#because he doesn't always like the answers

[lymtw]

Movie Night

(Toji and His Shy Girl)

Friday night is unofficially movie night for you and Toji. You always go back and forth on what you should do and options are tossed out, like a nice dinner or trying food from someplace new or going to a view and sitting in the trunk of his car with blankets and some snacks. Most of the time, all of those options are thrown out the window and you just end up sitting in your bed or his bed and watching movies together. It doesn't matter what you do, it's always good, and the sleep overs make it even better.

A knock on your door signals Toji's arrival. Though you haven't had any caffeine since the coffee you treated yourself to earlier in the afternoon, you feel jittery. You grab the surprise you have for him and walk over to answer the door. As soon as you pull the door open, there he is, looking handsome as always, even when he's donning a simple t-shirt and some sweatpants. He gives you that smirk of his—the one that makes your chest feel all warm and fuzzy, and wakes up the butterflies in your stomach. He has a bag in his hand, filled with the snacks he promised to bring.

"Aren't you gonna say hi? Did you even miss me?" He teases, loving the way you gently nod as he speaks, like you're ready to prove that you did in fact miss him.

"Hi, Toji," you say, a smile spreading on your lips when you become overly aware of his focus on you. "I missed you. Come in." You move aside and let him into your cozy home, a place he's all too familiar with. He steps out of his slides and leaves them behind next to a pair of your shoes, his gaze never leaving you as he waits for you to lock the door after you shut it.

"What's that, doll?" Toji asks, when you approach him with full hands. There's a soft smile on your lips and your eyes shine like the stars that speckle the sky, as you extend the neatly folded pair of pajamas towards him. You have the most precious look on your face, as if you're showing him one of your most prized possessions—something you're proud of.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to. I still have the receipt. I just thought it would be nice to wear matching pj's."

You're not asking for much. Toji knows this. This is nothing—you're not asking him for anything. All he can think as he takes in the adorable look on your face, is that it would be an absolutely disgusting, heinous crime, to deny you of something so simple, something that would make you so damn happy. He can't bring himself to destroy you like that. In doing that, he would be chipping his own heart.

"What are you talking about? Let me see them," he says, laying his hands out for you to place the clothes on. You carefully place them in his hands and watch as he unfolds the articles. You don't know what he's thinking as he inspects the shirt, but the hum he lets out is nerve wracking. The shirt's design is minimalistic. It's a black t-shirt with three little stars on the left side of the chest and a small crescent moon on the back, a few inches beneath the collar, and then the bottoms are in the same plaid style as yours, just dark green instead of red.

"Is this why you asked for my clothing sizes a couple days ago?" He asks, pulling down his pants out of nowhere. You can't even try to hold back your laugh as you look away after getting a glimpse of his boxers, the sound just slips out. "What are you laughing at? Nothing you haven't seen before," he says, grinning amusedly at your giggles.

He unfolds the comfy pair of pants and slides them on. Immediately after, his shirt comes off, and it's as if he wants you to notice—to ogle him—because he takes his sweet time getting the new shirt on. He catches your eyes trailing down his torso, and then, he hears it, the flustered giggle that tumbles off your lips, the sweet sound he was waiting on. He smirks as he puts the new shirt on, and once again waits for your reaction. The shirt is a thicker material and fits perfectly, so do the pants. You're now matching, just like you wanted.

"How do I look?" Toji asks, doing a simple hands in his pockets pose.

"Handsome and comfy," you respond, warmth reaching your face as you take in the sight.

"Yeah? You think so?" He asks as he picks up his previous outfit and drops it on the arm of your couch. He hears your affirmative hum and catches your little nod as he steps towards you.

"Hey, where's my kiss?" He asks, a sly little smirk curling his lips. His hands rest on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "I've been waiting hours and hours," he murmurs, green eyes absorbing the pretty smile that begins to form on your lips. "I want my reward."

You know that it won't be just a quick kiss with Toji, but still, you stand on your tippy toes and tilt your head upwards, waiting for Toji to meet you. He leans down, holding eye contact with you, as his lips come closer and closer. Once his nose is right next to yours and you feel his lips ghosting yours, he stops. He just loves the way you can't hide your fluster and how whenever you can't take it anymore, you resort to something you should have some sort of award for, by now—giggling.

"You're precious, ma," he says, his voice low. Dark eyes scan and re-memorize, for the nth time, every inch of your joyful expression, before finally he leans in the rest of the way, closing the distance between you and him.

His hands grip the back of your shirt as he feeds off your soft lips. Kiss after kiss, each one gentle and patient, demonstrating how much he truly longed for you. You feel butterflies in your stomach when you focus on the warmth of his body pressed against you and the way his lips chase yours for another kiss when you think he's finally going to pull away. His hands dip beneath your shirt to feel the bare, soft, and warm skin of your back. The simple touch is enough to spread goosebumps all over you.

The final kiss is long. Your lips lock, but Toji stops there, not going with the usual synchronized flow of the previous kisses, and when you don't expect it, he lets out deep hum and releases your lips with a more audible smack. He gives you a dumb grin in response to the stars that returned to your eyes.

"Do the thing, baby," he says, rubbing your back while he waits for you to snap out of your minor daze. He stays in the same slightly leaned position and waits for the softness of your lips to meet his skin. You press a kiss onto the smooth scar on the corner of his lips for an equal amount of time as the long kiss you shared before and smile softly when you pull away, your feet flat on the ground, again.

His hands come out of your shirt and he grins at how bashful you've become, despite the amount of times you've done this. You wouldn't immediately know what "do the thing" means, if you weren't so accustomed to doing it.

"Got your favorites," he says, nodding towards the bag he set down on your couch. "Did you keep up with your end of the deal?" He jokes, expecting a proud nod from you, because you've never let him down.

"Lemon-lime or Cool Blue Gatorade, right?" You ask, walking towards the kitchen.

"That's right, doll," he confirms, following behind you.

After the wine incident, he chooses to stay sober with you. It's not that he doesn't want to experience drinking with you and see you be more laid back and playful, it's the fact that he knows that that version of you is altered by alcohol. Sober you isn't that way, and while he loves every version of you, your natural way of being is his favorite.

He could spend hours flustering and teasing you, watching the way you coil in on yourself when he stares at you for too long. Feeling the way your body melts against his when he holds you is one of his favorite things. He likes being able to coax you into voicing your thoughts, wants, and needs. Maybe you're a little more honest about deeper matters when you're inebriated, but Toji is smart enough to know that it's practically involuntary. It's like your secrets are being spilled without your permission and while he's glad to know these things in the moment, he would rather hear them from you when you aren't drunk.

"I got you both. I didn't know which you liked more, so I just got both of them," you say, grabbing them off one of the shelves in your fridge. You turn and hand the cold drinks to Toji before going back to grab the one you got for yourself. You step back and shut the fridge door, smiling at him when he just stares at you.

"What?" You question.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Just silently observes you standing in your small kitchen, in comfy, baggy pajamas that match his own. You're shifting on your feet, under his gaze, waiting for a response, but the response that he has in mind is a little too much for the lightness of the night. Something about wanting to spend the rest of his life with you, something about coming home to you every day, something about putting a shiny rock on your finger. Something big, because his feelings for you are big.

"Nothing, ma," he says, tucking both juice bottles between his forearm and his side, so that he can rest his hand on the back of your neck as you walk back out to the living room. You grab the bag of snacks off the couch and head to your bedroom together.

You set the bag of snacks on the bed and sit down on your side. Toji has a designated side on your bed, which is, of course, the other side.

"Light on or off?" Toji asks, shutting the door.

"Off?" You say, with a questioning tone, leaving room for him to object. Shortly after, the room goes dark. Only your TV, which sits idly on its home screen, creates light that illuminates the walls. Toji walks around your bed and settles into his side.

"What are we watching, this time?" He asks, reaching for the pack of sour gummy bears.

"It's your turn to choose," you say, offering the remote to him. "Last time we watched a bunch of Disney movies. I don't know if you wanna do that again," you say, smiling sheepishly.

"You doubt your taste in things too much, ma. Those Toy Story movies were pretty good. Show me another one of your favorites."

"Alright," you say, in compliance. You go to the Disney+ application and search for another favorite. Nothing too sing song-y, because you feel like you're on thin ice already in playing these animated movies for him. You got away with Jessie singing "When She Loved Me" in Toy Story 2, because even he thought the poor cowgirl got a rough deal when she was abandoned.

"Ratatouille?" He reads. "What's that about?"

"We're about to watch it," you say, briefly turning over and smiling.

He hums as he looks over the caption beneath the title that explains the synopsis of the movie.

"The rat's gonna cook? This should be interesting."

Lo and behold, he's hooked. Neither of you has made a peep and you're both mindlessly snacking on candy and chips, sipping on Gatorade, while watching the crazy things in this rat's life unfold. Him and his brother survived being struck by lightning and being shot at by an old lady with a shotgun. That part seemed to amuse Toji plenty.

Towards the end of the movie, Toji turns to you with sour sugar unknowingly speckled on his lips from the candy he's been feasting on, and leans in to press kisses to your temple and cheek.

"Watch," you say, smiling at the softness that meets your skin.

"I'm watching," he murmurs, continuing on with his sticky kisses.

"Look, they're stealing food from the kitchen," you explain, shocked despite already knowing what's going to happen.

"Mm," Toji hums, seemingly interested, but continuing on with his affectionate, sugary pecks.

"Look, you're gonna miss it," you say, giggling as you gently push his face away. It completely backfires on you, because he just grabs your wrist, and pulls your hand down to continue on with his kisses.

"Come here," he says, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you so that you're sitting right beside him, your thigh touching his and your shoulder pressed into his side. With a few more pecks to your cheek and a couple to the top of your head, he faces forward and continues watching the movie.

"Damn, they got shut down?" He says, in disbelief.

"Mhm," you hum in response, unable to answer verbally due to the chips in your mouth.

"Oh shit, they're back," Toji says, taking in the remainder of the movie. "And Remy cooks without controlling Spaghetti?"

"Linguini," you correct, with a laugh. "But yeah. Linguini's a waiter, now, and Remy's a chef."

The artistic end credits begin to appear and you turn to look at Toji.

"So... what did you think?" You ask.

"That had more action than The Terminator," he jokes. "The old lady with the shotgun was trying take out Remy and his brother and then she tried to hit the entire colony of rats with gas."

You giggle as he goes in depth of what he remembers, as if to prove to you that he was watching.

"I liked that one too," he says, with a smirk. "Would definitely watch it, again."

"Good," you chirp, internally proud that you were able to show him something good. "Your turn," you say, offering him the remote.

"You go again," he says, grabbing another sour gummy to dodge the remote.

"Toji," you mumble. "You should choose something you like. I wouldn't mind watching something new, too."

In truth, Toji doesn't want to watch explosive, gore infested, action movies when he's with you. It's the only genre he's thoroughly explored apart from some comedy, so he leaves you to do the choosing of the movies and shows you watch together. It's a great way for him to give new things a chance, because even though it seems like he's always the one showing you how and loosening the tight grip you have on the shell that obscures you, he's constantly learning from you, as well.

"How 'bout this, baby... If you choose the next one, i'll choose the next three," he offers, squeezing the plush of your thigh.

"You promise?" You say, eyes darting from where his enormous hand rests on your leg, to his face.

"'Course. I don't lie to you," he says.

"Okay, then," you say, moving onto a different platform to find another movie.

"While I wait..." he mumbles, a soft smile curling on his lips. His hand moves from your thigh to your waist as he wraps his arm around you. He goes back to kissing the side of your face, soft, wet little smooches planted along your cheek and your jaw.

"Gorgeous girl," he hums, his voice a soft breath against your skin. "I'm dying to kiss those pretty lips."

Your lips curl as you continue skimming through the section of recommended movies. You can feel his eyes on you, tracing over the features of your face.

"Just a quick one and then i'll stop bugging you," he requests. "Please? You're teasing me without even trying."

"But I'm not even doing anything," you argue, with a small laugh.

"That's what i'm saying," he says, in agreement. "You're not even trying. You're just pretty like that. Makes me wanna kiss you 'til you can't breathe."

"What? You said a quick one, just a few seconds ago," you remind, your smile widening at the way he changed his mind about wanting the minimum of your affection.

"Yeah, but you know how greedy I am about you, mama. I want more and more of you, all the time." His gaze flits between your coy smile and the softness that lingers in your eyes. You haven't paused your skimming of the movies, but he knows you're staring at the screen, mindlessly, feeling his attention. "You want me to beg?"

"No," you instantly respond. It's the one thing you never allow him to do. He's too good to you, for you to make him beg. "You don't have to do that."

"So, kiss me, sweetheart," he says, shifting positions so that he's lying down on his side. He pats the pillow that cushions your lower back, signaling for you to lie down. Like the obedient thing you are for him, you click play on the random movie you landed on and set the remote aside, before lying down on your side, facing Toji.

"What movie did you decide on?" He asks, dragging his knuckles tenderly over your cheek.

"I didn't look at the name," you answer, softly.

"We can skip the intro, right?" He murmurs, smirking when he feels the warmth that reaches your face beneath his palm. His thumb strokes the skin of your cheek, back and forth as he keeps up with your gaze, even when it derails from his due to the tension in the moment.

"Mhm," you hum.

"Come here," he instructs, his voice low, almost a whisper. His leg goes between your legs, just sitting there to achieve more physical contact with you. It doesn't go further than the desire to be innocently caught up in you and feel you pressed against him.

The first kisses—if they can even be called that—are tentative and teasing. Lips merely ghosting each other, barely grasping contact. It's enough to have your heart thudding rapidly in your chest. You hear a warm, rumbled chuckle coming from Toji.

"Closer," Toji hums, his hand splaying on your back and pushing you forward into him.

Finally, your lips connect. The feeling is warm, like you're being held, securely, without any intention of being released. The sound of the movie in the background is a mere whir, unheard through the imaginary force field created around you and Toji. It's just you and him, close as can be, living like nothing else matters as long as you have this love. Through gentle caresses, one unsteady heartbeat and an even unsteadier one, things are good.

Toji swears he will never feel this content and at peace anywhere else. You have a way of making him feel like he is everything. The way your eyes twinkle when you see him, the way you bare your soul to him every time you smile—it's love. It's pure, unadulterated love. He's your friend, your lover, your confidant, and he will never settle for being anything less than those things.

With one more brush of your lips, you both put the kissing on hold and lay there, just a little bit breathless. His hand rests on your lower back, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"I love you so fucking much, doll. You know that?" He murmurs, his attention bouncing between your lips that won't stop calling for him to kiss them and the warmth in your eyes. "Fridays aren't just another day, anymore. Same for every day I get to see you or even just talk to you on the phone if we can't be together." A soft sigh escapes his nose, followed by a very brief pause. "You just know how to make things better, and I wish you would believe it because you feel that way too, not just because i'm telling you."

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"No. I don't want that, baby. Tell me something else."

"I love you, Toji," you say, ensuring that you speak clearly so that he gets the important words you need him to hear. "I like being around you. You'll never know just how safe you make me feel, but I do want you to know that it goes past the physical aspect."

He smiles, the expression soft, not telling of the giddiness that just spread throughout his body. A soft hum, followed by a somewhat frustrated sounding groan, precedes you being pulled into his tight embrace. You can't help the giggles that eventually evolve into laughter that just spills from you when he bombards your face with kisses. His lips press against your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips before he actually leaves a rapid barrage of pecks on your lips. Deep chuckles slip through his affectionate assault when you plant your hand on his chest, weakly pushing at him through the joyous sound of your laugh.

"T-Toji!" You squeal, your entire body shaking through your nonstop laughter. Despite it being nighttime, Toji feels like he's kissing and cuddling with the sun. His cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much.

With one final, elongated kiss to your forehead, he relents and lets you catch your breath. Soft giggles continue to flow past your lips as you work on composing yourself.

"You drive me crazy, doll," he says, grinning at how your chest still slightly heaves. He could do this every night with you, in a shared bed, that is in your shared bedroom, in your shared home.

"Alright, let's see what this movie's about," he mutters, flipping onto his back. "Come here." By now, the two words are a staple to Toji's conversations with you, because he always wants you attached to him. He outstretches his arm, and waits for you to scooch over and lay your head on his chest. Once you settle in, his arm wraps around you, tightly.

As you both try to catch up on what is going on in the movie, you realize none of it is making sense. You think it might be futile to try and understand what is happening when it may have been explained during the intro, but neither you nor Toji mind it, and just continue watching through the confusion, because the intro to this movie was never going to be as good as the moment you shared during it.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[9:43 pm]

(cw: f!reader, Mark is drunk)

"Fuck yeah! Keg stand champion!" You hear someone yell as you make your way into the crowded living room of the NXT frat house.

You hadn't planned on being here tonight. You had some assignments you wanted to get a jump on, you hadn't been in the best mood all day, and you didn't feel like spending your night around a bunch of drunken, bumbling idiots.

So how did you end up here? Your drunk, bumbling boyfriend fratboy!Mark. Well, not him directly. He'd been a little whiny when you told him you weren't going to come to the party tonight, but he understood your reasoning and didn't push. You'd actually gotten a call from Johnny about 20 minutes ago asking you to come help with Mark.

Mark was a lightweight, like a featherweight even. If he even smelled alcohol, he got tipsy. For the most part, during parties, you put yourself in charge of making sure Mark didn't get too drunk. When he got too drunk he got messy. Without you being there, there was no one to be in charge. You should have guessed you'd be getting this call at some point in the night, but not less than an hour after the party began.

You elbow past some drunk party goers and make your way upstairs toward one of the bathrooms that's always off limits during parties. You knock, hearing a muffled, "occupied! Use a bathroom downstairs!"

"Johnny," you reply, "it's me."

You hear a retch and cringe, listening as Johnny pulls the door open. He let's out a sigh of relief, "I'm sorry, he just wouldn't stop crying because he missed you. I don't know how you deal with this. He's fine with you, right?"

"Of course he is. Thanks for calling, enjoy your party," you nod with a smile.

Johnny leaves you and Mark alone in the bathroom and you take to helping Mark out. You rub his back and give him the water bottle Johnny had left on the counter for him. Mark is groaning the whole time, eyes shut as he curls in on himself. After about 15 minutes you know that he's done.

He's slumped against the toilet bowl when you pat his cheek, "come on, babe. Let's get you back to bed."

He doesn't even open his eyes as he whines, "not goin' to my room wi' you."

"We need to get you to bed, babe, come on," you prod.

His eyes snap open as he lifts his head, "Stop callin' me babe. Look, I have a girlfriend alright. She won't be happy if I bring another girl to my room."

"Mark, I am your girlfriend," you explain.

"No, you're not," Mark shakes his head like a child, "my girlfriend didn't wanna come out tonight, and she said— she said she's not comin' tonight." He's looking up at you with tears in his eyes, "I really miss 'er."

You crouch down beside him, cupping his cheek as you coo, "baby, I'm here. It's me."

"No, you're not you!" He squints at you, rubbing his eyes and grumbling about needing his glasses, "if you're my girlfriend, tell me something only my girlfriend would know."

You stare at Mark blankly, as his girlfriend since senior year of high school, there's a lot of things only you would know. You shrug and answer anyway, "when we lost our virginities to each other you cried."

"My mom knows that too, pick something else!"

"Mark, why would you tell your mom about that?" You ask incredulously.

"She loves me!" He cries, "just like my girlfriend! I miss my girlfriend!"

"Oh my— Mark Lee. It's me, I'm your girlfriend. You text me every time you need to wash your sheets because you forget how much detergent you need, you like it when I kiss below your ear, you keep snacks under your bed for midnight snacks, and you have a crush on the librarian on the third floor for some reason," you list off.

"Oh, my snuggle muffin! It is you! I missed you!" Mark exclaims as he throws himself into your lap, embracing you tightly.

You laugh, brushing your fingers through his damp hair, "I told you. Can we get you to bed now?"

"You're staying right?"

"Yes, Mark."

[hhughes]

𐔌 　 ⁺　 𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𓂃۶ৎ

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 , after some comments were made by quinn's brothers, you get a little insecure in your relationship and he has to reassure you

𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕. luke!bsf x quinn hughes. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. fluff. teasing. flirting. 𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. I love writing quinn so much😭 this is a repost that’s slightly edited if it looks a little familiar to you. one of my favs things ive ever written to this day so thanks again to the anon who requested it! <333

you and quinn had been dating a few months now. sneaking around behind everyone's backs including luke. your best friend and quinn's youngest brother.

the four of you were sitting in the living room at the lake house, watching some movie. jack and luke were chirping quinn about some actress that he used to have a crush on. going on and on about how he had a thing for older women because he was such a mommas boy.

you laughed along at first, always finding it so endearing to watch the brothers bicker back and forth. even though you've been around to witness it for quite a few years now...it never got old. your smile quickly faded when jack started making comments about how all quinn's relationships with younger women has failed, and that he should go for someone older this time, cause it doesn't seem like the younger girls can handle him.

you know you shouldn't let these comments bother you. it wasn't that serious and it wasn't directed towards you, but it was one of your, if not the biggest insecurity you had when it came to your relationship with quinn. being four years younger than him. not being enough to keep him interested. these comments from two people who probably knew him the best, didn't do anything to reassure you.

"I'll be right back," you whisper, avoiding quinn's eyes as you make your way to the bathroom.

a few minutes later there's a soft knock on the door and quinn enters, when you answer, shutting the door behind him and coming over to where you're standing in front of the sink. he wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder softly.

"what's wrong sweetheart?" he asks you softly, brushing the hair out of your face as he holds you tight. the time he’s had to spent close to you but not allowed to touch you, having taken its toll on him.

"nothing," you mumble and he puts his hands on your hips, spinning you around to face him and pushing you against the counter.

"don't lie to me. I know you well enough to know everything's not okay and even if I didnt this pout is enough to tell me there's something wrong." quinn says, rubbing circles on your hip and tracing your lips with the thumb of his other hand.

"do you think I'm too young for you?" the words fly out before you can stop them and quinn sighs, knowing his brother's comments was the cause of this.

"age is just a number baby," quinn says teasingly, kissing your lips softly and you sigh.

"quinn I'm being serious," you retort, grabbing both of his hands and holding them in yours, the way they were caressing you becoming a little too distracting.

"so am I. I don't care if you're four years younger or four years older or if you were born the exact same day I was. It doesn't change the fact that you're perfect for me. you know how jack is, especially if he's been drinking, he can't keep his mouth shut. if there's an opportunity to chirp me about something, he’s gonna take it. if they knew that we were together, he would be more careful about making remarks like that. you know both of them adore you and would never say anything to hurt you on purpose" quinn says and you bite the inside of your cheek, knowing he was right.

“and besides, those relationships didn’t work out because they just weren’t the right girl for me baby. not because they were younger. they just weren’t you” he says softly, pressing yet another kiss to your collarbone.

"i’m not ready to tell luke yet." you say and quinn nods, expecting that response from you.

"the longer we wait, the worse it's gonna be." quinn replies and you look down, not wanting to argue about this. again.

quinn sighs softly before taking his hand out of yours and cupping your face between his palms, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"god it's torture seeing you all day and not being able to touch you. kiss you." he says wrapping his arms around your waist and just hugging you for a few minutes. you smile a bit, thinking that this is exactly why he was nicknamed "huggy bear". your guy loves hugging.

"I'll sneak into your room tonight. if you think a young girl like me can handle you," you quip and quinn chuckles, knowing you're not gonna let that go for a while.

"I think you can handle me just fine baby" quinn smirks, slapping your ass as you walk past him, and out the door.

𝒙𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒊. thank you for reading and feel free to drop by the inbox and share any and all thoughts <333

[enhani-ki]

pacify her - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, kinda sadistic (?), etc.

you were sitting on the floor, hunched over your notebook as you tried to solve the last few problems of your homework. ni-ki sat beside you, watching with mild interest then tried to help you.

but that interest quickly faded when he realized he can't do it, "just use the calculator," he suggested, resting his chin on his knees.

"i don't need help."

"i want to understand how to solve this."

he scoffed, tilting his head at you in disbelief.

ni-ki sighed, getting really bored out of his mind. he doesn't understand why people make things so hard for themselves.

if there's already an easy way out, why not just take it?

you stayed focused until, finally, you set your pencil down with a satisfied sigh.

"you finished it?" ni-ki blinked surprised.

you turned to him with the brightest smile, giggling as you threw your arms around his neck. "yes, i told you i can do it!"

he smiled, letting you cling to him more, then pushed some loose strands of hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you.

"are you really that smart?" he murmured against your lips.

you shook your head no, acting all modest and humble, but he wasn't buying it.

"okay, if you're that smart…” he leaned back slightly to watch your expression fully. "can you tell me what are you going to do after i die?"

your proud smile faded immediately. you shoved him away, moving to sit on the couch, and crossing your arms in irritation.

he followed you, leaning back over the cushions beside you. "come on," he said, "how long do you think it'll last before you move on?" he started kissing your arm, like what he always do when he wants to soften you up.

your brows knitted together. "ni-ki, that's not funny."

"i'm not trying to be funny." he laughed, tilting his head. "i'm just really curious."

you didn't answer, you just moved uncomfortably but that only encouraged him.

"i mean, you wouldn't stay single forever, right?" he said it so casually as if he was just talking about the weather. "you'd cry for a bit, sure, but then what?"

"oh i'm not even sure if you'll cry."

your stomach twisted.

"maybe you'd find someone new in, what, a year? six months? shit..." he looked up at you, "would it be sooner?"

you pressed your lips together, "can you not?" you said as you pulled your arm away, trying to put some space between him and you.

and you could move further, ni-ki grabbed your wrist and wrapped his around your waist, locking you in place.

"y/n..." he called out in your ear. "you're not answering me."

"because it's stupid!"

"it's not," he insisted, resting his chin on your shoulder. "i just wanna know, baby... would you miss me?"

you inhaled shakily. "of course i would..."

"would you cry?"

you swallowed hard, not answering.

his fingers traced your arm slowly, "you're already getting worked up, huh?"

your throat tightened.

"you're about to cry," he whispered, watching your expression closely.

your nose started to turn red and your lips quivered before curling downward into a sad pout.

ni-ki let out a soft chuckle, really in awe. "i'm not even dead, and you're already crying?"

a choked sob left your throat as you shove his chest, but your boyfriend didn't budge. he just watched you, amused, his eyes fixed on your tear-streaked face.

so you turned your face away, he started showering kisses to your head.

"you're so pretty when you're upset."

his lips trailed down your jaw, his hands were slipping under your skirt.

"ni-ki." you tried to warn, but he was already tilting your head back, capturing your lips in a deep kiss.

and despite how annoyed and sad you were, you still folded.

ni-ki lifted your skirt slightly, his fingers trailed over the soft fabric of your panties before slowly sliding them down your legs. he left the skirt on, he thinks it looks sexy how it framed you perfectly.

he then pushed your legs up, keeping them pressed together instead of spreading them apart like he knew the restriction will make everything more intense and tighter.

he dragged his tongue slowly over your folds along with obscene slurping sounds while you twitch underneath him. ni-ki took his time, savoring every desperate little noises that escaped your lips.

you grabbed his hand from your waist, and guided it up to your breasts, he catches on instantly, squeezing rough and hard, the pressure making you whimper. it hurts but it somehow eased some of the frustration from the torturous pace he's keeping between your thighs.

"ni-ki, please… please, more-" your voice trembled, your fingers tangling in his hair as you urged him to do more.

but he only hummed against your pussy, ignoring your pleas as he licked slowly and teasingly, again.

your patience snapped. you reached down to try and touch yourself, very desperate for the relief he's withholding, but ni-ki swats your hand away, "uh-uh," he disapproved, "just wait."

his grip on your thighs tightened as he presses a soft smooches to your pussy.

the frustration overwhelmed you. "just fucking stop this!" your patience snapped again for the second time, you tried to break free from his grip, your whole body writhing beneath him.

then his mouth closed around you, sucking hard on the sensitive bud making you gasp and bite down on your lip in shock.

the pleasure threatened to fall apart in your lower abdomen, only for him to suddenly pull away again, leaving you stranded on the edge.

tears pricked your eyes, spilling over your cheeks, you hide your face in your hands.

you can't even get mad, it just hurts.

ni-ki lay down beside you and gently removed your hands off your face.

your lashes were clumping together, your lips were slightly trembling, cheeks warm and flushed, the tip of your nose was already red from crying.

breathtaking.

he leaned in, pressing kisses all over your face.

you tried to turn away but he catches your lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently while his hands move to unzip his pants.

his lips parted as he inserted his dick in your aching hole, slowly sinking into you, and stretching you open. his hand held the back of your head while the other held your leg in the air.

ni-ki's moaned right in front of your face then to your ear, and it turned you on even more.

he kept on giving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, now your whole face is wet because of him.

he caressed your cheek before tilting your chin up, his thumb pressed your lower lip until you open it for him. he didn't waste no time and slipped his tongue inside, deepening the kiss, just swallowing every sounds you make.

oh, fuck.

and even lying on your sides, he can stroke inside relentlessly. easily sliding in and out of you so fast, so deep you're going dumber and dumber.

ni-ki smirked as he watched you go crazy and completely wrecked from the pleasure he's giving you.

your walls fluttered around him, it's tightening, throbbing, but not consistently. it's like you're teasing him too, keeping him on the edge, and making him crave more.

he chuckled breathlessly, "you're so petty." then he started pounding even faster as he neared his climax.

"i'm close, where do i shoot this, baby? huh?"

"i want it all inside of me."

ni-ki groaned after hearing what you wanted, he pressed his forehead against yours as he lets himself go, spilling his cum deep inside your core.

some of it dripped down as he pulled out, so he used his fingers to push it all back inside of you.

he's not gonna let any of it go to waste.

"stop, making me, cry!" you said, sniffling before pinching his arm.

ni-ki flinched and smirked, "babe..." he said, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips before pressing a quick kiss. "you cry because you love me. it's natural."

then he held your panties "don't put these back on today," he said, before slipping them into his pocket.

"no, that's-"

"let's just see how it'll drip out of you every time you move."

ni-ki kissed you again, swallowing the little hiccuped sob that escapes your lips. then, as if he hasn't already ruined you enough, he whispers against your mouth...

"didn't i tell you that look so pretty when you cry?"

a/n: she got pacified with a big D (requested) jacquees - you

マスターリストm.list

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

[illyrianbitch]

A Grave Misfortune

Pairing: Reader x Eris Vanserra

Summary: When your affair with Eris is discovered, you find yourselves burying a body and sealing the grave with a bargain —keep quiet, never speak of it again. But not all secrets lie still when you put them to rest.

Warnings: SMUT, adultery, morally questionable eris and reader, graphic depictions of violence and injury (but its kinda funny if you tilt your head), post-orgasm manslaughter/accidental murder, partners in crime, blackmail, and a bargain :D

Word Count: 5.6k

omg....new series...my passion project...

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“F-fuck.”

It was half a gasp, half a moan, slipping from your lips before Eris’s hand covered them.

“Shh.” His breath ghosted over your ear, cruel and gentle in the same measure. “You’ll get us caught.”

His other hand slid higher beneath your skirts, gathering fabric in careless fistfuls as he fucked into you— the metal of his rings pressing into your warm skin. It was always like this—dirty, hurried, the barest undoing of his breeches just enough for him to slide inside you.

The air in the small, dimly lit servant's closet was laced with the smell of dust and sex, the walls closing in around you as Eris’s teeth scraped against your throat. You knew he liked it like this—the power, the filth, the risk. The control. 

Eris enjoyed that. Enjoyed you because of it.

"Or should I let them hear?" His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he gound deeper.

You whimpered and he swallowed the sound, chuckling low in his throat as he brought you into a kiss. All teeth and tongue, brazen and dirty.

Somewhere, on the other side of the house, Dane was sitting with the other males at the event—polite, oblivious. He was probably wondering where his sweet wife had disappeared to, wondering when you’d be back. This time, you’d told him it was a stomach ache. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did, indeed, have an ache—only it wasn’t pain, not really. More like a desperation, a need that had been stirring since Eris’s eyes tracked you across the room from the moment he spotted you.

Eris’s hips snapped harder, finding that perfect angle—the one that made you clench around him and grind your teeth to keep from crying out. 

“That’s it,” he breathed, looking down between your bodies. His pace stuttered for half a second, like the sight alone was enough to break his composure. “Gods, you take me so beautifully, don’t you?”

You couldn’t answer—not with the heat fogging your senses, not with the way he was fucking you like he wanted to break you open. His brows lifted, a flicker of smug amusement flashing in his amber eyes.

“Nothing to say?” His hands tightened on your hips, pulling back just enough to make you feel the loss—barely there, not far enough to let you escape. “That’s rude.”

You glared at him through the haze. “What the hell?”

“I asked you a question.” He punctuated the words with a sharp little thrust, smirking when your breath caught. “It’s rude not to answer.”

You rolled your eyes. His fingers pinched at your waist in reprimand—just hard enough to sting.

“If you wanted polite,” you panted, dragging him closer by the lapels of his coat, “you should’ve gone for Taryn’s wife.”

Eris’s smirk curved slow and wicked. He drove into you and you couldn’t stop the sharp gasp that left your lips. He chuckled, clearly satisfied, and the sound vibrated through your chest as he pushed himself against you.

"Ooh," he purred. "But she doesn't have a cunt that feels this good."

Your body betrayed you—clenching tight around him, slick and desperate. He noticed, of course, he always did, and his grin only grew smugger as he locked his hands under your ass. Your legs wrapped around him instantly, body lifting off the floor as the strength of his arms held you.

He fucked you harder then, chasing the heat coiling low in both of you. The small room filled with the obscene sound of skin meeting skin.

“Just– shut up and keep going," you moaned, nearly clawing at his skull, fingers digging into his hair. "Gods, you’re infuriating."

Eris groaned as you writhed against him, hips snapping into yours again and again and again.

“Beg for it, then,” he said, his teeth grazing the tender skin of your neck. “Maybe I’ll let you finish.”

“With a cunt that feels this good?” Your voice was barely more than a ragged whisper. “Maybe you should be begging.”

The growl that tore from his throat was pure animal. His hips snapped forward, the force of it knocking your head back against the wall. The bite he sank into your neck was a mistake—you both knew it. No evidence. No marks.

“Oh, c’mon,” Eris purred, licking over the imprint of his teeth. “It’s just you and me. No need to keep up appearances.”

“Stop talking,” you gasped, nails scoring into his scalp.  You were close— so fucking close. And you needed him to shut up. Him and that sinfully rough voice. You fought the overwhelming urge to do exactly what he wished: beg him to keep going.

“I know what you need,” he whispered, smug and syrup-slow. “And I’ll give it to you. I always do, huh?”

You couldn't answer—only clutch him harder, the coil inside you winding tighter.

"And they call me uncaring," he mocked, fucking into you harder.

"Do you just enjoy the sound of your own voice?"

He chuckled. “Almost as much as these glorious sounds of yours.”

Infuriating, arrogant, insufferab-

"Oh, fuck." Your body trembled as your cunt fluttered around him, dragging a broken groan from his chest. "F-fine," you panted. "Stop talking. Please. You feel amazing. Just fuck me."

His smirk widened, victorious. He slowed his pace, savoring the control, before he growled low in his throat. “Now, was that so hard?”

And just as the last word left his lips, he drove into you—again and again—until you shattered around him, your release crashing over you in hot, silent waves. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, choking back the scream building in your throat. Eris followed a heartbeat later, groaning low as he spilled inside you, his rhythm stuttering before he slumped against you, his forehead falling into the crook of your neck. 

Your body sagged against the wall, sliding down slightly as both you and Eris lost the strength to keep yourselves upright.  You let yourself float—limbs heavy, mind half-lost—following the spidery veins in the ceiling as you titled your head back. You hadn’t noticed them before. The closet had been too dark, barely lit by the flame Eris had conjured to find his bearings.

It shouldn’t have been this bright.

Your brow knit faintly, lips parting to pull in another breath. Then—

The feeling.

That awful, creeping sensation—the weight of something watching.

Your gaze dragged downward, over Eris’s shoulder, past the wild tangle of his hair.

The door was open.

And there was someone there.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in deep emerald silk.

He had pale green eyes, a neatly trimmed beard, and shaggy dark blonde hair that didn’t seem to quite obey him. A gold signet glinted on his ring finger—the same Dane wore as a mark of his station in the Autumn Court's forces, ingrained with the royal symbol of the Court. Specifically, the noble ranks beneath Eris's command.

You recognized him. Some minor soldier whose name you'd never bothered to learn. He lingered on the edges of court gatherings, always circling, always watching—like a dog waiting for scraps.

He blinked once, gaze sweeping over your position. Your tangled limbs. The flush blooming down your neck.

Then, a slow, pleased curl of his lips, as if this scene—this dirty secret—delighted him.

Not shock, not disgust. Amusement.

You panicked, realizing it, even as you knew you were screwed. He was going to tell. Going to ruin you.

You shoved at Eris, scrambling to fix your dress before you ran after the male.

“Wait,” you called, voice hoarse, lying as you added, “It’s not what you think.”

The slick between your thighs—sticky and unaddressed—mocked you with every step, the purest and damning evidence of everything you were about to insist hadn't happened. You clenched your legs tighter, as if that could make it disappear. As if he couldn't smell it.

The corridor was narrow and stale, lined with wooden tables, old hunting trophies, and moth-eaten tapestries. You could’ve sworn it had been smaller before—just a few quick strides when Eris led you down it, his palm pressing low on your spine.

Now, it stretched endlessly. 

Ahead, the male’s emerald-clad shoulder rounded the corner.

“Wait—damn it—just listen to me.”

Within a few more panicked strides, your hand finally snatched at his sleeve. He wrenched free, spinning to face you with a force that knocked your balance.

“I wonder what your husband will think,” he mused, and the smugness made your blood curdle.

“You didn’t see anything,” you tried again, lowering your voice. Gods, you wished you remembered his name, cared enough to try. Surely Dane had mentioned it a few times. If only you cared enough about him to listen. “I can pay you—”

The male before you scoffed. “Whoring and bribery? What a charming little wife you are.”

“What do you want?” The words tasted like ash. They scraped from your throat—raw, desperate. “Anything.���

“Anything?” His mouth twisted. “A harlot’s price, then?”

You swallowed hard, shame crawling under your skin. The kind of shame that made you feel hollowed out, skin too tight over brittle bones. But it disappeared quickly, morphing into a feeling you knew much better: anger. 

"Beron must be told, too, of course. Can you imagine his delight?" He whistled, a grin forming on his lips. "I was just thinking I could use a bit more favor."

Your heart pounded so hard you thought you might be sick.

“I’ll give you whatever you want.” The words sliced as they left your mouth. They sounded so much like a plea—too much like begging. You hated it. 

The male leaned in, close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath. "Anything?"

He let the word stretch—dragging the syllables out like something viscous. Like honey dripping slow from the comb.

"I think," he murmured, fingers brushing the hair from your cheek in a mockery of tenderness, "I'll let them see for themselves. Smell it, too. How poetic—like cattle branded before a slaughter."

You slapped his hand away. He caught your wrist in return—rough, restricting—and yanked you forward. Panic licked up your spine. He was stronger than you. A male born and bred for war. You thrashed, your heart rattling against your ribs.

Where was Eris?

Would he let you die for this?

Of course he would. Eris didn’t care for you. 

Hung, burned, beheaded. It wouldn’t matter.

The thought made you claw harder. Eris could cheat his way out of death if he wished—fireborn and silver-tongued. You could not. You'd be made an example of.

"Let me go," you hissed, twisting. His fingers dug deeper.

"I think not."

You lunged, fumbling for anything—your elbow catching his ribs, your nails raking his cheek. The fight tipped sideways. His grip slipped—only for him to shove you against the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Your skull thudded against an ancient hunting trophy mounted there—some long-dead animal’s curling horns. The table beside you clattered with the force. 

"Anything you want," you said again. 

“You just gave me everything I want.” He leaned in close. You could smell him—leather and sweat and old wine. “Such fire,” he mused, “You were wasted on Dane. Is that why you were so desperate for the princeling?”

He wasn’t wrong. It angered you more. You lurched, clawing at his face—nails scraping along his jaw. He caught your wrist again, pinning it against the wall.

“Get off—”

He shifted, angling to reach for something—a knife, maybe, at his belt. Something to scare you into obedience. You thrashed, wild, barely noticing the way the walls seemed to close in. How much smaller the corridor felt now. How the air hung thicker.

Your free hand fumbled blindly, searching—until your fingers closed around something cold. Heavy.

The curved handle of an old candlestick.

You swung it without thinking, the brass base crunching against his temple. He staggered, hissing—but not enough. He was too close, still between you and freedom. His lip curled as he reached for you again.

You hit him again. Harder.

Something wet and pink burst from his split brow. His knees buckled. His weight pitched forward, slamming you both against the wall—right beneath the mounted trophy once more.

For a sickening second, you thought he was about to recover. He let out a low, gurgling snarl, shoving back upright—

And then the old, rattling mount gave way.

The beast’s curved antlers plunged down from the wall, and by the grace of the Mother, missed you entirely as they struck straight through his chest— sharp, heavy points driving through bone and flesh.

The sound he made was wet, awful—thin little gasps squeezing around the obstruction, like he was trying to breathe through a mouthful of water. His hands twitched, blindly pawing at the points of bone piercing through him. Little useless slaps, like a drowning man trying to fight the tide.

You couldn't look away. 

He twitched again. Another weak, gasp. 

You watched still. Watched as his eyes glazed over.

His knees gave out just as the candlestick fell from your grasp, both falling onto the carpet with a thud. 

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe. Not until you heard a soft sound behind you. A sigh.

You turned, dazed, to find Eris adjusting his breeches, smoothing a hand through his hair as if he’s just stepped out of a business meeting rather than a scandalous fuck followed by an accidental murder.

He tilted his head and surveyed the scene before him.

"Well," he said, after a long moment. "That’s inconvenient."

You stared at him, mouth still agape, eyes still wide. Eris hummed, almost thoughtful, then turned and began walking.

You blinked. "Where are you going?"

“To get a different jacket."

Your mouth opened. Closed. You should’ve said something, should have reacted, but your mind was empty, wiped clean by shock.

Eris didn’t even look at you, just smoothed a hand down his clothes. "If we’re going to bury a body, it’s a little nippy outside." He paused, tapping his fingers against his chin, before snapping them lightly. "You should probably get to finding a shovel."

Your hands were still shaking as your gaze fell back upon the body at your feet.

The blood was still there, the body as well, but it was wrong now, blurred at the edges, folded into the world in a way that made it vanish to everyone else. A glamour.

 Eris’s voice drifted lazily down the hall:

"Stop staring. The dead aren’t known for their patience."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The grave didn’t dig itself.

You drove the shovel into the frozen earth, the metal scraping uselessly against the stale ground. Again. And again. It didn’t get any easier. The dirt resisted you, every attempt sending a dull, aching vibration up your arms.

Behind you, Eris sighed. Loudly.

“At that rate,” he mused, “we’ll be here until this court becomes winter.”

Your grip tightened on the shovel. You didn’t look at him. “It’d go faster if you helped.”

Eris hummed, as if weighing that possibility. “It would’ve gone a lot better if you didn’t kill someone.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to stay quiet. If you said what you were thinking, you might've had to bury him next.

The silence between you thickened with frost. You kept digging.

Eris, for his part, didn’t help. Instead, he crouched beside the body, tilting his head slightly, like he admired a sculpture rather than a corpse swaddled in dark velvet. Then, with the careless ease of someone inspecting an expensive cloak, he lifted the edge of the fabric. Peered inside.

Then sighed. Again. “Shame. One of my favorite rugs.”

You stared at him.

He flicked his gaze up. “What?”

Your lips parted. You searched for a response—one that could possibly encompass the depth of the feelings you were currently experiencing.

None came to mind.

Eris only shrugged and let the fabric fall back over the body, as if that somehow fixed the situation. He straightened and took a long, considering look at the half-dug grave, then sighed for the third time, this time like he was doing you a favor.

“I suppose we could burn him,” he said, almost to himself.

You exhaled sharply. “Then why the hell am I digging?”

Eris arched a brow. “Because magic lingers,” he said, patient in the way a teacher is patient with a particularly dense student. “If I incinerate him, it will leave a mark—one my father would notice. And I’d rather not explain why my magic is tangled up in a murder.”

You dropped the shovel with a dull thud, flexing your fingers. “You should be helping. Not antagonizing me with solutions that aren’t even viable.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“This is your problem.” He stretched, flexing his fingers in the cold air just as you had done. “And now that I think about it, I believe I will get going.”

“No, you can’t. You need to help me.”

He just looked at you. Unmoved. “I don’t need to do anything.”

“You have to.”

“Why?” he repeated, amused now.

“Because—”

Eris smirked. Tilted his head. “Because I fucked you?”

You stiffened.

He clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying himself. “And now I owe you some sense of loyalty? Is that it?” He took a lazy step closer. “Did you think what we had meant something?”

You didn’t. You were glad it meant nothing. 

You never tried to fool yourself into believing Eris Vanserra was a good male. You never tried to fool yourself into thinking you were a good fae, either. That’s what made the affair so easy. So nice. You could both be selfish without guilt, take what you wanted without pretending you wanted anything more.

But now, as you stood in the middle of a dark, frozen forest, with a body cooling at your feet and no one but Eris beside you—

You realized, without the distraction of pleasure, how much you disliked him.

Something inside you bristled at that.

Not just at him, at yourself. Because you were in this mess because of him. Because you let yourself get into this mess, knowing exactly the kind of male he was.

And now, here you were. Excused from your marital bed on the pretense of a stomache. Another lie stacked atop the others. Dane was likely asleep by now, none the wiser. He never was.

“You have to help,” you said once more.

Eris didn’t move. His expression didn’t shift. But something flickered behind his gaze.

“Why?” he asked again, voice lower now.

You took a deep breath, analyzing him with a careful eye. Eris Vanserra was a creature of hunger—of sharp edges hidden beneath silk, waiting for the next thing to devour. He could make you feel like prey without ever laying a hand on you.

If you were going to be damned for fucking him, you wouldn’t go down quietly. You wouldn’t let him consume you without leaving your mark—without sinking your teeth into him and tasting his blood in return.

You stepped closer. “Because if I’m going down, I’m dragging you with me.”

That got a reaction.

Eris stilled, his expression sharpening. Then—unexpectedly—his lips twitched. Not a smirk this time. Something quieter. Almost impressed.

“You’re blackmailing me,” he said, more observation than question.

“Yes.”

Another silence. Then, slowly, Eris smiled.

A secret. As if that would be enough. As if a secret could bind someone like him—a male who could cheat death itself, who could find his way out of promises the way most people slipped out of clothing. He’d done worse things for people who mattered more, had hunted his own family for sport—or so you’d heard.

It was sobering to consider all the things he'd done that hadn't mattered enough to you to stop you from bedding him, from chasing your own release. Perhaps there were countless bodies before the one that lay cold a few feet away from you—perhaps that was why Eris was so oddly composed. Not because he was heartless—although some might argue, and you might’ve been inclined to listen despite hearing his heartbeat against yours as he came inside you—but because he had done this before. What was murder to a High Lord’s heir? A sport, maybe. A skill.

And none of that had mattered to you. None of those possible lives meant enough.

You were not a good fae. You were not good or righteous.

Which made it easier to tell him, with no hesitation, “A secret isn’t enough.”

His amusement deepened. “No?”

You lifted your left hand. Cleaner. Less covered in dirt and grime.

“A bargain.”

Eris looked at your hand. Then at you. Then, finally, he clasped it in his. His hands were warm—always had been. You’d noticed it the first time he touched you. He could strip you bare with those hands, tear you apart without ever igniting a flame. 

A fireborn Vanserra, through and through. You’d always wondered how that fire worked, if there was some flicker of flame lurking beneath skin and bone. 

The heat spread through your fingers, curling into your palm, winding up your arm until a brush of magic settled, strange and unseen. 

You’d never made a bargain before. It felt oddly intimate, like two threads wrapping around one another and pulling tight. Eris Vanserra came with a lot of firsts, it seemed. Your first affair. Your first murder. A bargain on top like a neatly wrapped bow on a life-changing present.

You started to pull your hand back—but Eris’s fingers shifted. A fleeting brush along your ring finger. The ghost of a touch against your gold wedding band.

Your stomach curled.

Before you could think too hard about it, he tugged you forward and kissed you.

The kiss was rough. More animal than male. Teeth and heat and the faint taste of smoke— he tasted like that, sometimes, when he was exceptionally passionate. The heat of him melted the night frost straight off your skin.

It should’ve been horrible—kissing him here, with the scent of death still clinging to the air, with a body half-buried between you. But you kissed him back. It was much more fun than thinking about what you had done.

He pulled away with a grin, thumb dragging along your lower lip—just barely brushing the blood there. His expression shifted, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Did he hurt you?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

It took a moment to remember where the taste of blood in your mouth had come from—not from the dead male, but from your own teeth, biting into your lip at your climax.

Your face heated. You hated yourself for it.  “That was my doing.”

For a heartbeat, Eris’s thumb stayed where it was, pressed against your mouth. Then—slowly—he grinned. Relaxed. He seemed proud as the realization settled into him, turning away and back toward the grave.

The earth groaned. Just slightly. A few inches of dirt disappeared before you, no more. Barely helpful—barely anything at all.

You turned to him, incredulous.

Eris held up a finger, not even looking at you. “Magic lingers, remember.” His smirk flicked wider. “Only small amounts for now.”

Your mouth opened to argue—

“Do not tempt me,” he cut in smoothly. “I will fill it back up and make you start over.”

You snapped your mouth shut.

Eris grinned. Then stretched—luxuriously, like he was enjoying himself far too much—and walked back toward the corpse.

You went back to digging.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Eris supposed he’d go on a hunt later.

Not for any real reason—just the idle thought that it had been a while since he’d taken the hounds out properly. Fresh meat always tasted better than the market’s offerings, and the mindless rhythm of tracking, waiting, and killing had its own kind of satisfaction. Maybe he’d take them out near the eastern woods, where the deer were fat this time of year.

It was hotter than usual today. He could feel it in the way the air settled in the halls—thick and still, pressing against his skin. His jacket, despite being tailored perfectly to him, suddenly felt constricting. He glanced down and noticed a single loose thread near the cuff, barely noticeable, but there all the same.

He was almost tempted to convince himself it was going to be a bad day.

But then he stepped into the council chamber, and none of it mattered anymore.

The second he crossed the threshold, he was sharp. Focused. The weight of the room settled over him like a second skin—one he had long since learned to wear without discomfort. Beron was already speaking, his voice edged with irritation. Another dispute between the lesser lords. Something about trade routes or taxes or whatever other petty squabble they’d dredged up this time.

Eris took his seat, adjusting his cuffs as though he were hearing it all for the first time. He’d known about this all before, of course. He made sure he knew everything that happened in his court. 

His court. 

He glanced around the table, gaze sliding over familiar faces. When it landed on Dane, he lingered. The male was listening intently, his posture rigid—always the good soldier. But Eris was staring too hard, and Dane, like any good soldier would, took notice. He turned slightly, meeting Eris’s gaze—blue eyes locking with burnished amber. And then Dane dipped his head. In acknowledgement. In respect.

Eris should’ve felt guilt.

But there was nothing there, just a strange emptiness.

You had been his affair, his mess.

But Dane? He was his soldier. Loyal to a fault. Not to him—not to Beron either—but to Autumn. Eris respected that.

Apparently not enough to keep himself from bedding his wife.

He hadn’t seen you in a week. Not that he had really been counting, but he liked to keep his life in meticulous order. It helped him to know when things fell out of place.

It was for the better, Eris told himself. As beneficial as a murder could be. The affair had been destined to bring him more trouble than it was worth. The blackmail, the threat of exposure—it was inevitable. He'd known it even as he had taken the risks. The whole thing had been nothing more than a reckless indulgence, a brief spark in an otherwise tedious life.

And yet, there was a flicker of discomfort in the back of his mind. Guilt? No. Not really. But discomfort, yes. Concerns.

His thoughts drifted back to that night—to the way Harlan had looked, slumped against the floor like something discarded. Eris had recognized him within seconds—Harlan wasn't entirely memorable, but Eris made a point to know every male that could have the ability, or the misplaced arrogance, to kill him. 

Eris liked that type of order. He was, after all, a collector at heart. Just like his mother. Of different things, of course. Of people. Of secrets. Of potential enemies and betrayals to anticipate.

He was almost tempted to say that dying was the most interesting thing Harlan could’ve done—that the mounted animal trophy actually offered some more... embellishment to his appearance.

Maybe Eris would take a hunt out to the eastern woods after all. If he found something good enough, he could have a replacement trophy commissioned. Just similar enough to replace the one that had impaled Harlan like a roasted chicken dinner.

Not that he thought Beron ever went into the corridors where the court’s help stayed. But just in case.

His father had a way of doing things like that—doing things that inconvenienced him. Like a talent, the only one he had, truly, besides outward cruelty and a strange knack for making someone love the taste of violence.

Eris hated the idea of macabre trophies, didn’t find any thrill in staring at the animals he hunted. He did it for a purpose—for the hounds, for good hide and fur to make coats for himself, for his mother. Perhaps his brothers if he was feeling unusually charitable. Rare, though. Rarely did he indulge in kindness.

It would be a hassle, too, to find someone to taxidermy it quickly. You were going to cost him another afternoon—at least this time it wouldn’t be next to a poorly dug grave.

He admired your nerve. Blackmail was such a dirty little word. He preferred to think of it as mutual interest. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d been particularly fond of the male you’d killed.

He was only upset about the rug.

“Harlan has not responded to our summons.”

Eris’s head tilted slightly, the perfect picture of idle curiosity. Another commander spoke—something about Harlan leaving his estate abruptly, disappearing without a word. Eris hummed, fingers smoothing down the sleeve of his jacket.

“How concerning,” he murmured. “I suppose it is unlike him.”

Beron’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade.

Eris met it without hesitation, letting the silence stretch.

“Do you think the rumors are true?” he added lazily. Rumors Eris had perfectly crafted. He was quite proud of the ones he’d chosen this time around. 

And then the doors creaked open.

Eris turned his head.

Harlan stepped inside as if nothing was amiss, straightening his coat with a casual tug.

He was paler than he should have been. His posture just a touch too careful. But more than anything, it was the way he moved—like something testing the limits of its own skin—that made Eris’s fingers twitch.

“Apologies for my delay,” Harlan said smoothly. His gaze swept over the room, then landed—pointedly, intentionally—on Eris. “I was… indisposed.”

Eris didn’t blink.

Well.

If Harlan's death was a mere inconvenience, his apparent resurrection was a... problem. Unfortunate.

Eris thought that maybe there was a lesson here for him to learn. He hated riddles—only enjoyed a curious, deceptive tongue when it was his. Eris wasn’t sure if he believed in fate, or karma, but he did believe in one thing: finishing the job right.

Harlan couldn't be here, alive.

Eris didn’t care how it happened. He would learn, store the information, and show Harlan why dead things tend to stay dead—at least, the ones that Eris made sure of.

But he couldn't kill him, not in front of all these people. And now he was distracted, in an important meeting, no less. He could’ve wrung Harlan's neck for that annoyance alone—all resurrection facets aside.

Harlan took a seat. Next to him. He leaned in slightly, voice low.

“Is everything alright? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Eris wasn’t sure he’d ever heard him speak—or maybe he’d just never bothered to listen. He hummed. “Do I?”

“Yes. A bit rattled?”

“I don’t get rattled.”

Harlan’s mouth curved, something almost like amusement flickering behind his too-bright eyes. They had always been a rather dull green. Maybe death brought some life with it, somehow. Collected solely in his irises. “No?” 

“No,” Eris replied.

A beat. Then—

“I must've slept like the dead last night,” Harlan murmured. “I struggled to claw my way out of bed.”

Eris’s jaw tensed. “Sounds like a healer’s problem.”

“Perhaps.”

Eris glanced down at Harlan’s hand—at the small specks of dirt clinging to it. In strange places. None under the fingernails, where he would have presumed residue to be. They were clean, in fact—uncomfortably so.

He raised an unimpressed brow. “Picked up gardening, I see.”

Harlan chuckled low. “I took the scenic route—couldn’t resist a little time in the woods. Funny, the things the earth spits back out this time of year.”

Eris didn’t look at him. “Measly worms and once-bloodied bones? All meaningless things, ready to return back into the dirt where they belong.”

Harlan smiled. 

“Sometimes the dirt refuses to keep what it's given.”

Eris’s fingers curled once against the wood and the meeting began. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You didn’t believe in gods.

Not the way others did. You didn't pray to them, didn't ask for guidance or mercy. It seemed a waste—to beg to something that had no interest in listening. If they existed at all, they'd only ever laughed at you. Or maybe this—this—wasn't a laugh at all. Maybe it was a lesson. A quiet correction meant to make you better, make you regret, make you want to be good.

If that was the case, it had failed spectacularly.

You were cold, and annoyed, and hungry. You had no plans to be good—no desire, either. If the gods wanted you to fall to your knees, they'd have to break them first.

A twig snapped behind you.

Footsteps—slow, unhurried, elegant, even. You didn't have to look to know who they belonged to.

"We have a problem."

Eris’s voice was calm. Unbothered, almost—like he'd merely come to check on a minor inconvenience. The breeze stirred through the trees, cool against your face. 

You glanced at him from over your shoulder. "You think?"

He stopped next to you, going stiff as his gaze fell on the scene before you. 

The loose dirt at your feet hadn't been disturbed—not by roots, not by rain. The earth had simply opened itself back up, as if whatever had been placed inside it had decided it didn't belong there.

You stared at the gaping mouth of the grave. 

If gods were real, they weren't laughing now. 

No. They were watching.

Waiting to see what you'd do.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: chat... what do we think :D this was the most fun ive had writing in a while....i wonder.... if you guys fw this as much as me. aka lmk what you think (desperate need of some excitement hehe) and if you'd like to be on a taglist <3

also... i loved making the lil header. so cutsey. we love partners in crime to lovers!

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[strwberri-milk]

Hello, I read your ask are open

Can I request Rafayel, Zayne and Sylus reacting to mc getting into a car accident and broke her leg.

I just got into an accident and fractured my leg, and it got me thinking how the LADS boys will react

me too bestie /jk it wasnt a car accident and i broke my ankle lol this is aptly timed bc. im currently partially bedbound bc of it LMAO

Rafayel will not leave the hospital. If you're not at a hospital that will allow him to stay overnight then he's going to get you moved to one where he can, and see if he can get you into a better room as well so you can rest in the hospital well. He's also not going to let you eat the hospital food because he thinks you deserve far better, going out to get you takeout or whatever it is you want to eat.

If you thought he was annoying before he's even worse now. He doesn't really leave you alone, constantly fretting at you. He hates the sight of your cast only because he's upset at the mere thought of you being in pain. He doesn't leave you alone because he'd hate for you to need something and then him not be there for you. You're always within earshot of him post discharge and he doesn't really let you go anywhere without him hovering nearby. He'd blame himself if you got hurt trying to do something without him so he tries to make it so you don't need for anything.

Zayne is amazing to have to recover from surgery because he's also looking at you to make sure you recover well. If you get sent to the hospital he works at he'll come visit as soon as you're able to take visitors and he's able to step out. If you've got more questions he's also great at either answering them directly or going to get you answers.

When you get home if you feel funny or have questions about meds he's more than happy to assess as well, helping keep your nerves down if you've got some anxieties about being discharged. He'll also make sure to keep your medications on track and help you towards your full recovery.

Sylus is also going to put you either in a better hospital, or see if he can get you home to his own personal medbay because of course he has one. He also studies up a little more on your injury if he isn't already familiar enough with it so he can help streamline recovery as well. He keeps an eye on you and visits often before you're discharged, unable to do nights due to the nature of his work. However, that doesn't mean you can't reach him and if you'd like all you need to do is call him and he'll pick up or call back as soon as he can to keep you company.

He's going to carry you. Everywhere. He works out enough to make that feasible and if he can't, he'll just get to a point to where he can. He also does have a high tech wheelchair for you to use as well. He wants you to have a bit more mobility without him but he also does have Mephisto trailing you to make sure don't need him.

[chleem]

Love Deception III

Series : ceo!drew starkey x assistant!reader

Summary: In order to secure a business deal, you pose as Drew’s girlfriend at an engagement party.

Genre: fake dating, slowburn, age gap (31 & 26), (read at own caution

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work!

⋆.˚ inspired by this tweet!

♡⸝⸝ two | index | four

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Wow, this looks amazing, Mrs Harrington,”

You immediately compliment the food scattered across the dining table, eyes lightening up at the sight of it. You hadn’t even realized you were hungry until you saw how beautifully cooked this dinner was. 

“Call me Lily,” she gives you a wink, her smile warm and inviting. Her eyes flicker between you and Drew as her husband instinctively pulls out her chair, “sit- sit, make yourselves comfortable.”

Your hand reaches to pull out your chair, instead, crashing with Drew’s, whose… surprisingly, doing it for you. 

You quickly retreat, glancing at Drew, hoping to catch a flicker of anything—anything—that might give away what he's thinking, but his expression remains neutral, as always. 

“Thanks,” you murmur, sitting down in your seat. 

“I haven’t cooked this much since Thanksgiving,” Lily jokes, starting to pick up food onto her own plate. “But I just had to for-“

Your eyes begin to scan the table, her voice fading into the background as your focus sharpens. 

Cacio e Pepe. You spot it, one of your favorite dishes—there, across the table. 

On Drew’s side of the table. 

You watch as he serves some onto his own plate, and you contemplate about speaking up. 

“-do you cook at home, y/n?”

The sudden and first question of the evening tears your attention away from the plate of pasta. 

“Oh, uh… sometimes, but just really quick, simple stuff,” you answer, and your eyes land on the seafood risotto in front of you. You’re suddenly torn—your favorite dish is across the table, but this risotto... it's right in front of you. 

Okay. Risotto’s not bad either, right? 

You grab the the communal spoon, and serve yourself a portion of the seafood risotto.

There’s also steak on the table, perfectly seared, and you can’t resist adding a slice of that as well. 

“Simple’s often the best,” James winks over at you, earning a chuckle from his wife. 

You politely smile, preparing to dig into the food on your plate, when it’s suddenly snatched away. 

Your fork hovers mid-air as you blink in surprise. 

Drew’s hand has swapped your plate with his, and now your eyes land on the contents:, the Cacio e Pepe, a side salad, and a slice of that steak. 

You glance up at Drew, but he doesn't look at you, focusing on his own plate. 

But you can see- that little, briefly there, curve of his lip. 

“So, are there anything you two like to do? Like, outside of work?”

You slowly start eating the food Drew swapped with yours, the flavors of the Cacio e Pepe hitting you in unexpected waves of comfort.

“Y/n likes art,” he says, without looking at you. “She goes- visits a new gallery every week.”

You blink, slightly surprised. How does he know that?

You manage a tight smile, turning your attention to the Harringtons across the table as you chew, James laughing softly before chiming in with another question.

“No, no, I meant together,” he corrects, his gaze shifting between you and Drew, clearly intrigued. “What do you two do together?”

Your eyes flicker to Drew once again, seeing the way he pauses. 

You clear your throat, stepping in. Because, that’s your job, right? As his assistant, help him fill in some gaps. 

Including now, as you lie, “Well, we... go on trips.”

“Really? Where do you go?” Lily eagerly asks, before taking another bite of her own food, “Drew certainly doesn’t seem like the type.”

An exchange of soft laughs echo through the table, yourself included. 

“No- no, but we go somewhere- somewhere out of the city,” Drew says, his tone casual, but there's a slight pause as if he's carefully choosing his words. He takes a slow sip of his wine, glancing up briefly at you, "just quiet spots. Y’know, a change of scenery.”

“So…nature? Into hiking?” Lily coos, her voice filled with curiosity.

You look down at your plate, eyes widening slightly. Hiking? 

You’re not exactly an outdoor enthusiast. 

The thought of long trails and bugs isn’t exactly your idea of a getaway, but before you can even formulate a response, Drew answers smoothly.

“Yeah—yeah, but more, uh, calming,” he says, “we like peaceful walks and, uh, places to just… relax.”

His answer is vague enough to keep things believable without making either of you look too out-of-character.

The Harringtons however, seem to buy it, their smiles widening. 

“That sounds perfect,” she says, her tone bright.

You quietly chew on your plate, savoring the rich cuisine that you don’t often get to indulge in. The warmth of the food is comforting, giving you a moment of peace amidst the conversation.

Then, out of nowhere, you hear James’s voice cut through the air, “actually, there’s something we wanna… ask you two about.”

You glance up, sensing a shift in the tone of the conversation. James leans forward slightly, a glint of excitement in his eyes, as Lily’s gaze flits between you and Drew, her expression curious.

You swallow the bite in your mouth, suddenly aware of the tension that seems to hang in the air.

Drew remains composed, but you can tell by the way his jaw tightens slightly that he’s listening carefully.

Oh shit- what are they gonna ask?

It’s not even ten minutes into this dinner, and already, it seems like they’re dropping a huge bomb. 

“We just wanna get this out the way-“

“Before we talk about anything else-“

“Or we get too full-"

“We’ve been thinking for a long time-“

“Always talking-“

“Wondering if you two might be up for it-“

“You wanna say it?”

“You say it-“

“Okay, okay- I’ll say it-“

The back-and-forth between them feels almost scripted, like a scene out of a cheesy rom-com. You half-expect the camera to zoom in on their animated faces, as if this moment is building to some huge revelation.

Your tight smile and slightly widened eyes might just give away how uncomfortable you felt right now. 

“So, every year, we have an annual hunting party,” James starts, and you gulp down the food in your mouth. 

Hunting party? You blink, processing the words. People still do that? People can still do that?…But then again, they were ridiculously rich. Of course they did extravagant things like that.

“Wow- that sounds, amazing,” you hear Drew comment beside you. As sarcastic as it sounds, he somehow makes it come across as genuinely interested.

James nods, continuing, “It’s a tradition we’ve had for years, and we always invite our closest friends.”

“- and we thought it’d be a great fit for you two. A chance to get to know everyone better—and of course, enjoy the outdoors!” Lily practically cheers, clapping her hands in excitement. 

The couple’s smiles felt like as if you were staring directly at the sun.

Oh my fucking god. 

You’re still processing the idea of an actual hunting event. The image in your head involves fancy rifles, a private estate, and people dressed in expensive outdoor gear. 

It’s hard to picture yourself in the midst of all that, but you nod along, trying to mask your surprise. 

You advert to the food, chewing on it intently. 

You really don’t know what to think. A whole day with rich strangers, all while pretending to be Drew’s girlfriend? Definitely not your idea of fun.

It…it sounded like a nightmare. 

Willingly spend time with a bunch of rich people? Yeah- no. 

“Oh, and it’s the whole weekend!” Lily adds, as if it would make the decision better, “so, a little getaway!”

“An island that’s been passed down from each generation,” James chimes in, his tone dripping with pride. “It’s private, of course. No interruptions, just us and nature.”

You nod absently, trying to force the smile back on your face. An island? Great.

Basically no room for escaping. 

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay calm, to play along.

The food seems tasteless now, and you can’t focus on anything else but the suffocating pressure to deliver. 

Say yes? Say no?

But then, you feel the gentle warmth of a hand placed on your thigh.

It’s Drew’s hand, his ring cold against your skin— yet steady, and strangely comforting. 

Almost as if his touch is a reminder that you’re not in this alone…or a subtle cue that you need to hold it together, his fingers gently gripping your flesh.

You look at him, seeing that he’s already staring at you. You see that smile on his face- the one you know can’t be faked. 

“We’ll think about it,” Drew says, his tone polite, turning away from you. "I mean, we’ve got other schedules, and so on.”

His hand remains there, and you feel a sense of reassurance in a moment where everything seems all too wrong. 

The moment you feel that pressure start to lift, Lily and James exchange an almost imperceptible glance. It’s clear they’re a little disappointed, but they don’t push. They simply nod, their smiles tightening just slightly.

“Well, of course,” James says with a gracious wave of his hand. “Take your time. We’ll send over the details. No rush.”

“Thank you, we’ll definitely—definitely try and fit it into our schedule,” Drew smiles, his voice smooth, the professional manner of his never slipping. 

Yet, just like that, his hand slips off your thigh.

The absence of his touch is oddly jarring. For a second, you almost feel a sense of loss, as if the warmth and quiet reassurance he provided had evaporated with his hand.

You shift, feeling self-conscious as you force another bite into your mouth. 

“But, uh, what made you consider us?” Drew asks, his tone light, more jokingly now. He leans back slightly in his chair, his usual confidence returning now that he doesn’t have to answer any more questions about your relationship.

His eyes twinkle with that familiar mischievous and easygoing gleam, but yours twinkle down at his hands, suddenly aware of how his hands look. Or more, the one that was just gently caressing your thigh. 

James chuckles, “want us to be completely honest?”

“Please- of course,” Drew takes a sip of his wine.

You lean back into your chair, letting out a small breath as the energy of the dinner shifts, the spotlight turning back to Drew as the Harringtons continue, clearly amused by the change in tone.

As you take another bite of your food, it suddenly tastes different—like you can finally savor it again.

“We’re getting married. We like to hang out in twos.”

So the rumors are true.

The Harringtons, a newly engaged couple, has become one of those pairs who only seem to socialize with other couples.

“And at the engagement party- we talked about that deal, right?” James continues, a knowing look passing between him and Lily.

The deal! He’s mentioning it!

“Yeah, the deal,” Drew murmurs, more to himself. 

“And we thought, since our main business partner is now a couple, it could be a great chance to make some new connections,” James adds with a smile, his tone light but purposeful, “make some new friends.”

You smile at his words, and you suddenly realize that these people— seem genuinely kind. There’s a warmth in their offer, a subtle understanding that this isn’t just about business.

“So you must excuse the questions we’ve asked about you two—it’s just so sudden,” Lily adds, her tone softening, trying to ease any lingering discomfort.

You could only smile, because it seems like… they also suspect this relationship is fake. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“We also, um, just got together, so we’re still pretty nervous,” Drew lies.

You could feel his glance on the side of your face, and you nod, both of you playing the part, “yeah, we’re still figuring some stuff out.”

The Harringtons nod, almost understandingly at your comment. 

“Well, for us, at home, we also like to keep it ‘no business’ talks,” Lily adds, her tone soft and playful. She gives James a knowing smile, clearly at ease now. “Just a little rule we’ve adopted.”

You’re happy about the subtle shift in topics, moving back to the couple across from you.

“Really? Then what would you guys talk about, or …do?” You ask. 

Lily's smile widens, clearly enjoying the question, and James chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“Well, anything but business,” James says, leaning back in his chair. “A tv show, her new nails-“

Lily holds out her hand with a playful twirl, showing off her freshly done nails. They’re painted in baby pink, along with crazily cute and 3D stickers on each finger. 

“These?” She laughs, wiggling her fingers. 

“Oh- they’re beautiful,” you compliment, instinctively reaching your hand out to hers, admiring the detail.

Lily beams, her eyes lighting up at the praise, letting you hold her hand for a few seconds. “I’m obsessed with them right now. James thinks they’re a little too much, but that’s just him.”

Her husband chuckles, shaking his head lightly, as if this is an ongoing debate between them. “They’re... definitely a lot, but hey, whatever makes her happy.”

“What- I think James is a boring old man,” Drew teases, and you turn around, raising an eyebrow at him unexpectedly.

You didn’t see this side of Drew— so at ease around clients. He was always polished, professional, but this playful teasing? It was a side you rarely got to see. 

It threw you off for a second, and you can’t help but glance over at him, wondering how comfortable he really is in this situation.

His grin widens as he catches your look, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

James raises an eyebrow, a bit taken aback, but he laughs it off. “Well, someone’s gotta keep things balanced around here.”

“He’s a boring old man!” Lily loudly whispers to you and Drew, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can’t help but chuckle, glancing over at James, who’s still trying to process the teasing.

You lower your voice, leaning closer to Lily. “I think you’re right.”

“I knew you’d get it,” she says with a wink, before turning back to James, who’s now pretending to be offended.

Your grin widens, playing along, but deep down, something feels off. You’re grinning, but inside, your heart is cringing. This feels way too casual, you think. Too... friend-like with clients.

It’s a strange feeling—being so relaxed in a setting where you’re supposed to be professional. You're used to keeping things composed, especially with Drew, your boss. But here you are, being pulled into this lighthearted banter that doesn’t sit right.

And you feel as if you’re the only one that doesn’t fit in, because well, all three of them have huge, staggering amount of wealth upon them. 

You? You only have staggering amounts of debt, unease, and responsibilities. 

“But seriously though- we also play board games,” James says, bringing the conversation back. 

“..maybe we’re so boring that we need to torture others to eat dinner with us on a Friday,”Lily teases her husband.

You and Drew exchange a polite laugh, and he’s quick to assure them, “no, no, we couldn’t have spent tonight, in any other way.”

“How flattering,” James smiles, clearly pleased with the response. “Then would you two stay later to play a round of Monopoly?”

You laugh, glancing over at Drew, awaiting his call. 

After all, he was the boss, and he decided when the job was done. And in the Harringtons' case, it might be undone for a veryyyy long time.

Drew slides an arm around the back of your chair, and you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

“Of course,” Drew says, “we’ll definitely, definitely stay for the afterparty.”

The Harringtons smile, as if it’s the best news they’ve ever received. 

The rest of the dinner breezes by smoothly. The conversation flows effortlessly, the awkwardness from earlier fading into the background. The atmosphere feels lighter now, with laughter and casual chatter filling the air. As much as you can’t fully relax, the Harringtons’ warmth and easy-going nature make it a bit easier to play the part, just like Drew so effortlessly does.

By the time dessert is served, you're almost starting to forget that this whole evening was part of a bigger plan. Almost.

——

The car ride home is heavy with silence. 

It’s the kind of quiet that settles in when you realize how far you’ve pushed the boundaries, how much you’ve flirted— pretended to love your boss, all for the business deal.

At least during the engagement party, you’ve drank enough to nap in the car. 

Okay, maybe napping in the car with your boss right next to you was weird too. 

Now? Just a few sips of wine, but still really awake. 

You look out the window, the scenery slowly shifting—luxury to more worn streets, as it leads to your neighborhood. Your home.

This, the scenery outside the exact reason why you always ask to be dropped off at the subway station. 

You didn’t know why, but it was suddenly awkward to be alone with Drew. Maybe it was the pretending, or the touches. But it was a bit suffocating, to be sweet with your boss. 

And just as the station comes into view, you lean forward, telling the driver, “Oh, drop me off here, thanks.” 

It was a phrase that you have stopped saying three months into working with Drew, but now, it has resurfaced again. 

You start to unbuckle your seatbelt, the flickering car lights casting shadows on your hand, when Drew’s hand covers yours, brushing it off gently.

“Just drive to her place,” Drew says, his voice steady.

The driver nods, pulling away from the curb.

“What? No, just pull over-“

“Just sit back,” Drew interrupts.  

You glance over at him, confused, and he’s leaning back in his seat, legs spread out like he’s settled in for a long ride. He’s not looking at you; looking straight ahead and biting gently on his lower lip. 

You hesitate, your hand still half on the seatbelt, but you drop it, sinking back into the leather seat.

You rest one of your hands on the middle seat, and your eyes drift over to Drew’s hand, resting there, palm spread, the ring glistening in the dim light of the car. 

You can’t help but stare, the size of his hand almost too much to ignore. It reminds you of how his fingers felt earlier—strong, sure, and just…Drew. 

Your breath catches, and for a second, you’re suddenly so aware of being in the backseat with Drew. And also this whole…arrangement with him. 

No- no, don’t overthink it. It’s just a job. Nothing more. 

You turn away, focusing your gaze on the streets that become more familiar with each passing block.

Just as the hum of the air conditioning fills the car again, Drew’s deep voice cuts through. 

“That…trip,” he starts. 

You don’t want to look at him. You keep your back leaned against the seat, eyes glued to the window.

When you don’t reply, he adds, “The hunting party?”

Oh shit. 

You totally forgot. You’d gotten so lost in the whole dinner, the board games afterwards, that it slipped through your mind. 

Not looking at him doesn’t last long, though, as you quickly turn around. 

You’re met with those blue eyes of his, the only thing that shines through the dark car.

“Right," you say, voice a little too tight, "The hunting party.”

“..you don’t wanna go.”

“No—no, I do,” you lie, looking ahead, trying to steady your breath. You nod, but it feels stiff, too obvious. You weren’t a bad liar, but somehow, you can’t fake it around Drew. Not entirely. 

“It sounds amazing,” you whisper, trying to sound excited. 

You can feel the weight of his stare burning the side of your face, making your skin feel too tight. The silence stretches for a few seconds, though, felt like eternity. 

You weren’t sure why it was so awkward with Drew now. But it is. 

“…you don’t wanna go,” he repeats again, and this time, you hear the smile in his voice, the slight tease and knowing. “Why?”

Your lips press together, and you instinctively pout, the expression betraying you before you can stop it. You want to say something, anything, to brush off his words, but they hang there, heavy and expectant.

“I want to go,” you mutter, but even you don’t believe it. The pout lingers on your lips, despite your best effort to hide it. 

“Come on, just admit it,” Drew presses, his voice low, almost coaxing, “you promised.”

There it was again. Yesterday, he’d just remind you of the promise you made with him, one of the first conversations you two had. To be fully transparent with each other, for this assistant/boss dynamic to work. 

He didn’t need to remind you for the past year, since, well, it had become a habit, where you spoke your mind without hesitation. 

But, maybe because of your new role, that this might be getting a bit personal. 

Too personal. 

“Fine,” you mutter, crossing your arms, still keeping your eyes fixed ahead, afraid  to meet his gaze. 

How does one rephrase thoughts? To sound more…professional?

“I… I don’t want to be around rich people,” you blur out. 

Somehow, it sounded much better in your brain. 

You could feel your cheeks going red, your lips forming a wider pout, mainly out of embarrassment. 

But before you can retreat into silence, you push forward, desperate to make sense of it.

“It’s an island…and three whole days! That would be…” you glance up to make the calculations in your head, “72 hours! We would have to fake for 72 hours. We couldn’t even get through that dinner- or the one last week!”

“Y/n-“

“I think…the problem might be me, though. I- I don’t think I’m cut out to play your girlfriend. I’m just an assistant-“

“Y/n-“

“And you’re this- CEO, with your perfect suit, life-“

“Y/n,” Drew interrupts, his voice cutting through your ramble, calm but firm.

You freeze, suddenly aware of how far you’ve gone. You didn’t even realize you’d said that much.

In a rush of embarrassment, you bury your face into your palms, your heart pounding in your chest. God, why did I just say all of that?

The silence stretches, and all you can hear is the pounding of your own thoughts.

“Sorry,” you mumble through your hands, wishing you could take it all back.

You cringe at how unprofessional that was. 

But then again, Drew did invite you to say everything you were thinking of. 

Then Drew laughs.

It’s that signature deep-throated laugh, the one that rolls out of him effortlessly when he’s genuinely amused, or when he finds something unexpectedly funny.

You don’t know why, but you wanna see it. 

You turn your head over, and sure enough, he is smiling. You could see it; his mouth parted slightly in a smile, and his eyes, even softer in the shadows, crinkling at the corners.

“Sorry- sorry, but, that was cute.”

Your eyes widen at his compliment; it was the second one of the night. 

“Are you saying- saying that you’re not good enough to be my girlfriend?”

You blink at his word choice, eyes widening more, if that’s even possible. 

“To play your girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Drew shifts in his spot, and you can see him spreading his legs further. He leans an arm against the car door, fingertips rubbing the side of his face, as if deep in thought.

“Yeah- I mean, I’m not an actor. I can’t lie.”

“But only you would make sense.”

“That’s a stretch-“

“No, seriously,” he starts, and you could hear the exact moment when his work mode switches on- the voice he uses when he’s persuading investments, all smooth and calculated. 

“You…you’ve worked with me for more than two years. I know you. And I know that- that you know how to read the situation, think on your feet. That’s exactly what- what I need.”

“…besides, didn’t I say this to you the other day?” Drew adds, his gaze softening, a small smile appearing on his lips. 

The memory of a few days ago, when you were in Drew’s office, him asking you to be his fake girlfriend, flashed through your mind. 

“You did—but you saw how we did just then. We were a mess.”

“I- I wouldn’t call it a mess.”

You give him a look, one that mixes exasperation with disbelief. “They said it themselves. They don’t believe we’re together.”

Drew’s answer comes with a pause, his gaze narrowing slightly, “then… then what should we do?”

You know that once Drew asks those words, it’s almost like a test to your role as his assistant. To come up with the best solution, deliver it perfectly, like you always do. 

But, the stakes are higher now, more real than you’d anticipated. The Harringtons, the deal, everything—it’s all hinged on the belief that you and Drew are a couple, and you know that if you’re going to pull this off, things are about to get a lot more complicated. 

Your mind begins to race. You need to convince the world, but convincing the Harringtons is just the start.

The next step—how you make them believe—is suddenly so clear, yet so daunting.

You swallow, trying to steady your breath. “We need…need to practice.”

The car comes to a stop, and when you glance outside, you realize it’s your apartment complex. 

But you don’t make a move to get out. Instead, you’re focused on Drew’s expression. The streetlight outside bathes his face in a soft glow, casting shadows that make his features look even sharper. 

You catch the corner of his lips tugging up into a slight smile.

Why is he smiling? You don’t know. 

“Practice?” He repeats, his voice low, almost as if amused. 

You move uncomfortably in your seat, trying to maintain your usual professional tone, but it's harder now. "Yeah," you say, your voice steadier than you feel, "practice. If we want this to be convincing, we need to be… real.”

"And...practice can help?"

"...yeah."

Drew tilts his head slightly, “how?”

"Small things," you start slowly, "things that couples do. Holding hands, nicknames... I don’t know. Just enough to make it feel natural.”

He’s taking a long time to answer again, and you wonder if this was the wrong thing to say. Was this too much? Too forward? Too unprofessional?

You fidget with your fingers, looking down at your lap again. 

Finally, Drew speaks, and you could hear him moving in his seat again. 

"You sure?"

High risk high reward.

Fuck it.

"Yes."

“Okay. I’ll- I’ll practice with you.”

You blink, your breath catching for a split second. 

His tone is different— it’s almost too calm, too easy. He’s agreeing to this, just like that. And somehow, that makes the situation feel even more intense.

You look back up, your smile briefly there. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Um- so, yes to the hunting party?”

“Uh- yeah, yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll tell the Harringtons tomorrow.”

Drew nods, biting down on his lower lip. 

“Then, um, I should get out now,” you say, clicking your seatbelt off. 

He doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, there’s a brief pause where he seems to reconsider something, but then, as if snapping back to the present, he nods, “yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

You give him a smile, one tinged with nerves, before opening the car door. The cool night air hits you as you step out. 

And you don’t know why, but you do it again; giving a quick wave to the blacked-out windows, even though you can’t see anything inside. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Your feet move before you could even process it, and once you step into your apartment building, the realization hits you at once; 

You’re gonna practice being Drew’s girlfriend. 

Practice. 

…practice. 

Which, is as simple as it sounds, right?

Right?

-------------------------------

word count: 4.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i was smiling like mad crazy when writing this. also, the pics of anya and drew??? so cute tf

and yes, a part of me died at the sag awards when he's no longer blond... but buzzcut ?- classic.

official taglist for this series: @ecstqzy @wheeniemyloove @melvigaristaa @hugheswife @maybankslover @iwannagetdickeddown @lilithblackkk @mattiwe01 @rafeslvttygirl @jessiskindacoolig @suzuki-18

elevator | other | two | index | four

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 sleeper build : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

Four times Percy showed off his strenght and had y/n swooning over him.

mari talks! i'm so weak for sleeper build sorry i literally woke up to write this.

warnings: slight mention of percy being taller than reader, use of petnames, protective!percy, use of y/n, i think that's all.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the time he moved her bookshelf

It's not like she didn’t know that Percy was strong, she wasn't dumb. Of course he was. She had seen him wield Riptide like it was made of air, lift entire pieces of debris off wounded campers and, you know, survive and come victorious out of battles against gods.

But somehow, she always saw him as just Percy. Cute, funny— infuriating sometimes, but undeniably cute. His messy dark hair and those ridiculously pretty sea-green eyes, the way of carrying himself that made him look effortlessly cool and how he always had had a comment that never failed to make her laugh. That was what made her fall for him.

But she had never stopped to think about his strength outside of those battles, on his day to day he was only percy, who sometimes tripped over his own feet and wore hoodies and tshirts that hung loosely on his frame. It was hard to think about him any other way.

That is, of course, until she asks him for help to move her bookshelf.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" She asks, still shy about having to bother him.

"No, I've got it." He sends her a small, reassuring smile before crouching to grab the bookshelf.

Still, she is about to offer her help when he suddenly hoists the entire bookshelf up like it weighs nothing. And y/n—

She forgets how to breathe.

Because she is suddenly aware of how strong he is, not only because he is carrying that damn bookshelf as if it's nothing to him, but also because his forearm flexes, his biceps pulling against his sleeves, the shirt that is supposedly loose on him now seems too small for his arms.

"Where do you want to put it?" He asks but— gods forgive her, she is not thinking about where to put that bookshelf at all.

He must have noticed her lack of answer, because he looks over his shoulder to find her gaping at him, he raises an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

She doesn't reply, simply blinking at him. Oh, the gods are being cruel with her. His shirt has ridden up slightly and she's able to see his toned stomach and those arms. He looks like one of those Greek statues on Mount Olympus, all effortless strength and power. Not fair at all.

"y/n?" he tries again, actually worried because she has gone pale white and is definitely not breathing.

"Yes?" she blinks dumbly at him before she realizes he is waiting for an answer. "Oh! um— I wanted to move it to that corner."

Oh. she is dooomed.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the time he picked her up

She's in the weapons closet, trying to pick up a bag of arrows that's on the top shelf. She can usually reach things herself, but the last person to clean the closet was clearly taller and didn’t stop to think about putting the damn arrows so high that she couldn't reach.

"Need any help, doll?" She would've been scared if she didn’t recognize Percy's voice right away, and turning her head, she found him resting against the doorway and smiling at her.

Going back to looking at the shelf, she shakes her head. Ever since he helped her with that bookshelf, she has been avoiding him because the only thing she can think about when looking at him is him carrying that bookshelf and the way his shirt hugged his arms. Gods, she's probably red already.

In her sudden distraction, she doesn’t notice Percy stepping towards her until suddenly he's hoisting her on his arms, his hands wrapping around her waist as he raises her without any effort, and— yes, she can die already.

"Well? can you reach what you wanted now?" He asks, as if this is an everyday occurrence.

She's short-circuiting, and it takes her a long minute to actually remember what she was trying to get on the shelf before she finally reaches for the bag of arrows.

Then Percy sets her down on her feet again, she's afraid he'll be able to see how flustered she he is, but if he does, he doesn’t show it as he simply smiles at her. "Alright, need anything else?"

And when she shakes her head, he simply nods and walks away, not even noticing that he left her speechless and blushing furiously while she hugged the bag to her chest.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the time he used her for push ups

it's briefly after they start dating, and she has pretty much forgotten about the other two incidents, or at least she has tried to. Sometimes, it's hard to stop herself from shamelessly checking him out, especially when he's training.

Right now, when she finally finishes with her training, she goes to find him and he jogs towards her once his eyes find hers, pressing a kiss against her temple when he's close. "Hey, pretty girl. I'm almost finished here."

she nods, and she's about to suggest they go do something together after training, when Clarisse's voice cuts through the moment. "Hey, Jackson! whoever does push-ups for longer?"

They do this often after training, always competing against eachother in whatever way they can think of. So it's no surprise when Percy immediately accepts. "Oh, You're on."

And then, he's dropping into a plank position with ease, as if it's just another part of his training routine.

y/n rolls her eyes playfully while Clarisse and him start doing push-ups at an absurd pace. But she goes to sit down with the other campers that are watching, her eyes never leaving Percy— totally not paying attention to the way Percy's shirt sticks to his back or how his arms flex everytime he pushes himself off the ground. Nope. Not at all.

Clarisse is strong, she's probably the only one that's able to match Percy's energy, so she manages herself just fine for a long moment. But being exposed to that much sun and the pace of those push-ups, it's no wonder her arms start shaking slightly even if she's still not giving up.

But Percy notices she's growing tired and he smirks, barely winded. "Honestly, La Rue, this is way too easy." He tells her, and y/n knows he's already plotting something just by the look of amusement on his face.

And that's when his gaze shifts to her, and she's already looking at him because— come on, of course she was looking at him while he did those stupid push-ups, can't blame her.

But Percy's smirk widens when he notices the way her eyes drop to his arms as if she can't help it. She really can't.

Clarisse, completely oblivious to this exchange, snorts while she tries to push herself up again. "What? are you going to do them one-handed?"

Percy's sea-green eyes are fixated on y/n, twinkling with something very dangerous as he briefly replies to Clarisse. "Have a better idea." and then, he supports himself with one hand to pat his back with the other. "Come here, pretty girl."

She blinks rapidly, suddenly surprised. "What?"

"You heard me, doll, I need the extra weight." He replies simply, patting again as if he doesn’t find anything odd with his request.

This man is about to make her combust, she's sure of it as she takes a sharp breath and moves to straddle his back. Because, let's be honest, there's no way she can say no to him.

Percy barely reacts to the added weight. Like at all. Even Clarisse is surprised, panting and trying to keep up with the push-ups. "What the hell, Jackson?"

And y/n? she is losing her mind.

And Percy knows this, because he simply laughs, voice enterely too smug. "Impressed, doll?"

She's, in fact, extremely impressed but she won't admit it. "No."

But obviously, she remains impressed through the whole thing, especially when Clarisse finally drops to the ground and he's able to do five more efortless push-ups before he finally stops.

Yeah, she's definitely impressed. And flustered.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

the time he scared some boy away

Even months after, after they had finally started dating, she still finds herself utterly surprised in those moments where he shows his strenght. She just never got used to it.

Right now, for example.

They are spending their day at Central Park. She's chatting with Piper while they wait for the guys to come back with their coffee orders, when a guy suddenly walks towards them.

"Hey." he smiles confidently at her, not even acknowledging Piper. "You're very pretty and uh- I was wondering if I could get your number."

Alright, straightforward— she blinks at him, surprised while trying to process his words. He's at most decent-looking, tall and broad shoulders but he is no Percy. And her only interest is Percy.

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend." and of course the dude looks at her in disbelief, as if he's expecting her to say she's lying. She fights the urge to roll her eyes at him as she points at Percy.

The guy follows her hand towards the coffee cart where Percy stands, chatting with Jason while they wait for their orders. Her boyfriend is casually slouched against the cart, looking effortlessly relaxed with a cap over his messy hair and a loose shirt he had thrown on in a hurry in the morning.

Gods, he's so effortlessly handsome.

Piper has to actually nudge her with her elbow because she's already so distracted staring that she forgets about the weird dude trying to get her number.

"That guy?" He sounds almost pitying, y/n can almost see Piper rolling her eyes. "Come on, pretty, you surely can do better than that"

She immediately furrows her eyebrows, Who does this guy thinks he is? he did not just—

Before she can even think about a surely offensive reply, a familiar arm wraps around her shoulders, tugging her back against a solid, warm chest. Percy. She knows him by scent alone, and when she tilts her head back to look at him, she's able to catch the glint of amusement in his beautiful eyes.

"Everything good around here, pretty girl?" He asks, pressing a kiss against her temple before he looks at the guy in front of her, an underlying shine of challenge on his eyes.

And, oh— oh! he's flexing.

It isn't too obvious, but she can feel it, the subtle kind of flex that makes the veins on his forearms stand out a little, the fabric of his sleeve tightening slightly as the firm biceps wrap around her shoulders, his other arm sneaks around her waist. She could die happy right there.

The stupid guy in front of her definitely notices too, because his eyes drop towards Percy's forearm curved protectively around her, his smirk slowly disappearing as Percy's own grin only gets bigger.

"Need something, man?" Her boyfriend asks, acting completely innocent as if he doesn’t know exactly what he's doing.

The guy barely manages to shake his head before he's walking away in defeat, his friends are already waiting for him while they snicker and tease him about his fail on getting her number.

"Percy, man, I think I've fallen in love with you." Jason tells him, blinking at him in amusement.

y/n is inclined to agree with him, but she's not going to admit it out loud, instead she turns to him with an almost accusatory look. "You did that on purpose."

Percy shrugs, passing her a cup of coffee as he tries to hide his mischievous smile. "Maybe, a little."

She groans, covering her flustered face with her hands. "Gods, you're so hot." she admits quietly, only for him to hear.

Percy chuckles delighted, wrapping his arm around her waist again, strong arms pushing her closer to him as they walk behind Piper and Jason.

"I think I need to sit down. My legs feel weak." she tells him before she can process her words.

"That's the caffeine hitting, doll." he presses his lips against her temple once again, sweet and comforting.

"No, that's your fault."

Percy only laughs, and yes, she's definitely blushing.

[kawhh]

Omg that temporary tattoo thing got me thinking about how in one tree hill when Hayley gets a 23 tattoo above her ass for Nate…

oh dark!quinn wouldn’t be able to think about anything else when he sees your reach up high for something and your shirt lifts up and he gets a peek of the 43 above your his ass.

He would ask you about it and when you wouldn’t admit it right away he would bend you over and he would fuck you from behind. You don’t get to finish because you lied but he cums over your back and swipes it across the 43 tattoo to further claim you, proper tattoo care be damned. Yeah that’s hot

My ask turn around time needs to be studied. There'll be a day when I catch up with them all and it doesn't take me a month lmao.

I gotta put One Tree Hill on my watch list now? I've always seen it talked about a lot but I've never actually seen any of it.

Warnings: Quinn losing his mind, nails sinking into skin, biting, blood mention, ripping clothes, rough fucking, cum play.

You'd done it as a cute little gesture. You adore him and you're oh so proud of him, it'd been the easiest tattoo choice of your life. You'd wanted it somewhere he'd be able to see on you, wanting it more for him than for you.

You hadn't fully considered the impact of it until it was etched into your skin, until the scratching had stopped. Flushing heavily in the car coming back from the studio. Embarrassed about how he'd react when he saw it, knowing it's permanent now.

Hadn't considered how he'd feel about the fact that you were a little undressed for the artist, laying there with their hands on your skin, touching above and around your ass.

Hadn't considered that it might make him more feral, you'd been high on the feeling of wanting to show him how proud of him you are.

You'd tucked your shirt into the back of your jeans as you walked into his apartment, needing more time to think of an excuse, a reason, before he saw it. He wouldn't be able to keep his hands off you for long.

It's a shame you'd immediately forgotten the plan, distracted by him asleep on the couch. Rushing around the kitchen to make him food ready for when he wakes up, worried about how exhausted he clearly was after practice. Guilty you weren't here for him when he got home.

Hadn't heard him stirring, hadn't heard him creep towards you, fixated on the little inch of your bare skin visible to his eyes as you reach up. The emotions battling for control in his eyes - the confusion, the savage need to claim you, to fuck you. The disbelief. His pupils fully dilated, his arms shaking.

You don't hear him kneeling behind you, needing to get a better look or he feels like he'll die. Your startled gasp as he reaches out to grab your hips, the way your cute little jump exposes even more of your skin.

The way his nails dig into your skin, his eyes wild, resting his forehead above the tattoo. Tensing up when you feel his hot breath against your skin, sending shocks up your spine.

"Sweetheart.. you gonna fucking explain?"

The way his nails dig in further when you don't answer, when you don't even offer an excuse. Just whimpers coming out of your mouth. Your gasp of pain when he bites around the tattoo, making a circle. A ring of bloody possession around his mark on you. You're even more his now. You can't go back from this. You've made this choice.

His veins burn with the need to be buried in your cunt. His nails no longer still - clawing into you, dragging them down your ass. Leaving a stinging trail that makes you hiss, softly crying out his name. Pleading for something. Needing something.

Your cries pushing him over the edge, rising to his feet, throwing you over his shoulder. He needs you now. Needs you bent over his fucking couch right now. Needs his cock in you. Needs to make a mess. Needs to stare at his mark on you when he rails you.

He's not gentle about throwing you on the couch, cradling your head from the harsh impact. He's not a savage after all.

He has no care for your clothes, viewing them as a barrier to what he needs and wants. Doesn't care to gently take them off you, doesn't care if he knows they're your favourite. These fucking jeans. They might make your ass look like a buffet but they're keeping him from your cute little cunt and it's illegal.

He doesn't need them fully off, just down enough. Yanking them down your thighs, restraining your legs with them around your knees. He has room. He'll make it work. Warming you up, pushing his aching head against the wet spot on your underwear, pushing the material into you, watching as you grip the couch and tremble. Lazy little thrusts, pushing it into you further, eyes narrowing on the tattoo.

Swiping his tongue across his bottom lip as he rips your underwear, laughing as you squeak in protest at the slight burn.

Doesn't hesitate when he has a clear shot, sinking balls deep inside your cunt instantly, pushing his weight against you, forcing you to bend further over the couch, restraining you even further. Gripping your hip with one hand, resting his fingers against the tattoo, needing to physically feel it.

He's a machine fucking into you, slamming you further over the edge of the couch with every thrust, slamming you back down against him when you creep forward too far. Making you scream at the brutality.

Begging him to slow down, whining about all your adorable little choices. You're just making it worse. He wants you ruined. He wants you to make a mess, to be a mess.

Spanking your clit while he pulls out, teasing you, pretending that he's giving into your demands, before he's slamming back in even harder. Feeling your walls clench down on him, feeling your pussy sucking him back in. How it's desperate for him to be inside you, even if you're vocally protesting.

He's chanting, whispering to himself about how badly he needs to cum on every thrust, tossing his head back, losing himself in the feel of your cunt. You're his. You're marked. He can do this every day. Fuck, he can fuck you every day. He can stare at the mark and make you cum every single second of every single day.

Moaning as his speed picks up even further, no longer even focused on your reactions, just needing to cum. Needing to cum. He's gotta cum. Fuck, he's gotta cum. He's so close.

Forcing his head back up so he can watch the tattoo bounce on every thrust, feeling like it's taunting him, violently pulling you back and thrusting, giving it every single percentage of energy he has, shocks going down his spine, his thighs cramping with the strain.

He can't resist pulling out as he cums, drowning your back in his seed. Panting as it drips down your back, aided by gravity. How it covers the tattoo, his hips jerking like he's cum again, the sight making his brain break.

He's collapsing against your back fully, the hand on your hip spreading it over the tattoo, trying to rub it into your skin. To mark you further. Running his hands through the rest of the cum, reaching up to force it into your mouth.

He'll keep you both here for a while, too exhausted to lift off you.

[kissylec]

RAFE'S DREAM.

directed by love you goodbye...

pairing . . . rafe cameon x pogue!reader in which . . . in an unexpected late night conversation, rafe thinks it's the right time to tell his dream warning .ᐟ . . . mention of smut, wedding talk, fluff at the end. english is not my first language w count . . . 1.0k kissylec says . . . HI IS THIS THING ON? i didn't want to end love you goodbye like that out of the blue, so i brought you a nice extra so you don't cry so much

masterlist .ᐟ 𝜗𝜚 navigation .ᐟ

RAFE RARELY ASKED YOU TO STAY. the first time he did was when he had done so many drugs that he ended up having a nervous breakdown. that night you stayed until you were sure he was okay. today was different, although you couldn't understand why.

stay.

it was a request that came out of his mouth just as he reached his orgasm, your breath stuck in your throat as you felt him paint your walls with his cum. you thought you had heard wrong, but as if rafe was reading your mind, the words came out of his mouth again.

"stay" he breathes. "stay the night."

you swallowed hard and your lips parted. your eyes fluttered open slightly, feeling your lashes wet from the few tears that had gathered at the edge of your eyes when rafe hit your cervix over and over again.

“i–” you had started, but rafe was determined.

“i’ll give a ride in the morning” he says, his voice raspy against the skin of your neck, giving you convincing kisses. “i promise.”

and it wasn't hard to convince you. you stayed.

the grey sheets caressed your bare skin as you hugged him, legs intertwined in front of the television at zero volume, playing a show about weddings. the air conditioning was on, but your body still felt hot. and suddenly rafe's bed had never felt as big and comfortable as it did at that moment.

you felt his hand caress your back, your head on his chest allowing you to hear his heart, which was beating calmly. rafe's eyes felt heavy, and instinctively he snuggled closer to your body.

you licked your lips, staring at the television. the program on was planning a wedding in italy, making you smile unconsciously as you watched the bride's excitement over her dress. the corset had an exquisite pattern, the sleeves were lace and the skirt fell delicately, the dress worthy of a princess. it wasn't white, but rather a creamy shade, making it look more delicate and unique.

“i always wanted to get married in tuscany” your lips trailed out, almost uncontrollably.

rafe opened his eyes instantly. “hm?"

your lips parted, your gaze fixed on the television.

“if i’m going to get married, i'd like to do it in tuscany,” you murmured. “nothing too big or too… flashy.”

rafe gulped, his gaze going to the television. his mind wanders to a dream he had, and it seemed like the perfect time to tell it.

"i–" he starts, his words dying on his lips. "i had a dream once…"

you raise your head, and rafe mentally cursed, thinking it would be easier to tell you all this with you not looking at him.

"i don't want to be weird and shit, it's not my plan," he mutters. "but–uh, i had this dream that i was marrying you."

he seemed to be making it up, something he's probably saying because you said you wanted to get married. his eyes drifting back to the TV, avoiding your gaze.

"did you?" you asked.

rafe nodded his head. “yeah,” he said. “it wasn’t in italy anyway, it was here,” he continued. “secretly.”

you looked at his lips, unconsciously nodding your head.

"you had this beautiful white dress on... and the veil was falling over your face," rafe says, his gaze going to you. "you looked gorgeous."

you felt your heart race, and you stopped to think. this was too intimate, which was a joke, because rafe had been inside you countless times, which was way more intimate. but talking about a wedding? another level you never thought you would touch, especially with him.

"and what does that mean?" you asked.

"what does what mean?"

"your dream."

"well, it doesn't mean anything," rafe answers, his gaze shifting to the television.

your eyebrows furrow and your head lifts slightly. "dreams always mean something," you insist.

the one who frowned this time was rafe. “not this one,” he says. “this one doesn’t mean shit.”

you quickly sat up in bed, the sheet falling off your chest leaving it exposed, catching rafe’s eyes.

“you dreamed we were getting married and it doesn’t mean anything?” you asked incredulously.

rafe lets out a tired breath through his nose, his eyes closing as his head began to throb. "it was just a dream, you don't need to look for an answer to everything."

"so you wouldn't marry me?"

his eyes instantly opened, bringing his frown to you. "what?"

"answer the question," you insisted.

rafe parts his lips, looking you up and down. "i–" he begins. "yes i would marry you."

"don't bullshit me."

"i'm not" rafe sat up in bed.

the atmosphere in the room had changed, as if it was colder and your lips felt dry. you didn't know why you were so offended by the idea of rafe not wanting to marry you, but it bothered you, so much that just thinking about it made your stomach hurt immensely.

"i would marry you," rafe repeats. "i–i didn't want to–" he stumbles over his words. "i didn't want to make this weird or awkward."

"why would you make it awkward?"

"because i'm not supposed to want to marry you," rafe says.

your heart starts racing faster than it can possibly go, because rafe wasn't telling any lies, he shouldn't want to marry you and you shouldn't want to marry him, but at that moment, it was an idea that sounded brilliant and wonderful in your head.

"i want to marry you too" you said without even thinking twice.

rafe opened his eyes wide, as if your comment was the stupidest thing he had ever heard, but after a few moments, he let out a sigh that he didn't know he was holding back.

"great."

"great," you imitated him.

you swallowed hard, lying back down on the bed, close to him. "turn off the TV, i'm sleepy," you said, covering yourself up to your shoulders.

rafe couldn't help but smile, grabbing the remote from his nightstand and turning off the television. "i don't want a bossy wife."

"shut up, yes you do."

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© KISSYLEC. 2025 — please do not plagiarize, repost, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

[luxiiebee]

For Nhae'ruk de Riva! Answers below! <3

What type of plant would Harding gift your Rook? Probably a succulent - Nhae'ruk is the type of person to forget about needing to water plants, so Harding would opt for one of the 'easier' types to gift her. Unfortunately, Nhae'ruk would almost certainly overwater it in her attempt to keep it alive...

Do they like Harding's cooking? Nhae'ruk will eat almost anything. But... She has also been known to visit home after eating, which Harding thankfully never questioned.

What animal/monster would Davrin carve for your Rook? An alicorn - whilst she's always been inclined to horses, there's something magical about one with wings and a horn.

Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin? Definitely! Even more so when the griffons return to Arlathan. Nhae'ruk is impartial to listening & watching birds, so never turns down a stroll through Arlathan.

What is something Neve could call on your Rook for if she needs certain expertise for a case? Nhae'ruk has a strange way with people, often able to wiggle her way into their comfort zones just enough to get the information she needs, without them even realising they're offering it up. She's apt at reading through the lines in most cases... Unless those lines regard herself - then she is honestly quite useless.

Does your Rook share Neve's love of fried fish? Nhae'ruk tolerates fried fish, and won't turn her nose up if offered it - but it's definitely a Minrathous thing. She prefers her seafood in a paella.

Does your Rook join Bellara in her technical talks about the Fade and various artifacts or are they more content to listen? Nhae'ruk isn't particularly 'with it' when it comes to the technologies or magic of Thedas - her whole life has been sculpted by physical weapons, rather than magic. She finds it fascinating, however, and could listen to Bellara talk for days.

Do your Rook and Bellara read serials together? Nhae'ruk doesn't read serials, unfortunately, as true crime isn't really her thing. She does, however, read romance novels with her.

What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks? Nhae'ruk will genuinely eat anything Lucanis cooks - they often cook paella together which is her comfort dish. Lucanis has worked out that she loves a lemon cheesecake the most, so makes it for her as a surprise every once in a while. Her eyes always dilate just a little when she sees it.

What would Lucanis buy for your Rook at the Grande Market? He has gifted her a necklace with a feather charm in the past, but would likely gift her knives once he realised that, unlike Viago, she can easily be won over with a shiny new dagger.

What dragon would Taash think your Rook would like the best? Taash is under the impression that Nhae'ruk likes Wyverns the best, as she asks a lot of questions about where they're located. They don't understand why she likes the smaller variation, when the larger dragons are arguably much cooler.

Do they bring your Rook 'round the Hall of Valor to drink often? They often encourage Nhae'ruk to come and drink because they think she's 'cool', being a Crow. Nhae'ruk often gets a little wine-drunk, however, and has to be hauled back to the lighthouse over their shoulder.

Would your Rook like Emmrich's mother's hazelnut torte? She would love it! Nhae'ruk loves anything cakey - and loves hazelnut in general.

What kind of tea would Emmrich make for your Rook? Nhae'ruk enjoys a green or chamomile tea, if she had to choose one. She finds them both calming - though she is more of a coffee drinker at heart.

Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down? Lucanis is the first to notice if Nhae'ruk is feeling even just a little off. His solution is usually a batch of churros and a cioccolata calda which he takes straight to her room. He offers her quiet company, whilst she watches the fish swim in the window, sometimes whilst he plays with her hair.

Small Rook & Companion Questions:

What type of plant would Harding gift your Rook?

Do they like Harding's cooking?

What animal/monster would Davrin carve for your Rook?

Does your Rook like the walks in Arlathan with Davrin?

What is something Neve could call on your Rook for if she needs certain expertise for a case?

Does your Rook share Neve's love of fried fish?

Does your Rook join Bellara in her technical talks about the Fade and various artifacts or are they more content to listen?

Do your Rook and Bellara read serials together?

What is your Rook's favorite dish that Lucanis cooks?

What would Lucanis buy for your Rook at the Grande Market?

What dragon would Taash think your Rook would like the best?

Do they bring your Rook 'round the Hall of Valor to drink often?

Would your Rook like Emmrich's mother's hazelnut torte?

What kind of tea would Emmrich make for your Rook?

Bonus: What is one thing a companion does to cheer up your Rook if they're feeling down?

[astracora]

Drunken Confession - Sylus

Characters: Sylus x gn!mc

Warnings: Very Drunk MC, Sylus Myth Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2787

Written: 4th March 2025

Notes: Pre-relationship, with Sylus and the main MC I write for. Just the Poly Chapter to go. You know when you're writing and it doesn't go where you meant for it to go? Every damn day. Also incase anyone was wondering, the song playing over my head while MC was dancing was I Adore You by HUGEL.

Masterlist AO3

<- Caleb <-Zayne <-Xavier <- Rafayel

Sylus hasn't long been awake, sitting at his base, working through his tablet, as the twins play a game nearby.

You'd given them your handheld to borrow, incessant that they're careful with it, and return it when they'd finished trying it out. He'd made a note to buy them one, especially when he saw them getting overly boisterous with it.

Of all the expressions on your face he wanted to see, downtrodden and heartbroken over something you treasured, was not one of them.

"Boss-man, have you heard from your hunter?"

"We wanted to ask them for new games!"

He finds himself rubbing between his eyes, sitting up in his chair, and reaching for his drink, before his hand stops. He does not hear from you frequently, if you're not worrying about what he might be up to, but he has sent you messages and received nothing in response. It is not too unusual for a short amount of time, missions take you far afield. He watches through Mephisto's eyes often, to figure out what you're up to.

To make sure you're as safe as can be with your work.

Just in case. Just in case you need his help.

He tries not to step on your toes, to involve himself where you will chafe. You're capable, strong, and driven.

He thinks about your rage and fire as you pressed a gun to his chest, snarling in his face, spittle flying.

Reckless.

The itch in his chest awakens, the sense of aggravation that he does not know. That he has no eyes on you. The image of his beloved being lost, hurt, where he cannot reach…

He lifts his phone again, opening his messages and seeks out the string of unanswered messages.

He doubts he will get much more, and if he does not, Mephisto will find you. If Mephisto cannot, he will. He has scoured planets for you, exploring Linkon and beyond is easy.

🐦‍⬛: Has my kitten lost their tongue? Or have they gotten trapped in a box, and need rescuing?

The twins look at him, then at each other, shrug and resume their game, but he can feel their focus is on him. Can feel them peeking out the side of their eyes.

He tries to ignore it, after all, he's fine. You've always been difficult.

He often finds it amusing.

Even if his phone finally going off again, comforts him.

🐈: Did you need my help for a job?

A job? He's unsure where you reached that assessment, but you've finally responded, and so he calls you.

It rings, and rings, and rings.

Then goes quiet. He feels himself frowning down at the thing.

🐈: Is everything ok?

🐦‍⬛: Pick up.

🐈: Sylus??

He doesn't respond, this time he calls again, waits. And waits. You leave it till the last ring before you answer.

The first thing he gets, is noise. Music, loud and irritating, because he can't hear you.

There's scuffling, and then it quiets down somewhat, and he can finally hear you, breathing heavily on the other end, "Sylus? What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you kitten, it's been too long since I've heard your voice. I worried you'd forget what I sound like."

"Why would I-" You sigh, "Did you need my help with a job? It must be urgent if you're calling me."

"I have not brought up a job, why do you keep asking?"

"Why else would you call me?" He hears a weak laugh, soft, and sad, and his heart drops.

He's told you many times he calls you because he likes to hear your voice, after all, he would not spend as much time with you if he did not enjoy being around you. That he seeks you out in every corner of the world, yearns for your voice in every moment.

How many times must he play the damned claw machine with you, sit in the kitty card cafe while you grandiose your victories, or lend his strength to you in combat, if he did not care?

"I can simply want to talk with you kitten." He attempts, but you scoff. Actually scoff at him, and he hears it, the slur in your words. "Where are you?"

"If you don't need my help, I gotta go." He tries to speak, but you cut the call. This time when he sends you a message, chasing you up, he gets nothing else.

When he calls, this time it rings once and goes to voicemail.

There's a feeling in his stomach, like if he does not find you, you'll vanish. It is a feeling with no basis, but it burns and bites nonetheless. It brings him to his feet, and he determines to find you.

There's few places in Linkon he knows you hide, you are not at home, which narrows the places down considerably, as your usual haunts are not open at night. The noise in the back of your call, had at least made the job easier. Between himself, and Mephisto, he finally finds his way to a bar where he spots the flash of white hair.

Seeing it in the distance, always makes his chest tighten, and his half heart feel fragile.

Pushing his way through crowds, it is a vision that greets him. If he were more inclined to romanticism without realism, he could almost imagine the music dimming.

You hold a glass aloft in the air, eyes closed, as you dance freely amongst other humans. Hips sway, singing aloud to music you can barely be heard over, sweat drenching your skin. Droplets run down the expanse of your throat as you tip back your head, gets caught in the fabric of your shirt, and he watches another one down your bared stomach, soaking into the fabric of your shorts.

Sylus has been parched for centuries, lost in a desert, and now stares at an oasis. How you cannot see his greed, his desire, his clawing need, he will never know.

He is not a subtle man in this.

In all his time spent with you, he has never seen you like this. Carefree, the weight of the world fallen from your shoulders, all the grief out of your hands, as you dance, and sing, as loudly as you can. Surrounded by other humans, who do not know they dance with his beloved.

A stranger's hand is placed on your hip, you do not seem to notice, caught up in the music, and there is a moment where Sylus watches, where he is unsure whether he wants to be seen by you.

Every expression he gains from you, is worn and aching. You have come into this world different, fragile and sore. Biting at the bit for a monster to fight, and he hurts to think he might be that monster. That he has no cause to assure you that he isn't.

He did not steal the person you trusted most from you, but he is not innocent. He is not good.

He cannot wash the blood off of his hands yet.

There are others whose hands aren't scarred and sullied, that have never been claws to hurt you. A small part of his soul, wonders if turning around and leaving you to be amongst those less sculpted to be violent beasts, would be better. Stronger suited to your warm heart.

Until he feels your soul in his chest again. Under the blissful, drunk, expression on your face. It aches, mourns, misses, and hurts.

Lonely…

It hurts to hear it so loudly. You are so, so lonely, even surrounded by people. No matter that you have sought out a crowd as big as you could, that you have drowned sorrows to the point of spilling, that you silenced the voices as best you could.

You still cannot escape it.

He hears it, he hears you.

He cannot leave you alone.

His feet bring him to you, a hand reaching out to steady you as you stumble forward a little, preventing the glass in your hand from falling. It splashes on his jacket, and he watches as you open your eyes, ready to apologise, before the sight of him stops you.

Your eyes widen, mismatched and sparkling. Jewels.

His treasure.

"Sy?" The nickname slips out of your mouth, and he feels it down his spine, familiarity and warmth. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you, kitten." He leans in so that he can hear you properly, the song of your voice against his cheek as he speaks against your own. Nose against your skin. There's a moment where his hunger spikes, and he wants to flick his tongue against the sweat on your skin, before he remembers where he is. Remembers you're drunk. He fights it back.

Parched.

If this is how humans feel with their desires, no wonder they are driven to madness.

"I…" You blink at him, doe-eyed and soft, stunned. He watches and he waits, for you to figure out what to say. "Hi." Is all he gets, but it's exhaled, and he watches the small quirk of your lips. The softening of your eyes. "Dance with me?"

He can only assume the liquid confidence contributes to the way you down your drink, he takes the empty glass and floats it somewhere away from you, before you extend your hand. In all the time he has adored you, he has never been offered a dance from you. He has hinted, he has desired, he has asked.

You have never asked him. Every invitation is his to extend, seeking you out while you pull away from him, like you're scared. Yet he's not sure what of. You don't seem scared of him, challenging him whenever you find him disagreeable. You are a puzzle he has not finished piecing together.

He wonders if he ever will.

He must stare at your hand too long, because you tilt your head, "I thought you liked dancing?"

"I do."

"So? You don't want to dance with me?" It's said softly, with pain sneaking its way into your voice, and he has to stop himself from reaching out to you.

He doesn't know how to dance here, looking about him at people who do not follow steps he knows. That he has learned, for you. He knows how to dance in a ballroom, how to follow moves that are structured, because he has learned them. This follows a rhythm, and he cannot always hear it.

It's almost like fear… if you find him lacking, when you have finally sought him out.

"Sy-" The warmth in his chest, in his spine, in his soul. Sy. Sy. Sy. It is not a pet name, but it is familiar. It is said softly. So very softly. You take his hand, pulling him forwards. He stumbles only because he would let you lead him anywhere, and because he is too distracted by the warmth of you against his skin. Your hand moves over the front of his shirt, up to his neck, and you poke him, "Just have fun. That's all that matters."

An easy ask, when you're involved.

He is not a patient man, he thinks, but for you, he is. He will always have enough patience, enough joy, enough love for you. If only you would see it.

There are few times he loses track of time, used to a busy schedule, and a need to solve issues as soon as they arise. He does not know how long he spends with you in a bar he has no interest in, surrounded by people he cares little for, because he spends it with you in his arms. Unconcerned with the world, your scent wrapped around him, your skin against his, and your voice in his ears.

When you're finally worn out, and ready to leave, he is reluctant to lose the heat of you. Waiting for the moment he steps out of the bar, for you to pull away. Hold him at arm's length. Look at him with that gaze he cannot decipher.

He keeps his hand in yours as you leave, walking the distance to your apartment. Unwilling to leave you alone, or drive back when he feels drunk off you. The cherry wine of your soul is strong and delectable. He thanks his soul, and yours, that he is better at controlling himself than he feels.

You wobble a little as the two of you walk, keeping yourself upright using his arm, and though he offers to carry you, you shake your head. Laughing to yourself as you take careful steps, like a newborn deer.

It is minutes into the walk, along the quieter streets, that you finally speak, looking over at him, "So why did you really come?"

"I told you kitten, I wanted to see you."

You bite down on your lip, and he tugs you to a stop, to ease it from between your teeth with his thumb. Staring down at you as you look up at him. Eyes soft, wet. Hunger and desire.

He is a better dragon than a beast, he assures himself.

"No job?"

"I hardly feel you'd be useful in a fight right now, kitten."

It is the wrong thing to say, Sylus realises as you flinch, frowning, "Right, of course."

"Why do you think I need your assistance?"

"It's the only time we talk. A job, help, because you want to negotiate… or-" You bite your lip again, and he strokes over your bottom lip with his thumb this time, placing the tip of it on the fat, holding it there. If you want to bite yourself, you'll have to bite through him.

"We can talk whenever you like." He speaks, and he hopes he conveys it better. Warm, and full of the adoration he feels. His appearance can be useful, can be a curse, and when he fears you do not see past sharp eyes and features, the worst thing he can think of.

He just wants you to hear his voice, and his words.

"Whenever?" You ask, "What if I say all the time?"

"I'll answer whenever I can."

"Except when you're being a big bad crime boss?"

Sylus laughs, moving his hand to your cheek, pinching it gently, "Even then, sometimes."

He watches, and waits, as the fear eases out of your expression, as you soften again. As your soul in his chest, so very noisy, settles and eases back to wrap around his. A slumbering dragon that matches his own.

"It won't bother you?"

There's a sigh he has to bite back, because he remembers you angry and full of fire, and broken. He remembers that amidst all the strength is a soul that has been twisted against its will. He takes your face in his hands, tilting your head up to look directly into his eyes, and smoothes his thumb over your cheeks, "You are worth the time, kitten. Worth the work. Worth it all. You could never bother me, in any way I do not want. Do you understand?"

He watches the tears well, and then be fought back down, but he leans down anyway, presses a kiss to just above your eye, where you had kissed lifetimes ago. You may not remember, but he can only follow what you taught him of love. Even if it will take a while before you believe it of him.

"I understand." You nod, hand tightening on his shirt, crinkling the fabric between your fingers. "Then… come to the cafe with me tomorrow?"

He sees you step over the chasm, the flames in your mismatched gaze as you watch him carefully, fingers shaking against his chest. Like you're waiting for him to laugh, or pull away. Instead he presses your hand further against his chest, so you can feel it. The unsteady dance of your hearts, and chuckles. "Planning to lose a card game to me, my little kitten? Sounds like a plan."

You pout, sticking your tongue out at him, and then laugh. The same carefree warmth he felt when he watched you dance, except this one is shared with him, and he feels sick with the satisfaction of it.

He'll message you tomorrow, to remind you of what you promised, and as he drops you off at your apartment, stunned when you return a kiss to his cheek before rushing away from him…

Well, he'll remind you over and over if he must.

He'll move mountains so he can comfort your lonely soul, and remind it of steady warmth and unrestricted love.

Sylus will take your hand, no matter what.

[elliesglock]

FIRST OF YALL ARGUE LIKE A DAMN OLD MARRIED COUPLE and second of all CAN YALL QUIT??? okay sorry i needed to get my thoughts down immediately so this is gonna be a little jumbled

let me not SPEAK on the looks paige keeps giving azzi in this video. because that would be wildly offensive and disrespectful to jesus christ. he does not need to see the heart eyes and tomfoolery i just witnessed 😭. p licking her lips after azzi agrees that paige is the biggest trash talker on the court. like okay you want her to see how big it is WHATEVER P. i feel paige is always gonna be the one that wants to be seen as the protector and wants azzi to know she'll protect her or argue or be mean to whoever she needs to her to.

i like how p is so argumentative all the time but the second azzi is like idk it could be this paige immediately recounts what she said and is like yeah right princess ofc! not in this entire video cause they're literally arguing but after the who's most likely to crack a joke in the locker room question azzi is indecisive and can't think of an answer. so she says neither and even though paige holds up azzi (wildly untrue) she puts it down immediately. which is so telling cause p is always so ready to argue her case i jus find it funny she immediately does what princess says.

the who's messier debate, p you can't stop exposing urself i can't make this up 😭 p showing YET AGAIN she has a big problem w azzi always being sick because she can't resist kissing her and in turn gets sick as well. she has a personal trauma but she'll do it to kiss her girl. also paige's eyes not leaving her the entire time she's laughing and just cracking up w her. it's the little things for them fr aweee. ive always felt like azzi saying "don't gaslight me" is such the perfect girlfriend argument answer. like i'd say that to my gf when we argue fr. she's such the fem fr. "DONT gaslight me." she seems experienced i bet she uses that a lot. also azzi shushing her and she immediately does, idk if it was my friends and they sushed me id be even louder and arguing w them more. but p immediately pipes down?? like okay that's ur gf and u do exactly what she says alright!

it's a beautiful day i could really go out and frolick in a field of dandelions, MENACE PAIGE AND AZZI ARE BACK WE ARE SO BACK. azzi saying it's crazy that paige thinks she needs to go out with makeup? OMG??? SO GF OMGGNGKSJEJ. and paige getting a little smirk and smugness to her and saying, "cause i look good." i know she has the biggest head when azzi says ANYTHING nice to her 😭. also the way her voice drops and gets all flirty omg get a room. i think they legit forgot they were on camera for a second and decided to start flirting LIVE. it's so telling to me their facial expressions cause p's eyes immediately start getting lower and her smirk gets bigger. azzi really giving her those butterflies QUICK. and the way p gets softer and just seems all around more sensual LORD HAVE MERCYYYY. i mean me too if azzi was shocked i thought i needed makeup to go out. i think what really blows me is azzi's expression. she gets this dopey little blushy smile and seems a little shy after realizing what she said aweeee. her cheeks get red too. damn if you're gf don't have u still blushing after 8 years just throw it away. they are sooooo flirty and blushy around each other still. the awkwardness afterwards like they had to lock back in and everybody was shocked they were that open? shit me too i had to pause the video fr 😭.

p loves to be petty and passive aggressively bring up pet peeves about azzi in these kinda videos. probably cause they on camera and azzi can't bicker w her. but the two constants, paige dislikes how azzi is offline and how she is always sick. i think p doesn't like if azzi doesn't answer her and she'd be the type to send azzi's name like 20 times to get through to her ummmm lesbian. i'll expand on this further in a second.

i would like to say a few times in this interview they give themselves away and say "us" or "last time we had movie night" or "when we were together last night." it's giving VERY couple. they probably are slipping up but i don't think they gaf 😭. it's like when you have a couple in ur friend group and they say yeah during our last movie night. just feels domestic and like they're secretly hinting at their dates. also "how do i look like this" is CRAZY AZZI. i don't know if she was asking me how do i look or asking paige how do i look this good? paige's answer to both would've been "amazing baby just so gorgeous." also the fact azzi won't put it on paige's life like. obv it's not that serious if they were friends but paige knows azzi won't agree to it because it's DEEPER than that to them. nobody's swearing on their gfs life when they're lying and paige knows that and uses it to her advantage. sigh. paige saying she styles azzi like girl we know she's your little doll and you probably spin her around and take fit checks w your camera to smile and cheese at later.

paige admitting AZZI STEALS HER CLOTHES NOBODY FUCKING MOVE. we been knew but thank god it's like music to my ears hearing them admit it. paige also complaining like she doesn't offer all her clothes up, she's probably throwing extra layers on azzi when she's cold cause she doesn't want her baby to get sick. i need to lay down. also the way they're arguing is giving your friends that are couples are bickering and asking for your opinion and keep interrupting each other to get their point across, am i the only one 😭 i feel like im stuck in the middle of them trying to settle an argument LOLOLOL i know kayla's tired. paige not even fighting back when azzi says she looks better in paige's clothes. if that was my friend IMMEDIATELY we have to get down cause wym?? but paige is so whipped she literally just nods her head like yes my baby looks so good in all my clothes. probably cause she's so possessive she doesn't mind azzi stealing her clothes because her girl IS WEARING HER CLOTHES. for everyone to see. she loves to stake a claim goddamn.

okay now i'm resurfacing the argument early that paige hates when azzi doesn't respond. when asked about who takes longer to answer paige immediately gets this annoyed tone and says "OH....MY GOSH" and holds up azzi's sign. first of all she's sassy asf. second of all i know she's soooo tired of it because to be that annoyed that fast. paige is so fucking clingy and i know when azzi doesn't respond immediately to her ipad kid texts it drives her UP THE WALL. and it gives paige is like i literally have dnd on for everyone and don't want to talk to anyone but you and you're not responding? i guess it's fuck me. i know she sends that ten times a day. also she gives she would text azzi after she hasn't answered a while and say, "oh what position she got you in?" "feel good?" "is she as good as me?" HER POSSESSIVE ASS. anyways that's what it gave.

also azzi i'm so sorry paige taught u how to dougie you gotta rebuke that and not be whipped she tryna pass down her stiff hips 💔💔💔

alright that's all i got im a mess rn....thank you for reading love ya 🥰

[merrinla]

Companions banter with Assan in the Lighthouse

Davrin: (Hums) Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: What? Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: You don't like my humming? You think you can do better? Assan: (Squawk)(Squawk)(Squawk) Davrin: I'm still waiting. Assan: (Anxious squawk.) Davrin: I know, I know. It's not the same as the aerie. Assan: (Anxious squawk.) Davrin: Don't worry. We'll adjust. Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: If you're asking for food, the answer is no. Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: Still no. Assan: (Insistent squawk!) Davrin: Hey, what did I say about being rude? Assan: (Quiet squawk) Davrin: Good boy. Davrin: It's called "turlum." We move as one. Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: I don't know how. But… we'll get there. Assan: (Sad squawk) Davrin: What's the matter, boy? Assan: (Sad squawk) Davrin: Feeling down? You miss your brothers and sisters? Assan: (Sad squawk) Davrin: Don't worry. I promise you'll see them again. Davrin: You did real good against the Gloom Howler, boy. Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: Just be careful. Still a lot to learn. But you're getting there.

Bellara: Davrin, have you seen a Calcerum crystal lying around? Davrin: No, sorry. Bellara: I swear I saw it on my table. Davrin: What'd you do after that? Bellara: Well, Assan wandered in. Davrin: There's your problem. Griffons like shiny baubles. Bellara: He stole my crystal? Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: More like "borrowed" it. And then probably buried it. Bellara: Okay, now I think Assan took a runestone. I can't find it anywhere. Davrin: Assan? Did you steal Bellara's stuff? Assan: (Defiant squawk) Davrin: Assan… Assan: (Defiant squawk) Davrin: Assan… Assan: (Weak squawk) Davrin: Assan. Assan: (Whimpering squawk) Davrin: Good boy. Always be honest. Bellara: Thanks for that. But where's my runestone? Davrin: Oh, probably buried in a forest somewhere. Bellara: Davrin— Davrin: Let me guess: Assan took something of yours. Bellara: No, he brought it back! My runestone. I found it sitting on my table. Davrin: Yeah? Bellara: Even better, there were two more with it. Davrin: Did you do that, Assan? Assan: (Friendly squawk) Davrin: Yeah? Good boy. Bellara: Really good boy. He paid it back with interest.

Emmrich: One squawk for "yes," two for "no." Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: You don't really think that'll work. Emmrich: We can't afford to take anything for granted about them, Davrin. Emmrich: Let us try again, Assan. One for "yes." Do you understand? Assan: (Squawk) Emmrich: Ah-ha! Davrin: Hold on. Assan, is the sky made of chocolate? Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: Does water taste like pumpkin? Assan: (Squawk) Emmrich: Ah. Davrin: Sorry. He just likes to hear himself talk. Emmrich: It worked so well with Manfred.

Harding: Ew. Davrin: What? Harding: The, uh, smell. Davrin: Yeah. Ser Squawks-A-Lot over here doesn't always remember his potty training. Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: Got any flowers that might cover the scent? Harding: I'll see what I can do. Harding: Does it have to be a truffle? Davrin: Assan? Assan: (Squawk!) (Squawk!) Davrin: He says yes. Harding: Okay, but just for you, boy. Assan: (Excited squawk) Harding: I like what you've done with the room. Davrin: Suits me well enough. Harding: I was talking to Assan. Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: Oh. Harding: Such a pretty boy! Assan: (Excited squawk) Harding: So nice of you to let Davrin move in with you! Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: You can go now, Harding. Harding: Well, it smells a little better in here now. Davrin: Thanks for those flowers. They cover the scent. Harding: (Sniffs the air) Not well enough. Davrin: Because Ser Squawks-A-Lot over there eats them. Assan: (Satisfied squawk) Harding: Oh, dear. Davrin: Got any flowers that smell nice but taste bad? Harding: I'm on it.

Lucanis: This room is an assassin's dream. No defenses. Nothing to stop me from sneaking in for the kill. Davrin: Except him. Assan: (Suspicious squawk) Davrin: An eagle vs. a Crow? My bet's on the eagle. Lucanis: I know where the truffles are kept in the pantry. Davrin: You wouldn't. Lucanis: Maybe Assan and Spite should have a playdate. Davrin: Assan would tear him apart. Lucanis: How? Spite's not exactly physical. Davrin: Assan would find a way. Assan: (Squawk) Davrin: He'd squawk him to death.

Neve: Aren't you a pretty boy? Assan: (Happy squawk) Neve: (Laughs) Yes, you are. Assan: (Happy squawk) Davrin: Assan, you can stop flirting now. You won her over. Assan: (Squawk) Neve: Of course you did. Who's a good boy? Assan: (Happy squawk) Neve: What do you know about Assan's brothers and sisters? Davrin: Well, there's Thunder. And Beaktooth. And Stormwing. Neve: That's three. Davrin: Yeah, and then the other nine… it's a blur. Lots of feathers. I couldn't keep track of them all. (The Profane and The Lost isn't complete) Neve: Poor Assan. You miss your family? Assan: (Sad squawk) Neve: We'll keep looking. (The Profane and The Lost is complete) Neve: At least they're safe. Davrin: And the Wardens' problem now. A dozen mouths to feed. Davrin: And Eldrin's problem now. A dozen mouths to feed. Neve: Hey Assan. What do you think? Should I get some leads on your favorite truffles? Assan: (Happy squawk)

The lines below are cut. They were supposed to trigger after the final battle and if the player choose Davrin to lead distraction team. Previously, Assan could have survived.

Bellara: Assan. I… tried to whittle this. I'm not very good, but I thought, maybe… you'd like it? Assan: (Happy squawk) Emmrich: I suppose it's time you had another excursion. Emmrich: Perhaps the Necropolis? No. Davrin would want you exploring the wilds. Emmrich: Harding and I will take you a little later. Assan: (Happy squawk) Harding: My ma always says we never really lose the people we love. We carry them with us. Harding: You'll remember everything he taught you. All the faith he had in you. All of his hopes. And he'll be with you. Assan: (Squawk)

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Bucky’s decency did nothing to sway your heart away from him. In fact, it only made him more appealing. You always had a soft spot for Bucky Barnes.

I mean, how can you not?

That night, 25 year old Steve Rogers bought you a drink, and the next morning, Bucky heard you two in the room next door, cursing his, and Steve’s, timing. The rest was tabloid history: the whirlwind romance, the young, impetuous marriage, the substances, the breakout films, the nominations, the miscarriage, the rumors, the tragedy. You were a widow at the age of 26, the caretaker of the legacy of one of the most talented young actors of your generation. Gone too soon.

Damn didn’t seem that coming

Bucky was the same way, his dark hair and beard peppered with gray and crows feet framing his striking eyes. But on him they were sexy. Women were held to a different standard. You missed Bucky’s eyes appreciating your curves and your looks as you bit your lip and looked up at him with those big eyes. Bucky’s heart clenched when you smiled at him. So fucking beautiful. “Yeah. Let’s make magic, ” you murmured. Bucky was a goner. 

👀👀👀

He loved your voice since you developed the lower register of your tone. It was one thing that the critics and fans raved over in anything you did. He chuckled at how you’d trayoud his trailer when he’d tried to hide the cigarettes from you that one time. He didn’t know that you’d just done it to hang out with him outside the soundstage door, stealing time.

I never smoked but I know it truly has a community or friends aspect for so many, that also makes it hard to quit

“We quit.” You laughed and leaned on the stucco wall with your hand, staring up at him while he smiled down at you. This was your thing, this unspoken language that was understood but not explicit. You worked together, but it was always more than that. 

You can basically feel that there is something between them

“Are you in or you out, Star?” “I’m in,” you said, your voice steady and sure. He tilted his head, studying you. “Good. Because I need you.” “You’ve always needed me,” you said, half-joking, half serious.

Where is the lie though

You released his hand and crossed your arms, pushing your breasts up in your sweater. Not that Bucky noticed that sort of thing.

Sure he doesn't 🤭

But after eating takeout tacos from Leo’s, you got to work in Bucky’s home office, and the vibe was thriving, but different. Every time your hands brushed as you passed papers or exchanged a glance, I felt like something shifted. The air between you was electric, but you couldn't tell if it was just you, or if Bucky felt it too.  “Couldn’t do this without you, Star. I love… working with you.”

Show, just working..👀

You had every intention of ending the contact before it began, but Bucky’s hands were now in your hair and tugged you close. He turned and lifted you onto his desk, stepping between your thighs, pressing them wide enough that your skirt fought the movement. It only made everything hotter. Bucky used his hold on your hair to tilt your head so he could kiss down your neck. You arched your back, needing his mouth all over you, needing him to rip you out of the clothes that had the nervea to create a barrier between you. 

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“Need your words, Baby. Need that beautiful voice.” “Yes, Bucky. Please touch me…”

Consent is so sexy 🥵

“I have a sex toy. In fact, I have several. None of them look a thing like you.”  His laughter rolled through you.  “I guess I have work to do. Need to retire some sex toys. Check.”  “You’ll have to work real hard. I’m kind of attached to them, especially Arthur. Haven’t had real cock in 2 years.”

🤭🤭🤭

“I… You fantasized about me?”  Bucky licked up your slit and then kissed it, looking up in your eyes before he answered you. “Hmmm. Yes. I did.” 

Urgh why is that so hot 🥵

“Stay in my bed tonight. Another fantasy of mine.” You melted. Why not? It was finally time to have what you wanted. And you wanted Bucky. You met those intoxicating blue eyes and nodded. “Yes.” “Thank fuck.”

I mean, yeah, why not?

 He gentled his touch, stroking your hair as if you were a wild animal he was taming.  “Stay with me, Starlight. I’ve got you.” 

I can't with him 😮‍💨

“Fuck, you’re gripping me like a fucking vice. Almost had me cumming a few minutes ago.”

🤭🤭🤭

“I know the feeling, Star,” Bucky whispered as he closed his eyes. A feeling settling in his chest that he’d almost, but not quite, ever felt before.

🥰🥰🥰

Would love to read more of these two if you ever feel up to it🥰

Fade to Love

Summary: You and Bucky go way back. Way back to when you acted together 20 years ago. You had a crush on him then, but you were too young. Tragedy and artistic passion made you best friends. Will your history make you lovers?

Word count: 4.3 K

Pairing: Actor!Director!Producer! Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: I've been dreaming about this ever since I got my #BuckyBarnesBirthdayBingo by @avengers-assemble-bingo. This fulfills the square: Best Friends to Lovers. As always, I crave feedback, so please let me know how you feel in asks, comments, reblogs and likes. TIA! ❤️

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Best friends to lovers. All of the reckless behaviors that come with growing up in Hollywood, young love, tragic loss, idiots in love, cigarette smoking, mutual pining. Then comes the smut. :)

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I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

———

This was deja vu all over again.

The paparazzi swarmed the studio as you and Bucky arrived for your meeting at the studio. After all, you'd spent your teen years under the camera’s glare, a co-star in an ensemble drama series, Idol’s Ridge, that captured the hearts of millions 20 years before. 

During those five years portraying Sophie Randall, you’d met the people who’d become your best and enduring friends. Sam Wilson, who played your older brother, Peter Randall, Carol Danvers, who played your best friend, Morgan Blair, and James “Bucky” Barnes who played Sam’s Best friend and Morgan’s older brother, Jack Blair. 

There were several other actors from the show with whom you’d remained cordial and friendly, but this was your core group. 

But today? Today was different. Today, you were meeting in a creative capacity, not just as an actress. You were going to control the narrative. 

The past twenty years had been a whirlwind. A marriage, scandal, and a career that had taken unexpected turns. You'd left the acting world long ago, but youre you were again, standing next to Bucky Barnes, one of your best friends. Someone who’d been through it all with you.

Bucky, with his model handsome looks, dark hair and true blue eyes, was more than just a pretty face. His career had been varied, lucrative, and meaningful. He was now reaching phenomenal heights. And he was the one the tabloids still associated you with, before, during, and after your marriage, even after all these years. 

The shipping of the characters was inappropriate at the beginning, but toward the end of the run when you were an adult, Idol’s Ridge fans were calling for Jack to notice Sophie, and wanted you and Bucky together, even though you never dated.

It was others pushing that narrative, always trying to create drama where there was none, not you two. 

You and Bucky were just friends.

But if you were being honest, that “what if” had been curling around your mind since you were a kid with a crush on a co-star who was too old for you. 20 to your 15 when you first started the show, Bucky didn’t spare you a second glance in a romantic capacity, but he took you under his wing and protected you, calling you his “Little Star.” 

He decided that nothing was going to ruin your innocence, lecturing you all the time about the pitfalls of fame at a young age, even as he was reveling in those pits. If he knew you wanted him to ruin you, he didn’t let on.

Bucky’s decency did nothing to sway your heart away from him. In fact, it only made him more appealing. You always had a soft spot for Bucky Barnes.

If Bucky noticed you growing up and becoming a woman, he didn’t let you know. You were always his little sidekick, not quite a sister, but definitely not a romantic interest.

Perhaps it was because his best friend, another rising star in tv and film, did. 

Steve met you briefly when he was filming in LA and hanging with Bucky. They were roommates in New York and best friends, having known each other as child actors from Brooklyn.

After he met you when he was 24 and you were 19, he talked about you all the time to his best friend and begged Bucky to give you his number. 

Bucky refused, citing the fact that you were not ready for the likes of Steve Rogers, the golden boy heartthrob actor who partied harder than he did. Yes, that was the reason.

On the night of your 21st birthday after Idol’s Ridge was over, you had a get together in Manhattan, because you were filming a movie in New York City. You invited Bucky who was now based out of Brooklyn, and Steve was not going to miss this opportunity to get next to you.

That night, 25 year old Steve Rogers bought you a drink, and the next morning, Bucky heard you two in the room next door, cursing his, and Steve’s, timing. The rest was tabloid history: the whirlwind romance, the young, impetuous marriage, the substances, the breakout films, the nominations, the miscarriage, the rumors, the tragedy. 

You were a widow at the age of 26, the caretaker of the legacy of one of the most talented young actors of your generation. Gone too soon.

Bucky was there for you, and you for him, feeling the loss as no one else could. When you were ready to get on with life, you and Bucky created Valkyrie Production Company as a tribute to Steve.

While you slowed your acting career way down before 30 years old, only taking on about one indie film project a year, Bucky’s career had taken off. 

He’d transitioned from actor to actor/director, and of course, actor/director/producer. You watched him get engaged to Natasha Romanov, one of the older Idol’s Ridge alums, break up, and then date a string of actresses and models, but nothing ever stuck.

You didn’t understand. He could be a bit intense, but Bucky was such a good guy. He deserved happiness. Now, he was a 40 year old single successful actor slash slash with no family to speak of but you.

“Ready to roll?” 

Bucky’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

You blinked, taking a step back into the moment. You smoothed your pencil skirt down your hips, which were wider now than they were 20 years earlier. You wondered what the people would think of you at 35, no surgical augmentation, just naturally you in a sea of plastic.

Bucky was the same way, his dark hair and beard peppered with gray and crows feet framing his striking eyes. But on him they were sexy. 

Women were held to a different standard.

You missed Bucky’s eyes appreciating your curves and your looks as you bit your lip and looked up at him with those big eyes.

Bucky’s heart clenched when you smiled at him. So fucking beautiful.

“Yeah. Let’s make magic, ” you murmured.

Bucky was a goner. 

He loved your voice since you developed the lower register of your tone. It was one thing that the critics and fans raved over in anything you did. He chuckled at how you’d trayoud his trailer when he’d tried to hide the cigarettes from you that one time.

It was all for naught, since you quit 18 months after you started. 

He didn’t know that you’d just done it to hang out with him outside the soundstage door, stealing time. But it had permanently changed your voice into something that cemented your icon status in the present day, despite your limited career.

Bucky grinned that boyish grin, the same one he’d flashed a thousand times when you were on set together all those years ago. It made your heart do that little flip it always did, despite everything.

You had a meeting with the studio execs to discuss the next project, a reboot of the very series you'd starred in all those years ago, Idol’s Ridge.

It was too perfect, too full of nostalgia. But it also felt strange.

You glanced over at Bucky as he started talking to the execs. He was charismatic, confident, everything he had always been. But there was something in the way he kept glancing at you. His eyes were more intense, more aware of your every movement. 

It was unsettling, especially the premise he pitched. 

You finished up with the execs and stepped outside the back entrance for a quick break and Bucky lit up a cigarette, something you hadn’t seen him do in years. 

“You’re quiet today,” he said, leaning against the wall. You inwardly railed at him smoking again, but he was grown. You watched the smoke curl around him through narrowed eyes. Then you grabbed the cigarette from his fingers and took a drag.

“Don’t do that, Star…”

You raised an eyebrow at him and then took a drag, Bucky watching you closely. Too, closely you might have thought if you noticed the way he watched your mouth after you removed the cigarette.

Bucky put the cancer stick in his own mouth and closed his eyes as he took his own drag, tongue chasing the filter as he removed it to exhale. He peered at you through the smoke, licked his lips and then dropped the half smoked bone on the ground, extinguishing it with the sole of his brown Ferragamo.

“We quit.”

You laughed and leaned on the stucco wall with your hand, staring up at him while he smiled down at you. This was your thing, this unspoken language that was understood but not explicit. You worked together, but it was always more than that. 

You were waiting for him to speak, but Bucky could always wait you out.

“James.”

You punched him on the arm. Hard. 

“Ow!”

He laughed and rubbed his arm as he looked down at his shoes, smiling.

“You can do it, Star. I believe in you.”

You rolled your eyes at the old nickname. He always told you that you were the brightest little star on the set. 

“But Bucky…”

You thought you lost it when Steve disappeared. But you couldn’t lose that feeling so you took small roles, just to have permission to be someone else for a time. They were critically acclaimed, but your confidence was shot.

“You can do it.”

You appraised Bucky. Something had shifted. Maybe it was the project, or maybe it was something more. Bucky looked right back at you, his expression softening. 

“Are you in or you out, Star?”

“I’m in,” you said, your voice steady and sure.

He tilted his head, studying you. 

“Good. Because I need you.”

“You’ve always needed me,” you said, half-joking, half serious.

Bucky chuckled, but then his expression softened. 

“Yeah, well, this time it’s different.”

You could feel your heart pounding. He was looking at you like he’d never looked at you before. Like he was really seeing you. But youre you were reading too much into things again. You took a deep breath.

“You know, I’ve always trusted you, right? With everything. You’re the only person I’ve never felt like I had to pretend with.”

You took his hand and Bucky looked down at you tangling your fingers with his. 

He should tell you. 

“I know, Buck. You’re my best friend.”

Tyoure it was. The friend zone. Bucky sighed, but held on to your hand.

“Although we didn’t talk about that one plot point.”

You released his hand and crossed your arms, pushing your breasts up in your sweater. Not that Bucky noticed that sort of thing.

Bucky looked at you, one eye closed, squinting from the LA sunlight. Or was it because you were so gorgeous? 

To you, his glance felt loaded, like there was something you couldn’t ignore anymore. But of course you tried.

“Which one?”

You smiled at his evasion.

“You know. The one where our characters are married now?”

“We discussed this being centered around the children of the cast from 20 years ago.”

“Yes, Bucky, but our characters were never a thing.”

He stood up and walked two steps toward you, in your space.

“Not true. Sophie always had a crush on Jack, but he blew your off. It’s 20 years later, he’s grown up and finally appreciates the beautiful woman who was always right tyoure in front of him.”

You looked up into his clear blue gaze and had a scorching comeback for him.

“Oh.”

He reached for your face, palm resting on your cheek, thumb brushing at the side of your nose.

“Hold up…” 

Bucky moved even closer and brought his face close to yours, warm menthol breath hovering over your own. He pulled his hand back and looked at it, showing it to you briefly. You didn’t see anything.

“Eyelash.”

He opened the door and held it for you as you tried to get your soul back into your body.

“Break time is over.”

—--

The next hours were a blur.

The production meeting went long as you brainstormed for the reboot, and you and Bucky worked seamlessly together, bouncing ideas off each other and firing on all cylinders. The dynamic was amazing and reignited your old crush.

You went to Bucky’s LA home after the meeting, excited at the preliminary greenlight for the project. You both decided to work on an outline that weekend to deliver to the studio Monday morning. You’d gone home to pack a bag and get your essentials, as Bucky said you could bunk in one of his guest rooms. 

It would be like a sleepover with one of your girlfriends, sweet, innocent and fun.

But after eating takeout tacos from Leo’s, you got to work in Bucky’s home office, and the vibe was thriving, but different. Every time your hands brushed as you passed papers or exchanged a glance, I felt like something shifted.

The air between you was electric, but you couldn't tell if it was just you, or if Bucky felt it too. 

As you sat looking at the whiteboard with the preliminary outline of the pilot episode, Bucky leaned back in his chair and regarded it, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

“This shit is fucking brilliant. It’s going to be better than the original.” 

You looked at him, excitement coursing through you and you smiled at him and got up to walk behind his chair to lean on it and admire your ideas, as if you could see better what he meant from his perspective.

“I can’t believe it’s really happening.” 

You leaned down and whispered in his ear, afraid to voice it too loud. Bucky swiveled around in his chair to look at you. You were still in your outfit from this morning, too excited when you pack to change into something more comfortable. You still looked gorgeous though. 

He stood up and grabbed your hands in his?

“Better believe it, Star, we’re going to do this thing big.”

You squeezed his hands back and looked up into his beautiful blue eyes. Bucky’s hands were on your arms now and he was drawing you closer.

Your stomach flipped as he murmured at you.

“Couldn’t do this without you, Star. I love… working with you.”

You inhaled the spice of his cologne and savored his touch while listening to his voice. Your stomach dropped when you heard the ‘L’ word and you didn’t know what happened, but just like Sophie and Jack all those years ago, you didn’t know what came over you when you pressed your lips to Bucky’s.

You had every intention of ending the contact before it began, but Bucky’s hands were now in your hair and tugged you close. He turned and lifted you onto his desk, stepping between your thighs, pressing them wide enough that your skirt fought the movement. It only made everything hotter. 

Bucky used his hold on your hair to tilt your head so he could kiss down your neck. You arched your back, needing his mouth all over you, needing him to rip you out of the clothes that had the nervea to create a barrier between you. 

For some unknown reason to your cunt, words emerged from your lips,

“We shouldn’t.” 

“Why not?” 

He pushed your cardigan off your shoulders and nudged your tank top lower so that he could mouth at your cleavage. Your panties flooded with wetness. 

“We’re both grown, Star.” 

The acknowledgement in Bucky’s rumbling voice sent a bolt of pleasure straight to your core. He skated his hands up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher until you had to lift your hips to allow it to bunch around your waist. He fingered along the edges of your panties. 

He looked down.

“Black lace. Fuck.” 

He cursed low enough that you had to strain to hear him. He licked his lips, his saliva making them look so delicious. 

“Can I touch you, Starlight?”

You shivered at the nickname and nodded, breath caught in your throat.

“Need your words, Baby. Need that beautiful voice.”

“Yes, Bucky. Please touch me…”

Bucky’s fingertips traced your clit through the fabric. 

“Fuck, you, I’ve wanted you.” 

“Me too,” you whispered, and he met your gaze, which threatened to stop his heart. 

His blue eyes were fire, bright enough to make your whole world glow. If you let him, he’d sweep you away and ensure you enjoyed every second. You wanted it. To be swept away by him. 

Bucky started the torturous slide of his thumb. You threw your head back and whined, caught up in a nirvana you’d only dreamt about.

“Bucky! Dont…”

He stopped what he was doing, stilling his hand over your cunt.

“Don’t?” 

His voice was broken, and pleading. You used your free hand to cover his where he cupped your pussy. 

“...Don’t stop Bucky….” 

Still he didn’t move, searching your face for answers you didn’t have. You drew in a shuddering breath. Bucky’s slow smile sent your stomach into a dizzying flip. 

“Naughty girl. You want to use me for your pleasure. Your own personal sex toy.” 

You dragged your gaze over him, from his dark hair to those wicked blue eyes to his sinful mouth, down to the pants clearly sporting a huge hard-on. You grew bold in the knowledge that he’d started this. 

Bucky Barnes wanted you, too.

“I have a sex toy. In fact, I have several. None of them look a thing like you.” 

His laughter rolled through you. 

“I guess I have work to do. Need to retire some sex toys. Check.” 

“You’ll have to work real hard. I’m kind of attached to them, especially Arthur. Haven’t had real cock in 2 years.”

Bucky arched his eyebrow and hooked his fingers through your panties and dragged them down your legs, stepping back so you could kick them off. 

“I’m disturbed that you named your vibrator.”

“Dildo,” you corrected.

He chuckled and shook his head.

“But I’m up for the challenge of making you scream my name…”

Bucky went to his knees between your spread thighs, looking at your pussy so intensely you could feel it like his touch. 

“And I won’t tell you that I jacked myself to the thought of you countless times over the years.” 

“Bucky…”

He pressed a painfully gentle kiss to each thigh and then his breath ghosted over your clit. 

“I sure as hell won’t tell you that when I fucked my hand, and imagined being inside you that I came so fucking hard, Star, just from thinking about being buried in you to the hilt.”

You tried to focus past the pleasure of his mouth, his big hands holding your thighs wide as he devoured you. But his words had you floating.

“I… You fantasized about me?” 

Bucky licked up your slit and then kissed it, looking up in your eyes before he answered you.

“Hmmm. Yes. I did.” 

He sucked on your clit hard enough to make your back bow. 

“Eating you out...” 

Another long lick and a smile that he was accomplishing that very thing. 

“You on your knees for me...” 

The image in your mind of looking up at Bucky, made you clench down, and Bucky smiled at your pitiful pussy.

“...Bending you over something, like this desk, and fucking you hard…”

You whimpered, your pleasure building as much from the fantasy as from Bucky’s mouth. 

“... Maybe taking that ass…”

He rolled his tongue over your clit, working you in just the way you needed. 

“....cuming inside you, or all over your back. I’ll let you choose.”

“Oh! Bucky!”

You were practically screaming as you tried to slow your pleasure, to make it last, but Bucky drove you to the brink and you couldn’t resist him. You came with a cry that filled the room around you. Bucky didn’t give you a chance to recover, though. He stood and stepped back between your thighs to take your mouth. You tasted yourself on his tongue and it made your toes curl. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he lifted you off the desk easily and walked you down the hallway, still kissing you, never missing a step. 

“You’ve done this before,” you murmured. 

“Not like this. Never this.” 

He kept you pinned to him with one arm around the small of your back and used his other hand to pull your tank top off. you ran your hands down his muscled chest. He really was too beautiful. It almost hurt to look at him and touching him only magnified the sensation. 

He spun and pinned you between his body and the wall next to the door, thrusting against you. The seam of his pants pressed against your clit and you cried out. 

“More.” 

Bucky dragged his mouth up your neck and set his teeth against your earlobe and that set you on fire.

“You’re so needy, Star. I get it, I really do. Been wanting to show you how I feel for 14 years…” 

You gaped and Bucky”s teeth scraped against your lip, making your nipples tighten in response. He let you down and stepped back, running his hand through his hair.

“Strip.”

There wasn’t much left to take off, but you obeyed and his grin made your heart stutter. 

“On the bed.” 

You crawled on the mattress and reclined among the pillows. You were rewarded by Bucky stripping out of shirt, and his pants and underwear in one go, shoving the material down his strong thighs and kicking free of them, leaving him naked. 

The sight of his large cock straining against his stomach had you biting your bottom lip. you knew what came next. You craved it. And you forgot all about Arthur. You reached for him. 

“Don’t make me wait any more, Bucky.” 

He pulled a string of condoms from the nightstand and tossed them on the bed next to your. you counted six and raised your eyebrows. Bucky gave you an unrepentant grin.

“One condition.” 

“Damn it, Bucky.” 

Of course there were conditions. 

“Stay in my bed tonight. Another fantasy of mine.” 

You melted. Why not? It was finally time to have what you wanted. And you wanted Bucky.

You met those intoxicating blue eyes and nodded. 

“Yes.” 

“Thank fuck.” 

He was on you in seconds, shoving your legs wide and he ground the base of his cock against your clit. He tangled his fingers in your hair and took your mouth like you were the sweetest fruit and he’d never get enough. 

You reached blindly over and grabbed a condom. You tore the wrapper with your teeth and you rolled it over his cock. He allowed it, shifting back to give you the room to work.

Your body cried for him; you needed him inside you and you needed it at that moment. You lay back and  guided him into your and he thrust slowly into you, inch by inch until he had sheathed himself completely. 

Oh god. The stretch. Bucky broke free of your mouth and pressed his forehead against yours, your breath mingling between you. 

Each of your exhales came out as, “Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.” 

He gentled his touch, stroking your hair as if you were a wild animal he was taming. 

“Stay with me, Starlight. I’ve got you.” 

As if this was something that was forced upon you, rather than what you grabbed with greedy hands because you wanted it so badly. 

You smiled, blissful. Fucked out, enjoying the feeling of Bucky’s cock pouding inside you. You needed more.

“Please move, friend. Fuck me, Bucky.” 

You hitched your leg around his hip so you could take him deeper and leaned up until your lips brushed his ear.

“I need it hard.” 

Bucky squeezed his eyes together and bit his lip as the pounding of his cock increased. You both thought he would cum right then.

“‘M not your fucking friend…”

He pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up even as he impaled you again. 

“You want me to fuck you hard?” 

“Yes!” you moaned. 

“Knees wider, Starlight. Let’s go.”

Bucky slapped your ass and then grabbed a handful of your thick hair, tugging at just the right amount of pain to go with the pleasure.

The first stroke was slow.

“Fuck, you’re gripping me like a fucking vice. Almost had me cumming a few minutes ago.”

You could tell that Bucky’s teeth are gritted when he spoke. He had to brace against the urge to rut into you like a wild animal, but his pace and intensity increased. 

For long, mind-blowing minutes, he thrust into you, paying attention to your sounds and movements to know that he was hitting that spot inside you. You meet him thrust for thrust as Bucky began to fuck you like his life depended on it.

He made the mistake of looking down at how your ass took the shock waves of his back shots and the evidence of your arousal left on his cock as he pistoned inside you and he cursed.

“Fucckkkkk! You should see the beautiful cream you’re leaving on my cock, Star. So fucking hot.”

The way you moaned set him on the road to orgasm and again and he reached for your clit, rubbing his thumb over it. Almost as soon as he did, you screamed his name and shattered beneath him. Bucky followed you headlong over that cliff and collapsed beside you, dizzy.

He looked over to see you already falling asleep, exhausted.He kissed your temple and went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, coming back with a washcloth for you.

When he was done cleaning you up, he gathered your boneless body in his arms, pressing kisses to your forehead as you curled into him, your head on his chest and leg thrown over his. 

It was like you didn’t want to let him go.

“I know the feeling, Star,” Bucky whispered as he closed his eyes.

A feeling settling in his chest that he’d almost, but not quite, ever felt before.

[asterkatt]

ISAT ACT 5 SPOILERS!!

okay I said I was going to give more thoughts on act 5 of ISAT and then uh. I didn't. oopsies. but we're here now!!

I loved Odile's friendquest in this act SO much. one of my favorite things about the way the game handled Siffrin's actions throughout the entirety of act 5 in general is that everyone's reactions to him were so DIFFERENT. but not only were they different, they had reasons for being different. it wasn't just "Siffrin says something messed up, hurts someone's feelings, pushes it down, rinse and repeat". each "breakdown" was specifically tailored to be character specific. to fit in with how they've behaved in the story thus far, as well as how Siffrin feels about them/tends to respond to them in particular. with Mirabelle, it really was entirely accidental. Siffrin didn't even realize how their wording might come across in the moment. It wasn't him lashing out in any way - just him genuinely trying to cut corners. Odile?? Odile's was very different. it's easy to see that there's a lot of tension between Siffrin and Odile - more tension than there is with anyone else. Odile has been a thorn in Sif's side - constantly observing and watching and theorizing about why they're behaving strangely. I did the sus quest. Sif knows that she has the ability to figure it out. Consequently, they have to be way more aware of her than anyone else. (side note that's not entirely relevant to this but I want to bring it up - the fact Siffrin believes that her constant eye on him is because "she doesn't trust you" makes me sick. because that's not it at all. they might pretend it is. hell, she might act like it is. but it's not and she knows that. she knows it's because she's worried because she cares and Siffrin can't understand that.) so I feel like they took the "mistake" of messing up with Odile harder than they took any of the other interactions. because how could they be so stupid. how could they forget. how could he forget that she always figures it out.

so of course he lashes out. not only are they being faced with the same blinding mistake they've made over and over and over again, it's also a reminder that she doesn't trust him. (and why should she?).

and then she goes and makes it all worse by calling him a "friend". because they know that's not how she sees them. he believes that she doesn't trust him. so it must seem like she's directly lying to his face - and she thinks they're too dense to see through it.

I love that Odile doesn't back down. she doesn't shy away when they start yelling at her. she doesn't let it slide just because she made them upset (Isa and Mira both probably would - though Isa would try and get them to talk about it later). she pushes, because that's the only way she's going to get any answers.

the way you can feel her anger when Siffrin hits her where it hurts the most (without even seeing her face) is just AUHGSKJDHFKJSH. the writing of this game. the details. never cease to amaze me. I love the way she snaps back. she doesn't get angry, she doesn't yell - and yet somehow it hurts just as badly.

I also love the way Siffrin reflects on it - the way they acknowledge that "she was only worried about you!!!" because deep down he knows that their friends do actually care about him. the way Odile handles the situation afterwards as well - at the clocktower?????? I love that you can tell she's trying so hard to make the "right" choice to not endanger them when it's not what she wants. she doesn't want to leave Siffrin behind. If they weren't going to take on the King the next day, I guarantee you she'd be using anything in her power to figure out what was going on with him. I don't have the exact quote rn but at the end of the sus questline she mentions that she can't let something go when she finds it odd - and this is BEYOND odd. but she has to put the safety of the whole group and their mission first, and I love seeing that side of her.