving me is, well it’s captivating. I nod my head and without hesitation he presses his lips to mine. The world seemed to fade away as we kissed, marking the beautiful beginning of a journey from friends to lovers.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

The Notes (Hannibal/Will)

Description: Y/N finds proof that Will is cheating on her with Hannibal.

Word Count:1,804

Author’s note: I am going to C2E2 tomorrow to meet Mads and Hugh so I will not be posting a pic tomorrow. I will post another one later today that will be for tomorrow.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she saw the note, well notes that Hannibal and Will had been writing to each other. They weren’t just friendly notes that just friends write to fill each other in on how life was going. They were notes that lovers wrote to each other that told a story. A story of what they did and wanted to do to each other when they saw each other again. Her eyes skimmed the words that Will, her husband, wrote to Hannibal.

He was in love with him and though she tried to push it in the back of her head, she always knew. She always knew that she would never be good enough for him or like Hannibal for that matter. And Hannibal loved him back. Of course he did. This wasn’t something that was in her head. This was real life and she was reading it on paper.

Tears streamed down her face as she realized that Will was lying to her. Will had told her that it was in the past and that he didn’t love Hannibal like that. She was hesitant to believe him but she did. Now she just felt stupid. This man who was confirmed to be the killer and was in jail for it came into their life and fucked up their marriage. She knew that love didn’t have options and that it wasn’t a choice but lying was and that’s all her husband did to her. “Maybe you shouldn’t go, Will. It’s been three years.” She said to him as they sat in bed talking about how Jack came by and told him there were more murders and that he needed his help.

Y/N hated Jack too. He was a part of the issue and that led her husband in the arms of Hannibal Lecter. Y/N wanted to be a supporting wife but couldn’t be when she knew that if he left he would be right back in Hannibal’s arms. So when he left she searched the place for any sort of evidence that gave into her thoughts or proved her wrong. Sadly, she wasn’t proven wrong, she was proven right. Some of the notes were from when Will was in jail all those years ago and some were from recently. They all said the same thing, just written differently. Her husband was in love with someone else. 

When the Red Dragon found out that Will had a wife he was more than eager to take the one thing that he loved away from him. But like Y/N, he didn’t realize that his wife was just a pawn. Y/N thought about letting him kill her just to teach Will a lesson. See if Will even cared for her at all or if he just acted like he did. Would he cry when she died? Would he regret what he did? Would he realize that he made the biggest mistake of his life? It was tempting but she couldn’t let that happen. So as she lays in the hospital wounded Will is by her side holding her hand and praying that she’s okay.

She was but once she opened her eyes and saw him sleeping in the chair beside her, she had a whole new outcome on the situation. She squeezed his hand to let him know she was awake. He jumped up a bit and gave a heartful smile to her that gave her butterflies. She loved that smile, god she loved that smile but it didn’t feel real. “I’m so glad. You’re okay.” He told her with tears in his eyes.

She wondered if those tears were for her or for the guilt that he felt for everything he did and caused. “I shouldn’t have gone. This is all my fault.” He said through tears. She looked at him. He was right, it was his fault. All of it, everything. He put her in danger all because he was in love with Hannibal and couldn’t stay away. So as he lies to her, she lies to him. “No it wasn’t. Jack was the one that approached you with the case. You were just doing your job.” She said and squeezed his hand again. The small smile she gave him was as good as she could. She couldn’t conjure up a real smile. Maybe it was the physical pain or the mental pain. 

Her and the dogs were back safe at the house and it seemed as if that was all Will could ever ask for. He looked so happy to have his family back and okay. She almost thought it was real, but then remembered everything else. He leaned down and kissed her. He kissed her like he loved her and that she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Those kisses were the best. They were full of life and love. But in the back of her mind the kiss was just a coverup to distract her from everything. She figured that Will knew that she wasn’t happy and that she might catch on. He wasn’t aware though that she did in fact catch on. But she kissed him back, playing into his game. What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. 

Will was gone again and told her it would be the last time. The last time he worked a case, the last time he would see Hannibal. She almost laughed in his face. She knew that there wouldn’t ever be a last time. In 3 more years something would come up and Jack would be back at their doorstep asking Will for help and Will would agree, not to be helpful but to see Hannibal. His one true love.

She sat at the kitchen with a glass of wine as she read the notes they wrote to each other over and over again. She memorized every line and every word that they said to each other. Poetic really she thought. Hannibal really did have a way with words. She stopped crying days ago about it. Realizing that tears weren’t going to help. She got up from the table and left all the notes scattered about and the wine glass too. She put on some shoes and left the house. She was going to find them and catch them in the act. She was going to scream at Will and confront him for lying to her.

She was driving way above the speed limit but didn’t care. Will had told her where he would be with Hannibal and she went there. As she was driving she heard shooting. If she wasn’t so mad and in her head she probably would have freaked out. She parked her car and got out and walked to where the noise was. From a distance she could see her husband and Hannibal jump out of the van that was tipped over. She watched as Hannibal walked up to a police car and pulled the body out of the car and got in. Will had also got in the car making her quickly run back to her car to follow them.

She didn’t wanna make it too obvious that she was following them so when Hannibal pulled into this nice huge place she had kept driving but pulled into another place. She got out of the car and walked in the direction of the house. She knew that she would catch them in the act and maybe more. She wasn’t worried about them seeing her anymore. As she neared the house she heard a gunshot. She jumped for a second startled by the noise and wondered if it came from that house. Did Hannibal kill Will? She wondered as she walked faster to the house. She wasn’t worried if that was the case or if it was the other way around. She was tired of feeling like that when he wasn’t even in love with her, probably never was. She reached the house just in time and walked through the door quietly as she heard noises. She let out a silent gasp as she watched Hannibal and Will fight another man, together.

The guy looked familiar to her but she couldn’t place where. She saw that her husband was deeply wounded as was Hannibal. They were on the patio and she watched with wide eyes. Will had a knife in this other man’s stomach and slashed it vertically through his abdomen like Hannibal did to him years ago. If she wasn't shocked by the scene she would have laughed. The irony in that. Hannibal tore out a part of this guy’s throat with his teeth and Hannibal fell off his back and onto the ground. The guy fell too and looked at Will. Hannibal got to his feet and went over to Will.

Y/N walked closer to watch as Will took his hand and clung onto him by the edge of what she presumed was a cliff. They were hugging each other and almost kissed a few times. What stopped them? She didn’t understand why they didn't kiss. That would have been the perfect moment to kiss. “See. This is all I've ever wanted for you, Will. For the both of us.” Hannibal said, looking down at the man. “It’s beautiful.” Will said. They both looked at each other and finally kissed. Will had kissed Hannibal like he kissed his wife the day she came home from the hospital. Her eyes were dry as she watched. No longer feeling any emotion. She watched as they kissed passionately.

Like two lovers that finally got their chance. Which they did. Y/N walked onto the patio and towards them slowly. She didn’t make a sound as she stared at them having their moment. She didn’t stop walking and with everything in her body, all her anger, all her hurt and sadness she had managed to push them off the cliff. She didn’t even look as they fell from the cliff and ended up in the sea. She didn’t care if they were alive or dead. She stared at her wedding ring and all the good memories from their marriage popped in her head. All the kisses, the love, the laugh, the good times before Hannibal came along hit her like a brick. She shed a single tear and slipped off the ring. Without a second thought or hesitation she threw the ring off the cliff. She closed her eyes and gave a deep breath before looking over the cliff. She didn’t see anything but the body of water. No ring, No bodies, No Hannibal or Will. She looked one last time before turning around and walking away, leaving all the memories of her and Will, whether it was good or bad, she left them and the lies behind.  

[takaraphoenix]

Tutoring and Teasing (Sneak Peek)

(GUESS who is writing her first Steter smut??? So, naturally, I gotta celebrate that by teasing you with the scene leading up to the smut. I present to you, my No Hale Fire AU where Peter raised Malia alone, and Stiles still manages to get dragged into the supernatural and into the Hale Pack. Now, Stiles is trying really hard to seduce Malia's hot dad, while Peter is trying really hard to not get too close to his supposedly underage mate... until he learns that Stiles got held back a year. The full fic will be posted here and on AO3 on August 9th!)

--

“So—o,” Stiles’ eyes wandered over the kitchen and settled on the calendar. “Any plans for Mal’s upcoming birthday? Sweet seventeen. I know it’s sweet sixteen, but I think seventeen can be sweet too. I know what we have planned with her, but well. I always have special plans with my dad too on my birthday, so... Do you have any plans?”

Peter turned to look at the calendar too. Malia’s birthday was circled with a blue heart, two weeks from now. The smallest smile spread over his lips at the thought. A small noise from Stiles drew his attention back to the teen. The look on Stiles’ face was nearly smitten as he stared at Peter.

“I’m taking her camping,” Peter replied, to distract himself. “We’re spending the whole weekend in the mountains, hunting and enjoying the forest, and then I’ll bring her back home in time for her party in the evening that I know you have meticulously planned.”

“Nah, I did moderate planning. Lydia did the meticulous bits,” Stiles grinned. “But that sounds awesome. I didn’t know you guys hunted though.”

Oh, that was too tempting, Peter couldn’t help but flash his blue eyes and grin with sharp fangs. “Of course do we hunt, Stiles. We’re predators.”

The scent of arousal was so sudden and so strong, it made Peter growl. This boy tormented him.

“What about you,” Peter cleared his throat. “I mean, your seventeenth birthday?”

“Tha—at would require a time-machine,” Stiles blinked those pretty doe-eyes at him with a grin.

“Oh,” Peter blinked slowly. “I didn’t realize you were older than Malia.”

“I’m eighteen.”

Peter froze, his fork in his hand, hovering just in front of his mouth. “What.”

Those eyes again, eyelashes batting against pale cheeks as he blinked. “I’m eighteen. Have been for like three months now. I got held back a year when, well, when my mom died. Had just a couple too many panic attacks to keep up my school work and stuff. But hey, that’s how I ended up in the same class as Scotty, which inevitably brought me here, so there’s that.”

“You’re eighteen,” Peter repeated, dragging the word out.

He knew of Claudia Stilinski, of course, but he hadn’t known that Stiles had been held back because of it. As much as Peter wanted to focus on that part, on comforting his mate about his mother’s death, expressing his condolences, all he could focus on was the fact that his mate was legal.

“Uh… huh…?” Stiles looked very confused. “Okay. What am I missing here because I am missing something, you are being super weird right now.”

Peter was out of his chair in a moment and so was Stiles, jumping up startled by Peter’s sudden movement. With the lowest growl did Peter back Stiles up against the counter, until the boy bumped into it. His heart was racing but Peter didn’t smell any fear, only arousal. Again. Damn that boy.

“Three months,” Peter dragged the words out of himself. “I could have had you for three months.”

“What,” Stiles squeaked, so high it hurt Peter’s werewolf ears.

Peter braced himself on either side of Stiles, caging the teen between his arms. He leaned down, finally allowing himself to drag his nose along the length of that tempting, pale neck. A whimper. An actual whimper was what he got. Peter growled again, darker, possessive.

“I know you noticed that I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Y… Yeah. Honestly, I figured I was just making you uncomfortable with my horniness for your… everything… considering that werewolf senses are sharper, so you’ve probably been able to tell from the moment we met,” Stiles looked embarrassed by that. “So, yeah, didn’t take the avoidance personal, because I guess I would avoid someone too if I could smell them get horny for me all the time while I don’t want them but also this is giving me very confusing, different vibes.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you because of that,” Peter huffed out a breathy laugh. “I was avoiding you because of how much I want you, how much I need you. Because you are… were… the underage son of the sheriff and friend of my daughter. But you’re also mine.”

Another whimper, even more delicious than the first. “Wait, what.”

“You’re my mate,” Peter’s voice dropped, softer now, filled with the awe this fact bestowed upon him. “You’re mine. I knew it the moment you lot walked into the Hale House for the first time. And I’ve been avoiding you since then, willing to wait until your graduation, until you’re legal, but… if you’re telling me that you’re eighteen, right now, I will not wait for your graduation.”

“Wait… uhm… with what?”

“To claim what’s mine,” Peter purred pleased, licking a stripe up Stiles’ neck.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles gasped out, grabbing Peter’s arms. “Okay.”

“...Okay?” Peter reluctantly removed his face from Stiles’ neck to look at his mate.

“I mean,” Stiles let go of Peter so he could motion around a little with his hands. “I know about werewolf mates. I am literally friends with the three most insufferable pairs of True Mates in the existence of mates – and yes, I am fully calling it, as soon as Jackson receives the bite and turns into a werewolf, him and Lydia are going to have an epic True Mate realization. I know what True Mates mean for wolves, and I know how it works. It also really explains why I have been so ridiculously drawn to you, I mean, I know I like older guys, but damn you’re doing things to me.”

“I’d love to do things to you,” Peter offered the most wolfish grin.