isuckatwritingsobenice

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

And at last I see the light. And it’s like the fog has lifted.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

How I feel reading smut while being scared of intimacy in real life

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hi! Can you do a one shot of Sam (from seduce me) x insecure/chubby Afab reader? ❤️

A/N: YES I CANNNNNN:))) thank you so much for your request!!! i hope this is good since im trying to get myself back into the swing of things especially for this fandom since it doesn’t get a lot of interaction on my blog 💔 but it’s okay we push forward, alsooo how do we feel about the image today?? i decided to use something from the game rather than just something green, just to get a bit more creative yk?

Warnings: mentions of insecurity, very very light jealousy if you can even call it that, fluff for the most part, mentions of being a monster ( sam obviously )

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! ( not updated)

More than anything.

The walls of the mansion were thick, heavy with history, but tonight they felt too quiet. The moonlight spilling through the tall, arched windows only made the place feel colder. You were curled up on the velvet chaise in your room, Sam’s oversized hoodie drowning you, the sleeves pulled over your hands.

You hated how your thighs squished against the fabric. How your stomach pressed awkwardly against the hoodie. It was supposed to be comforting, wearing something that smelled like him, but instead, it reminded you of everything you weren’t.

You stared at the empty fireplace. It should have been warm tonight. Sam should have been back by now.

The old clock on the wall chimed once, then twice. The echo sent a little shiver down your spine. You had inherited the mansion from your grandfather just months ago, and the place still creaked and groaned like it was alive.

The door creaked open.

Sam’s voice, low and familiar, drifted in. “Babe?”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped in, boots scuffing against the floor. “You still up?”

He paused when he saw you, and you didn’t have to look to know he noticed the tears in your eyes. His tone softened. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you said.

Sam walked over, slowly, like approaching a frightened animal. He crouched beside the chaise. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You avoided his gaze. “Why are you with me, Sam?”

He blinked. “What?”

You pressed your sleeve to your eyes. “You’re an incubus. You could be with anyone. Literally anyone. Gorgeous people. Magical people. Supernatural people.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And I’m just me.”

There was a pause. You could feel him staring at you.

“I’m not exactly… alluring,” you whispered. “Not like someone you’d expect a demon prince to want.”

His hand came to rest on your knee. Warm. Steady. “You really think I care about that kind of thing?”

You laughed bitterly. “You don’t have to lie. I saw the way those women looked at you in the city yesterday. And I saw the way they looked at me too. Like I didn’t belong beside you.”

Sam shook his head. “You think I give a damn about what some strangers think?”

“I think I give a damn,” you admitted. “I don’t feel… enough.”

Sam let out a quiet breath. “Get up.”

You blinked. “What?”

He stood and held out his hand. “Come on.”

You hesitated, then took it. He led you through the mansion, down the curved staircase that led to the ballroom. The chandelier was dark, the moonlight casting silvery patterns across the marble floor.

“What are we doing?” you asked.

He walked to the middle of the room. “We’re fixing this.”

“Sam—”

He turned to face you. “You think I fell in love with you because of what your body looks like?”

You looked away.

He walked to you, gently cupping your chin to make you meet his eyes. “No. I fell in love with you because you looked at me like I was more than what I am. You didn’t run. You didn’t flinch. You stayed.”

“You’ve got no idea how rare that is.”

You swallowed. “That doesn’t mean I’m—”

“I’m not done.”

His voice was firmer now, not angry, just full of something heavy and real.

“I love your body too. You’re soft in all the places I want to hold. You feel like home when I touch you. Do you know how good it feels to hold someone like that? Not cold, not hard, but warm. Real. You’re human. You.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You’re always saying you don’t look like the people on magazine covers or whatever. Good. I don’t want that. I want you.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

You shook your head.

“I see the person who took in five incubi and gave us a place to belong. I see someone who talks to the paintings in the hallway when she thinks no one is listening. Someone who eats cereal at midnight and dances barefoot in the kitchen. Someone who makes this creepy old house feel alive again.”

You tried to speak, but he kept going.

“Those women in the city? They don’t know what I’d give up for you. They don’t know that when I wake up next to you, I actually feel human. That when I touch you, I don’t feel like some cursed creature anymore. I feel wanted. I feel loved.”

You reached for him without thinking, hands gripping the front of his shirt. “You mean it?”

“Every. Single. Word.”

He bent his forehead to yours. “I’d rather live a thousand lifetimes with you and every single insecurity of yours than spend a second with someone who makes me feel hollow.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh. “You’re getting poetic on me.”

“I’ve been hanging around Erik too much.”

You smiled, but it faded just a little. “I still don’t like how I look sometimes.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “Loving yourself takes time. But till then I’ll keep loving you out loud until you can do it too.”

He kissed you softly, then pulled back. “Wait here.”

You watched him jog up the stairs. A minute later, he returned with a long, worn box. He opened it, revealing an old vinyl record. Your grandfather’s collection. He walked over to the ancient gramophone by the wall and cranked it until soft jazz filled the ballroom.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to dance with me?”

Sam grinned. “Damn right.”

You let out a laugh. “You hate dancing.”

“Yeah. But I love you.”

He held out his hand again. “Come on, beautiful.”

You let him pull you into his arms. You rested your cheek against his chest as you swayed together. The music crackled, soft and dreamy.

“I can feel you relaxing,” he murmured.

“I’m trying.”

“Good. Because I want you to feel how perfect you are when you’re like this.”

You looked up at him. “I’m not perfect.”

“You are to me.”

The dance continued in silence for a while. The moon moved across the windowpane. Somewhere in the distance, the old pipes groaned, and the wind stirred the hedges outside.

Sam whispered, “You know… my kind was never supposed to feel this. Not really. Not love. Not peace. But when I’m with you, I forget all the things I’m supposed to be, where I’m supposed to be. I forget I’m a monster. You make me feel like I’m worth something.”

You rested your head back on his chest. “You are worth something. You’re worth so much.”

“So are you.”

You smiled against his hoodie. “Maybe we both need to remind each other sometimes.”

“Yeah. We can do that.”

When the record ended, he led you back upstairs. You paused at the top of the landing, looking down over the grand hall, bathed in moonlight.

Sam wrapped his arms around you from behind. “This place is huge. But it doesn’t feel empty when you’re in it.”

You leaned into him. “Thanks for talking to me me tonight.”

“Thanks for listening.”

You turned to face him. “Can I tell you something kind of dumb?”

He smirked. “I love dumb.”

“I… kind of like wearing your clothes. Even when I feel bad. It’s like they still smell like you. Like you’re wrapping around me even when you’re not in the room.”

He reached down, gripping the edge of the hoodie you wore. “Then keep wearing them. Hell, I’ll give you all of them.”

You laughed. “Then what’ll you wear?”

“Nothing,” he said with a wink.

You pushed him gently. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

And you did.

More than anything.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

popping back in after like 6 months with this gem

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

"Conrad Fisher, the ghost of Christmas past."

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

mystery of love being the first belly and conrad song of s3 is actually insane work

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

That's when I had this sudden thought. A part of me will always love you. Belly and Conrad + Christmas | The Summer I Turned Pretty — 3.02

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

sometimes i say “i think” but actually i know. on account of being the knower.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hey! I absolutely love your writing!!

If you want to, do you think you could do a ybf Peter x reader who likes cute and pink things? Like sanrio and dresses? Thank you so much, I hope you have a wonderful day :)

- 🍰 anon

A/N: HI ANONNNN :))) thank you so much for your request!! I loved this so much and I haven’t written for YBF in FOREVERRRRR so thank you for this :)

Warnings: they/them pronouns for the reader! possessive peter + his usual weird tendencies

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

The first time Peter sees Y/N, they are wearing a pastel pink hoodie with tiny Hello Kitty pins on the sleeve. Their backpack has dangling Sanrio keychains and the softest-looking plush charm hanging from the zipper. He cannot stop staring.

It is like cotton candy took a human form and decided to sit in front of him. He smiles in that wide, twitchy way of his and cannot help but follow them with his eyes when they leave. He memorizes their walk. Their shoes. The way their fingers fidgeted with the hem of their shirt.

Peter finds out their name the very next day. Not because they told him, but because he watched them write it on a coffee cup when they ordered. Y/N. It rolls around his mind like a prayer, or maybe like a threat. Depends who you ask.

When Y/N starts noticing Peter more often at their favorite spots, they chalk it up to coincidence. The diner. The comic store. The Sanrio section in the mall. “You again,” they say with a small smile. Peter grins like he has won the lottery. “Guess we just have good taste.”

He never mocks their love for cute things. He listens. He asks questions. “Is that one your favorite?” he asks when Y/N picks up a My Melody pen. He doesn’t even flinch when they gush about Kuromi or Pompompurin. In fact, he looks more focused than ever. He is storing all this information like it is vital for survival.

Peter starts showing up with little gifts. A pink scrunchie. A strawberry-scented lip balm. A sticker sheet of Cinnamoroll. “Saw this and thought of you,” he says casually, like he didn’t spend an hour picking it out while muttering their name under his breath.

One time Y/N tells him they had a bad day. Just a passing comment. The next morning, there is a Hello Kitty plush on their doorstep with a note that simply reads, “No one should make you sad.” The handwriting is shaky but careful. Y/N looks around the street but sees no one.

Y/N eventually invites Peter to hang out more formally. Coffee, maybe a movie. He agrees so fast it’s almost alarming. During the movie, his hand lingers too long near theirs. When Y/N brushes pink cupcake frosting off their cheek, he watches them like they just created art. His pupils are blown wide and his jaw flexes, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Peter likes when they dress up. Especially in soft, pastel dresses or anything frilly. The more pink, the better. He always compliments them. “You look like a dream,” he whispers, voice low, almost reverent. If anyone else stares at them for too long, he notices. His eyes go flat and cold.

One time, some guy bumps into Y/N and mutters something rude under his breath. Peter’s smile disappears. He watches the guy walk away, jaw clenched. Later, Y/N hears about someone getting their tires slashed behind the building. They never make the connection. Peter does not offer it.

He has a habit of touching their things. Rearranging their keychains, flipping through their photo albums. He says it is because he wants to know them better. “You’re in every little detail,” he says one evening. “I want to understand all of it.”

Sometimes Peter gets quiet. Real quiet. Especially when Y/N talks about people they used to date or friends who call them cute. He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. Later, he might press closer during a hug or cling just a little longer. “I like when it’s just us,” he mumbles into their hair.

Y/N once joked about having a Sanrio-themed wedding. Peter did not laugh. He just looked at them and asked what character they would want on the cake topper. “I’d wear a pink tie,” he said after a beat. “And I’d make sure you were the center of everything.”

Peter keeps one of their hair accessories. Y/N thinks they lost it. He found it on the ground and never gave it back. He keeps it in his jacket pocket and runs his thumb across it whenever he misses them. Which is often. Like, every few minutes often.

One time, Y/N paints their nails soft pink and adds little white hearts. Peter stares so hard they get self-conscious. “Does it look weird?” they ask. He shakes his head, slowly. “No. You just make everything beautiful.” Then, quieter, “I want to be something you’d paint.”

He leaves notes for them in their locker or bag. The handwriting is shaky, but the messages are clear. “You are perfect.” “I hope you smiled today.” “I would hurt anyone who made you cry.” The mix of sweet and dangerous gives Y/N butterflies they cannot quite explain.

Y/N once told him that people used to tease them for liking pink, for being soft, for caring about silly things. Peter’s eyes darken. “They’re idiots,” he says. “Those things are what make you magic. And if anyone says otherwise again, I’ll make sure they regret it.”

He surprises them by getting matching phone charms. His has a tiny Grim Reaper with a heart. Theirs is a sparkly pink bunny with a knife. “It suits us,” he says. Y/N laughs and agrees, not realizing how serious Peter is about the symbolism.

Peter sometimes stands behind them and wraps his arms around their waist. He rests his head on their shoulder and watches whatever they are doing. “You smell like strawberries,” he says one time. “I want that scent on my clothes forever.”

He never lets them walk home alone. Ever. Even if they argue, he insists. “You don’t know who’s out there,” he says. “But I do. And I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Y/N has a little vanity in their room, decorated with Sanrio trinkets and pastel accessories. Peter leaves a rose there once. Not bought, not wrapped. Just a single pink rose, placed gently on the mirror. Y/N doesn’t ask where it came from.

Peter gets jealous. It is not loud or dramatic. It is quiet, possessive, and simmering. If someone flirts with Y/N, Peter stays close, his fingers brushing against theirs in warning. When they are alone later, he’ll say, “You’re mine, right?” and wait for them to answer before he relaxes again.

One night, Y/N falls asleep on the couch after a long day. Peter tucks a pink blanket around them, kneels beside them, and just watches for a while. “You’re the only thing that makes this place feel like home,” he whispers.

He knows their favorite character, their favorite snack, the playlist they listen to when they’re sad. He knows what earrings they wore last Thursday and the way they hum when they’re focused. He stores all of it. Like it is sacred.

Peter once tried to draw them in their favorite outfit. The proportions are a little off, the lines shaky, but the effort is pure. He leaves it on their desk without a name, but signs it with a tiny heart. They know it is from him.

When they go on dates, he always lets them choose. But he steers them toward places where it is just the two of them. Less people. Less distractions. More time to hear Y/N talk about cute plushies or sweet drinks or how soft their new cardigan is.

Peter keeps calling them cute. Not just when they’re dressed up, but when they’re in pajamas, when they’re sleepy, when they’re grumpy. “You’re cute when you pout,” he says. “You’re cute when you blink. You’re cute when you breathe.”

Y/N once catches him staring at them for way too long. They ask him what’s wrong. He answers in a voice too soft for someone so obsessed. “I just don’t get how something like you exists. And how I get to see you every day.”

Sometimes, late at night, Peter whispers things like, “If you ever left me, I think I’d lose it.” He says it like it is a joke, but his grip on their hand is tight. Y/N strokes his hair and says they’re not going anywhere. For now, that is enough.

The love Peter feels for Y/N is intense. All-consuming. But in their eyes, they only ever see that wide, crooked smile. That twitchy affection. That desire to be near them every second. It is scary, a little. But it is also warm. And for some reason, Y/N thinks they might be okay with that.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

For Black Butler : Elizabeth Midford X Photography Enthusiast! Male reader

A/N: Hii!! Thank you so much for your request!! I hope i did well 😓, i’ve never written for elizabeth before so i did a bit of reading before writing this, so i hope it’s good!!

warnings: modern au// canon aligned with modern elements

Navigation!! //

You first met Elizabeth at a formal gathering hosted at the Phantomhive estate. You were there with your camera, invited by a distant family connection to take portraits for your growing photography portfolio. You expected rich people, stiff smiles, and zero real connections. What you did not expect was her.

Elizabeth noticed your camera the moment she stepped into the garden. She walked right over in her lace dress, wide-eyed and beaming. “Is that a Leica? How do you get that beautiful blur behind people in your pictures?” Her curiosity felt so genuine that you forgot to feel nervous.

You explained how aperture worked, and she actually listened. Most people nodded politely and walked off, but Elizabeth wanted to know how light could be shaped and how the world could look through your eyes. She asked questions and soaked up every answer.

The first picture you took of her was a candid. She had just thrown her head back laughing, and the sunlight caught in her hair. When you showed her the photo, she held her breath. “Is that really me?” You nodded. She whispered that no one had ever captured her like that before.

From that moment on, she found excuses to invite you back. She asked if you wanted to come to the next tea party, the fencing match, the summer picnic in the Midford gardens. You always agreed. There was something magnetic about her, and she made everything around her feel a little more alive.

You quickly realized that Elizabeth Midford was not just some noble’s daughter. She was joy and warmth and strength all wrapped in ribbons. She became your favorite subject to photograph without even trying.

• She adored the way you found beauty in the smallest moments. You once snapped a photo of a broken teacup lying in the grass, and she stared at it like it belonged in a gallery. “You even make mistakes look magical,” she said, touching the corner of the print with wonder.

• You gave her a film camera of her own one day. A simple one with manual focus. She was thrilled, even if she struggled at first. “I want to remember everything,” she told you while snapping a crooked photo of your shoes beside hers.

• She took pictures of wildflowers growing in sidewalk cracks, your hands as you adjusted a lens, and little animals she spotted on walks. When she got a photo just right, she’d hold it up proudly and say she was getting better thanks to her favorite teacher.

• Elizabeth had always been told to be graceful and elegant. She had grown up trying to meet high expectations and was used to being judged for how she looked and how she behaved. When she realized you loved her exactly as she was, something shifted in her.

• She once cried after a fencing tournament. You had taken a picture of her just after the final match. Her hair was windblown, cheeks flushed, and eyes alight with victory. She looked down at the image in your hands and said softly, “That’s the real me. I don’t always get to be her.”

• You sat beside her on the bleachers, your fingers brushing hers. “You don’t have to choose between being the girl in this photo and the one in ballgowns. They are both you, and both are amazing.”

• She smiled through tears and whispered, “You really think so?”

• “I know so,” you replied without hesitation.

• Elizabeth began to fall for you in pieces. In the click of a camera shutter, in your patient explanations about lighting, and in the way you looked at her like she hung the moon.

• When she introduced you to her parents, her mother looked skeptical. Francis tapped her fingers against her teacup and asked bluntly, “So you are a photographer?” Elizabeth squeezed your hand under the table and answered for you. “He sees things no one else does. He sees people.”

• You were careful, respectful, and sincere. Eventually, Francis allowed a small smile when you showed her a photo you had taken of her and Elizabeth mid-conversation. She kept it in her desk drawer after that.

• Elizabeth often took your camera when you were not paying attention. She snapped candid shots of you frowning at your editing screen, smiling at birds, or asleep with your arms wrapped around your gear bag. She claimed those were her favorites.

• Your dates usually had some combination of action and stillness. You would go fencing with her in the morning, then lay in the shade with your heads touching while you showed her how to adjust contrast. She once whispered that she never felt as peaceful as she did with you.

• You called her your muse. She would laugh every time and say it sounded overly romantic, but her cheeks always turned pink and she never once told you to stop.

• She once found a tiny polaroid in the pocket of her coat. It was a close-up of her hands adjusting a rose in a vase. On the back, you had written “graceful.” She found dozens more over time. One tucked into her mirror frame that said “radiant,” one inside her fencing glove that read “fierce.”

• She kept them all in a wooden box marked “my love story.”

• When she saw that you kept a photo of her in your wallet, she looked at it in disbelief. It was not posed. Her hair was slightly messy, and she had her eyes closed and was laughing. “That’s the one you keep with you?” she asked softly. “That one,” you said. “It is you at your most beautiful.”

• One summer evening, you were caught in the rain with her. Instead of running inside, Elizabeth grabbed your hand and pulled you into a spin across the wet garden path. You had your camera in a waterproof case and managed to catch her in mid-laugh, dress soaked and eyes shining. That photo became both of your phone screens.

• You taught her how to develop film in your darkroom. Her fingers fumbled, but you were gentle. When the first images bloomed into view under the chemicals, she looked up at you with awe. “This is like watching memories come alive.”

• She helped you build your first gallery show. She picked which prints should go where and even helped hang them. One of the final photos was of the two of you walking away from the camera, hand in hand. She made sure it was the last image people saw on the wall.

• She cried during your opening speech. Not loud, but enough for you to notice her dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “You made the world soft,” she told you afterward. “And you made me feel seen.”

• The first time she said I love you, she gave you a photograph. It was one she had taken in secret. You were looking into your camera, completely focused, unaware she was behind you. On the back, she had written, “You gave me light. I love you.”

• You framed it, of course.

• She once told you that you made her feel brave. You told her she made you feel inspired. Together, you brought out something beautiful in each other.

• Elizabeth promised you that you could always photograph her, no matter how old you both got. “Even when I have laugh lines and gray hair?” she teased. “Especially then,” you said with a smile.

• And you kept photographing her. Every quiet moment. Every joyful burst of laughter. Every sword lifted and flower tucked behind her ear. You filled albums and film rolls with her light.

• In every photo, her love was visible. And in every glance you gave her, so was yours.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Would you write for any character still? All of the ones on your Masterlist?

yes i will!! thank you so much for asking!! all the characters on my masterlist are characters im willing to write for!

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Any updates on Split River Sweethearts? Love that series sm 🫶🏻

Currently it’s looking like a very possible no on plans💔, after re reading the story i feel like im kind of not meshing with the concept anymore, and i feel like just re working the whole thing, since i feel like it kind of doesn’t match the seriousness of the show anymore 😔😔, i also feel like it’s been so long since ive written for that story that maybe people have just moved on and forgotten about it

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

watched the summer i turned pretty for the first time and all i could think about was how this was so James and Sam coded 💔

just with a bit of magic and more jealousy yk ✨

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Can you write some Sam x Mika smut? Like they aren't in a relationship but they end up like hooking up after a stressful day and have secret feelings about each other?

Warnings: p in v (wrap it up yall!), oral (f receiving), mentions of true names, unspoken feelings + confessions at end, kind of rough?

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Left Unsaid

"You're pushing it, Sam," Mika warned, holding a plate of pizza in one hand and a beer in the other. His green eyes narrowed playfully at his roommate.

Sam's laughter was the only response, as he snatched a slice from the plate, his movements quick and sure. "You know you love it," he teased, taking a bite. The cheese stretched in a satisfying way, and the warmth of the pizza filled the room with a comforting aroma that seemed to ease the tension of the day.

They had both come home from work exhausted, looking forward to a quiet evening of video games and junk food. But the banter between them had always had an underlying current of something else, something neither of them had been willing to acknowledge.

Mika's office job in business was demanding, leaving her drained of energy. The same went for Sam, a cop with a penchant for taking on too much. The tension of the city streets followed him home, seeping into their shared living space.

Mika couldn't help but watch Sam as he moved about the kitchen, his muscles flexing under his shirt with every gesture. The way he held his beer, the way his hair fell over his eyes, everything about him was so...tempting. She had always had a soft spot for the mysterious incubus, despite their platonic living situation.

Her thoughts grew bolder as she took in the sight of him, and she felt her cheeks heat up. She knew she shouldn't be thinking about Sam in that way…he was her roommate, after all, but the attraction was palpable. It was as if the room had suddenly shrunk, and she was hyper-aware of every inch of space between them.

Without warning, Sam turned to face her, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, the air seemed to thicken, charged with an electric current. He took a step closer, and Mika could feel the warmth radiating off his body. The smell of his cologne, usually faint and comforting, now seemed to wrap around her, intoxicating and tantalizing.

Her heart raced as she realized the truth of her own feelings. The friendship they had built over the months had transformed into something far more intense. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but it only served to bring Sam's scent deeper into her lungs.

Sam's gaze didn't waver as he stepped closer, his green eyes darkening. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the fridge and the sound of their breathing, which grew heavier with every second that passed. "You know, Mika," he murmured, "I've had quite the day."

Mika swallowed, feeling a cocktail of nerves and desire pooling in her stomach. "Me too," she replied, setting her beer down with a shaky hand. "But you always find a way to make it better."

The words hung in the air, a silent confession that seemed to charge the space around them. Sam took another step forward, closing the gap between them. He reached out, his hand brushing against hers, sending a jolt of heat up her arm. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Mika's eyes searched his, looking for any hint of rejection, but all she found was a mirror of her own yearning. "Yes," she whispered, the word barely audible.

Sam's hand closed around hers, and in one swift movement, he yanked her into his embrace. Their mouths collided in a fiery kiss, all hesitation forgotten. His free hand snaked around her waist, pulling her closer as their bodies melded together. Mika felt the warmth of his skin through her shirt, and she craved more, her hands roaming over his broad shoulders and down his back.

Their kiss grew rougher, more desperate, as the tension of their unspoken feelings spilled over. Sam's fangs grazed her bottom lip, and she gasped, the sharpness of the sensation sending a thrill through her. She didn't know what she was doing, she had never been with an incubus before, but she couldn't resist the allure of his touch.

Mika's hands found the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The sight of his bare chest, muscles defined and gleaming with a sheen of sweat from the day's work, was almost too much to handle. She traced the lines of his abs with trembling fingers, feeling his warmth and the rapid beating of his heart beneath her touch.

Sam's hand slipped up to the back of her neck, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin there as he deepened the kiss. The other hand slid down her back, gripping her firmly and lifting her up. Mika wrapped her legs around his waist, the heat from their bodies mingling as he carried her to the couch, laying her down gently.

Their kisses grew more urgent, their breaths mingling as they explored each other's mouths with a passion that had been simmering just beneath the surface for so long. Sam's teeth grazed her neck, eliciting a moan that was half pleasure, half pain. The feel of his fangs, so sharp and dangerous, only served to heighten her arousal.

Mika's own hands weren't idle. They roamed over his shoulders, his chest, and finally found the button of his jeans. She fumbled with it for a moment before he took over, his own urgency clear as he tugged them down his legs. He kicked them away, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, which strained against the evidence of his desire for her.

The sight of him sent a jolt of electricity through Mika's body, and she couldn't help but bite her lip in anticipation. Sam took the hint and moved his mouth to her neck, nibbling and sucking as he made his way down. Her skin was already sensitive from his touch, and she shivered as his teeth grazed her collarbone.

With a growl of need, Sam yanked Mika's shirt off, exposing her lacy black bra. He paused for a moment, eyes blazing with lust, before reaching behind her to unclasp it. The fabric fell away, revealing her perky breasts. He took one in his hand, feeling the weight of it, and then leaned in to kiss the peak of her nipple. The sensation was heavenly, and Mika arched her back, silently begging for more.

Sam didn't disappoint. He took her whole nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting gently, his tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh. Mika's breath hitched as she felt his fangs press against her skin, the danger of his nature mixing with the pleasure of his touch. She gripped his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on.

Her own desperation grew with every passing second, her body responding to his every move. She could feel the wetness pooling between her legs, and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. Sam seemed to sense this and pulled back, his eyes smoldering as he met hers. "I want to taste you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Without waiting for a response, he slid his hand down her stomach, his fingertips dancing over the button of her jeans. He deftly unzipped them, his eyes never leaving hers as he slid them down her legs, revealing her matching black panties. Mika's heart hammered in her chest as he traced the edge of the fabric, teasing her with the promise of what was to come.

Finally, with a growl of his own, Sam hooked his fingers into her panties and ripped them off, leaving her completely exposed to him. He took a moment to drink in the sight of her, sprawled out on the couch, her skin flushed with desire. Then, with a hunger that was almost animalistic, he lowered his head between her thighs.

Mika's eyes rolled back in her head as Sam's tongue flicked over her clit, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through her. She could feel his hot breath against her, and the scrape of his teeth as he tasted her. It was rough, but oh so good, and she found herself bucking her hips up to meet his mouth.

Sam took her reactions as encouragement, his tongue delving deeper as he explored her folds. He knew just how to touch her, just how much pressure to apply to make her whimper and beg. The sound of her moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that was music to his ears. He could feel his own arousal growing with every second, his cock straining against his boxers, demanding to be set free.

Mika's nails dug into the couch cushions as she writhed beneath him. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and her mouth was open in a silent scream as he worked his magic. Her thighs trembled, and she was so wet for him, the scent of her arousal driving him wild. He couldn't hold back anymore, he needed to be inside her.

With a swift move, Sam pulled away, leaving her gasping for breath. He shed his boxers, his cock standing proud and thick. The sight of it made Mika's insides clench with want, and she reached for him, her hand wrapping around his length. He hissed through his teeth at her touch, and she couldn't resist stroking him, feeling him pulse in her hand.

"Mika," he groaned, his eyes glowing a fierce gold. The room seemed to shimmer with the intensity of his sexual energy, his incubus powers heightening her own sensitivity. "I need you," he said, his voice strained.

Mika nodded, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. She felt her own body respond to the potent allure of his gaze, her sex pulsing with an urgency that was almost painful. Sam positioned himself over her, his cock nudging at her entrance, and she opened her legs wider, welcoming him in.

As he pushed into her, Mika's eyes flew open, and she let out a keening cry that echoed in the room. He was so much bigger than she had ever imagined, filling her completely and setting every nerve ending ablaze. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pressure that had her toes curling and her fingers digging into his back

.

Sam's eyes remained locked on hers, the gold in them burning brighter with every inch he sank into her. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breaths and the slick, wet noises of their bodies joining together. Mika's eyes widened as he began to move, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm that made her see stars.

Her nails raked down his back, leaving trails of red against his golden skin. She could feel his cock stretching her, the head of it hitting a spot that made her see sparks behind her eyes. Each thrust was accompanied by a low, guttural groan that seemed to resonate in her very soul.

"Sam," she gasped out his name, her voice a desperate plea for more. He responded by leaning down and capturing her mouth again, swallowing her moans as he picked up the pace. The couch creaked under their weight, a testament to their passion.

But something changed in his expression, a flicker of something deeper, more primal. He pulled away from her, panting, and looked into her eyes. "Say it," he demanded, his voice thick with need. "Say my true name."

Mika's breath hitched. She had heard the whispers, the rumors of what it meant to speak an incubus' true name during such an intimate moment. But she didn't hesitate. "Aomaris," she whispered, the name rolling off her tongue like a secret spell.

Sam's eyes flared with power, the gold in them becoming a blinding beacon. He thrust into her harder, faster, each movement a declaration of his dominance and need. Mika's body responded instinctively, her muscles tightening around him, urging him deeper. The sensation was unreal, like nothing she had ever felt before.

Her eyes widened as she felt the energy in the room spike, a tangible force that coiled around them like a living thing. It was as if the air itself had grown thick with desire, making it hard to breathe. Yet, she couldn't get enough of it, the thrill of the unknown driving her closer and closer to the edge.

"Sam...Aomaris," she murmured, her voice shaking as she felt the power of his true name resonate through her body. It was like a key fitting into a lock, unleashing a part of him she had never seen before. His eyes blazed brighter, and she could see his fangs fully descended as he claimed her with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

The room grew hotter, the air charged with an energy that was almost tangible. Mika could feel it coiling around her, heightening her senses and making every touch, every sensation, more intense. The pleasure was like a live wire, zipping through her veins and setting her entire body alight.

"Again," Sam rasped, his eyes never leaving hers. "Say it again."

Mika swallowed, the sound echoing in the heated silence of the room. "Aomaris," she breathed, feeling the power of his true name resonate through her.

With a growl that was more animal than human, Sam claimed her mouth again, his tongue delving deep as if he could taste her very soul. His hips pistoned into her, the sound of their bodies slapping together a symphony of passion. The gold in his eyes grew brighter, and she could feel his power pulsing in time with the beat of his heart, which was now pounding in her own chest.

Mika's own eyes widened as she felt something inside her respond to the raw sexual energy in the room. A warmth began to build in her core, spreading through her limbs like wildfire. She had never felt anything so intense, so all-consuming. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, her body begging for release.

Sam's grip on her hips tightened, his movements growing more erratic as he chased his own climax. The gold in his eyes was now a blazing inferno, and Mika could feel her own arousal reaching a fever pitch. Her nails dug into his back, leaving half-moon marks on his skin as she met him thrust for thrust.

"More," she gasped, her voice a needy whine that seemed to fuel his passion. "Aomaris, please..."

His name on her lips was like a drug, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Sam's hips snapped against hers, his cock driving into her with a force that had them both panting and sweating. The couch groaned beneath them, a testament to their frenzied passion. His eyes never left hers, the gold in them seeming to grow more intense with every thrust.

Mika could feel the climax building within her, a pressure that was almost painful in its intensity. She threw her head back, her hair a wild mess around her flushed face. "Aomaris," she moaned again, the word a prayer and a plea.

The sound of her voice, the way she said his true name, was like a trigger for Sam. With a roar, he thrust into her one final time, his cock pulsing as he released inside her. The force of his orgasm seemed to ignite the very air around them, a wave of power that sent Mika hurtling over the edge with him.

Her body convulsed, her pussy clenching down on him as she came with a scream that was almost a sob. The sensation was like nothing she had ever felt before, like she was being torn apart and put back together again, piece by piece, by the very essence of pleasure.

The room was a blur of gold and heat as Sam's eyes blazed with power. Mika's vision swam with it, her entire being suffused with the energy of their union. Her orgasm washed over her in waves, each one more intense than the last, until she was left trembling and boneless beneath him.

As their passion crested, Sam's grip on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. The pain was a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure, and she could feel the warmth of his seed filling her. It was an intimacy she had never experienced, a bond that went beyond the physical.

The gold in his eyes began to fade, the energy in the room slowly dissipating. He collapsed onto her, his body heavy but comforting. They lay there, panting and sweaty, their hearts racing in unison. The silence was deafening, the only sound the erratic thumping of their hearts.

Mika's eyes searched Sam's, looking for any sign of regret or confusion, but all she saw was a smoldering desire that mirrored her own. He kissed her forehead, a gentle gesture that was at odds with the ferocity of their recent encounter. "I've wanted you for so long," he murmured, his voice hoarse.

Mika's chest tightened at his admission, the words she had been too afraid to say herself. She didn't know how to respond, so instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer for a deep, lingering kiss. It was a kiss filled with all the unspoken confessions and secret longings that had been building between them for months.

As they broke apart, she felt a strange warmth spread through her, a feeling that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as if she could feel his essence inside her, mingling with her own, creating a bond she wasn't quite ready to understand.

Mika's cheeks were flushed, and she could feel the heat of their bodies melding together. She didn't dare move, afraid that if she did, the moment would shatter and reveal the reality of what had just happened.

But reality was unavoidable.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

could you do prompt #3 for nick leister? i’ve been obsessed with your my fault london posts! :)) maybe it could be a hurt/comfort kinda vibe?

A/N: i’m trying to pull myself out of my writing slump so thank you so much for your request! I’ve also seen that they recently finished filming Our Fault London so i’m SOOOO excited for that ☺️☺️

Warnings: comforting Nick, mentions of Noah but very brief, mentions of expectations, light stuff :))

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Prompt List!!

“You can’t please everyone”

The music thudded through the marble floors of the Leister estate like a heartbeat, loud, persistent, impossible to ignore. Nick stood outside the sliding doors that led to the pool, watching everyone dance, drink, and laugh like the world hadn’t cracked open under his feet just days ago.

His knuckles were white around the glass in his hand. Another party, another distraction. Another reason to pretend like nothing was wrong.

Y/N sat on the edge of one of the lounge chairs, watching him from across the yard. She didn’t say anything, didn’t wave him over. She just… watched. Quiet, knowing, patient. That was something she did better than anyone else. And it drove him crazy, how she always seemed to see past everything he tried to hide.

She was in his space before he even realized he’d moved. He didn’t remember walking over, didn’t remember setting the glass down, but there she was, looking up at him, legs crossed, her eyes soft.

“You okay?” she asked.

That question. That stupid, gentle question. It should’ve been easy to lie, he’d done it a thousand times before. But he didn’t have the energy tonight.

“No,” he muttered.

“Want to talk?”

He looked around. The crowd was too loud, too messy. He didn’t belong in it tonight. “Let’s go inside.”

She followed him through the back entrance, the sound of the party muffled once the doors shut behind them. The quiet was almost worse.

They stopped in the hallway. He leaned against the wall and ran his hands down his face like he could erase the past week with the friction.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he muttered. “The parties, the pretending. I’m so fucking tired.”

Y/N stepped closer but didn’t touch him. She knew better than to crowd him when he was like this.

“You don’t have to put on a show for them,” she said. “You don’t owe them anything.”

His laugh was bitter. “Don’t I? Everyone here expects something from me. My dad wants me to be perfect. My step-mum wants me to be someone I’m not. Even Noah, she’s still trying to clean up the mess I made.”

“Nick—”

“I can’t win, Y/N.” His voice cracked. “If I do what they want, I lose myself. If I do what I want, I let everyone else down. You ever feel like no matter what you choose, you’re always disappointing someone?”

She finally reached out, her hand brushing his arm. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “All the time.”

He blinked at her, startled. He hadn’t expected that. Not from her. Y/N always seemed so… solid. Like nothing ever broke her.

“Who are you disappointing?” he asked.

She hesitated. “My parents. They don’t get why I’m still here. Why I care about this…” she gestured between them, “…when it’s messy, and complicated, and not in the plan.”

Nick’s jaw clenched. “You’re not disappointing them. You’re just… choosing something different.”

“So are you.”

He looked away. “Doesn’t feel the same.”

“You know what your problem is?” she said softly. “You think you have to be everything to everyone. But you can’t, Nick. You can’t please everyone.”

He flinched at the words. Like they hit something raw inside him.

She stepped closer. “You’re allowed to say no. You’re allowed to fuck up. You’re allowed to just be, without carrying the whole world on your shoulders.”

Nick swallowed hard. “I don’t know how.”

“I can help,” she said, her voice barely a whisper now. “If you let me.”

He met her eyes. There was no judgment there. No expectation. Just this quiet offer: stay. Be real. Let me see the parts of you no one else does.

“I thought if I could keep everything together,” he murmured, “if I could be what everyone wanted… then maybe I’d stop feeling so empty.”

Y/N’s hand found his. “How long have you felt like that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at their intertwined fingers. His voice was hoarse when he finally said, “Since I was a kid.”

She squeezed his hand.

“I was always the one who didn’t cry when my parents screamed at each other,” he continued. “The one who cleaned up after Noah when he got drunk. The one who smiled through it all because someone had to.

“You don’t have to be that guy anymore.”

He looked at her. “Then who am I?”

“You’re Nick,” she said simply. “You’re stubborn and reckless and stupidly brave. You care more than you let on. And you love hard, even if you don’t always show it the right way.”

He looked like he might break. And she’d never seen him look more beautiful than in that moment, cracked open, raw, real.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

“Maybe not,” she said with a soft smile. “But I’m still here.”

He leaned his forehead against hers, his breath shaky. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re not going to have to find out.”

For a while, they just stood there. No party. No parents. No expectations. Just them. And for the first time in a long time, Nick let himself feel safe.

Later, they sat on the floor of his room, backs against the wall, knees drawn up. His head rested on her shoulder, her fingers tracing slow circles on his arm.

“You ever wish you could just… disappear?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “But then I think about who I’d miss. Who’d miss me.”

He looked up at her. “Would you miss me?”

“Nick,” she said softly. “You’re the reason I stayed.”

He blinked rapidly, like he wasn’t sure how to hold that truth. “You always say the right thing.”

She smiled faintly. “No. I just say the real thing.”

He turned to face her fully, his expression unreadable. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why me? Why… why choose someone like me, when you could’ve had easy?”

Y/N laughed quietly. “Because I don’t want easy. I want real. And no one’s ever made me feel more real than you.”

He kissed her then. Soft. Grateful. Like she was air and he’d been drowning. And she kissed him back like he was the anchor that kept her from floating too far.

When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers again.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me.”

She looked at him, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to be perfect, Nick. You just have to be you. And I’ll still be here.”

He exhaled. And for the first time in a long time, the weight in his chest loosened.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

OMG YOUR NICK LEISTER IS AMAZING????????? more of him pleeease (only when you have time though!)

i just posted a new fic for him

i’m trying to be more active guys

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Hi, can i request prompt #7 in your prompt/idea list with Nick Leister from My Fault London?

I love your posts about him ;) Have a nice day!

A/N: I’ve been away for a while on this major writing block 💔 i’m trying to pull myself out of this slump so here’s some Nick Leister content for you guys. Prompt #7 with Nick, my fav racer 👅

Warnings: Angst

Navigation!! // Masterlist (in the works)!!

The night was bitter, laced with rain and regret.

You stood on the balcony, fingers gripping the edge of the stone railing, the cold seeping into your skin. London looked like a painting from here—wet streets reflecting golden light, people moving like shadows in a dream. It should’ve been beautiful. But all you could feel was the weight in your chest, the heaviness of everything left unsaid.

The door opened behind you.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to. You knew that silence, the rhythm of his breathing, the hesitance in his steps. Nick. Of course it was him.

“I figured I’d find you out here,” he said, voice low, cautious.

You finally spoke. “Did you come to tell me goodbye?”

He didn’t answer right away. The rain danced on the wrought iron railing, like a clock ticking down. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.

“I came to tell you the truth.”

That made you turn. Slowly. Carefully. As if facing him too quickly might make everything hurt more than it already did.

He looked the same—Nick always looked the same, like a storm right before it broke. That impossible combination of control and chaos in his eyes, in the way he held himself like he was barely holding everything else in.

“I don’t think I want the truth anymore,” you said quietly. “I think the truth ruins things.”

He stepped closer. “Sometimes it does. But sometimes…it saves them.”

You scoffed. “You think there’s anything left to save?”

A flicker of pain crossed his face, and it nearly made you step back. Because when Nick Leister looked hurt, it was raw. Unfiltered. He didn’t try to hide it—he didn’t know how. Not with you. Not anymore.

“I made you hate me,” he said. “I pushed you, and then I punished you for staying. I didn’t think I deserved what you gave me. And maybe I still don’t.”

“Nick…”

“I know,” he interrupted softly. “But let me say it. Please.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe.

“I saw you,” he went on, his voice barely a whisper now. “The first time we met—I mean really met, not that stupid fight in the car, not the snarky comments—I saw you. You laughed at something stupid I said, and you weren’t pretending. You didn’t care who I was supposed to be. And I think…”

His throat worked. His eyes shone.

“I fell in love with you as soon as I saw you for who you were instead of who I was.”

It was a confession and a funeral. Something born and something buried, all at once.

You looked away.

“Don’t,” he murmured. “Please don’t do that. Don’t disappear.”

Your arms folded, the only shield you had. “What do you want from me, Nick?”

“Everything.”

Your breath caught. “You can’t say that.”

“But I mean it.”

You shook your head, eyes stinging. “You only mean it now. Now that I’m gone. Now that I’ve walked away.”

He stepped closer again, until you could feel the heat of him through the cold air. “I didn’t know how to love you without hurting you. And I hated myself for that. I hated that I couldn’t be soft when you needed softness, that I couldn’t be simple when everything else in your life was already complicated.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?” you asked, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you say any of this before?”

“Because I was scared. Because I thought you’d leave if you knew how much I needed you. I thought I had to stay detached or you’d see how fucking weak I really am.”

You were crying now. You hated that. Hated how easily he could still get to you.

“I didn’t want perfection,” you whispered. “I wanted you. All the broken parts. All the messy ones. That’s who I fell in love with.”

Nick’s jaw clenched. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t trust himself to touch you gently.

“I lost you because I couldn’t believe someone like you could actually love someone like me.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Maybe that was the worst part—not the anger, not even the heartbreak. Just this: two people who had everything, and still let it slip through their fingers.

“You didn’t lose me,” you said after a beat. “You pushed me off the edge and watched me fall.”

That hurt him. You saw it. You wanted it to hurt.

“I wanted you to fly,” he said, voice breaking. “But I didn’t know how to give you wings.”

You turned away, shoulders shaking. “It’s too late, Nick. It’s too fucking late.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t argue. Just stood there in the silence, in the space between what was and what could’ve been.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he finally said. “I just needed you to know… I loved you. I love you. And not just the version I made up in my head—the real you. The one who made me want to be something more than my worst mistakes.”

You faced him again, one last time.

“Then maybe you should’ve started by loving yourself.”

And with that, you walked inside, the warmth of the apartment swallowing you whole. You didn’t look back. You didn’t want to know if he stayed or if he left.

You just knew that love—real love—wasn’t supposed to feel like bleeding. And maybe someday, you could forgive him.

But not tonight.

Not this version of you.

Not this version of him.