#not sure how i feel about the persuasions.... i feel like each had some things it did well

[southfarthing]

been going through it this week..... rewarched northanger abbey and pride & prejudice 2005 and emma 2009 and caved and finally watched both persuasions one after another. now im rewatching jane eyre 2011. methinks it'll be north and south next

[rafesapologist]

strangers ─ drew starkey; ch. 2

summary: getting casted on outer banks threw you into overnight stardom, and an unforeseeable off-screen romance with one of hollywood's newest and biggest heartthrobs.

warnings: unedited, tension (kind of)

author's note: the info in this story about drew is mostly made up!! some of these scenarios and 'facts' are not things that have happened in real life, this is all merely part of the plot of the story.

As if the expectations of being cast onto one of the biggest shows wasn't enough, you were in for the surprise of your life when your manager called and told you that the directors wanted you to start spending time off-screen with your soon-to-be co-star.

"They think it'll make the chemistry on the show more believable if you guys get to know each other more in real life," Kendra sighed and you could practically hear her shrug over the phone.

"Okay?" You responded with a subtle temperament in your tone that went ignored by your manager, "I auditioned for the show, not to become some PR stunt for ratings." You rebutted firmly, crossing your arms as if it made your testament any more earnest.

"Not PR, just friends. If you're gonna work with somebody for who knows how long, you need to at least be acquainted with them," she reaffirmed blithely and you could hear her light up another cigarette over the line, as if her raucous smoker's voice wasn't prominent enough already.

"Then what are we supposed to do that doesn't make it look like we're dating? Cause anything we do is gonna draw attention," you asked, pointing out the burning question in your mind. Drew was a rising star in Hollywood, and it didn’t take much for the media to latch onto any spark of gossip, let alone the proximity between two co-stars. You could already imagine the headlines—"New Romance on Set?" or "Chemistry Beyond the Screen?"—flashing across tabloids, fueling rumors neither of you had any control over. The mere thought made your stomach twist, but at the same time, you couldn't deny the pull of curiosity.

"I don’t know, just grab lunch, go over lines, anything normal," Kendra responded with a casualness that felt at odds with the gravity of the situation. "The point is to make you two comfortable around each other, not to stage some fake romance. But hey, if the chemistry works out in your favor, it's not a bad thing, right?" Her tone was light, but you could sense the subtle hint of persuasion.

You bit your lip, considering the reality of it. Drew—charming, talented, and devastatingly handsome—had already made an impression during the audition, and though his professional demeanor had been disarming, you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of tension that had crackled between you both. But off-screen was a different game altogether, one where your vulnerability wasn’t masked by a script or camera angles. The idea of spending more time with him outside the confines of rehearsals left you feeling exposed in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

"Fine, I’ll do it. But if this turns into some media circus, you owe me a long vacation after this project is over," you finally agreed, letting out a deep breath that didn’t quite ease the knot in your chest.

Kendra laughed, the sound raspy yet full of amusement. "Deal. Besides, you never know what might happen. Worst-case scenario, you make a new friend, right?"

But even as you nodded, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this arrangement than just bonding over scripts and coffee. Drew's name carried weight, and being linked to him—professionally or otherwise—was bound to stir something bigger than either of you could control. And for a brief moment, you wondered if it was the career boost you’d always needed, or a risk you weren’t prepared to take.

"Alright," Kendra continued, breaking the silence. "I’ll set something up. Keep your schedule open for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You almost choked on the word, your pulse quickening at how soon this was all happening.

"Yep. No time like the present." Kendra’s voice was cheerful, almost too cheerful. "You’ve got this, kid. Trust me."

The call ended before you could protest, leaving you standing alone in your apartment, staring at your phone. You sighed, running a hand through your hair as the reality of tomorrow loomed over you. There was no backing out now, no escaping what was already set into motion.

You treaded over to your fridge, the soft hum of it the only sound in your quiet apartment. Pulling out the bottle of sangria you’d been saving for a special occasion—though right now felt more like an emergency—you unscrewed the cap with a small sigh of relief. The deep, ruby liquid swirled into the stemware glass, filling it halfway as you watched the dark red hues glisten under the dim kitchen light.

It wasn’t a celebration, not yet, but it was something—a moment to collect yourself before you plunged headfirst into whatever tomorrow would bring. You took a slow sip, letting the sweet, tangy taste linger on your tongue, savoring the small comfort it provided. The cool glass felt grounding in your hand, a quiet contrast to the chaos spinning in your mind.

With your hands pressed firmly against the cool countertop, your head hung low as you silently questioned how you ended up in this whirlwind of events. The soft buzz of your phone broke the stillness, pulling you back to reality. You glanced at the screen, and there it was—a text from Kendra.

"I talked to Drew’s managers, they said he suggested having lunch tomorrow at 2. I'll have a driver booked for you around 1:30."

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest, the words sinking in as you scanned the message over and over. Tomorrow. Lunch. With Drew. And with little to no time to prepare, your anxiety came to life, flooding your mind with a thousand what-ifs.

You stood there, staring at your phone, trying to piece together how you were supposed to handle this. Drew seemed perfectly polite at the chemistry read—cordial even—but one-on-one? Would he be the same, or was that all just an act for the directors?

Your mind raced through every worst-case scenario like a rapid-fire slideshow: what if your mind went blank, and you sat there fumbling for words like an awkward mess? What if you somehow got food stuck in your teeth, making a fool of yourself in front of him? Or worse yet, what if he wasn’t the nice guy he seemed to be? What if Drew, the rising star with all that charisma on-screen, turned out to be an arrogant asshole in real life?

The swirling thoughts made your stomach churn as you stood in the quiet of your kitchen, your fingers gripping the counter tighter. It felt like the universe was pulling you into something far beyond your control, leaving you standing on the edge of tomorrow, unprepared and vulnerable.

You gulped down the remainder of your wine, feeling its chill cascade down your throat, sending a fleeting shiver through your chest. The slight buzz gave you a brief surge of energy, enough to momentarily push aside the weight of tomorrow’s uncertainty. In that brief spark of clarity, an idea—unusual but oddly practical—struck you.

Without hesitation, you darted over to the couch, grabbed your laptop, and flipped it open with renewed purpose. The glow of the screen illuminated your face as you typed in the familiar search bar. But your focus wavered for a moment as the homepage tempted you with random recommendations—cooking tutorials, music videos, travel vlogs—each one a distraction you almost fell for.

You shook your head, quickly typing in the search: Drew Starkey.

As soon as you hit enter, the screen flooded with clips of interviews, behind-the-scenes footage, and fan-made compilations of your soon-to-be co-star.. You clicked on the first interview, your heart picking up pace as his face appeared on screen. There he was—laughing, smiling, completely at ease in front of the camera. His presence was magnetic, the same kind of charm you witnessed during the chemistry read, but now you were analyzing him in a different light. You weren’t watching an actor—no, you were trying to get to know the man behind the character.

Each video you watched painted a picture of Drew’s personality, his mannerisms, the way he laughed mid-sentence, his casual but thoughtful way of answering questions. It was easy to see why he’d become such a rising star. He had that effortless charisma that made him seem approachable yet untouchable all at once.

As you watched one of his MTV interviews, something about a particular one shifted your perspective. Drew was talking about his methods for diving into a character—how he found little pieces of himself in each role and let that guide his performance. But it wasn’t just the professional insight that caught your attention; it was the casual, almost vulnerable tone of his voice as he spoke about his life beyond acting.

He talked about college, how he had balanced classes and part-time jobs, how uncertain he’d felt back then—just like anyone else trying to figure out their future. He laughed about the odd jobs he worked before landing his first big role, like waiting tables and doing temp work. It was such a stark contrast to the larger-than-life persona the media often painted around actors. In that moment, Drew wasn’t just the rising star you'd auditioned with; he was a regular guy who had worked hard to get where he was.

Suddenly, the looming anxiety of tomorrow’s lunch didn’t seem as unbearable. If anything, the idea of talking to him felt almost comforting. You realized he was probably more grounded than you gave him credit for—despite the fame, despite the rising spotlight. It was refreshing, and it put a part of your mind at ease. You’d been so caught up in the idea of him as a powerful actor, you hadn’t considered that, like you, he might just be navigating this career with a sense of uncertainty, too.

You closed the laptop and leaned back, exhaling a long breath. Maybe tomorrow would be more casual than you imagined—just two people talking, finding their rhythm, building that off-screen chemistry in the same way you had in front of the directors. For the first time, the thought of sitting across from Drew didn’t feel like a storm waiting to hit. Instead, it felt manageable. And maybe, just maybe, it would even be enjoyable.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

“Seriously, Kendra, what should I wear?” you huffed, your phone perched precariously on the edge of your bed as you sifted through the chaos of your closet. Fabrics of every texture spilled over your arms as you frantically flipped through hangers, eyeing each piece with increasing frustration. Nothing felt right. You didn’t want to come off like you’d tried too hard, but showing up looking too casual to lunch with Drew Starkey didn’t feel right either.

“It’s just lunch, Y/N,” Kendra's voice came through the phone, nonchalant and steady as usual. “Just dress like you normally would. No need to overthink it.”

You paused, clutching an emerald green blouse in one hand, a simple beige sundress in the other. “But what if I show up looking like a total slob, or worse, like I’m trying too hard? I don’t want him to think I’m one of those actors.”

Kendra sighed on the other end, and you could practically see her lighting another cigarette in her usual blasé way. “Look, you already met him. He’s seen you act. It’s not a pageant, it’s lunch. Just wear something you feel comfortable in and go be yourself. You’ve already impressed him—trust me, your wardrobe is the least of anyone’s concerns.”

She made it sound so simple, but the weight of it all still sat heavy on your chest. You weren’t just meeting up with Drew Starkey; you were being thrown into this situation with someone whose presence alone had enough gravity to throw you off balance. Even though he’d been polite, kind, even reassuring at the chemistry read, today felt different. More personal, more exposed. What if you said the wrong thing? Or worse, what if there was nothing to say at all?

Your eyes landed on the black sundress, a light fabric that flowed in all the right ways—comfortable, but still enough to make you feel put-together. You plucked it off the hanger and held it up in front of the mirror, examining its soft, understated elegance.

“Okay, okay, I think I found something,” you said, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “A sundress. It’s casual, right?”

“Perfect,” Kendra replied, almost as if she wasn’t really paying attention. “Remember, Y/N, this is supposed to be easy. You’re overthinking it. Just go, have lunch, talk. You’ve got nothing to prove to him—you’re already Maisy.”

You nodded at her words, trying to absorb her confidence. “Yeah, I know… You’re right. I’ll text you after, okay?”

“Good luck, kid. Don’t sweat it.”

The call ended, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The room suddenly felt too quiet, and you found yourself staring at the sundress again, smoothing out the wrinkles. Kendra was right—this wasn’t an audition, not anymore. It was just lunch. But the thought of being alone with Drew Starkey for more than five minutes made your stomach flutter with anticipation.

It was already 1:30 before you knew it, and the driver was waiting outside your apartment complex just as Kendra had promised. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection, the black sundress clinging to your figure in a way that made you feel both presentable and oddly exposed. The sun streamed in through the windows, casting golden streaks across the floor, but all you could feel was the thrum of nervous energy buzzing through your veins.

You took a deep breath, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you prepared to step out the door. But just as your hand touched the doorknob, an impulse hit you, a wild flicker of hesitation. One more thing, you thought, as if something—anything—could make the looming lunch with Drew feel more manageable.

Without a second thought, you turned back and hurried over to the fridge. The cold hum of the appliance felt almost calming as you pulled out a bottle of liquor, the glass cool beneath your fingers. You reached for the shot glass on the counter, the one you hadn’t touched in weeks, and quickly poured yourself a small measure of liquid courage.

With a swift motion you knocked back the shot. The bitter burn hit your throat like fire, and you winced as it traveled down your chest, leaving a searing heat in its wake. The burn did nothing to dull the nervous energy that coiled in your stomach, but it brought with it a flash of warmth—maybe just enough to get you out the door.

You set the glass down with a clink, exhaling sharply. Okay. Just get this over with.

The city noise hummed in the background as you locked the door behind you, your heels clicking softly against the floor as you descended the stairs. By the time you stepped outside, the black SUV was already waiting, sleek and ominous, like a portal to the unknown. The driver glanced up at you from his phone, offering a quick nod as you approached.

This was it. You were about to spend the next hour or so sitting across from Drew Starkey, face to face, with no script to guide you. Just conversation—easy, simple conversation. You repeated the words like a mantra in your mind as the driver opened the door for you, and you slid into the backseat.

The drive to the coffee shop felt like a blur, as though time had folded in on itself. Twenty minutes passed in what felt like mere moments, your mind a carousel of spiraling thoughts. Each new scenario played out in flashes—awkward silences, fumbling over your words, or worse, making a terrible first impression. You barely noticed the city streets, the buildings slipping by as your pulse quickened.

Before you knew it, the car slowed to a stop. You glanced out the window and felt a jolt in your chest—the café stood before you, quaint and modern with wide, floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to strip away all your defenses. You could already imagine Drew inside, perhaps sipping on his coffee, glancing up to see you through the glass. The thought made your stomach flip.

Your driver stepped out and came around to open the door for you, his gentle nod barely registering as you mumbled a quiet "thank you" and handed him a tip. As your feet touched the ground, the sunlight was warmer than you'd anticipated, but it did nothing to chase away the cold wave of anxiety coursing through your veins.

You stood there for a moment, frozen in place as you stared at the entrance of the shop. The cheerful chatter and soft clinking of cups inside only heightened your nerves. You could feel your heart beating harder, faster, each step toward the door a battle against your own hesitation.

He’s just a person, you reminded yourself, trying to quell the panic rising in your throat. But it didn’t feel that simple. Drew Starkey, with his effortless charm and natural presence, was far from just a person in your eyes. This wasn’t a screen test or a scripted scene; this was real, and the vulnerability of it all felt like stepping into a spotlight with no lines to recite.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed down the front of your dress, squaring your shoulders as you approached the door. The reflection in the glass showed a version of yourself that seemed far more composed than you felt inside.

The moment you stepped through the door, it hit you—a wave of vulnerability like never before. The cozy warmth of the café felt stifling, too intimate, too exposing. Every eye seemed like it could be on you, but none more so than the one pair you hadn’t yet found. Your heart thudded in your chest, your breath quickened as your gaze darted around the room, desperate for a familiar face.

Heat flooded your cheeks, and you prayed Drew hadn’t noticed your awkward search. You fidgeted with your purse, shifting it from one shoulder to the other in a vain attempt to appear more casual, less like a deer caught in headlights. Your arms instinctively crossed in front of you, a small shield against the sudden discomfort that surged through your veins.

Your eyes swept over the café, landing on tables filled with groups of friends, couples huddled in cozy corners, and lone patrons with their noses in books or laptops. And then—thank God—there he was. A tall figure with broad shoulders, his back to the door, sitting by the window.

Drew.

Relief rushed through you, as if finding him tethered you back to reality. He was alone, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as if this was just another day for him. You took a slow breath, allowing yourself a second to gather what remained of your composure. The butterflies in your stomach still fluttered, but at least now you had a destination, a focus that made the swirling anxieties just a little more bearable.

With as much confidence as you could muster, you made your way toward him, every step feeling like it stretched on forever.

"Hi," you greeted softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you approached the table. You pulled out the chair opposite him, your nerves fluttering beneath your skin. "Thanks for taking the time to do this. I know you're probably super busy." The words left your lips with a quiet, breathy chuckle, an attempt to mask the awkwardness that clung to you like a shadow.

Drew looked up from his coffee, his eyes warm and inviting, as if to assure you that there was no need for nerves. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he shook his head. "Actually, I have this week off before we start filming season 4," he explained with an easy laugh, his thumbs tracing the rim of his cup absentmindedly. "I needed to get out of the house anyway."

You laughed softly at his comment, reaching for one of the menus to give yourself a brief moment of reprieve from his gaze. Drew straightened in his chair, the subtle movement drawing your attention just before he cleared his throat.

“So, how did you get into acting?” His question was direct, almost startlingly so, his eyes fixed on you in a way that made you feel suddenly seen—too seen. You weren’t used to such earnestness from someone you'd only just met, but in a way, it was a relief. At least he wasn’t skirting around small talk.

You shifted in your seat, caught off guard by his boldness, but grateful all the same. "Uh, well..." You started, your fingers tightening around the menu. "I was in college for a while, studying psychology, but..." You hesitated, glancing down as if the table could offer some solace. Opening up so quickly wasn’t something you were accustomed to, especially with someone like him. Still, there was something disarming in the way he listened, waiting for you to continue.

"It didn’t feel right," you confessed quietly, your voice softening. "I always had this dream of becoming an actress, ever since I was a kid. So, eventually, I just... dropped out and moved to L.A." You let the words hang there, reluctant but honest. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to lay your cards on the table like this, but it seemed to happen naturally with him in that moment.

Drew’s gaze never wavered from you, his attention unwavering in a way that both flattered and unnerved you. You weren’t used to being the center of someone’s focus like this, especially not someone with his kind of presence. But his expression was kind, reassuring even, and you found some comfort in that.

“There’s no shame in that,” he said with a gentle shrug, his voice warm and understanding. “I took acting in college, but if I had done anything else, I probably would’ve left, too.”

His words brought a flicker of relief to your chest, causing you to sit up a bit straighter. You tilted your head slightly, your eyes tracing over his face, searching for any trace of insincerity but finding none.

“Really?” you asked, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “I don’t think my school even offered that.” You tugged at your bottom lip for a moment, a nervous habit you hadn’t realized you were doing until now. “Besides, I couldn’t have done that anyway. I only went to school because my parents wanted me to. I was basically just trying to make them proud.”

Your confession came out more candidly than you intended, but in the quiet of the café and under Drew’s steady gaze, it felt natural to share. For a moment, you expected him to change the subject, to keep things surface-level, but instead, he continued to pry.

"How did they feel when you came to L.A. to act?"

Your eyes widened slightly at his question, taken aback by his curiosity. It was such a personal, almost mundane topic, yet he was genuinely interested. "They were… wary about it," you replied, your gaze drifting down to the table as you absently picked at your nails. "But they told me they’d support whatever I wanted to do. Though, I’m pretty sure they thought I wouldn’t make it very far, deep down."

You laughed softly, the sound half-hearted, as if trying to ease the seriousness of your own words. You didn’t want to come off as too open or vulnerable so soon, but there was something about his attention that made it difficult to hold back.

Drew didn’t look away. His focus on you never wavered, the intensity of his gaze somehow soft yet unrelenting, making you feel both exposed and heard.

"That’s tough," he murmured, his voice low and reflective. "It’s hard enough chasing something you love, but doing it without knowing if the people who matter most really believe in you… that’s even harder."

His words surprised you. Most people would brush off a confession like that or try to lighten the mood, but Drew leaned in, showing a depth of understanding that made you pause. You glanced back up at him, searching his expression. He wasn’t offering empty sympathy. It was like he genuinely got it.

“Yeah,” you responded quietly, nodding in agreement, “I guess I’ve always had that in the back of my mind, like this little voice telling me I need to prove something.” You hesitated, wondering if you should go deeper, but there was something safe in the atmosphere between you two. “I think that’s why landing this role means so much. It’s not just for me—it’s to show them I wasn’t wrong for following my gut.”

A silence settled between you both after that, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt purposeful, like both of you were letting the weight of your words sink in.

Drew gave a small smile, one that seemed to reach his eyes, softening the intensity of his stare. "Well, I think you’ve already proven that. You nailed the audition, and now here we are. You’re here for a reason."

For a moment, the two of you sat there, enduring a silence that wasn’t awkward, but the tension felt almost suffocating. Drew's gaze lingered on you, so intense that it felt like it was burning through you. Heat rose to your cheeks as his blue eyes seemed to analyze every inch of your face. You wondered if he was searching for flaws, or maybe even finding them. You felt small under his stare, like you wanted to say something to break the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. You were simply speechless under his trance.

"Have you ever taken a role like this?" Drew suddenly asked, breaking the silence as he took a sip of his coffee.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "What do you mean?"

"Like playing a love interest," he clarified, his voice calm, almost too casual for the depth of his question. "Have you done that before?"

Your brows furrowed slightly as you processed his words, feeling the weight of them sink in. "No, not really," you replied slowly, your voice quiet but steady. "I’ve done smaller roles, but nothing like this. It’s… new for me."

Drew’s eyes softened, his expression shifting from curiosity to understanding. He nodded as if he expected that answer, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn’t just asking about acting. There was something deeper to the question, a vulnerability you couldn’t quite place.

"That’s interesting," he said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving you. "Because it doesn’t seem like it. You handle it like a natural."

His words caught you off guard, the compliment landing heavier than you anticipated. For a second, you weren’t sure if he was still talking about the role or about something else entirely. The air between you thickened again, the tension suffocating, though not entirely uncomfortable. It was the kind of tension that made your heart race, the kind that left you wondering where the line between professional and personal blurred.

"Thanks," you murmured, trying to shake off the growing heat in your chest. You didn’t trust yourself to say more. You could still feel his eyes on you, studying your reaction, and it made your pulse quicken.

“It can be intimidating at first,” he admitted, his tone reassuring as he leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table. There was a sincerity in his voice that made you feel at ease, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “But I’ll make sure you’re always comfortable. They can write some pretty crazy plot lines in there, so just let me know if you ever feel uncomfortable doing a scene. I’ll talk to Jonah if I have to.”

His words hit you suddenly, unexpected in their warmth and assertiveness. You paused, lips pursed in contemplation, trying to grasp the significance of his commitment to protect you from any overwhelming scenes. The air between you seemed to thicken with unspoken understanding as you wondered if this was the kind of guy he was towards everyone—protective and kind—or if this consideration was reserved solely for you, his co-star.

Regardless of the reason, you felt flattered, a soft blush creeping to your cheeks as a sense of security enveloped you, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. His presence across the table offered a calming reassurance that you hadn’t anticipated.

“Oh, well thank you,” you finally replied, sincerity coloring your voice. “Nobody has ever done that for me.”

There was a moment of silence, and in it, you could see a flicker of understanding pass between you—a shared acknowledgment of what was ahead. His blue eyes held yours with an intensity that made your heart race, as if he was searching for something deeper within you.

“It’s important,” he said softly, his tone earnest. “Acting can be raw and vulnerable. It’s easy to get lost in it all, especially when the emotions run high. I just want to make sure you feel safe.”

You nodded, a swirl of emotions churning within you as you searched for the right words. The moment felt fragile, hanging delicately in the air between you, and you didn’t want to shatter it with any misstep. Yet, the intensity of his demeanor made you feel small and nervous, as if the weight of his gaze was both exhilarating and suffocating.

Breathless, you sat across from him, the man who was still practically a stranger, yet in this moment, it felt as if you had known him for years. There was a strange familiarity in the way he looked at you, a connection that ran deeper than surface-level pleasantries.

“Thank you, Drew,” you finally managed to say, your voice softer than you intended, tinged with sincerity.

His smile widened, a warm and genuine expression that sent a flutter through your chest. “Of course. I’d be happy to do that for you,” he admitted, softly biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips, as if caught in a moment of contemplation. It was a fleeting look, but it made your heart race, igniting a mix of anticipation and curiosity within you.

“And I’m sure the rest of the cast will do the same. They’re great to work with,” he added, taking it upon himself to shift the mood, straightening his posture as if shedding the weight of the moment. You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment at the change in direction, yet a part of you understood the necessity of pacing yourself. Maybe diving too deep too soon was better left for later.

“Yeah, I’ve heard great things about them. I’m excited to meet them next,” you replied, attempting to mask your intrigue with enthusiasm.

Drew nodded, his expression brightening as he spoke about the cast. “You’ll love them. We all hang out outside of filming too. It’s like a little family, you know? Makes the long hours much more bearable.”

You giggled slightly at his comment, a lightness in your chest blooming as you absorbed the warmth of his enthusiasm. “Well, I’m honored to now be a part of it,” you joked back, a playful lilt in your voice.

Drew’s eyes sparkled at your smile, the corners of his lips curving upward in a genuine grin that seemed to radiate joy. It was as if your lightheartedness sparked something within him, and for a brief moment, the café around you faded into a backdrop.

“I think you’ll fit right in,” he replied, his tone sincere and warm, and you could sense the unspoken camaraderie beginning to take root between you. It felt refreshing, as if he was offering a piece of reassurance that made going ahead seem a little less daunting.

You felt a surge of confidence at the playfulness in his tone, fueling the conversation further. “And what makes you so sure of that?” you teased, a hint of mischief in your voice, as if daring him to justify his statement.

Drew’s tongue grazed across his teeth as he pondered your question, his blue eyes narrowing slightly in thought. The pause between you was brief, yet charged with a subtle tension, the kind that comes when two people are testing the boundaries of familiarity. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, you felt as though he could see right through you.

“You just seem like a likable person,” he replied, his voice soft yet confident, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sly smile. His tone was earnest, but there was something about the way he said it that made your pulse quicken—like he knew more than he was letting on, like he could already sense there was more to you than what lay on the surface.

You couldn’t help but smirk, leaning slightly forward as if to match his energy. “Is that your professional actor assessment?” you quipped, raising a brow, trying to mask the flutter in your chest with humor.

His grin widened as if your playful retort amused him. “Maybe,” he shrugged, leaning back in his chair, completely relaxed yet fully engaged. “Or maybe I’m just good at reading people.” His eyes glimmered with something more—an invitation, perhaps, to challenge him further.

Your heart raced slightly as you matched his stare, the game between you intensifying without either of you needing to acknowledge it. You felt emboldened by the easy rapport, as though you could push the conversation anywhere, and it would still feel natural, still flow effortlessly. There was something refreshing about it, and it left you wanting to keep the banter going just a little longer.

“Well, you could be wrong, you know,” you shot back, your voice lilting with amusement. “I could be the least likable person you’ve ever met, and you wouldn’t even know it yet.”

Drew chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Somehow, I seriously doubt that,” he said, his tone low and smooth, leaving just enough mystery in his words to keep you guessing.

“I guess we’ll have to see,” you shrugged nonchalantly, playing into the lighthearted banter. Drew’s eyes sparkled with amusement, as if your coy responses were entertaining him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Despite the casual nature of the conversation, there was something in the air between you that made it feel deeper, more charged.

He leaned in slightly over the table, his body angled toward you, his presence suddenly filling the small space between you. “You know,” he began, his tone shifting to something a little more serious, yet still playful, “if we’re going to be working so closely together, why don’t we start hanging out more? It’ll make everything on-screen more believable.”

His suggestion hung in the air, sending your mind reeling. Your initial instinct was to question it—was this about the job or something more? His words seemed casual, but the way he looked at you now, with a sincerity that felt more personal than professional, told you there might be another layer to his offer.

You tilted your head slightly, trying to read him, your lips curling into a small smile. “You think so?” you asked, your voice soft but teasing, leaning just enough into the moment to keep things light, while still acknowledging the subtle tension between you.

Drew’s gaze didn’t falter. “Yeah,” he nodded, his smile widening. “The better we know each other, the easier it’ll be to build that connection on-screen.” He paused for a second, watching your reaction, and then added with a smirk, “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know you a little better off-screen too.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile back, trying to keep your cool. You glanced down at your hands for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I guess that makes sense,” you replied, your voice light and playful, though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

The suggestion seemed innocent enough on the surface, but the underlying implications—the chance to spend more time together, to see if this chemistry extended beyond the lines you’d be reading—made your pulse race just a little faster.

“Alright,” you said, leaning back in your chair with a shrug, pretending to be more nonchalant than you felt. “Let’s give it a try. See if we can make this whole thing more believable.”

Drew smiled in agreement, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that seemed to settle the tension between you. He opened his mouth, about to say something more, but was interrupted by the soft buzz of his phone lighting up with a text. He glanced down at it briefly before shifting his attention back to you, his smile still faint but genuine.

“It’s been nice getting to know you a little more. I really enjoyed this,” he admitted, his voice sincere. You noticed his gaze flicker toward the window, as though he was checking for something or someone, before returning to you. “Why don’t I give you my number so we can plan something soon?”

Your heart skipped at the casual offer, but you maintained your composure, feeling the air between you both shift into something more comfortable, yet still charged with potential. “Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied with a small smile, trying to keep things light despite the slight flutter in your chest.

Drew pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen before handing it over to you. You quickly typed in your number, handing it back to him, your fingers brushing briefly as you exchanged devices.

“Great,” he said, locking the phone and slipping it back into his pocket, his smile widening. “I’ll text you later, and we can figure something out. Maybe something less... formal,” he added with a playful wink, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Sounds like a plan.”

"I'll see you later, Y/N." Drew’s voice was soft, still carrying that same warmth and kindness that had made you feel so at ease throughout the afternoon. He offered you one last smile before gathering his belongings and heading toward the door.

You watched him as he stepped outside, the sunlight casting a soft glow on him as he made his way to the black SUV parked out front. There was something effortlessly graceful about the way he moved, the casualness of it, yet it left you with a feeling of weightlessness. The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you saw him disappear into the car, the sound of the engine starting up almost muted by the rush of your thoughts.

The café around you sounded with the usual hum of life, but your mind was far from the present moment. Instead, it replayed every detail of the past hour—the way he had smiled at you, the easy flow of conversation, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between the two of you. You could still feel the warmth of his gaze, the way it made you feel seen in a way that felt both exhilarating and unsettling.

As you sat there, a small smile crept onto your lips. The butterflies in your chest wouldn’t settle, and you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted them to. Something about today had changed things, and as you grabbed your bag and stood up to leave, you realized the anticipation for whatever came next was already beginning to build.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

taglist: @romantic-punch, @cl4uus, @clearpoetryobservation-blog, @willowpains, @simp4f1, @kaiparkerwifes, @cali-888, @allthoughtsmindfull, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[bahrtofane]

soapy oh soapy

jude looses his lucky charm and looses his mind in the process

word count - 1.5K+

watch it - HAPPY ARPIL FOOLS. the most unserious fic to date ( jk theres one more coming )

p.s. -big shout out to my friends @aloejuicebr for fueling this madness u guys are real ones and even bigger shout to plooki @yayam26 for making soapy missing poster

-----

You end up forcing jude to do skin care with you after begging him for weeks because you just know you can work your magic and make him feel the best he’s ever felt. All you need is a night in. And time. Lots of time 

After some persuasion and begging, pouty lips and puppy eyes, he gives in. 

“Fine.” is all he says while you’re in his living room, legs over his watching a movie that you've long ignored in favor of bothering him. 

But you’re already giggling. Picking out a headband you want him to wear in your head. Pink care bear one it is. The night comes on a rainy day, he has a rare day off the next morning, so you want him to start it on a good note. 

You’re getting ready for bed, in your pjs, jumping about while you get your little baggie full of goodies out. 

“Here,” you hand him the headband,” put this on” pink care bear one just like you envisioned. 

He takes it, feeling the soft material while he hums, “what’s this for?”

“Keeps things out of your hair.” you smile, dragging him to his bathroom. You take about a hundred pictures, and he poses for you for each one. Giggling while you coach him into poses. You think you'll send a few to Jobe for good measure. 

You face the sink and think of a game plan. Eyeing the counter  

It’s here you first lay eyes on soapy. 

“Jude what the hell is that? "You grimace, looking at what looks like a dry stump of white something, sitting on its own little ceramic dish. 

Jude looks away, scratching the back of his neck, mumbling something under his breath. 

You swing your little kit on the sink counter, setting a hand on your hip,”what was that?” 

He sighs dramatically, putting his face in his hands,”it’s my good luck charm. soapy,” he wails. 

You snort, patting his back, “I'm sure he’s very uh lucky,” you give it a small pat. 

“No he is,” Jude brings his head up to face you, “ I know it. I've had him since before dortmund. “ he nods proudly. 

You grimace,”you’ve had a piece of soap for years?”

He only nods harder. 

“Okay jude. Whatever you say. “ 

“I am not getting rid of him,” he points a finger in your face. One that you gently move, pulling his hand into your own. 

“I didn't say get rid of him. Let’s get your skincare started, yeah?”

He nods, following you through the steps like a lost puppy. leaning down while you help him apply the creams and foams just right 

When it’s all set and done, he wiggles into bed happy as can be. Sighing deeply, “that was actually really nice. Thank you. “ 

peck! right on your nose. 

you laugh, “told you it would be nice. “ 

your next plan is to find a way to deal with soapy…

——-

Jude loses soapy. It becomes a whole fiasco. He can’t find him in the usual small little pocket in his duffel bag in the usual ziplock baggie. 

He’s frantic at his hotel, tearing his things apart, looking and relooking at the bottom of his suitcase. His jacket pockets, his pants pockets. 

He tries to think. Did he leave him in his bathroom? No. Can't be it. He remembers putting him inside the familiar zip lock baggie while getting the rest of his things ready. Where in the world did he go. 

His soapy. His poor soapy! How is he supposed to live in these conditions. He’s never. ever missed a single game without soapy. What is he supposed to do now? Loose?? There goes his good luck down the drain. Years of good performance is about to take a nosedive. 

When he’s set to do his routine face time with you pre game, you pick up on his sour mood. But he only brushes it off, blaming it on pre game nerves 

You don’t believe him, but don’t want to press

Jude pends 20 minutes locked inside the bathroom, head in his hands while he scolds himself. It’s a bar of soap he wants to scream, pull yourself together. But he can’t. Soapy has become more than just a silly little joke. He’s become attached to soapy, a part of his routine. He’d rather die than admit it out loud to anyone 

For now he sighs, smoothing his jersey down and getting ready to get on the pitch. 

——-

The only thing that’s been in his mind is getting back home and getting to the bottom of the mystery. Unfortunately for him, soapy is nowhere to be found in the bathroom. Not in the living room. The kitchen. The hallway. He thinks of hiring a cleaning team, but what is he supposed to say ? 

Oh hey guys clean my house and also be on the lookout for a dried out stick of white that looks like a finger haha. 

No. Absolutely not. 

He takes to his own devices and begins to tear apart his house in a desperate search for his beloved soapy. He spends the whole day on his hands and knees looking under places he didn’t even know his house had to begin with, squeezing under and into spaces he’s sure gonna regret tomorrow. 

It’s already dark out when he calls it quits. Nothing but a few bruises to show for it. 

He’s really lost him huh. 

——-

His behavior is soon picked up by teammates, coaches and staff. The usual cheery youthful Jude is replaced by a damp sluggish cranky one.

He’s silent at training, chewing the inside of his cheek while going through the familiar motions of each drill. 

Eduardo comes to him after they hit the showers, squeaky clean and ready to go home. 

“You good?”

Jude gives him a bashful nod, “yeah man. just a little worn out, don't worry.”

He gets a clap on the shoulder in response, and gives a tight lipped smile back. He’s gotta figure this out or it will start to affect more than just his mood. How stupid of him to let an old slice of a soap bar affect him so much. 

A little piece of him can guess why. Soapy is one of the very few stable things in his life. And perhaps the only stable physical thing. something to count on. Something to be able to rely on. Unchanging. 

But now that he’s gone and lost it ? jeez. 

——-

You show up to his house on a cloudy day, his favorite snacks under your arm. He greets you with a kiss, but you see the way his eyes droop and sag. What's wrong with your golden boy? 

He leads you to the living room where you make yourself at home. Plopping down on the couch and handing him his things. 

He takes them gingerly, setting them on the kitchen counter while he takes a seat across from you 

you frown, “Jude. What's wrong? “

He looks away, playing with his hands, knee bouncing. Okay what is going on that’s gotten him so worked up

“Baby…” you try, scooting closer to him. 

He screws his eyes shut, bawling his hands into fists, “I lost soapy,” 

oh. 

Your gaze softens, “You lost him? When?”

He sighs, cracking an eye open, when he sees you aren’t making fun of him he opens both, relaxing. 

“I don't know. when we played villareal away I couldn’t find him. Then i got back and tore this place up and still no luck.” arms falling into his lap. 

You place a hand on his knee. Gentle. Soft. 

“He couldn't have gotten far. I'm sure he’s somewhere obvious. “ 

“I guess,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch. 

You smile, letting him lean against you. He's so cute when he pouts. You like babying him anyway. The rest of the day is spent with his head in your lap while you press occasional kisses to his face, letting keeping up with the kardashians play in the background. 

When it’s time for you to leave, Jude whines, pouting and asking you to stay just a little more.

“It's already late jude, I would if I could you know that. “

He huffs, “I guess. “ 

You forgot about your bags laying on the kitchen counter, might as well put them away before you go. 

Jude gets up to help, sliding against the hardwood and meeting you in the kitchen

He grabs a chair from the island in the middle, bringing it to him and a little baggie falls from it. Is that what he thinks it is ? He picks it up faster than you can turn around and almost screams. He could cry tears of joy 

It’s soapy. 

You were right. It was right in front of him all along 

He holds up the bar for you to see and you smile, “see. told you. “

He nods, “yes you did,” kissing your lips as a thank you 

You hum, patting his head when you pull apart, “glad you found soapy.” 

Maybe soapy isn’t so bad after all. 

[bigbeanbear]

I don’t really understand how some people can interpret Charlie and Vaggie’s relationship as “sisters” or “uninteresting” if they have finished Hazbin Hotel Season 1 completely, because Chaggie’s love languages (both mutual and unique ones) are so obvious.

Their mutual love language is obviously “Physical Touch”. From the start, their hands are on each other constantly. Sure, they are not a PDA couple like Moxxie and Millie, who like to passionately tongue kiss in public, but they LOVE holding hands to support each other. Plus a lot of small gestures like touches on face, shoulder and thigh, just come very naturally to them like an old married couple. I think they enjoy their more intimate moments in private, as Charlie kisses Vaggie on the lost eye in their bedroom, or they deep kiss in an empty hallway.

When it comes to the unique ones, Charlie’s giving love language to Vaggie is “Gifts”. Even when she rants about Vaggie hiding big secret from her to Alastor all the way to Cannibal Town, as soon as they are in Rosie’s emporium, Charlie lands her eyes on the souvenir section and immediately picks up that keychain doll that somehow resembles a chaggie love child for Vaggie. Also, I think it’s possible that the red bow and eye patch that Vaggie wears all the time were gifted by Charlie too, considering how the red theme symbolizes Charlie, especially in the pilot, these things are the only red parts on Vaggie contrasting her own grey/white color theme. Giving gifts showing how much Charlie loves Vaggie makes sense, she’s super rich as the Princess, and Vaggie owned nothing when she was left in Hell. So I definitely think Vaggie appreciates and cherishes all the small gifts from Charlie.

On Vaggie’s side, her unique giving love language to Charlie is “Act of Service”. She manages the hotel for Charlie, supports Charlie’s dream no matter what, and swears to protect Charlie with her life. It also makes sense, considering Vaggie had been a faithful soldier for years, being in service for the person she loves most just comes naturally from her. Again, Vaggie had nothing when she was left to die, so she devotes her whole body to Charlie. I can see that it’s kind of unhealthy to Vaggie’s own psyche, since she sees no value in her own being and feels worthless if she cannot be useful to Charlie, but I think it is something the show might explore in the future. Charlie seems to enjoy receiving service from Vaggie too, she appreciates how much Vaggie’s done for her, and considers them as a team with herself leading and Vaggie executing. Vaggie is very good at materializing Charlie’s plans too. I don’t see anyone analyzing this, but Vaggie’s persuasion of Carmilla is pretty well done that efficiently gets to the weakest spot of Carmilla. Vaggie is the one that acts.

Chaggie is not the perfect sapphic couple, but what makes them kind of outstanding is them being a deeply-in-love stable couple beyond the initial crush and honeymoon phase. I like having such representation like them.

Btw, the script writer of episode 3 and 7 highlighting Chaggie’s relationship is Ariel Ladensohn, who is a lesbian in a stable relationship irl, so I have some faith that the show can do Chaggie justice in the future seasons.

[saerins]

─── 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑

+ itoshi rin x f!reader | wc 1.6k | content: fluff, friends to lovers, college au, slightly suggestive at the end, mutual pining ?

note: hmmm okay rin may be doing things to me @_@ i rarely write for him so forgive me if this is ass but !!! ily rin <3

summary: you and rin are both oblivious to each other’s feelings. but maybe one push is all you need.

it doesn’t make sense why he’s so nervous. you’re still you and he’s still him and nothing’s changed except for the acquisition of some personal information. coming from blunt bangs too, nonetheless.

two weeks ago.

“hey, y/n-chan, you’re single right?” bachira asked, casually as he could while the both of you were on the same train back home.

you were startled, but still shook your head all the same. bachira and rin were teammates, so naturally you two knew of each other, but you couldn’t remember the last time you ever spoke to him. you only remembered that rin liked calling him blunt bangs. and then he started getting a little sulky after you called bachira’s hair cute.

“just wondering, have you ever thought of getting together with rin-chan?”

bachira had been swaying along with the train, his hands gripped firmly on the hanging handles. that wasn’t what you were fixated on though, because his question threw you off, the heat shooting to your cheeks the moment you processed it.

“w-what do you mean?”

you had been flustered, but bachira remained oblivious as ever. (lucky for you.) he tilted his face upwards, staring at the train ceiling, carefully picking his words.

“well, you and rin-chan spend a lot of time together, just wondering if you both ever tried anything.”

it came off sounding a lot more suggestive than anything, but knowing bachira, you doubted he meant anything other than the simple fact of considering getting together.

and it wasn’t like you didn’t. because of course you did. you couldn’t spend so much time with someone like rin and not feel anything.

you’d known rin since freshman year, since you both kept to yourselves at this one party, bumping into each other at the corner of the room, awkwardly shuffling your feet and trying to ignore the other as much as you could.

you caved first; your want for a friend in that party overtook your shyness, and luckily for you, rin entertained you that night. he took you up on your offer to get out of there, away from the loud bass and drunk teenagers and onto a more quiet destination—the supper spot near your dorms.

since then, you’d found a lot of common ground and somehow, you just seeped into rin’s life. just like that. you couldn’t say anything for him, but you’d thought he was attractive since the first moment you laid eyes on him. plus, rin was such a hot topic on campus, you’d just sort of eliminated the possibilities of being together with him entirely.

he was out of your league, wasn’t he?

you were happy enough just to be his friend. until bachira asked that question. until you realised that hey, maybe you should explore it. maybe you should tell someone about it. anyone.

so you nodded your head, embarrassed as you may have been.

“don’t tell him, okay?” you warned bachira.

bachira grinned ear to ear. “it’s safe with me!”

evidently, it wasn’t, rin thinks now—looking at bachira and isagi egging him on. after bachira acquired said information, he had ran straight to rin’s dorm and spilled the beans.

rin pulls up a mental reminder: do not ever share secrets with bachira under any circumstances. ever.

which is also why, after multiple instances of persuasion and letting slip that maybe he’s into you too, rin is keeping bachira under close scrutiny. he’s not even sure whether you’ll show up tonight, at the soccer team’s victory party. from past experiences, you do.

“you should tell her how you feel,” bachira says again, eliciting a sigh out of rin.

“mind your own business, blunt bangs,” rin murmurs, drinking his diet coke.

isagi nudges him lightly. “she’s pretty in-demand right? i heard that some other guys from our team has their eyes on her too.”

it manages to perk rin’s ears, and it’s too late for him to realise it’s all a ploy, because isagi’s snickering the moment rin opens his mouth, earning a slap on the back of his head.

“fuck off with that already.”

“yeah yeah, you gotta strike while the iron’s hot,” bachira chimes in, only further agitating rin. “actions maketh the man or whatever.”

“don’t just throw around every phrase you learned,” he retorts. rin’s fists are clenched at his side, remembering why he used to go to these alone. gotta be better than having to listen to these two idiots.

then, a familiar giggle sounds from behind him, and rin freezes up almost immediately (to the amusement of his two friends). “what am i missing out on here?”

bachira opens up his mouth but isagi claps his hand over him almost instantaneously. for once, rin’s thankful that at least one of them has more tact than the other. you can only watch on with confusion as isagi drags bachira away, citing some lame excuse about how they had to check on the other guests.

they’re not even the hosts.

“your friends are acting weird, rin,” you comment, and rin wholeheartedly agrees. for some reason, he can’t help but notice you more after what bachira revealed to him.

“they’re always weird.”

his eyes survey your body, appreciating how the dress flows so beautifully, how your hair’s done up just perfectly. you’re so pretty too, why didn’t he ever tell you that? probably because he didn’t want you thinking he was some sort of freak. you probably have suitors for days—way out of his league.

“anyway, congratulations on winning the tournament, mvp,” you say teasingly, winking, your heart skipping beats when you catch the slight crimson falling on his cheeks as he looks away.

for some reason, being able to see rin like this, where everyone else only gets to see the more stoic side of him makes you feel special. it may be a case of delusion, but you don’t mind.

you expect some sort of quip, something like how their win was expected and not something worth congratulating. but instead, through his red ears and awkward eye contact, he tells you a curt thanks before he goes back to excessively sipping his diet coke.

“did something happen?” you ask, nearly making rin choke on air, he realises, because he’s gulped down his entire drink.

“no,” he answers, a little too harshly, before he reigns himself in. rin doesn’t really want to be the one to broach the subject, but he really doesn’t want to risk going home tonight without knowing for sure how you feel.

screw bachira’s intel—rin wants to hear it from your own lips, wants to be there to see and hear you confess.

“bachira told me about it.” rin feels you stiffen up beside him this time. but you don’t say a word. that’s fine though. he started it, he may as well see this through. “do you- still feel that way?”

thankfully, you don’t like to torture him, automatically knowing what he’s referring to, probably already calculated in your head the probability that bachira would’ve ratted you out. then, does that mean you wanted to be found out?

“i- i mean i- um, yeah, yeah i do.” you’re fiddling with your fingers, looking to the side, afraid to meet his eye. you and rin are close as ever, but that makes this all the more awkward. you’ve never really been the type of people to talk about feelings. at least, not until now.

you’re not sure what rin will say or do, and you can hear your heart drumming loud against your chest, beating against your ear.

“i feel the same,” rin blurts out, somehow afraid that if he didn’t, you’d assume otherwise.

his words weigh heavy on your chest before lifting the weight off of it all at the same time. you’re relieved, more than, that he feels the same, that you’re hearing it from his own mouth. but now the both of you are just standing there staring at each other, wondering how on earth you should continue this.

and you do rin a favor, paying him back for starting the conversation at all, by standing on your tiptoes and pulling his collar in, pressing a kiss against his lips, tasting the diet coke lingering on his tongue. by the way his arms wrap around you, by now his kiss gets even deeper by the second, you can tell that you aren’t the only one that’s been dreaming of this.

“ah, rin finally got some balls and confessed huh?”

bachira’s all too familiar voice breaks the moment, although the sound of your laugh helps to ease rin’s disappointment. he’ll get more moments of this, more of you—soon. he doesn’t even have the mood to snap at bachira, only occupied with thoughts of what he wants to do with you.

“see, what’d i tell you, y/n-chan? he likes you too, doesn’t he?”

rin’s face turns a bright red at the realisation. “he told you?” he asks.

you nod, grinning sheepishly. “i read his text just before i got here.” you pull out your phone, showing him the evidence.

[20:48] bachira: y/n!! big news!!!

[20:48] bachira: rin said he likes you too, get over here alr!!!

rin blinks, the timing lining up with exactly when rin expressed that he has been interested in you all this time.

“i’m gonna fucking kill you,” rin deadpans at bachira, isagi already disappearing elsewhere, not wanting to be part of this.

bachira thinks he’s lucky when you tilt rin’s face towards you, kissing him again, distracting him from his ire. he takes this chance to slip away, leaving you two lovebirds alone.

“would you rather deal with him or come home with me, mr itoshi?”

it takes everything in rin not to just sweep you up and take you right here in this room. he mirrors your smirk, a casual hunger burning beneath his teal eyes.

“you, always you.”

[sweetiecutie]

Yandere Draco Malfoy headcanons

Warnings: yandere behavior, toxic relationships, bullying, obsession, sexual implications but nothing is described, mention of anxiety and depression

Draco is a spoiled brat. Since birth, whenever he wanted something - it was delivered to him in a matter of hours - maximum a few days - in a fancy box decorated with huge sparkly bow on top of it. So when you, to his great astonishment, instead of throwing yourself at him tell him to go fuck himself - Draco gets pissed (and extremely anxious)

It’d be just perfect if you were a pureblood - absolutely no restraints for Draco in courting and spending time with you. If you happened to be a half-blood - he’d be extremely conflicted, but eventually just going so far as forging your personal documents, claiming that you’re a descent of an ancient pureblood family that happened to go missing due to a drastic accident and then being ‘found’ and ‘adopted’ by your parents. Same would go to a muggleborn darling, but I doubt he’d even pay attention to them in a first place

Draco grew up in environment where arranger marriages had always been an expected and usual thing, personal preferences and actual feelings rarely being involved; his parents had never felt anything but revulsion and loathing for each other - Draco’s idea of love is extremely twisted. Love, in his understanding, is when you’re official - when everyone in the family, school, country and world knows that you’re together, tied by strong bond of marriage. That’s what he’d been taught, that’s what he strongly believes in

That leads to Draco spreading rumors all around school about you two being in a relationship, even though it’s obviously a lie. He doesn’t need you to agree with all his stories - you may deny everything as much as you want but eventually everyone in Hogwarts will know that you two are involved with each other in some way. Even if some students don’t believe all the rumors going around, they would think twice before approaching you, not wanting to deal with Draco and his buddies

His logic is pretty much “If I can’t have you - no one can”. If you happened to have a partner - not for long. Once again, Draco would spread nasty lies about you constantly cheating on your S/o with him, and oh boy, can this man be persuasive. Soon enough your partner would be so fed up or simply ashamed of being in relationship with you, breaking up on you not even a few months in dating. And that would happen again and again with every one of your little silly love interests until you finally give up and come crawling to Draco since, well, he’s basically the only person in the whole castle offering you comfort and company

Draco is mean. He doesn’t know how to express his fondness and love obsession so he tries doing so through the ways already known to him - bullying. Snarky comments and snickering seem to accompany your every smallest movement, pale eyes being always fixated on you, waiting, praying for you to make at least one smallest mistake so that he’d finally have a reason to approach you, even if it’s to humiliate you

He’d deluge you with presents, basically trying to buy your affection. Anything you want - you get it. You like that sweater that doesn’t cost a quarter of its actual price - it will be lying on your bed neatly folded, a note attached to it saying “It would look better laying on my bedroom floor”. Want a diamond ring - of course, my dear, as many as you wish, but only after official “I Do”. You want ten liters of Unicorn’s bile - “Ew, that’s bloody gross. Here you go, fucking weirdo” - hands you four bottles filled with dark brown liquid. Where the hell did he even get it from? You said it just to test his limits

Even if you do eventually agree to step into relationship with Draco which is more of an act of pity, let’s be honest his behavior won’t get any better. Yeah, he stops with bullying for sure, but his obsession seems to only get worse the more time you spend together. Draco would become extremely possessive, to an extend where someone else looking at you for longer than a few second would send Draco into an ugly tantrum, shouting accusations and threats at everyone around

That leads to thus little number of friends you had reducing to absolute zero - them being too afraid or simply sick of Draco and his constant blackmailing and threats, leaving you all alone in his clutches. Being friends with you becomes simply too dangerous for others

He’ll follow you everywhere. Wherever you are, it seems like Draco and his little squad is always a few meters afar, watching you closely. It gets even worse once you two are ‘dating’ - Draco is like a chewing gum stuck in your hair - impossible to get rid of. You do your homework - he’s right by your side, flipping the pages of your book over when you ask. You’re getting ready to take a shower - he’s already shirtless and undoing his pants “Don’t you care about saving water and environment? Y/n, penguins are dying!”

Constantly touches you. And if you don’t like it or feel uncomfortable with his touch - too bad, Draco doesn’t care. “Darling, don’t fucking resist me. You’re only making it worse for yourself” And that’s true, it’s better to have contended and happy Draco snuggled into you rather than a furious and annoyed one, tightly wrapping his huge hand around your neck

His mood swings are just something. One moment he may be all cuddly and snuggly, looking at you like a lovesick puppy, and the other - he’s frowning and snarling insults, words are pure poison. And just five minutes later he crawls back with the saddest expression on his face, “Sorry, I got really upset, I thought you were thinking about that scumbag Potter again🥺👉🏻👈🏻” - “Draco, how the fuck can you know what I was thinking about?!”

He’d never physically hurt you because, well, Draco is a pussy. The maximum is pressing you against the wall with his hand around your throat, not choking but just holding you in place while glaring down at your smaller form. All the damage that he causes is mostly emotional. You’d definitely develop paranoia because of his constant stalking, feeling as if even walls have eyes and ears, intently watching your every move. Constant anxiety caused by Draco’s harsh words and treatment, may lead to deep depression

From the good things - he’s really eager to please you. As I said - whatever you want - you get, even if that’s not a material thing. Fame, power, influence - all of that is real and you can get it easily by simply being with him. But the more Draco gives you, the more demanding he gets - everything has its price. At first simple affection will be the greatest repay, but the older you both get - the more sexual turn it all gets

Draco would go absolutely insane during the summer break. He’ll be writing you a few times a day, demanding an answer from you containing a detailed description of your day, who you were talking to and all the conversations themselves. He’d defo get a pair of those double ended mirrors for you two (Wizarding FaceTime lmao) so he can see your beautiful face and hear that lovely voice of yours. And oh, don’t you dare not responding to his tenth call of a day - it’ll end up in a biggest tantrum

His parents noticing Draco’s obsession way too late, not being able to fix nor influence son’s unhealthy behavior. Narcissa tries to reason with her son, cool his eagerness and patroon a bit down, for the sake of both him and you. But Draco sees that as a betrayal, his twisted mind turning it into his family trying to turn you against him, to take you away from him. Now he sees it all - he doesn’t need their approval nor their blessing, he’ll have it his way anyways. It ends with Draco basically forcing marriage upon you, doing what he’s been longing for all these years - claiming you as his, so that no one could ever doubt the special bound you two have

After all, you two were always meant to be

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Writers live off feedback!💖

[senmiyaazx]

Hi so I just read the other anon's yandere crowe vs sol request and I absolutely love it!!!!!!

Anyways I have questions.

Would yandere Crowe and Sol fight? Would yandere Crowe kill someone?

that's it, I hope you had a great day.

cw: yandere content

a/n: I'm glad you enjoyed it<3 also i kinda used this as an excuse to yap about Crowe, i hope you don't mind.

Crowe and Sol fighting.... over you? definitely. Fighting each other? Hand to hand? I'm sorry, but Crowe WILL get clocked LMFAO (According to this post, he's the second weakest strength-wise.)

Now, these are obviously my headcanons and I don't know how close they are to canon. I'm definitely sure Crowe has no chance against Sol. Physically, at least. Who knows? We might get crumbs of Sol vs Crowe canonically in game mwehehehehe

Would Yan!Crowe kill someone? Let's do a tiny bit of character analysis first.

We all know Crowe is a princely, handsome gentleman of the school. (I've mentioned this a lot before I know) We ALSO know that he's hiding something according to that library scene about the Marie Antoinette book. We're all aware that his reaction was suspicious and definitely hints to future lore.

But what did it mean? He did ask MC if they thought Marie Antoinette was bad or not. Was he as naive and ignorant as the Queen was? Or maybe he did do some morally bad things that he thought was good, or in the name of good. Whatever it was, it became something he felt guilty for. He may have also done things to clear his name, hence why nobody is suspicious of him.

Going back to the topic — would he kill for you? No. He wouldn't. After all, he's made all that effort to change and become the person he is now. He's gotten his hands dirty before, there's no reason for him to do it again.

That doesn't mean he won't do other things to make you his, however. This is still a yandere Crowe we're talking about, remember?

Now, I personally think Crowe would be a manipulative yandere type. In a dangerously subtle way too. I imagine him as someone good with words, so that makes him excellent at persuasion. And gaslighting.

He feels incredibly guilty for it. He hates to see you upset, but the only way he can think of to make you stay is to rely on him. He wants you to be dependent on him so he can play the role of being your guide - and therefore, stick to him like a koala.

He loves you, of course. He wouldn't dare push your boundaries. But if you're not careful and don't stand up for yourself, it's easy for him to get over that guilt and be more bold when it comes to swaying you with honeyed words. Before you realize it, you're completely wrapped around his finger.

On a more extreme side- if he could, I think he won't be against locking you up in his room/house if you're particularly stubborn. Otherwise he'll just try his best to distance you from everyone you talk to until you lose your mind.

(Honestly, I don't really know. it's hard to write for him when there's so little lore aaa)

[muiitoloko]

I had another idea that has been swirling around in my mind, this one being an Alan Rickman one. Basically he and a younger actress have been going around doing interviews on tv for their new movie which is a film about an older man being with a younger woman. They talk about how they got to know one another as they knew in the movie there would be some quite intimate scenes. The actress starts to notice with some tv presenters that they seem to have a sly dig at Alan regarding his body shape, which starts to make the actress furious. The actress can tell it is having a negative effect on Alan, so she reassures and/or comforts him regarding it and telling him how a lot of people do in fact find him physically attractive and they will love seeing him in this movie because of it. This could be a fluff, smut or both, whatever you decide.

I hope things turn around for you soon.

Title: More Than Looks

Summary: When the interviewer shifts focus to Rickman's appearance, [Your Name] steps in, redirecting attention to his talent and the undeniable magnetism that make his performance unforgettable.

Pairing: Alan Rickman × Fem! Reader

Warnings: implied betrayal, criticism, implied sex.

Author's Notes: Thank you for the request! I’ll admit, I considered adding a smutty twist but got a little lazy 😅—sorry about that! I hope you still enjoy it. I based this on my story “Rehearsal” but no worries—you don’t need to read that one to follow along with this.

Also read on Ao3

It was funny how quickly things had shifted. What had started as pure excitement about promoting your film with Alan Rickman had now grown into a simmering frustration as interview after interview seemed to focus on his body, often with a subtle—or not so subtle—hint of judgment. Each time someone commented on his appearance, criticizing or even questioning his suitability for a role so intense and passionate, your patience wore thinner. Could these people not see how breathtaking he was? That commanding presence, his quiet confidence, the way he could make you feel utterly captivated with a single, steady gaze? His charm, his wit—this was the man who had brought your character’s forbidden desires to life so vividly, and they were missing it entirely.

You were seated beside him on a popular late-night talk show, the host launching into a lighthearted question about how you two met on set. As you shared stories of your first impressions and the awkwardness of those early rehearsals, you spoke openly about how you’d been a fan of his films long before you’d ever met him.

Alan smirked, his signature half-smile playing across his lips as he glanced at you with those intense hazel eyes that had you captivated every day on set. “I suppose I wasn’t quite what you imagined in person,” he said in that smooth, baritone voice, a touch of self-deprecating humor lacing his words.

The host laughed, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, come on now, Alan. She’s not likely to say anything that would wound your pride, surely?”

Alan tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you with a twinkle of mischief. “Careful now, or she might mention a certain comment about my…” he trailed off, glancing down with a smirk, “…my ‘intensity,’ shall we say.”

The host leaned forward with interest. “Intensity! And how did you manage all that intensity, [Your Name]? These scenes were rather… spicy, from what I hear.”

You smiled, sharing a glance with Alan as a flush of memories filled your mind. “Well,” you began, trying to keep a playful tone, “let’s just say Alan has this incredible way of… drawing you in. He doesn’t just act the part; he lives in it. And when he steps into that kind of role—one with such intensity, that undeniable tension—it’s… overwhelming, in the best way.”

Alan chuckled softly, crossing his legs and resting his hand casually on his knee as he met the host’s gaze. “Yes, it was a difficult part to research, I’m afraid. I had to be… persuasive,” he added with a knowing glance at you. “It’s challenging, you know, making someone fall for you when they’re… resistant.”

The host laughed, clearly entertained by the way Alan turned the conversation around, but you could sense Alan’s subtle irritation at how much attention the questions kept turning toward him and his body. He was so much more than that, and you wanted everyone to understand it.

Trying to turn the conversation toward his talent, you jumped in. “Alan doesn’t just play the role of a forbidden lover. He brings this… raw energy. There’s this controlled power to his performance that made the scenes feel… almost too real.” You shot him a grin, recalling your rehearsal. “And sometimes, that energy meant improvising, going off-script, capturing moments of raw emotion. That’s part of what made those scenes so… powerful.”

Alan raised an eyebrow, his expression half amused, half intrigued as he considered your words. “Ah, yes, the ‘raw energy,’” he teased, his voice low and suggestive, but his gaze softened as he looked at you. “Well, I had some good motivation, wouldn’t you say?”

The host leaned forward, clearly delighted by the chemistry between you. “I imagine filming those scenes required quite a bit of… trust?”

You nodded, your eyes meeting Alan’s as you replied. “Absolutely. Alan made it so easy to lose myself in the role. He has this way of looking at you, and suddenly, the world fades away. There’s only him, and it’s impossible not to… fall under his spell.”

Alan chuckled, his fingers tracing the arm of his chair in that calm, deliberate way he had. “And isn’t that the essence of a forbidden romance?” he mused, his voice dipping into a rich, velvety tone that had you transfixed. “To make the audience feel that desire, that… need. Even when it’s wrong. Especially when it’s wrong.”

The host, catching on, leaned in with a sly grin. “So, tell us, how did it feel when that camera rolled and the scene came to life?”

Alan’s lips quirked, and he glanced at you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. “Well, I’d say… electric. When you’re close to someone, barely breathing, the heat between you almost unbearable. And then… you cross that line. It’s a moment of surrender,” he murmured, looking directly at you, his words laden with the weight of that memory.

You held his gaze, the electricity between you as real as it had been on set, and a warmth rose to your cheeks as you replied, “Every scene felt like stepping into fire. Alan made it feel like… like something dangerous. Impossible to resist.”

As the conversation on the talk show continued, the host, always eager to keep the audience engaged, leaned forward with a gleam in his eye. "Well, folks," he announced with a flourish, "before we wrap up, let's take a look at the trailer for this sizzling new film that's been making waves."

You and Alan turned to the screen, anticipation building as the lights dimmed and the first scenes unfolded. The camera panned over your character, Emily, a young woman with a hopeful, carefree spirit, enjoying a drink with friends, blissfully unaware of the storm her life was about to enter. Then came the scene with Michael—played by an up-and-coming actor—her charming boyfriend, laughing over drinks, his hand resting on her shoulder. The music took on a more tense note as Emily and Michael walked into a room, and there he was—Alan’s character, Thomas.

The atmosphere thickened as Emily’s eyes met Thomas’s across the room, the tension instant and undeniable. Even through the screen, you felt the intensity of that first encounter, the magnetic pull between them. Thomas’s sharp gaze lingered on Emily just a moment too long, his baritone voice greeting her with a warm, yet somehow calculating, “Emily, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Michael’s told me so much about you.” The unspoken challenge in his tone was subtle, but unmistakable.

You could feel the audience's curiosity deepen as the trailer cut to a scene between Thomas and his son, Michael, the two of them exchanging loaded words over a glass of whiskey. Alan's face was shadowed, the low light accentuating the sharpness of his hooked nose and the intensity in his hazel eyes as he spoke, his tone laced with bitterness. "Michael," he said, his voice a silky drawl, "you’ve always been so… predictable.”

Michael’s response was defensive, bordering on anger, the tension between father and son palpable as the trailer hinted at a deep-seated rivalry. It was clear that Thomas’s resentment simmered just below the surface, and it wasn’t long before that bitterness took on a new focus: Emily.

The trailer flashed back to a scene of Thomas and Emily alone, the ambiance dark, thick with unspoken longing. Alan's voice, in a low, almost predatory tone, murmured, “You’re different from what I expected.” His fingers reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his gaze intense, calculating. Emily visibly tried to resist, but her breath quickened, her eyes betraying her struggle to hold back from the attraction that drew her to him.

The screen flickered to another scene—a candlelit room, Emily standing by the window, looking torn and vulnerable. Thomas appeared behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders as he leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Why fight what we both know you want?” His tone was rich, seductive, layered with that familiar Alan Rickman edge that could make even the most innocent words feel like a sin.

You felt your own pulse quicken as the trailer showed the forbidden dance between them escalating. The sound of Thomas’s voice echoed through the studio as he muttered, “This isn’t about him. It’s about us. And you know it.” His fingers slid along her jawline, coaxing her to face him as his lips found hers, the scene charged with a desperate, guilty need that had both you and the audience breathless.

As the trailer transitioned into the hot, forbidden scenes between Thomas and Emily, the tension on screen thickened, pulling the audience into the dangerous web of their affair. Each stolen moment was a study in contrasts: Thomas's raw dominance against Emily's trembling vulnerability, her guilt palpable but overshadowed by her overwhelming need. The music, dark and pulsing, set the tone as Thomas’s hands slid down Emily’s arms, his fingers lingering on her wrists as he pinned her against the wall.

“Why fight this?” Thomas’s voice was a rough whisper, his hazel eyes filled with a fierce, relentless desire. “You want this, Emily. You want me.” His tone was commanding, giving no room for denial, and as his lips claimed hers, you could feel the forbidden desire practically vibrating through the screen.

In another scene, Thomas’s hands explored every curve of Emily’s body with a hunger that bordered on obsession. His baritone voice dripped with lust as he muttered in her ear, “You belong to me now, Emily. Don’t even think about him.” The camera lingered on their entwined bodies, capturing every stolen kiss, every whisper of guilt-tinged passion as Thomas claimed her, the heat between them all-consuming.

But beneath the lust and forbidden connection, Emily’s guilt simmered. In one heart-wrenching moment, Michael, her boyfriend and Thomas's son, looked at her with absolute sincerity, his eyes filled with a tenderness that twisted the knife of her betrayal even deeper.

“I love you, Emily,” Michael said softly, his fingers brushing her cheek as he held her close. She forced herself to smile, but her eyes betrayed the storm raging inside her, torn between the comfort of Michael’s love and the fire of Thomas’s dangerous seduction.

The screen cut back to Thomas and Emily in a hotel room, dimly lit and shadowed. Thomas, in full control, had Emily pinned to the bed, his hands pressing her wrists into the mattress as he loomed over her. His gaze was dark, challenging, daring her to deny what was unfolding between them.

“You think you can go back to him, pretend nothing happened?” he sneered, his breath hot against her skin. “No, Emily. You’re mine now. And I’ll make damn sure you remember that.” His hands traced down her body, his grip possessive, his words laced with dominance. Each move, each breath, each kiss felt like a declaration of ownership.

As the trailer built to a crescendo, the final scene shifted to a formal dinner setting. Emily sat beside Michael, who was oblivious to the secrets she kept buried beneath her polite smile. Across the table, Thomas watched her with that familiar, smug expression, his eyes glinting with barely concealed satisfaction as he raised his glass in a toast to the love.

“To love,” he said, his voice rich with irony, his gaze never leaving Emily. The silent threat in his eyes was unmistakable, as if reminding her of the control he held over her. The tension was thick, palpable, every word laced with the knowledge of what they shared—and what she could never admit.

The screen faded to black as the title of the movie appeared, followed by the release date in bold, with the haunting background music underscoring the forbidden nature of their connection. The final note left a lingering tension, promising audiences a twisted, seductive journey of desire, betrayal, and control.

The lights came back up in the studio, and the audience sat in stunned silence before erupting into applause. Beside you, Alan Rickman wore his usual, subtle smirk, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he nodded toward you, clearly pleased with the trailer’s impact.

The host leaned in with a half-dazed smile, clearly affected by what he’d just seen. “Wow,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of awe and surprise as he turned to you. “That was something else. What was it like filming such… powerful scenes?”

You smiled, feeling a renewed excitement as you thought back on what it took to bring Emily’s journey to life. “Well, Emily is caught in this web of conflicting desires and guilt,” you began, glancing at Alan, who nodded subtly in encouragement. “She knows she’s making a mistake with Thomas, that she’s risking everything. But there’s a fire between them that she can’t ignore, this intensity that keeps pulling her back in. Alan brought so much to Thomas—this commanding, almost predatory energy that made her attraction to him feel undeniable. It was like stepping into fire every time we shot those scenes.”

The host grinned, clearly intrigued by the dynamic. “And it seems like that heat is definitely going to carry over to audiences!” He turned to Alan, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Alan, this role is quite a departure for you, right? Intense passion, deep conflict… I imagine it was a challenge. But, if I may say, some people might wonder if it was a bit of a stretch, considering…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at Alan’s physique. “You know, the years have added a bit of… experience.”

A flicker of discomfort passed over Alan’s face, his easygoing expression tightening just slightly. You could see he was maintaining his usual calm, probably used to the subtle jabs that occasionally came his way. But this time, it irked you. You clenched your fists, irritation bubbling up as the host continued with a superficial smile. Why was it that everyone focused on Alan’s appearance as if it diminished his talent, as if that baritone voice and those intense hazel eyes didn’t already command a room?

Before Alan could respond with his usual poised deflection, you interjected, your voice laced with a calm but unmistakable edge. “With all due respect,” you said, turning to the host, “I think that question completely misses the point. Alan brought an energy to Thomas that’s raw, magnetic, and honestly, breathtaking. I’m certain audiences are going to be captivated not because of a number on a scale but because of the undeniable charisma he brings to the screen. If anything, I’d bet most people will be going to see this film just to watch him.”

Alan looked over at you, surprise and a hint of gratitude in his eyes, though he quickly covered it with a slight smile, that subtle, self-deprecating charm of his. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly, dipping his head.

The host, momentarily taken aback, tried to recover with a chuckle. “Oh, absolutely, I didn’t mean to suggest anything else. It’s just that… well, Alan’s a bit of a legend, and people have a certain image…”

You didn’t let him finish. “Exactly,” you replied smoothly. “And that image is of someone who captivates, who can seduce with a look or a line. I don’t know about everyone else, but when Alan Rickman steps into a role, I don’t notice anything but his presence. And in this film, he exudes a dangerous, irresistible attraction. That’s what will have audiences glued to their seats.”

Alan’s smirk widened slightly, a glint of approval in his gaze as he relaxed beside you. He glanced at the host, his usual sly humor peeking through. “I think I’ll take that as my cue to leave all future interviews to [Your Name] here. She clearly has a much better perspective on the matter.”

The audience chuckled, and you exchanged a warm look with Alan. There was an unspoken connection between you both, a shared understanding that transcended the superficialities the host had attempted to reduce the discussion to. The conversation quickly shifted to the film’s plot and its themes, but you felt a renewed closeness with Alan. As the host wrapped up the interview, you gave Alan a discreet squeeze on the hand, a gesture of support and admiration.

Backstage, Alan turned to you, his usual smirk softened by a touch of genuine warmth. “Thank you,” he murmured, his baritone voice low. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You met his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. “Someone had to remind them what really matters. And honestly, I meant every word. When people see you as Thomas… let’s just say, they’re in for quite an experience.”

He chuckled, his hooked nose scrunching as he raised an eyebrow. “You think so, do you?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “And between you and me, I think I’m the lucky one, having been the one to experience it firsthand.”

Alan’s eyes sparkled with mischief, his smile lingering as he took in your words. “Well then,” he murmured, his tone laced with that rich, magnetic allure that left you breathless, “it’s good to know I still have it, isn’t it?”

[wonysugar]

need sugarmommy wonyyyy

i need her too anon, i need ha tew..

okay but genuinely talking,, sugarmommy wonyoung would be so elegant? the rich, cold, collected and intimidating classy ceo that everyone knows and admires? yeah, that’s her. her name, jang wonyoung, would ring in your ears everytime you heard it. you’d grin just from spelling it out in your own head.

but that’s just because you admired her for other reasons.

the way you met her was truly unexpected but so very welcome though, you created an account on some local sugarmommy finding app that liz showed you a girlie’s gotta get her bag somehow. it was fairly average from the start, couple of matches here and there, but nothing really clicked.

that is, until you matched with her, of course.

you already knew who she was beforehand, which kinda made you wonder if this was the real deal? her texting habits made it clear to you, however, this was really her. she was just so eloquent with her words, so.. assertive? you felt hypnotized by simple pixels on your cellphone’s screen, your eyes slightly widening as she called you fancy nicknames like darling and sweetheart during casual conversation. she was so persuasive, you just wanted her to take complete control of your life from the get-go.

and to nobody’s surprise, that feeling just grew stronger each time you went out with her.

she’d always walk into the restaurants, expensive handbags and rings in hand, all because “coming empty-handed to a date would simply be ill-mannered of her”. hell, wonyoung even asked you which country you wanted to visit so she knew where to fly her private jet to next. she spoiled you rotten, really, and she didn’t even ask anything of you for the first few dates, and remained patient and attentive with you. she simply wanted to make you happy.

up until around 5 dates later.

she finally offered to bring you back to her mansion, after confessing that she secretly bought some lingerie she thought would suit you, and that she’d just love to see you try it on for her. yknow, a silly excuse to get you to see how big her house was.

you later figured out that her house wasn’t the only thing that was big!

this woman surprisingly had the most kinky objects in her possession, handcuffs, flogs, ropes, you name it. christian grey style, if you will. wonyoung, so composed and charming when it came to important meetings, yet so animalistic and rough when it came to sex. of course, she started slowly, asking you if you were ready for what was about happen, letting you know of a safe word, etc.

once that was done, she immediately got to work. planting rough kisses all over your body, muttering about how you were her pretty little thing and how nobody else could have you. you were hers, and she made sure to let you know of that.

i mean, you understood that pretty quickly when she roughly pounded your cunt with her probably-expensive-as-shit strap on. you didn’t even know rich people had those, and she didn’t even care if it hurt you. she wanted to fuck you good, and that’s what was bound to happen. her fingers rubbed on your throbbing clit insanely well, you could tell she had an insane amount of experience from the way she leaned into your ear and whispered praises into it. she’d treat you with unlimited amounts of respect anywhere else, but definitely not when she’s in her giant bedroom, stretching you out<33

oh and also, can we please talk about how stern this woman would be? you’d be begging, pleading her to go slower and she’d say something like “i don’t remember telling you that you could speak, love.” LIKE OU?? yes ma’am i am silent

or even in your day to day life?? bringing you to some expensive ass store that sells dresses with price tags that look like they could pass as math equations, you’d try and convince her that it’s too much and that she could you always buy you something cheaper elsewhere and her just shutting you down immediately going “nono, pick one, y/n, i absolutely insist.” like FUCKCK??

[talaok]

Hi

Can you write one where the reader is drunk and pedro takes care of her?

Maybe like what happened in the fifty shades?and they are in a relationship together...

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

Warnings: you know the drill it aint smut but it alludes to it

"I'm not drunk"

He smiled, as once again, you lied straight to his face.

"Sure you aren't sweetheart"

" 'm not" you pouted, gripping him for dear life as he helped you stumble into the house

"You're right" he nodded, watching your every move closely to make sure you didn't get hurt "now here, let's get you to bed"

"I don't wanna go to bed"

"well too bad baby, 'cause you're going"

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to stare at him.

You had this look when drunk… like a veil on your eyes and a specific tilt of your mouth that made it so easy for him to figure you out every time.

And it was also one of the cutest and funniest things he’d ever seen.

“What exactly are we gonna do in bed?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle

“Not what you want I’m afraid”

“Why?” you moaned

“Because, sweetheart,” he spoke gently as he moved some hair out of your face “I don’t think you’re in the right conditions”

“I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout”

“No?”

“No idea”

You let one of your hands rake down his chest “I can be very persuasive y’know?”

“Oh I know” he nodded, a smile pulling at his lips

You were giving him your best Doe eyes with your smudged mascara and parted lips.

He would have agreed without a second thought if it wasn’t for the alcohol clearly still lingering in your organism.

“what do you say then, Mr. Pascal?” you tilted your head, caging your bottom lip between your teeth the way you knew drove him crazy.

This wasn’t his first rodeo, and there was one thing he had learned by now, there were two ways he could go about this:

1. He could keep arguing with you, trying to make you understand

2. He could lie and find a way to get you to bed, so that the second your head hit the pillow you would finally understand how right he had been this whole time and fall asleep in a second.

“C’mere” he decided, pulling you closer by your waist and meeting your lips with his.

You let out a giggle as you intertwined your arms behind his neck.

“What are you laughing at?” he smiled

“You” You gave his lips a quick peck

“Oh yeah?” he challenged, half laughing

“Yup” you kissed his cheek “Mr. I don’t think you’re in the right conditions”

“Well, what can I say, You are very persuasive…”

You chuckled again, and he took it as an opportunity to pick you up, your legs wrapping around each side of his waist.

You nuzzled your head between his shoulder and neck, his manly scent wrapping around you like a cloud, and by the time you looked up, he had carried you to the bedroom.

He sat you on the bed, and you watched with anticipation as he got to his knees.

Except he didn’t do what you were expecting, no, he was taking off your heels.

“Baby” you whined

“Lay down” he spoke softly

You did. You loved when he got bossy.

The bed creaked as he got on it too.

He bent down to kiss you again and you felt his hands move around the bed, but once again, he didn’t do what you were expecting… you felt the blanket fall on your body.

“W-what?” you frowned, opening your eyes ”baby what are you doing?”

Pedro stoked your pretty face with his thumb, watching your eyes cloud with confusion.

“Getting you to bed” he said simply

“But-” you started before an over-dramatic gasp fled your throat “you tricked me!”

A smile painted his lips “I did, babydoll”

“I can’t believe this”

“I’m sorry baby, I’ll make it up to you in the morning”

“You better” you threatened, your eyelids already feeling heavier.

“I will” he promised, leaning away and out of bed.

“Where are you going?” you whimpered “Aren’t you gonna at least come to bed?”

He smiled, watching you struggle to speak through the drowsiness

“One second,” he told you, making quick work of his pants and shirt.

You let out a small chuckle “sexy” you teased

“I know, right?” he grinned, getting back in bed.

You wasted no time climbing closer to him, wrapping your leg around his and placing your head on his chest.

He didn’t call you Koala for nothing.

“Thank you for picking me up” you slurred after a moment of silence

“No problem, sweetheart” he kissed your hair “You can call me anytime you want if you need me, you know that”

You tightened your hold on him to mimic a hug.

“I love you” you promised

“I love you too baby” he murmured “I love you too” he said,

And then you were gone.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Order as Antagonist in TDP

So how about that trailer, eh? I was so excited I didn't notice this text up top on TDP's tweet for like. An hour.

We haven't heard anything about this Cosmic Order before. Is it a specific group? Is it a vibe? Is it a Startouch thing? Hard to say, yet. But there are some vibes from the Starscraper shots we've gotten in the trailer and teaser that may point us in the right direction:

This place has eight pillars, each with a recess that holds a relic staff seemingly identical to the one Viren's been toting around. It's not unique, and Aaravos didn't craft it. He stole it.

This is the Prometheus part of Aaravos' character. This is the fire that he stole for humans, from the gods. The relic staff. A relic staff, one of many.

Why did he, a godlike elf himself, feel the need to commit this act, for which he was cast down, exiled, and stripped of much of his power? Why?

Hard to say yet, but knowing all that he is capable of, I think it comes down to one thing: stealing it was the only way to get it. Nothing else he could think of would work. And he's pretty imaginative. But the system, the Cosmic Order, had him, too. He's a magic elf, bound by the same forces as everyone else up there. Breaking the rules was his only remaining option.

Aaravos chose Chaos over Order and put his money where his mouth is. He did get exiled and cast out, but humans have magic now. Somehow, that's not a thing the Order can take back from them, once it's out - rather like Pandora's Box.

But I want to look at this Order, and how pervasive it must be. How else would a powerful elf like Aaravos be reduced to petty thievery to accomplish his ends? Surely he tried other ways, other options, other persuasions. Why didn't they get him anywhere? Why did he have to take such a - for lack of a better term - human approach to the problem?

Let's back up a second and look at a seemingly random list of likes for one specific elf: Runaan. (no of course it isn't random, this is why this theory post exists. but shh, it'll make sense I promise)

Runaan likes four things in this list. Two of them are his immediate family. One is his favorite food. And the last item on the list?

Order.

I used to think this was just a bit of a wink to him being autistic-coded and liking his patterns. And I still do think that's accurate. But my third eye got pried open by the Cosmic Order text, and I think it's more than that now.

Runaan is a tiny cog in the grand engine that is the Cosmic Order. He goes where he is told, he kills who he is told to kill, he obeys without question, no matter how heinous his acts would be - he would have killed Ezran without blinking, because that's what the Dragon Queen told him to do.

Runaan is the most Moonshadow Moonshadow, according to the Deluxe Elf Interview. He's the epitome of what it means to be a Moonshadow elf. His devotion, sacrifice, and adherence to the rules are what makes him a good Moonshadow elf.

How convenient for the Order.

Runaan is still an individual, inside his own rules. He chose to become an assassin, and he did it to spare others from having to take lives and live with the weight of those acts. But that does imply that if he hadn't chosen this path, someone else would have, and people would still be dying.

And I think he's right. Maybe his love of order actually lets him perceive the great gears grinding over his head, up in the stars, turning the wheels of fate for everyone they control. Maybe he knows full well that he's part of a grand system - but there's nothing he can do about it except stay alive or die, because he is trapped inside it. He cannot change his fate because he is locked into it, just like everyone around him.

The Book 1 novelization tells us Runaan always expected to die on a mission, and that he meets that fate with a calm resignation on the balcony. He surrenders to his fate, because he cannot fight it.

What could lock Runaan into a fate that ends with him dying on a mission?

His own choices? Think bigger.

His society, then. Obligation, honor, guilt. Hmm, bigger than that.

It's been there the whole time - something that all the elves and dragons possess, but humans don't. Something which caused the imbalance in the first place.

Magic.

Magic is the Cosmic Order.

yes it has eight points and yes I'm back on my bullshit

Quick aside: The Cosmic Order is turning out to be the big magic version of King Harrow's Narrative of Strength, which he contrasted with the Narrative of Love - and we'll get back to that at the end of the post.

Alrighty, back to magic: The worst offenders seem to be the primal magics, which have locked the elves and dragons into very tight little boxes as far as what they can and cannot do, think, and imagine. An elf with a single arcanum can only think in terms of that primal source. It's as bad as an irl human who only knows one language, and so their brain literally cannot conceive of concepts that exist in other languages. (Learn more languages, guys, it's genuinely good for your brain, I am not kidding)

This helps explain why Aaravos was able to think a little bit outside his box and consider giving magic to humans when the Order said they didn't deserve any. He is an archmage, and he speaks many magical languages. He knows all six primal magics, as well as the ancient blood magic and dark magic. That's eight different ways of looking at a problem.

(is this why elves only have 8 fingers, because they literally cannot grasp anything outside of magic?)

From his multifaceted viewpoint, Aaravos can see the inherent unfairness in humans being forced to abide by the Order without getting any magic for their trouble. It's basically taxation without representation.

The Americans among us can attest to how well that went over in our own history.

Aaravos: Prometheus, Lucifer... Che Guevara... Guy Fawkes?

Aaravos really does love revolution.

Further thought: this post about Ethari's design has reminded me again about his lower-than-average magical ability and how that has manifested in his unique design and in his character. And I'm looking directly at how Ethari's lesser magic power may be the reason he's so mentally flexible. If he can challenge Runaan directly about how Rayla is not ready for that mission when everyone else is going along with it, isn't that lack of narrow-mindedness the thing that sets him apart?

What else might that freedom of thought do for him? Is this the reason he is actually able to invent at all? Because he is capable of envisioning that which does not yet exist? How rare that must be among Moonshadow elves!

tldr: Ethari is actually bad at being a Moonshadow elf, and that could very well be what saves him.

Contrast Ethari with Karim, who is a powerful Sunfire mage, and very much locked into his traditional views of elf vs human. He's willing to go to war in order to impose his views on all of the Sunfire elves if he can, because he genuinely believes he can see the Order of things better than anyone else can.

He believes in the superiority of the elven ways, while Janai has let her heart change her mind. Janai fell in love with a human, and it broke the Order's hold on her. She makes history now - it does not make her.

Side note: Is this... is this the formula, then? Is this how enduring ships work in TDP? An elf with a normal arcanum, paired with either a human or an elf with a "flawed" connection to the Order inside them? One who can anchor, and one who can imagine?

Let me make a quick list:

Claudia+Terry

Ethari+Runaan

Callum+Rayla

Amaya+Janai

Well. How bout that.

Ironically, this is a different path to what was going to be my final point in the first place: Order may be the default for elves and dragons and the way they are supposed to follow the rules of the universe, but love still exists, and they can always choose to embrace it. They can all be saved by love, in the end. It's their choice. In fact, choosing Love over Order is an act of defiance in itself.

Terry chose Claudia over fear. Janai chose Amaya over war. Rayla chose Callum over vengeance. And Runaan, my poster boy for stubbornness and suffering, chose Ethari over Order itself.

Saved by love.

[eggymf-archived]

the art of persuasion;

ft. ominis gaunt x f!reader/mc (one-shot)

themes: revenge, cheating, 6th year, slytherin!reader/mc, dark!reader/mc, cheater!sebastian, implied dark!ominis, subinis (for now), one-sided pining, slytherins being slytherins

warnings: nsfw, pwp?, smut, toxic behavior, manipulation, no romance, blowjob, cowgirl, p in v

summary: you discover your boyfriend's illicit little escapades in the restricted section with another girl. you plan to destroy them both using a certain potion, and a willing volunteer. amongst the array of selections at your disposal for your plan, you had your eyes on one specific person – his own best friend.

word count: 4.3k

a/n: romance is dead and horny is alive. there’s a part 2 for this – don’t ask why. *sweats* (for some reason that sounded like a damn poem i–)

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3 

It has been more than a month since the truth behind your nagging doubts and restless nights finally revealed itself. Like any other woman with a keen intuition especially towards their grimy, unfaithful lovers, you were unfortunately right about your suspicions towards your boyfriend of almost a year, Sebastian Sallow.

To say that you did not have the slightest idea that he'd do such a thing was a complete lie — sure you weren't an academic wonder, but you certainly weren't that daft.

Alana Crowley — a fellow 6th year student from Slytherin. A friendly, seemingly unproblematic young lady at first, until she decided to latch her claws onto your boyfriend, that is. She had been awfully clingy around Sebastian for the past two months, and that foul git of a lover had no qualms with her blatant display of her not-so-subtle forms of affection. In fact, he seems to thrive in the attention, much to your dismay.

You've seen the looks he had given her. You've felt the all-familiar sparks between them during their seemingly harmless interactions and stares. As the woman whom he loved first, you were aware of Sebastian’s irresistible ways of communicating with his eyes: his longing stares, the way it twinkles when a mere glance was spared towards him, and how its warmth enraptured the entirety of your being the moment he gazes upon you with raw adoration. 

He was doing the same tactics he had used in capturing your poor little naïve heart during one summer getaway after your 5th year. He might as well just slap you on the face for using the same tricks on another woman — it all hurts the same either way. But the fact that he had been doing all these scandals right under your nose however? Absolutely unforgivable.

What you hadn't expected was how you ended up finding out: witnessing him doing the deed with his little side piece in the Restricted Section. It was the day when the both of you had planned a study session together for your NEWTS with Ominis Gaunt, his best friend. Sebastian was uncharacteristically late, thus you and Ominis went looking for him, and unfortunately ended up stumbling upon the scene.

“Wait! Hngh–! What will you do if your girlfriend finds out— haaaah! A-about this?”

“She won't. She doesn’t even suspect a thing. Everything’s under control, lo— oh fuck!”

Those were the exact words both you and Ominis had heard as they engaged in their explicitly raunchy little act while you pathetically watched behind the bookshelves. Betrayal was a brutal weight, and it had clasped itself around your ankle within that moment, submerging you within the icy depths of bitter realization. 

You thought he’d be faithful to you like he had promised. Hell, the both of you went through that absolute shitstorm during your 5th year together. Surely that accounts for at least some form of loyalty and honesty about each other's feelings and intentions, right? But alas, he had broken that simple unspoken rule, and your trust towards him was no more.

While you were right to trust him with your secret regarding your unusual magical prowess, you've made a fatal mistake of entrusting your heart to his bloodied hands. Yet despite the gravity of the situation, no tears, hysterics, or even any form of hints were shown of how utterly devastated you truly were.

There was no way in hell that you, (Y/F/N), the famed wielder of ancient magic, would crumble over a mere cheating bastard who couldn’t keep his own filthy little flobberworm in his pants.

Perhaps Sebastian didn’t know you that well after all, because if he did, he wouldn't have dared to incur your anger the second time around. It was fair to say that you’d let him have a taste of his own ignorance and foolishness, and you weren't afraid of forgoing the brakes and letting your unbridled rage hit him like a Graphorn on a wild rampage.

Thus, here you were, currently standing in front of the potions station within the Room of Requirement. You’ve been keeping a watchful eye over the bubbling concoction that you had been secretly brewing for nearly a month.

Three measures of boomslang skin… One measure of bicorn horn… High temperature for twenty seconds… 

Upon stirring the thick, mud-like mixture, you quickly set your stirring utensil aside, letting the potion brew within the cauldron. There were two remaining pieces left in completing the little set-up that you've constructed out of your own pettiness, which consisted of this particular potion and a willing volunteer. 

For the most part, the former was complete. But the latter? That was an entirely different problem on its own, but you had your ways.

An echoing creak resounded throughout the magical space as the doors of the Room of Requirement swung open, revealing your fellow 6th year Slytherin friend with slicked back blonde hair, holding up his wand which was blinking red at the tip. The opal-eyed male sauntered towards you carefully, avoiding any possible objects he might collide against.

“Glad you made it, Ominis,” you welcomed. You gently grabbed his arm as you guided him towards the nearby chaise lounge. He sat comfortably at the rather cushy seat, a smile present on his face.

“I came here as soon as I got your owl, and I apologize for the delay too. Sebastian's been quite slippery as of late,” he sighed. You plopped down beside the male while a floating tea set poured you both a cup of tea, to which Ominis accepted with utmost gratitude.

“Not surprised,” you nonchalantly drawled as you savored your Earl Grey tea. “He doesn't loiter around his usual spots as of late. I wonder why.”

The pure nonchalance of your sarcasm caused a chuckle to arise from him before partaking in his own beverage. Your eyes trained towards his unseeing ones that seemed to have this knowing glimmer. With the countless vexations that both you and Sebastian had brought upon him during your 5th year, it was now Ominis' second nature to detect your devious little plans from a mile away, ready to reel you in whenever you got too far.

Which brings you to the oh-so-burning question that was living rent-free within your mind: why is he, out of all people, helping you?

Setting his teacup aside to the nearby side table, he reached for the inner pocket of his coat, grabbing a vial containing several strands of dark brown hair. 

“Managed to nick it off him this morning before he woke up. Thankfully he slept like a log,” he hummed. You grinned at him, levitating the vial to the nearby cabinet beside the potions station. Ominis leaned back against the backrest of the lounge with his legs in a figure four lock.

“Also, I believe we have pressing matters to discuss, (Y/N)?” his posh-toned query cuts through the momentary silence. “Surely you didn't invite me all the way to the Room of Requirement just to deliver several strands of hair.”

“Perceptive as always,” you smiled mirthlessly, eyes and tone getting slightly darker as your teacup floated off to the nearby table. “You’re right. We need to talk.”

“...Go on.”

“I’ll be frank with you. I’m not quite sure as to why you’d even agree to this little request of mine in the first place,” you admitted. “So kindly enlighten me, Ominis. You're far from the type who would engage in petty little acts of vengeance. Why exactly are you helping me?”

Ominis bit his lip, silently cursing within his head as he racked through his mind for a valid excuse. While he couldn't blame you for your cautiousness given that Sebastian himself was his closest friend, this was a topic that he had desperately avoided out of fear of rejection and for the sake of preserving his friendship with his oldest friend. That’s right — he was in love with you, and has always been eversince you’ve deemed yourself worthy of his trust.  

You’ve always had him wrapped around your pretty little finger even before he became aware of the butterflies. He loved you enough to forgo his own wants and needs of having you; to keep you close yet far enough so that he'd never be able to claim you for himself out of the bare minimum respect towards you and his best friend. He settled for your presence, pining hopelessly for the real thing, and he wasn't about to let his demons run rampant and ruin everything no matter how strong his urges were.

Or so he thought.

“A mere extension of my own good will towards a dear friend. Nothing more,” he answered stiffly with a trace of longingness evident within his misty orbs. This minute detail, however, doesn't go unnoticed by your sharp, calculating eyes. 

“Whether Sebastian's my best friend or not, infidelity is deplorable. Whatever acts of vengeance you have in mind is both warranted and well-deserved,” he added firmly.

You hummed in response, seemingly satisfied yet not entirely convinced with the purity of his intentions. Your eyes gazed upon him coyly, your lips curling upwards.

“Perhaps. But that's not your only reason now, is it?”

Ominis froze as you chuckled knowingly, an underlying dark tone present within your seemingly innocent display of amusement. His exhalation was slow, feeling your presence come nearer towards him. Much to his surprise, you pushed his leg that rested atop the other, lodging your knees in between his lower limbs. Dainty hands rested themselves gingerly upon his shoulders, your lips dangerously close to his ear.

“Surely you have your own motives, Ominis. You know what I’m brewing, yet here you are, giving into my little whims…” you trailed off with a hint of smugness in your whisper. His heart hammered at the featherlight touch that trailed itself along his prominent jaw.

“Now, let me word my question differently this time. What exactly do you hope to get from all of this?”

The sudden calloused allure of your tone caused the blonde-haired lad's breath to hitch. He gulped, breathing slowly and deeply to calm the raging tempo within his chest. His lips remained pursed — this was obviously not a good time for a romantic confession, and silence was the best option if he wished to keep his pesky little feelings under wraps. 

The madness within him was less noble with its intentions, however. It was a perfect opportunity to whisk you away at your most vulnerable emotional state — to steal you from Sebastian after that unsavory stunt that he had pulled. He’d do anything to have you. Anything. But alas, the demon itself was constrained by the chains of his strong morals, never to see the light of day.

Unfortunately, you were a lot more quick-witted than he thought, capable of putting two and two together: the way he’d comply to all your requests, how he instantly comes to your rescue, his willingness to put up with this ridiculous plan, the rosy hue that was slowly creeping up his pale complexion — all of it finally made sense.

“You like me, don't you?” 

His silence was more than enough, and the frown that was once on your pretty face morphed into a satisfied smirk. You leaned back, letting your eyes feast on his flustered state. A devious improvised plan formulated itself within your head and a sultry giggle escaped your lips. 

His thin lips were soon parted by your thumb. The said digit invaded his cavern, to which he welcomed by lightly grazing his tongue against your skin. He yelped as you gripped his chin harshly with your thumb hooked within his mouth, forcing him to look up while you gazed down upon his face with cold (E/C) eyes.

“Well?” you teasingly whispered, the pad of your thumb smearing his own saliva onto his lips as you await his answer. “Do you?”

“... Yes… Yes, I do,” he rasps, his morals finally consumed by the wildfire of his own desires.

“Good.”

And just like that, he fell right into your trap.

You gently lowered yourself onto Ominis’ lap, straddling him while your lips claimed his into a searing kiss. The opal-eyed man softly whined, dragging his palms along your thinly-clothed thighs before resting his hands on your derriere. A delightful purr erupted from your throat before biting on his lip as he snuck his fingertips under the thin layer of your knickers, giving the soft flesh a firm squeeze.

Feeling your lungs burn for air, the both of you parted, gasping and heaving. Your (E/C) orbs were hazy, clouded with both carnal desire and smugness. The way your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend's best friend looked so helplessly eager to give his entirety to you gave you a dizzying rush of prideful feminine arrogance.  

You sat upright while his hands drifted to your waist with evident impatience. Your clothed slit was now aligned right onto the stiff tent on his trousers. A breathy, euphoric moan escaped his lips, throwing back his head slightly as he was reduced into a shuddering mess. God, you were so warm — to think that he was feeling it through layers of clothing was downright maddening. The throbbing ache within his trousers was growing unbearable, and he wanted nothing but to relieve himself from this sinful agony. 

He has waited for so long. He has fantasized about you during his lonely nights, spread out and his for the taking — without Sebastian in the equation. He'd love nothing more than for you to strip him bare and do as you please with his body. The mere notion was enough for his stiff erection to twitch within its confines, leaking droplets of liquid desire.

Your lips curled into a gleefully sinister smirk. It was akin to witnessing a valuable gift unwrap itself; a revelation of how atrociously needy Ominis Gaunt gets once the correct buttons were pushed. 

“I think it's only fair if I give you a little taste of what you want, no?” you chuckled. A quiver raked through his lithe frame upon feeling the thin skin of your lips tracing itself along his prominent jawline. 

“Ah…!” he gasps with unbridled delight at the delicious suction against the delicate skin of his neck. Merlin, he never expected you to be this bold. A giggle erupted from your cherry red lips, drinking in the scrumptious sight of his flustered state. 

Oh, you were going to have fun with him for sure. 

He felt his legs part as you slid in between them, metal faintly clinking as deft fingers began to unbuckle his belt. His heart pounded against his chest, taking a gulp to soothe his now parched throat. His shaky fingers wandered to his vest, unbuttoning the garment while you palmed his stiff appendage through his underwear, kissing the weeping tip through the cotton thin fabric. 

His pleasure-induced whimpers successfully stroked your ego, and you allowed yourself to indulge deeper within this abysmal erotomania. Your hands creeped up along your own legs as you stood up, brunching your skirt all the way up until you reached your own lacy undergarments. 

While stripping the flimsy article off your being, you relished in the sight of the opal-eyed male loosening his own necktie and shortly unbuttoning his white shirt. You bit your lip upon witnessing his bareness: his soft, alabaster skin teasingly peeking through the undone clothing. 

God, he's beautiful.

"Hmm. Keep those on," you sighed breathily before he could take the articles of clothing off his frame. Ominis smirked lightly at this, putting his hands up as he laid back on the backrest of the chaise lounge. You knelt before him once more, slipping both his trousers and undergarments off him at the same time. He hissed at the sudden cold air nipping against his heated skin while you purred in delight, nuzzling your face filthily against the thick, leaky appendage.

"Please, (Y/N)..." he whimpered as you traced the tip of your tongue lightly against a thick vein at the underside of his shaft, clear globs of precum leaking from the tip at your teasing ministrations. The slick muscle eventually wandered towards his blunt tip, and a hiss of unadulterated pleasure escaped his bitten red lips as his fingers ran through your (H/C) locks; all in hopes of grounding himself from this euphoric high.

"Yes... That's it...! Darling— Oh, fuck...!" he groaned through gritted teeth as his fleshy head was enveloped within the warmth of your mouth. The pleasant vibrations from your moan further stimulates his already sensitive, twitchy organ. The flat of your tongue moved at every suction, resulting in every possible form of salacious sound being torn from his mouth with little to no mercy. 

He writhed at all the sensations that engulfed his senses; his pale, veiny fingers intertwined with strands of your (H/C) hair while his other hand gripped the armrest of his seat. Fire scorched him from within his loins while his toes curled, his brain in a state of mush and primal frenzy.  

Your own slender fingers wandered towards your own weeping hole, running the pads of your fingertips along your own heated flesh. Your mind was beginning to blank out as you began to take in his increasingly heady scent, audibly gurgling as he pushed your head deeper to accommodate his entire length.

He gasped, heaving a lungful of air as the blunt tip mercilessly hit the back of your throat. All you could do was to acquiesce to his desires as he brutally bobbed your head up and down his stiff erection. Your scalped burned delightfully at his iron grip on your hair, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. 

“I’m close… So fucking close…!” he groaned. His pace quickened, bucking his hips up this time, your throat instinctively tightening up at the repetitive intrusion. The sound of gurgles and squelches turned increasingly audible as he bucked his hips up wildly with his mouth hung slightly ajar.

A salty taste soon engulfed your senses, spurts of his hot seed flooding your abused mouth. He let out a shuddering groan at the suction as he was milked dry by your mouth. You pulled your head away with a pop before swallowing his essence, licking the sides of your lips to clean up any remaining traces.

Before he could even come to his senses, he felt your lips on his once more, instantly snaking your tongue into his hot cavern. He whines, tasting himself whilst running his slick appendage against yours. His head was still spinning from his release, his sightless eyes in a daze as he inhaled through his nose, taking in your addictive scent as much as he could. As soon as your lips unlatched itself from his, he let out a soft, needy whine, to which you responded with a giggle.

“Lay down,” you instructed softly, and he complied, letting you hover over his willing body. 

Tracing your fingertips along the center of his frame, you pushed the layers of clothing aside, revealing the expanse of his smooth pale skin — he was truly a work of art, rivaling that of marble statues. He hissed as your leaking hole descended dangerously close to his shaft, which was pulsating with anticipation as it felt the warm droplets of your essence drip upon it. 

Without a warning, you pressed your soaked core directly against his member. As soon as you began rocking your hips, Ominis absolutely lost the remaining traces of his sanity, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped before gasping for air. Your warm slick coated his now throbbing member, and the intimately lewd sensation effectively fried the remainder of his rationality. A loud groan rumbled from his chest upon placing your hole against the tip, moving your hips in a circular motion. 

Fuck, he was so close to entering you.

He wants to be inside you. No, he needs to be inside you right now.

“Ah-ah-ah,” you teased disapprovingly as Ominis tried to slide his member within your aching core. You pressed down harder against his twitching shaft, earning a pleasured whimper from him in response. 

“I didn't say we could go all the way, love,” you grinned, a hint of malicious amusement present within your eyes. “But with how desperately needy you are right now, perhaps you should… Convince me.”

He groaned impatiently, the pads of his fingertips sinking onto your fleshy thighs. He shifted under your weight pathetically, his nether regions craving for the deliciously warm friction against your slicked lower lips — the addictive sensation that you had cruelly deprived him from all of a sudden. You remained still, letting out a mirthless chuckle.

Dainty fingers wrapped around his neck, followed by a slow, open-mouthed kiss at the side of his lips. Shifting yourself slightly, you reached for his stiff erection, guiding the tip to your drenched hole. The fleshy tip merely prodded your entrance, never going past the head, much to Ominis' sheer agony. 

“F-fuck… (Y/N), please!”

Oh, you loved the sound of that: the way he begs and grovels like an animal in heat just to engulf himself within your warmth — truly a boost to your already inflated ego.

“Please, what?” 

“Please let me have you… Fuck, I need you so badly right now...”

His eyes widened at the painfully slow, inching intrusion; his eyes glassy with wanton tears. There was a raging urge within him to just snap his hips up, but he dared not to cross you — he was taking no risk in ruining everything, not when he's so close to obtaining his filthiest desire of finally becoming one with you. With one hand, you removed your necktie, your eyes never leaving his vulnerable, quivering form.

“How badly do you need it, love?” you asked mockingly while he let out a shuddering gasp; your warm juices slowly trickled down his shaft, pooling at its base.

“So fucking bad… I'll do anything. Please…” he whimpered.

A smug, menacing grin broke out of your lips.

“... Anything?” you repeated.

“Anything. Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Good boy.”

The wind was knocked out of his lungs the moment you descended on him, your walls fluttering around his thick, twitchy appendage. You bit your lip as you began unbuttoning your shirt while gyrating your hips, much to his sinful delight. Blood was rushing to your head, trapping you within a dizzying frenzy of lust and desire, only to be fueled further when his hands gripped your bare waist, guiding you along his shaft.

You felt so full, and he was prodding and brushing at all the right places, making your eyes roll back at every slam of your hips upon his. Your juices were dripping everywhere, and the sounds of filthy squelches and wet slaps of skin filled the room along with the shaky, breathless little moans that escaped your sweet lips. Ominis panted, snapping his hips up occasionally in hopes of drawing out a more feral response from you, to which he was successful. 

You were a wreck — disheveled, legs quivering, covered in a sheen of sweat, inner thighs drenched solely with your own juices, and a drunken grin on your face while you rubbed your sensitive little pearl.

“Fuck— R-right there!” you cried out as he brushed against a spongy spot that made your thighs shake, your domineering façade slowly disintegrating. Every thrust from him had you choking on air with how rough he slams his hips, reducing you into nothing but a moaning mess.

This was genuinely one of the few instances where Ominis is upset about his lack of sight. All he ever wanted was to see you unravel before him — to look into his eyes pleadingly, writhe in pleasure as he brought waves upon waves of pleasure on your submissively sensitive body, and to present yourself to him in every debauched position possible before he fucks you into oblivion. 

Oh, the extent he would go to just to even catch a glimpse of you, especially when you're bare — he'd worship the ground you walked on, and treat you like you were the most prized person within the entire world with no questions asked.

He'd do anything for you. Anything.

“Fuck, I'm close…!” you mewled, feeling your walls slightly spasming around his cock, causing the male to hiss at the velvety grip of your core. Your thighs began to tremble, and you heaved as you began to move faster, chasing your high. 

“Cum for me, darling. Oh fuck, you're amazing,” he pants, his mind in a drunken haze.

He pulled you into his arms, thrusting his hips wildly while breathing in your heady scent as if it's the last time he'll ever inhale a lungful of air. An airy, shuddering moan tickled his ear, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. Your walls had finally convulsed around him, and you felt spurts of his warm cum flood your long awaiting pussy. 

A sharp exhale escaped his dried mouth as you shakily let your worn-out body lay on top of him. He was still inside you, but the growing soreness in your thighs was preventing you from moving. Your heart was still hammering in your chest while your limbs felt like jelly, the exhaustion evident within your body. Ominis hadn't moved a single muscle either, his mind wandering into places, deep in thought. 

As soon as you attempted to get off him, however, his arm snaked around your waist, holding you in place. You glanced at him with tired, confused eyes.

“...Stay,” he whispers, his embrace tightening around you as if you'll disappear from his grasp anytime. The underlying neediness within his tone caused you to give into his harmless request, sinking back into the warmth of his embrace.

“...Okay.”

You nuzzled in his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat with a sigh of comfort. A serene smile was present on your face as you relaxed, slowly getting lulled into a well-deserved nap in the comfort of his arms.

Willing volunteer? Check.

part 2: all’s fair in love and war >

[ssinnerplazahotel]

𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙚&𝙀

╭──────────.★..─╮

*Chapter Two*

╰─..★.──────────╯

WC: 6k

Warning: 18+, age gap, smut, fluff

Pairing: elvis x black reader

Masterlist: Prologue, Ch.1

Disclaimer: full of inaccuracies, inaccurate timeline, inaccurate depictions of Graceland, historically inaccurate themes and items

AFTER THE WHOLE PILLAR DEBACLE, you figured things wouldn’t go back to the way they were when it came to Elvis. And you were right to assume so.

You also knew that he was gifted in his ability to scope you out no matter what room of the house you were in. But his advances towards you became increasingly more frequent as time continued. It started small, a few glances here or there, a good morning when he came downstairs in the middle of the evening, a goodnight when he finally went to bed in the morning. But he never did anything to give the impression that something was going on between the two of you, no matter how minute the feelings he had for you were.

As the weeks passed you could tell that he was becoming more and more restless, annoyed with not being able to talk to you freely. You had to admit that you enjoyed your brief encounters throughout the day, and you might’ve also enjoyed his restlessness.

“Hey, babydoll.”

“Watch it.”

He snuck up on you in the kitchen one gloomy afternoon. He stood behind you as he reached over your head for a glass, his hand resting dangerously on your hip. You shooed him away—preoccupied with checking items off your to-do list for the day.

“Dawn’s around here somewhere,” You said.

“She always is.” He walked over to the sink and ran some water into his glass. He would soon abandon it on the counter, merely using it as an excuse to be in the kitchen. “I’ve gotta get to a show t’night. You should come. See me in action and everything.”

“You know I can’t.” Even if you could, you didn’t see yourself ever going.

He hummed in thought but didn’t look too disappointed. “If you come by my room after I won’t be so sad to not see you there.”

“What?” He had a persuasive look in his eyes—it didn’t outshine the hope that lingered there as well. “Why?”

“Because I want you to, that’s why.” He smirked. “I wanna talk. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” You couldn’t help but laugh in amusement at the confession. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because his feelings seemed unwarranted. “We talk every day.”

It was true. You spoke on daily basis—so much so that the days that went by when you didn’t see each other felt strange. You didn’t realize it then, but looking back now, the days were longer. Quieter, perhaps, because you weren’t anticipating him like you did when you knew he was home.

“I wanna talk to you for real.” He peaked out of the propped open door before moving closer. “Without any distractions,” He continued in a low voice. “Just wanna focus on my girl.”

“Your girl?” You quirked an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since you almost fainted when I told you how bad I want you.” He toyed with the scarf hanging from your apron. “Unless you forgot about that already.”

Before you could even begin to recall the embarrassing experience, he plucked the scarf from your waist and held it out of your reach. “Hey!”

“Hey. You come see me tonight and I’ll make sure you get your pretty little scarf back, okay, honey?”

“Elvis~”

“If you don’t,” He hummed tauntingly as he walked away with the scarf. “You might never see it again.”

“Elvis~”

“I’ll see you t’night.”

You groaned lowly in defeat as he disappeared without another word. You didn’t see him again until that night when he and his entourage were heading out for the show. The pouring rain didn’t seem to put a damper on their mood. You were good about keeping your eyes to yourself whenever Elvis was around, but you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger momentarily when you saw your scarf tied around his neck. You looked around for any sign of Dawn, and your stomach dropped when you saw her coming down the stairs.

“Good luck, Mr. Presley,” She said in passing as she headed in your direction.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Elvis responded. He met your wide eyes and where he saw panic in your own, he seemed amused.

You turned around to dart into the next room but your aunt stopped you, handing you a basket of linens that needed to be washed.

“I’ll get them done now.”

“Did you lose your scarf?” She asked before you could rush off.

You looked down at where it usually would be. “I guess I did.”

Dawn hummed before continuing into the living room. You hurried off to the laundry room. You made a mental note to give Elvis a piece of your mind when he returned later that night.

Despite the panic coursing through you, you couldn’t help the tiny butterflies that erupted in the pit of your stomach. It seemed like you were in a constant battle with yourself when it came to him. Although you’d given up on trying to stay away, you weren’t able to let yourself go. Your hesitation seemed futile, even to yourself. There was no such thing as testing the waters when it came to Elvis Presley. Even if you tried to dip your toes in little by little—you’d eventually fall right in.

*

You could feel the house come to life when everyone got back that night. If the noise wasn’t enough of a tell, the energy everyone returned with was somewhat contagious. You felt your nerves ignite when you remembered that Elvis expected you to come to his room. It wasn’t that the thought had ever escaped you, you had just suppressed it all night in an attempt to not drive yourself insane. As you were trying to talk yourself into keeping your word there was a knock on your door. Your eyes widened. It had to be him.

“W-Who is it?” You smoothed the front of your mahogany skirt—subconsciously adjusting your hair while going to get the door. A voice that wasn’t Elvis’ responed, causing your steps to falter before you hesitantly pulled the door open. “Oh, Mr. West.”

You put on a polite smile. Sonny West. Dawn told you he was Elvis’ bodyguard. You always avoided talking to him, you didn’t know why. Subconsciously, you may have feared him.

“Can I help you?”

“Elvis can’t seem to find that marigold drinking glass of his.” He sized you up as he spoke. “Said you might know where it is.”

You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “Well, I’m sure it’s in the cupboard if it’s not in his room.”

“If you find it, run it by his room,” Sonny said. “He gets all nit-picky about certain things when he wants to.”

“I’ll go look for it now.”

“I’ll let him know.”

You waited for him to walk away before leaving yourself. Your heart hammered against your rib cage as you went to find the drinking glass. Out of all the glasses in all the rooms of the house, you couldn’t figure out why he wanted that one in particular. It wasn’t until you found the glass and got to his room that you realized it was just a ploy to get you there. You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation before knocking lightly on the door.

When the door opened you expected to see the usual wide-eyed, bushy tailed Elvis you’d grown so accustomed to. Instead you were greeted with a weary smile and tired eyes. He’d changed out of the get up he left in. Although he looked exhausted he still dressed presentably in a pair of black slacks and a midnight blue dress shirt.

“I see you got my message.” He leaned against the door. “You didn’t think I’d let you stand me up, did you, birdie?”

“I was actually on my way.” You walked past him. You looked around for a moment and took in the layout of the room. It was your first time seeing it for all it was and you instantly felt transported to another place entirely. “I don’t appreciate you sending Sonny to interrogate me like I stole something.”

“I told him to get you to bring me the glass, I didn’t know he was gonna be hard-ass about it.” He shut the door and took the glass from your hands. “I actually hate this thing. It always looks like it’s stained, dirty or somethin.”

“You look exhausted.” You pointed out. “Rough night?”

“Just coming down. You shoulda seen me a little while ago, I was like a live wire.” He made a crazy face that made you laugh and set the glass on the table by the door, adding to the endless clutter. He wrapped his arms around your waist—leaving your hands to rest on his chest. The physicality made the hairs on your neck and arms stand at attention as you anticipated what he would do next. You never could tell with him. A part of you started to fear what he might have been expecting from you. “Can I get you somethin?”

“My mother’s scarf, actually.” You tried to hide your nerves by toying with the top button of his shirt.

“So it’s your mama’s pretty scarf?” He hummed in enlightenment. “I see.”

“Yeah, and if I don’t get it back she’s gonna have a real problem with you. You didn’t lose it, did you?”

“Course not, baby. Come sit right here for a minute.” He pulled away from the embrace and took your hand—leading you to the bed and sitting you down. “Don’t move, stay right there for me. And close your eyes.”

“Elvis~” You started, cutting your eye apprehensively.

“Do it,” He insisted as he walked into his large closet. “I’ll tell you when you can look.”.

You did what he asked, keeping an ear out for when he came back. You sensed him stopping in front of you before you felt the bed dip beside you. A necklace was placed around your neck, the cool chain rested weightlessly against your collarbone as he secured the clasp with clumsy fingers.

“Okay, you gotta see it in the light.” You opened your eyes as he pulled you up from the bed and into the bathroom.

His words didn’t fully make sense until he pushed you in front of him to stand in the mirror. Your eyebrows furrowed momentarily in confusion before your features softened.

“Elvis…” You met his eyes through your reflection.

“I saw it the other day and it reminded me of you.” He stood behind you and put his arms around your waist. “D’you like it?”

It was a thin, gold-chained necklace with a golden lark charm attached. The diamond eye of the bird dazzled under the light.

“It’s beautiful, it really is.” You smiled. “But I can’t let you give me this.”

“Why?” Disappointment graced his soft features when he looked down at you.

“Dawn would think I stole this if she ever saw me with it.” You laughed—shifting in his arms to meet his eyes. “It’s thoughtful of you, really~”

“Honey, if that’s what’s stopping you, don’t let her catch you with it,” He said. “Wear it for me. She’ll never know.”

“I think she knows a little more than we think. Especially after that stunt you pulled earlier,” You said. “You should really be more careful.”

Elvis agreed, but he sounded distracted. “I wouldn’t want her gettin ahold of ya.”

“You’ve said that before.” The smile on your face faded as you tried to make something of his inscrutable expression. “What is it?”

“You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve seen.”

“You must be delirious.”

He laughed shortly—his tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “Nah, baby, I ain’t delirious.”

The space between his lips and yours steadily decreased as he stared into your eyes.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Elvis~”

You weren’t sure what your tone was meant to convey. Your brain short circuited. You didn’t want him to stop. You’ve never wanted anything more than you wanted him to kiss you, but you pulled away.

“E-Elvis.” Your lips were mere centimeters apart.

“What’s wrong?” He looked concerned when he turned you in his arms to face him completely. “Am I overwhelming you?”

“No, It’s not that, I just…” You trailed off, mostly out of embarrassment, as you forced yourself to finish your sentence. “I-I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?”

“This, I’ve never done this.”

He processed your words slowly. A hint of confusion still remained when he spoke again.

“You ain’t never kissed anyone?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve never been with anyone, ever.”

He fell silent—looking off to the side with that same confused expression.

“Well I’ll be goddamned…no wonder you almost hit the ground the other night.”

“Elvis!”

You whined as he threw his head back in laughter. You couldn’t find anything funny, only cripplingly embarrassing.

“It ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about,” He said through his laughter. “I mean, I’m sure there are plenty girls your age that haven’t.”

“If there are I don’t know any of them.” You crossed your arms and leaned back against the counter.

“You saving yourself or something?” He leaned forward against the counter with a hand on either side of you. Caging you in with an amused gleam in his eye.

“It’s not that.” It was true. You just hadn’t found the right person, you told him.

“Why do you think that is?” His tone sounded genuinely interested.

“I expect too much.”

“You deserve to.”

“That’s sweet.”

“You think I’m sweet?”

“Yes.”

“…Sweet enough for you?”

You smiled softly and he slipped his arms around your waist again. He held you close to him and returned your gentle smile, his hands trailing over your hips and taking your hands in his before stepping back. He lead you out of the bathroom without a word, taking you back into the room and onto his exceptionally large bed. If you ever thought you had butterflies before that moment you were mistaken. You watched him with anxious eyes as he joined you on the bed. His fingers graced over the goosebumps rising on your arms. You craved his touch as much as you anticipated his every move.

Your breath hitched audibly when he moved to close the space between you and the smile on his lips momentarily deepened into a smirk. Your eyes fluttered shut and you held your breath as his lips moved to press gently against yours. His hands caressed your face and you melted into his touch. You parted your lips and let him invade your senses with a silent gasp.

You found yourself clinging to the front of his shirt in a moment of desperation before he broke the kiss. You were surprised to find his pupils blown—his jaw clenching as his eyes darted over your features. For a moment you thought you did something wrong, but you recognized the expression on his face despite your lack of experience.

He craved you just as you craved him.

There was a flicker of consideration behind his hungry eyes before he released a tense breath. He grazed his thumbs gently over the apples of your cheeks and placed a gentle kiss on the corner of your mouth. He lingered before pulling away completely. You watched him move down to the head of the bed and lie down on the pillows, gesturing for you to join him—which you did without question. He laid his head on one arm and the other draped over you.

He laughed at your expectant expression. “That’s all for now, honey.”

“Why?” You asked, earning another short laugh from him. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I don’t wanna hurt you, baby. I wanna be good to you and I can’t right now.”

You were suddenly aware of his tired eyes again and you nodded in understanding.

“Tell me about your day.”

You insisted he sleep. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“I want to talk.”

“Another time,” You teased, moving to sit up.

“You can stay until I fall asleep,” He said, keeping you there. “Don’t leave yet.”

You thought about it for a moment. You knew deep down that you should’ve left then, but how could you when he begged with his eyes like that? That subtle insistence that urged you to please stay? You settled back down. “Only until you fall asleep.”

He smiled in victory and pulled you closer—pressing another kiss to your lips before laying his head down and closing his eyes.

“Am I sweet enough for you, birdie?”

“Too sweet.”

His features softened and his breathing eventually evened out. You stayed for a while longer, watching him sleep as he held you. You never wanted the night to end, but you forced yourself to leave him there alone. You crept back across the hall to your room without anyone seeing you and climbed into your own bed. Exhausted by the events of the night—you fell asleep quickly.

*

You never hated your birthdays. You usually looked forward to spending time with your mother and what few friends you had in high school. However, high school was over now and your mother wasn’t there to make you breakfast or to tell you the story of your birth—which she had made a habit out of doing every year. Dawn had tried to feel you out for a gift but you insisted she not get you anything. You wanted to go about the day like normal.

It was just another day.

You were exhausted after preparing for Elvis’ Thanksgiving dinner party. Dawn sure you knew that working Thanksgiving night wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was a long week of preparation followed by a long day of making sure there was enough food to feed a small army. The excitement of all the preparation was starting to wear off and you found yourself slightly dreading the party tomorrow.

Your dread dissipated ever so slightly when Elvis knocked on your door that night. You hadn’t noticed the way your mood elevated when you saw him, but it was undeniable. Despite the way your heart raced as the butterflies soared in your stomach, you were still miserably tired.

“I know, baby, but I wanna show you something,” He insisted upon hearing your complaints. He walked into your room holding a bag.

“What’s that?” You wondered.

He turned to you with a smug smile before holding the ivory paper bag out to you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“How did you…”

He pressed his lips together, smothering a laugh. “I heard Dawn talkin about how it was your birthday a couple days ago and you wasn’t wantin nothing so~”

“You got me something?”

He took your hand and made you grab the bag. “I had to.”

“Elvis.”

“Take it, for me. So I’ll at least feel better knowin I got you something.”

You didn’t have it in you to deny him—he was so excited. “What is it?”

“Open it and find out.” He stood back and watched your reaction.

You reached into the bag and pulled out the white rectangular box inside, it looked like it came from a department store. You let the ivory bag fall to your feet as you balanced the box on your arm and opened it. Your eyes widened as you lifted the pure white nightie slightly from the box. It was lined with gold embroidery that twisted and turned into small flowers along the hem.

“You shouldn’t have done this.”

“You’re just terrible at receiving gifts, y’know,” He said with a proud smile taking over his features. “I-I was gonna get you a pretty little dress, but I knew you’d never wear it. Cause of Dawn and everything. So I got you this.”

“It’s beautiful, it is,” You said—still admiring the nightwear. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, doll.” He took the box out of your arms and set it on the bed. “Try it on for me, make sure it fits.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“C’mon,” He drawled, pulling your body against his. “Let me put it on you.”

You let out a nervous laugh. Your slick response died on your tongue when he reached for the hem of the old nightgown you were already wearing. His fingers brushed your thighs, waiting.

“Okay.”

He smiled, happy with your response, and he ducked his head to leave a sweet kiss on your lips. “Good girl,” He murmured against your mouth before pulling the gown up over your head. Goosebumps rose on your skin as you stood before him, bare aside from the plain white panties you wore under your gown. You felt the urge to cover yourself, you had never been exposed to anyone like this. But something about the way his eyes shamelessly roamed your body made you forget your discomfort. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he grabbed the white nightie from the box. He slipped it carefully over your head—-helping you slip your arms through before letting it fall gracefully over your body. The silk felt like a cloud on your skin, reaching just before the middle of your thighs. It was a complete contrast to the polyester nightgown you were wearing before. He looked pleased as he helped you slip into the robe, adjusting it on your shoulders.

“Alright, now do a little spin.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as he held your hand up over your head and spun you around.

You put your arms around his neck when you faced him again. Before you could speak he was kissing you, deeper that time. You parted your lips willingly, still unsure but eager to match his pace. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you felt so utterly inexperienced in his arms. He broke the kiss eventually, trailing a kiss or two down your jaw before pulling away completely.

“I wanna show you something else.”

“If it’s another gift—”

“It’s not exactly, but it kinda goes with this one, I guess.” He sounded amused.

“What is it?”

“I have a promise to keep, don’t I, honey?”

He only smiled as he bent down to kiss you—pushing the silk robe off your shoulders as his tongue roamed your mouth. You felt dizzy.

The further you inched towards the bed, the more eager you became. Your body lit up with want. He continued to trail kisses down your neck until he kissed the top of your breasts, exposed by the low-cut neck of the nightie.

He was gentle in the way he handled you. You thought he was maybe going easy on you– because he thought you were fragile. Perhaps he could sense how insanely hyper aware you were of everything that was happening. He continued on like this for a while, his gentle fingers roaming your skin and smoothing the silk fabric over your curves. After he’d had his fill of kissing you, he stripped you of your new nightie just as meticulously as he had dressed you in it—slipping the thin straps slowly from your shoulders until it fell into a graceful heap on the ground.

You felt a foreign feeling wash over you as he pushed you further onto the bed, laying you back as he hovered over you. You could feel the heat radiating from both your bodies as you pulled him closer.

“You sure about this, pretty?” He asked, lifting his head to meet your eyes.

“Yes.” You weren’t sure you’d ever been more sure.

He smiled, leaning up to leave a chaste kiss on your lips before continuing to kiss down your body.

Your breathing started to pick up as you lifted yourself onto your elbows, watching as he kissed the exposed part of your hip, just above the top of your panties, and hooked his fingers under the thin material before slipping them slowly down your legs. Your breath hitched in your throat when he continued to trail kisses down the inside of your thigh. He hummed in amusement when you shied away.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” His were voice the only thing getting through to your brain, you couldn’t decipher his words, however. He chuckled when you didn’t answer, kneeling between your legs to hover over you again. “Talk to me, birdie,” He said, meeting your unfocused eyes. “Have you?”

“No.” The only thing you could focus on was the way his right hand rested against your lower stomach, still and idle. “I-I’ve tried but I never…”

“I’ll show you how.”

“Okay.”

Your body reacted to him in ways that you had never experienced. You crooned at his every touch and your breath heaved at every crude word that left his lips. Words that, prior to that night, you had only heard passed around by people at school. Yet, somehow, there you were, hearing them being utter by the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t disobey the urge you had to let him consume you. Your body was making its own decisions—leaving your brain to process what was happening after it was already done.

He didn’t make love to you like you thought he would. Instead, he slipped a calloused hand between your tender thighs and played your body like a song—letting each whimper that left your love bitten lips become its melody.

His melody.

He whispered in your ear all the things you wanted and needed to hear and you held onto him—bracing yourself. His words were enough to send you careening over that steep edge. Your eyes rolled and the feeling completely consumed you from the inside out. He didn’t pull away until a short sob left your lips, shushing you gently as he wrapped his arm around you. You were barely able to register him leaving your soulless body, but you missed the heat of his the second he was gone.

You forced your eyes open. You felt small in your bed. Your body trembled—still recovering from the intense fire that had been set inside of you. You almost felt alone as you laid there with the air turning cold around you.

“Elvis?”

“Hold tight, baby.”

His voice was muffled by the wall and the sound of the faucet running. It felt like forever before he joined you again.

“I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

You flinched when he pressed the warm cloth against you, delicately wiping away your release before standing and disappearing into the bathroom again. When he returned he covered you with the throw blanket that stayed on the end of your bed before laying beside you and pulling you into his arms.

“I think I love you.”

“Don’t say that, birdie…you’ll regret it.”

You wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that love was the only word you could use to describe the things you felt for him. But you decided not to argue. Instead you allowed yourself to get lost in the scent of his musky cologne and the warmth of his embrace.

Nothing could’ve ruined that evening for you.

*

{It was thanksgiving day.}

You hadn’t expected to go downstairs and find your aunt talking on the kitchen phone with a grim expression on her face. She spoke quietly to whoever was on the other line. You hadn’t expected her to hang up and tell you that your mother wasn’t doing well. That she was taken to the hospital and they’d already done everything they could for her. It was the last thing you were expecting.

You’d spoken to your mother on the phone less than a week ago on your birthday and she reassured you that everything was fine, that she was actually feeling a lot better than she had been for months.

“Your brother thinks she’ll pull through,” Dawn said, holding your hands in hers as she broke the news. “But the doctors say we should start making preparations~”

“Oh god.” You pulled your hands away and leaned forward against the counter. You legs felt weak beneath you. “She told me she was fine, w-why would she~”

“I know.” Dawn’s voice was unsteady as she rubbed your back. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

“They say guests should arrive around one,” Cynthia, a fellow housekeeper that was close friends with Dawn, said walking into the kitchen. “Do you think we’ll have everything done before then?”

“A couple hours after if not,” Dawn managed to say, putting on a brave face. “Get the table linens from the dryer, hon.”

You nodded, thankful for the escape.

Your body was on autopilot as you followed her orders, your mind jumping from one thing to another so quickly you weren’t sure what you were thinking. You didn’t know how you were going to be able to afford a funeral, you didn’t know how you were even going to manage to put one together. You never thought the day would come when you would have to think about such things and it made your stomach churn, unsettled. You tried to hold on to the same hope your brother had that she would pull through, a part of you knew it was futile.

You felt guilty for hoping. Hoping that she would live to continue on with her life of pain and suffering, it was selfish.

Pain and suffering that you’d witnessed first hand, nonetheless, pain and suffering that you so desperately wanted her to be free of.

People started showing up a little after one, just as Cynthia had said. The house was all made up and filled with friends and family members, most of whom you’d never seen before. You tried your best to put on a polite expression despite how much you wanted to curl up and cry. You willed for the night to be over, desperately wanting to call your brother and at least let your mother hear your voice.

A few hours into the nights, as you cleared a tray of dirty dishes into the sink to be washed, your mind ran rampant with thoughts of getting to the train station to buy a ticket home. You wondered if you could make it there before the end of the day tomorrow, or maybe sometime later into the night. It didn’t matter, as long as you got there.

“Birdie~” You startled out of your thoughts, the glass in your hands slipping through your fingers and shattering onto the ground. Your eyes widened in horror as you knelt down to gather the larger pieces of broken glass. You grabbed it with your bare hands, which might not have been the best idea.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” You cried. “I’m so sorry~”

“Hey, woah.” Elvis knelt down and stopped you, making you drop the few pieces of glass in your hands. “Don’t do that, honey, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“I’m s-sorry,” You said again, tears springing into your eyes as you stood to grab the broom. “I’ll get it up, i-it slipped—”

“Slow down,” He said, standing with you. He stopped you with his hands on your waist and tried to meet your teary eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Dawn’s voice called out to you before you saw her entering the kitchen. “What happened?”

You shook your head, abandoning the broken glass on the ground as all your emotions suddenly came to a head. You rushed out of the kitchen, trying to make it up the stairs and out of sight before you let the tears in your eyes fall.

“I’ll make sure she’s alright, Ms. Dawn,” Elvis said before she could rush after you. “D’you mind gettin this up, I don’t want the kids or anybody hurtin themselves.”

He didn’t catch much besides a confused expression from Dawn before he left the kitchen, skipping up the stairs to your room where he found you sitting on your bed with your head in your hands. “Birdie,” He said, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms. “W-What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry a-about the glass~”

“I don’t care about the glass, it doesn’t matter.” He brought his hands up to cup your face, thumbing away your tears uselessly. “What happened?”

“M-My mother,” You tried to explain through your tears. “She’s…she’s not doing well.”

“Oh…” He trailed off, at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” You sobbed. “If I lose her…”

He didn’t say much in response, only a constant string of apologies fell from his lips as he tried his best to console you. “Breathe, baby,” he hummed as he rocked you in his arms. “You gotta try to breathe.”

Your bedroom door opened then and Dawn came in, quickly moving to take Elvis’ place. “I’m sorry, Mr. Presley, I’ll take it from here,” She said. “You should get back to your party.”

“It’s no problem.” He stood from the bed, lingering there for a moment. “She should take the rest of the night off. Both of you should, really.”

Dawn nodded. “Thank you.”

He stood there for another moment, wanting to say something more but deciding against it. He wished you both a good night and left the room.

You moved away from Dawn, very obviously not okay even though you insisted that you were. “Leave me alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please.”

She sighed and stood to leave, patting your shoulder once before walking out of the door. “I’ll come check on you again before the end of the night,” She said as she closed the door.

“Is she alright?” Elvis asked, startling Dawn as she suddenly became aware of his presence in the hall.

“Elvis, honey,” She said with a hand over her heart. “I thought you went back downstairs.”

“I wanted to make sure everything was alright,” He said, not doing a very good job at hiding his concerned eyes. “I’ve never seen her so upset.”

“Her mother, my sister, she’s very sick,” Dawn explained. “She has been for a while now. It was just a matter of time, so...” Her eyes were glossed over with tears.

Elvis nodded, staring off with an unreadable expression. “I’m sorry…”

“You should get back downstairs.”

“No, I’m gonna…if they ask where I am tell ‘em I turned in,” He said, walking past Dawn in the direction of his bedroom. “I’m goin to bed.”

“But the party~”

“I don’t feel like havin a party anymore.” He walked away, his mood shifting suddenly. “Tell Sonny to take care of it. Please.”

Dawn stood there in shock as he retreated to his room and shut the door, leaving it up to her to relay the message.

As you laid in bed that night you heard your door creak open and shut softly before you felt the side of your bed dip down under Elvis’ weight.

“Birdie?” He whispered as he put his arm around you. You turned around in his arms, burying your face in his chest as he held you. “You okay?”

“I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Your mother died that night—over a thousand miles away with only your brother there to hold her hand as she took her final breaths.

You didn’t want to believe it. You so badly wanted to believe anything else. Even as you packed your bag for the trip home you didn’t want to believe it. The entire way there, and through the entire funeral service, you wanted so desperately not to believe it. You wanted to cry as they lowered your mother’s casket into the ground, you wanted to fall to your knees and beg god to take you with her, but all you could do was stand there and watch. Frozen and unmoving.

When the service came to an end and all was said and done you still didn’t move an inch. Staring at the uneven soil of the fresh plot that your mother was buried in.

Buried…gone.

You felt multiple hands lead your frozen body to the car before you were placed inside, your eyes looking at the green tent still pitched outside until they strained to see.

As numb as you were, you still felt the hole in your chest where your heart should’ve been. It was empty, hollow. Void. You were feeling everything yet nothing all at once and you didn’t know whether to lean into it or run away. Nothing felt right, nothing felt settled like it was supposed to be. You felt on edge, waiting for the moment that you would snap out of it and wake up.

You waited for the moment that you would open your eyes back in your childhood home with your mother downstairs cooking you a hot meal before school. A moment that, not even a year ago, had been your reality.

You closed your eyes as the dust from the dirt road surrounding the cemetery picked up around the car, praying that when you opened them you’d be back in that place with your mother and all her warmth.

As you drifted off into unconsciousness, you knew you’d never feel that warmth again.

***

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Subbing (ha!) via ask so I can be anon

I would give my firstborn for you to write just about any M/F especially if it was another CE/Reader like "You Heard the Rumour about these Legs."

Honestly I will read and adore anything you write but that is one of my absolute all time fics and I'd go absolutely feral for more like it

"You Heard The Rumors 'Bout These Legs, Well I'm The One Who Spread 'Em"

Lmao, good to know 👀 Though I promise I don't need your firstborn 💀💀 and thank you, I'm so glad you enjoy my writing! 😘

So, of course, taking inspiration from your ask and the man, the myth, the legend himself--

Chris Evans × female!reader with tonguing, fingering, fucking, and jerking off. All that fun shit 😏

Chris is many things to many people. To you, though, Chris has always been a gentleman in and out of the proverbial bedroom (or the very literal bedroom, kitchen, living room, or car, or... y'know it doesn't matter where, just that you're alone and willing. And how could you not be willing when he looks and acts like that, anything he wants with you, he can have. You shiver just thinking about it). Chris always starts as a gentleman, at least.

As foreplay melts into something hotter and thicker, totally irrestable as the lust between you burned and crackled, Chris is still polite and kind and even serving toward you, yet...

Once he's spent some good time lavishing attention on you, pulling an orgasm or a few from you as if you're a marionette on strings that he's mastered and he can make fold and sing however he pleases, some of that polite nature melts away. It's not that he's rude. It's simply primal--and it's so goddamn sexy. You can hardly take it, your thighs pressing together, flexing, trying to make sense of the sticky, hot wash of arousal that always comes crashing over you. Because, damn, as much as you ache when he takes care to make sure your filled with lust and sparks, walking you closer and closer and closer to the edge with each touch, making you cum and then making you cum again, it's worse, better, when his patience is worn down, thinned, and he gets swept up in the pulsing, persuasive current of his arousal. The sensation buzzes underneath his skin like a live wire that demands his attention. He loses himself to it. So, suddenly, there's no room to think about giving you, and you alone, more and more. He has to take something for himself.

You want him to take it all.

Take you.

Have you.

Fuck you.

You've had enough. You don't need more when he gets like that; you could subsist off of the second-hand pleasure from him.

Christ.

It makes you feel sinful and powerful, the way he takes his pleasure from you. How he reacts to you. How he can't have enough of you. You're just too damn much for him to stand in the most erotic way.

Yeah, yeah, he can have you.

This time, when he reaches that point--his flesh and muscle melted down, leaving no strength, no defense to resist the bone-deep need he feels--he's already done so much. Given you so much.

Jesus Christ.

He's already gone down on you, his mouth putting in work between your legs, shameless and unrestrained with his tongue and lips and just that daring, dangerous hint of teeth with the sharp, heated edges of his beard.

You came with his beard scratching against your sensitive skin, hot, wet, hot, wet, so hot and wet, sofuckingwet, making you feel so wet. Shivering with the friction of his bearded jaw as it fucking started a fire but the fire is molten liquid that feels as if it's almost gushing from inside you. Flames consuming your body from the inside out. Fuck, Chris knows just how to stoke the flames, too. He strokes and rubs and presses with his tongue and lips and bearded jaw, even his nose, bumping your clit at the fucking perfect moment, keeping you purring. Roaring. If he's not fucking careful you'll burn the house down.

Ah!

He's already fingered you, too, working you to the brink and making you crash over it with his thick fingers curling inside you.

His fingers urge c'mere, c'mere, c'mere from within you, beckoning against that spot that makes your eyes roll back, a gasping moan overflowing from your lips, humid and all rasping breath. You'll go anywhere he tells you to, and you won't think twice, your back arching into a curve so deep you know you'll feel it in your muscles later. You don't care. You just want him to do it again.

A-again, oh, God, please, again, Chris!

And he's already fucked you, too. His rhythm filthy and fluid, unstopping, just building gloriously, with his thrusts carving deep enough to make you pant, at just the right angle to leave your nails digging into his shoulders, and then, God, then, sliding his hand sensually, heavily down your stomach to press the heel of his palm against your clit as he works, leaving you unable to shut your mouth, nearly drooling. Every time he thrusts inside you, your body arches and shudders as if possessed by animal lust and your clit rubs against his palm like a firework exploding.

Arousal curled so tightly inside you that it hurt. The pressure against your clit, the thickness of him inside you, the sounds of your bodies together adding to it divinely. Deliciously. God. God, it was all just biting and rough enough that you came clenching desperately around his cock, split open yet tangled into a tight, tight, tight knot.

Now, exhausted and just on the knifes edge of raw, pain mixing into your pleasure like venom that burns so sweetly yet leaves you limp and helpless, you're somehow still heated. You blame him. Jesus Christ. He's a fucking dog under all that pretty and polite. Bastard. How he keeps fucking fuck-just fucking going is beyond you sometimes. You're never going to tell him that, though. Then he might stop.

Nothing could be worse than him stopping.

You're hot everywhere and you can feel yourself dripping when he pulls his cock out of you with a lewd squelch that just fucking ties back into your fever. Bastard. He's the worst. How could he do this to you!? Oh, God, that fucking soaked sound echos through your head--his dick pulling out of your clenching pussy, clenching trying to fucking keep him where he belongs, deep and heavy inside you--and turns your vision to static. More and more, the longer you have to deal with that on loop in your head without anything other sensory input to drown it out and leave you thoughtless, you turn into static.

Squelch.

You hear it. You feel it. You're soaked.

Yet, he doesn't fuck back in, splitting you again, and finish like you expect. Like you want. You ache without him, you're so open, shivering and almost cold without the heat of him draped across you--shoved inside you.

Instead of fucking you until he cums, thrusts sloppier and messier now that he's focused on the pleasure tearing through him on a rampage, his hands glide over your goosebump-ed, slick skin. You're sweating so badly. You're leaking, too. More. Dripping. You need him. You don't need more, you might not be able to cum again, too much too soon, too good, but you want him to do whatever he wants to you. Desperately, you want it. It's all you can think about. All-consuming and ravenous.

As you shiver, weak and strung out, he turns your spread, melted body over, letting you soak into the sheets like butter on hot toast, and pulls you onto your knees.

Just onto your knees, getting them underneath you. He doesn't bother to untangle your fists from the messy sheets when you grab them, needing something to hold onto as anticipation wracks you. Despite how weak you feel, over-satiated and shaking, he knows he won't be able to rip you off of them. Fisting the sheets, you're too overwhelmed and wound too tight despite having cum multiple times already. He just needs you on your knees. He just--

He just needs you.

He can have you for his own desires. Anything. Everything.

Your blushing face and tits are pressed wantonly into the mused bed as your chest heaves. You're moaning wetly, breathily, into the mattress, hardly muffled at all with the lust he stirs in you as his big, heavy hands run up your back. His blunt fingernails stretch just a touch, that delicious bit of recklessness surging through. It feels so good. It must look good, too, because he groans deeply as you instinctively arch for him. And, oh, fuck--

Oh.

Oh, yesss.

You urgently fight your shaking, well-used muscles to arch just a little deeper, spread your thighs just a bit wider, and grasp the sheets just a little bit more in response to the dizzying slick sounds of his fist flying tightly over his cock. He's wet, too. Dripping with you. Using your wetness to slick himself. So shameless about it. And, shit, his voice chases the desperate sounds of he grips himself, a noise of agonized arousal, almost too turned on by you. A kick to the chest. Painful with how he's held off, devastated by the way it feels to let go.

It feels so good. It rolls off of him in waves as he grits out a few swears from behind you, jerking himself off frantically, that Boston accent coming out full force, cutting his filthy mouthed swears off at the end.

Fuckin', Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby.

Oh, the way that fills you with hot, clenching need all over again...

Want isn't a strong enough word. Need isn't strong enough, either. The way it makes you feel is insane; the way he makes you feel is insane with his eyes heated as they stare at your body, dragging across your skin in the most sultry way, all but sizzling, gazing at you so intensely you feel it through your whole body. Ripples of pleasure, just from being so thoroughly enjoyed. Stared at like that.

Fuck, it's like being prey, but you want it. You want to be torn into. You gasp with anticipation every time his teeth loom nearer, poised to bite down and make a feast of you--the sticky, leaking head of his cock keeps brushing hotly against your ass, his breath humid as it fans out against your skin. He's gone from kneeling upright behind you, taking you in, to curling forward, so attracted to you it's like gravity. Crumbling. He just can't help it.

Again, again, and again, his hips jerk forward instinctively. Fucking forward. Bucking needily. And you just keep choking on the sensation of his cock against your ass, smearing his pre-cum and your own slick wetness into you. God. Your thighs slide apart wider without your conscious mind having anything to say about it. He's so painstakingly close.

He could just--

He could slide right in. You're so wet. Wetter now, probably, then he was when he was inside you. It's just building. Building. Soaking. You're dripping, you swear it, melting from the inside out. If only he'd just--

He would hardly have to shift and he could fuck right into you!

He could do no work at all and shove himself inside, go back to filling you up. Fucking you hard. Carving space for himself inside your hot, wet, tight body and make you heavy with cock.

You want it so bad that your pussy throbs with your pounding heart. Frantic. A raw moan comes careening out of your mouth. You didn't even realize your mouth was still wide open, panting, chest heaving, heart racing faster.

As you struggle to breathe around the rising immense arousal inside you despite your emptied exhaustion from orgasming before, all the oxygen you get just makes you ignite more. Feeding the fire. Combusting hotly. Brightly. You feel all swollen and tight. Wet. You can hardly take it.

You can't take it!

Next, something of a whine surges out of your lungs. With each heave of your chest, you can feel your hard nipples brush against the sheets. You just feel tighter and tighter. Each time his cock brushes you, just the tip, each wet squelch of his fist, speeding up now, chasing and urgent, each sound he let's out, each gruff word he let's slip, swearing and saying your name, admiring you, using you, desperate to claim you until--

Ah, ah, ah! Ohh, God!

He does.

He cums wet and filthy across your presented ass with the most delicious sound and all the muscles under your too tight, feverish skin ripple all at once. And you sigh roughly. Raw, sandpaper edges to the sound. You're still fucking throbbing but you could--you could live, you could die happily with the sensation of his release soaking into your skin. You would ache but it would be more than enough, enough now and enough later to dive between your own thighs and touch yourself when he's not home later, on set, working, dipping your fingers into your own mess, stifling your sounds into his pillow, dreaming of the way he makes you feel, cumming to what he does to you.

You don't ache for long, though. You hardly have the time to think, to breathe before he's there. Here. He has you.

All he has to do to get you off is drag his fingers through the mess he's made across your ass and use it, as if he needs it, you're so drenched, to rub tight, fast circles around your clit.

OH!

It shocks you.

Electric.

So fittingly, lightning fast, one of your hands darts down to hold his hand there, fingers around his wrist as you uncontrollably gasp and plead for him to do that, yes, please, more, oh, ohh, Chris, yes! Just! Mmmgh! Just like th-thaaat! Reaching forward between your legs and touching, rubbing, merciless where you're most swollen and sensitive is nearly crewl at this point. It's murder. You mewl, grinding into the pressure, riding and riding the waves. It lasts. It really fucking lasts.

By the time you're done, you're more than exhausted and drenched. You already were those things, so what are you now? Not that it matters. You can't think. Your brain has turned to liquid and dripped out of your ears.

Giving up, your thighs slide apart shakily, leaving your heated, swollen slit to be revealed to the sex-thick air of the bedroom as you run across the bed like spilled ink, spread open and exposed. Messy. With the last of the air in your tender chest, you gasp--the air feels so shockingly cold, caressing your flesh. But you can't even speak to say so. It's so much. Overwhelming in every way. How does he do this to you? How does he manage to get so much from you? How does he manage to be kind and servicing and selfish and a fucking bastard? It's not fair! He drives you out of your mind, out of your body.

I hope that suffices 😘

[gaybananabread]

Could I get ler!Toph and lee!Aang from ATLA with Day 17?

TickleTober Day 17 - Raspberries

~It’s been a hot sec since I’ve written anything ATLA-related! Toph and Aang are the best duo over and you cannot prove me wrong (if you can, shhhhh). Thank you for the request, and I hope you Enjoy!~

Lee: Aang

Ler: Toph

Summary: While the group is on a calm streak, Aang is stuck with a killer lee-mood. Toph catches on after some fumbling by Aang and, with some persuasion, makes sure he gets the tickles he deserves.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

The Gaang were having a lucky streak as of late; there had been no attacks, no close-calls during supply runs, and fresh water at every one of their campsites. They were allowed to relax amongst themselves, each enjoying the rare leisure.

Well, they were all trying to, with varying levels of success. Zuko rarely ever relaxed, Katara was almost always on edge, and Aang…

Well, he had his own problems.

On the second day of their streak, he woke up with a rather inconvenient feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t painful or sickening, but it definitely made things difficult. Especially when it didn’t go away, even after three days of trying to ignore it.

A bubbly, fuzzy feeling hummed in his chest, making him giddy and a tad jumpy. The stubborn blush on his cheeks refused to leave, no matter how much water he drank or air he’d bent to fan himself. The mood itself was nothing dangerous; it was how it affected him around others.

Aang could not handle anyone’s wiggling fingers. And, just his luck, Toph was insistent on practicing her more refined bending techniques.

The girl flexed each of her fingers deliberately, causing jagged and thin spikes of rock to jut up from the ground. It really was impressive to earthbend at such a fine scale, though he was more focused on the movement of her hands.

Why did the technique have to look so much like tickling? It was truly unfair; the butterflies in his stomach spread all the way up to his throat, turning his ears and cheeks pink. He didn’t even notice he was staring until she called him out.

“Hey, twinkle-toes! You need something, or are my hands just that pretty to ya?” A pebble hit the side of Aang’s head, startling him out of his daze. If he thought he was blushing before, it was a thousand times worse now.

“S-sorry, Toph!” Averting his gaze, Aang quickly found an interesting rock to stare at. He forgot she could sense his heartbeat; she knew something was off within a second.

“What’sa matter with you? You’re all…jumpy.” It wasn’t the right word, but it was the only one she could think of at the moment. While she couldn’t literally see him, her gaze was still intimidating; Toph was demanding a true answer.

“Uh…nothing?” Wow, his voice was so squeaky. That wasn’t even close to believable, was it?

“Seriously, Aang? Try again.”

Nope, not at all.

“...you’re gonna make fun of me.” Aang pouted, sighing as he tried to keep his voice level. He knew Toph wouldn’t be cruel, but it was still embarrassing.

“Woah, hold it. If you’ve got a problem, I promise I’ll listen. I care about you, dummy.” Toph punched his shoulder just gently enough to let him know she was there for him. Wow. He felt ridiculous and supported; it was an interesting combination.

“I…okay.” With a resigned huff, he told the truth. Well, vaguely, but still. “It’s the thing, you know?” He wiggled his fingers in emphasis, hoping she could see it with her bending.

Toph obviously could – the wording alone gave him away – but she wanted to push just a bit. “What thing?” She wasn’t being mean, as she promised – just antagonistic. “Are you doing something with your hands again? You do know I’m blind, right?”

The Avatar groaned, knowing he was gonna have to out-right say it. Jeez, why was he always the one being forced to ask?

“The…tickling thing. Mood. Thing.” He sounded very embarrassed to admit it, which made Toph’s grin soften. She knew his mood had to be pretty strong for him to act that shy.

“Alright, alright. C’mere, twinkle-toes.” The earthbender plopped down in the grass, crossed her legs, and patted her lap expectantly. No judgment, no weird questions, nothing. Man, she was a good friend…

Aang tried to suppress the already-building giggles as he laid down, a nervous grin tugging at his lips. Anticipation always got to him, especially when it came to Toph’s “assistance.”

“Okay, smiles. Try not to hit me in the face.” Pushing Aang’s arms above his head, she got to work. Slow, teasing fingers walked down his arms, going from his wrists to his armpits. Barely two seconds in, and he was already struggling to keep them up.

“T-Tohoph, thihis is- EEK! COHOHOME OHOHON!”

Toph had gone from slow teases to drilling into his pits in mere seconds, quickly driving him up the wall. Sure, he was loving it, but that drastic change had sent a tickly jolt through his whole upper body.

“I’m barely getting started, twinkle-toes. Better buckle up!” She gave him the playful warning before targeting his stomach, causing his arms to come crashing down in an instant. It was his worst spot, and she knew it.

“NAHAHAHAHA! TOHOHOPH! IHIT- IT TIHIHICKLES!” Aang started rolling around in her lap, and she let him, loving the mental sight of her wiggle-worm-ing friend. It sounded and felt so cute; she could hear his heartbeat, helping her guess what level of blush he was currently at. It was almost supernova already.

Man, he really was in a mood, wasn’t he?

“Do you want some fruit, Aang?” They both knew what she was really asking, his spike in heart rate tattling on him. His tells really were too easy to point out.

Toph let out a small hum of approval when he nodded, shoving aside his robes for the day. He was left in his shorts, the flowy fabric of his top bunched up at his shoulders.

Aang was already wiggling, fake-shoving at her head whenever she teasingly got closer. Toph’s goal wasn’t to fluster or tease him, though; her mission was to wreck the living daylights out of him. So, that’s what she did.

The second her lips buzzed against his skin, he knew he was done for. The boy shrieked, thrashing and kicking and bucking beneath her tickly torment. Not once, she noted, did he put even a fraction of real effort into pushing her head away. He really was enjoying it…

“Aww, you’re being so loud! You’re lucky nobody’s dumb enough to attack us right now; I might not even hear them coming.” Okay, now she was teasing. It was still light-hearted, but more geared towards flustering rather than amusing.

“SHUHUHU- *hic* OHOHO NOHOHO!” Aang couldn’t help but whine as he felt the hiccups begin. If he was really getting it, like he was then, little hiccups wormed their way into his diaphragm and made breathing that much harder. They also sounded completely childish, embarrassing him as the cherry on top.

“Oho yeah! Squeaky’s back!” Toph had named his hiccups “Squeaky” after the sharp, shrill noise they always produced. It was so dumb, but they both loved it.

Toph continued to blow raspberry after raspberry, making his poor stomach turn red from all the contact. The noises were utterly ridiculous, only making Aang laugh and hiccup harder.

The silly form of tickling had always been one of Aang’s weaknesses. Besides his general affinity for them, the intense sensations never failed to render him a laughing, squealing mess. Raspberries were any ler’s “Get Out of Jail Free” card for wrecking him.

His mood was definitely subsiding. He felt the constant buzzing and fuzz die down, replaced with the jolting electricity of the tickles running through his nervous system. It always amused him how he pretty much traded one embarrassing sensation for the other, but he didn’t say anything. Not that he even could, what with all that laughing.

When his hiccups became more violent and his laugh wheezy, Toph stopped her tickling in favor of patting and running a hand along his upper back. She could feel his shoulders shaking as he recovered, giggling off after effects and general giddiness.

“O-oho my…wow. Thank you, Toph.” Aang grinned sheepishly, obviously feeling a lot better after that pesky lee mood was dealt with. It had been both fun and relieving: a perfect combo.

Toph waved a hand, feigning indifference that Aang could tell was faker than Sokka’s fire nation beard. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m always here if you need your butt handed to you again.”

That statement, no matter how juvenile, warmed his heart. Toph really was an amazing friend to him and the others. He didn’t know what he’d do without her. Knowing her, that declaration would probably get him lovingly socked one for being mushy, so he said the next best thing.

“Hey…can you show me that needle-rock thing? It looked really cool, and it’d probably be useful in fights.”

“I guess I can try. Just keep up, twinkle-toes!”

[hisdarlingabsurdity]

Our Love is a Work in Progress

Pairing: Aonung x Fem! Metkayina! Reader

Tags: Slightly Jealous Aonung, Childhood sweethearts, Tsireya being playful, Socially awkward reader

Word count: 3,194

Summary: Idiots in love. That's what you and Ao'nung are. If it weren't for your friend's devious machinations in the background, both of you would probably grow old still tip-toeing around each other.

For the umpteenth time this morning, you let out a dreamy sigh. From the corner of your eyes, you see Tsireya shake her head. "Just go and talk to them. Then you'll know that they are not so bad," she says, gesturing towards the Sullys who were currently practicing their breathing with Rotxo. Tsireya was right there teaching them with him earlier, but when she saw you peeking at them from up a boulder at a distance, she apparently decided that her quest for today was to finally convince you to approach them.

She climbed up to meet you with a knowing smile before pointing at each of them. "That one beside Rotxo is Kiri, she's a very fast learner," she says, "the small one is Tuk, she's very sweet. The boy over there is Lo'ak, and beside him is his older brother named Neteyam."

You listened to her with a pout, knowing that you won't need the information anyway.

You found them interesting, not so much in the beginning, no. You were wary of them, they were so different, and It didn't help that everyone collectively grimaced in disgust when it was revealed that they had demon blood, even though you didn't understand why. But they all look so warm and welcoming, especially now. (It might just be the certain, soft warm glow from the sun that makes it look like so, but still.)

"You know I can't, Tsireya. Mother would kill me if I so much as stand within arms reach." Your friend only giggled.

"You're a very persuasive girl, my friend. I'm sure your mother will change her mind about them. Now, how will you convince your mother of their kindness when you haven't experienced it yourself?"

You narrow your eyes at her, fighting back a goofy smile. "You're pretty persuasive yourself."

"You only think so because you actually want to approach them. You just need a few extra nudges."

You shake your head. "I told you, I can't." You nearly whine.

"...not a few nudges then, perhaps a full-on shove?

"A what now?" You begin to ask, but you could only yelp as she shoves you off the boulder. You cried out, only for it to get cut off as you land in the water. You scoff at her playfulness, causing bubbles to block your view.

You resurface, sputtering, still reeling from your shock (and amusement) and you hear her quite disrespectfully giggle at you from up the boulder. You crane your neck to send her a playful glare.

"Are you okay?"

You whip your head towards the unfamiliar voice, squinting. You raise your hand up to shield yourself from the harsh glare of the setting sun, your eyes adjusting, slowly making sense of the person's feature.

Truly, it felt like you were gazing upon something sacred, like Eywa herself sent you a guiding spirit with eyes that are pure melted gold, poured from a sun on the brink of an eclipse. It was mesmerizing.

Neteyam looked down at you from his Ilu, hands slowly reaching towards you, unsure if you'd let a stranger near but he keeps it there anyways in case you truly were in need of assistance.

"What?" You ask, feeling a little dumb as you stare at the rather magnificent picture.

He tilts his head in confusion. "Tsireya called out, she said you slipped and hit your head—"

You struggle to hear whatever he was trying to say at the end, his voice being cut off by the sound of Rotxo laughing, and the others floundering about in the water as they arrive. "She's fine," he says. "I saw the whole thing." He looks up to send a knowing look at Tsireya who only giggles as she moves to go back down from the boulder.

You blink rapidly, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. What are you supposed say?

You stare blankly at Neteyam, some of your hair were in your mouth and you remember the not-so-graceful way you whipped your head towards him earlier, squinting at him. You must've painfully looked like an idiot, because you see Rotxo cringe and you realize distantly that you were still staring.

"What's up with her?" You hear Lo'ak ask.

Neteyam stares back at you, his hands still hovering and you see him hesitate. Rotxo turns away, as if watching you was too painful, still, you do not miss the subtle shaking of his shoulders, it was what snapped you out of your daze and you reel back, laughing awkwardly. Neteyam raises both his eyebrows, his eyes flickered from yours and to his siblings in confusion. You curse at yourself instantly, wishing for an Akula to just eat you up.

"You must be..." The girl named Kiri trailed off, her voice startling the uncomfortable silence your awkwardness settled in the atmosphere. Rotxo provides her your name and Kiri nods. "Tsireya speaks of you. She says you're the best singer in the village."

"Ah, hehe." You chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of your nape sheepishly. "I wouldn't say that I'm the best—"

You yelp as Ao'nung rose from the water, his eyes staring straight at yours. He came seemingly from out of nowhere.

"Ao'nung? Weren't you…Where'd you even come from?" You ask, positively flabbergasted at his sudden appearance. He was supposed to be out with his father. You cross your arms. "I bet you’re slacking off again, Aren’t you supposed to be with the chief?”

"I was." His answer came in a short burst. As if he couldn't be bothered to answer you properly. Then he scans you like a mother checking her child for injuries, before letting his gaze wander back to your eyes then at the others who came to help you and you realize the gravity of your situation.

You feel yourself frown before you could control your expressions. "I'm really sorry for disturbing your lessons." You say, mostly facing Rotxo, who in turn, shakes his head, smiling at you. He's always been so patient and nice, just a little prick sometimes, mostly when Aonung's around. Together, they were little teasing menaces.

You hear Tsireya before you see her, grinning at you as she floats in the water by your side. "Well, I'm just glad you're okay, my friend." She sighs in relief (as if she wasn't the one who pushed you off).

You lean closer to her and whisper, "you're lucky you're the chief's daughter."

She giggles as she rests her hand on your shoulder before approaching the others. "We could always use another's help. Perhaps my friend can also help with teaching?"

"Oh, well. If it's alright with her to…" Neteyam answers. You inwardly cringed. They must've thought that your hesitation to receive help from them stems from the skepticism and disgust that the rest of the village doesn't bother hiding towards them.

"I want to…help, I mean. I did cause quite a ruckus. Let me make up for it," you say, smiling. You felt relieved that you didn't stutter once. You've already made a fool of yourself enough to give you nightmares for 3 weeks.

"How did you manage slip from there anyway, that's always been your spot." Ao'nung tilts his head back to look down at you through the bridge of his nose. You couldn't stop your face from scrunching up at his words, it heralds an incoming torrent of nagging. You knew that he would start if you so much as wince in pain. You appreciate his concern, but you hate how he makes you sound so weak and fragile, and in front of these people you’re trying to befriend!

"It was my fault, really. We were messing around," Tsireya says, raising her hands. You thank Eywa that she hasn't completely abandoned you to your own clumsy social skills.

"Yeah, and what's up with you? Why are you suddenly here?" You ask, turning to face Ao'nung, genuinely curious, but also flinging towards him a vindictive glance

"I heard you scream and I thought you needed help…" he starts, then he glances at Neteyam. "although someone's already beaten me to it." With that. Ao'nung nods at you before diving back in and swimming away.

You feel a headache slowly seeping into your head. Ao’nung left as fast as his sudden arrival, and it irks you just as much as it confuses you; his cryptic behavior, worried glances but searing choice of words, his awful timing…

"Wow, so he can actually talk without outright insulting anyone," Kiri says.

Tsireya giggles as she gives you a look you don't bother to decipher.

"Are you really okay? You look a little dazed." You turn towards the voice by your side. You almost squeal in delight as the youngest of the Sullys look up at you with her wide eyes.

"Oh she's fine. She's just extremely shy." Rotxo says, waving his hand around in a dismissive manner.

"Okay, okay. How about we stop wasting time on me and resume the lesson, yeah?" You say, having had enough of this, whatever this whole predicament was. You couldn't say it was all bad though, since you finally succeeded in introducing yourself to the Sully kids. There may have been better ways to do it, preferably without making such a racket, but it is what it is.

⏳⏳⏳

Throughout your childhood, Aonung was always there. He was your first, and most eager listener. He always went along with you whenever you would go out and practice your singing, claiming to be your protector, your guardian. He always has his eyes on you, always listening to every single word you say. You especially notice this whenever you were hanging out with the other kids. No one really asks for your opinion, and nobody expects you to contribute to the conversation, so much so that you feel like you only open your mouth when you sing during shared gatherings. But Ao'nung was different. He always asks you what you think, always prodding you to speak your mind, always glaring sharply at anyone who tries to talk over you.

And he is always hovering around you. It was at first, stifling, until you decided that perhaps he simply enjoyed your companionship. Even now that he avoids you, refusing to be around you for long, like your mere presence burns him, he still doesn't completely abandon you. And it makes you furious, more confused than mad, of course. First he barges into your life, spending almost every waking moment with you only to suddenly shove you away, still keeping you within eyesight but refusing to even approach you. You don't think that he suddenly doesn't want you as a friend anymore, it is evident in the way he looks out for you, even indirectly.

You spend the next few days hanging out with the Sullys, much to your parent's chagrin. They do nothing to stop you though, you figured they've either given up on you, or trust that you know what's good for you.

Neteyam was, in almost every way, especially nice to you. You don't think that it was because you completely dazzled him with your amazing existence, making him fall madly in love with you, no. His way of showing care was almost aggressive, like he was trying to prove a point or something. And you're only able to notice because you've sharpened your observation skills instead of your speaking skill. You weren't completely stupid…you noticed that Neteyam becomes incredibly touchy and sweet whenever Ao'nung was around. You quite enjoyed the situation, you can't lie.

Also, you've never hung out with so many friendly people before. You miss Ao'nung though. And of course, because of that, confrontation was inevitable.

"You wanna know why I've been avoiding you?"

He asks but he doesn't wait for you to answer before he continues.

"It's because you keep hanging around those freaks. You wanna be an outcast by associating yourself with them, then go ahead."

He doesn't mean it, he really doesn't.

You shake your head. "I was already an outcast, Ao'nung. And frankly, I'd rather be one than associate myself with your friends—" You raise your hand up to silence him, you were not done yet. "—and I know for a fact that you no longer see them as freaks. I might even say that you've started to treat them with respect. You can see them now, Aonung. I know it. So why are you suddenly back to saying such rude words about them?"

He exhales a deep, exasperated breath, his head pounding with all the words he wants to say but couldn't.

You wait for him to gather his thoughts.

"He…" Aonung started. "Yes, what you said is true. I've…they've grown on me, those Sully brats…"

His gaze flickers back to you.

"But he— that Neteyam. He's obviously aiming for you."

You frown in confusion. "He's what? Aiming for me? With what? I don't think—"

He rolls his eyes. "What I meant was he's seriously considering you as a mate."

With his answer, you felt even more confused.

"I think that is highly unlikely. It's too early for him to choose a mate and even more unlikely for him to choose me. What am I supposed to do when there's a war, huh? Sing the enemies to death?"

"There's more to choosing mates than just their assets, their worth, during a war."

"But he's a chief, he can't just marry anyone."

He sighs. "A chief's mate doesn't always have to be a tsahik…you do know that right?"

"No no no. Still, it's impossible. He hardly even knows me and—" your gaze sharpens towards him. "Even if, for some reason, he wants me as his mate, what's it to you? And why would you avoid me because of that?"

He scoffs. "I was not avoiding you. I was simply giving you space."

You give him the stinkiest grimace you could manage. "Explain…"

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, rubbing the back of his neck. He gestures with his hands as he tries to do as you asked. "I was furious—"

"What did I do?"

"—not at you." He sighs again. "At myself."

You stare blankly at him.

"You mentioned earlier that it was too early for Neteyam to choose a mate, but courting takes time, just like how I've been courting you since we were kids. I'm not done explaining yet," he says when he sees your confused frown. "I was angry when I saw how happy you were with your new friends. (Again, angry at myself) You should know that you're actually pretty popular among the boys in the village. The reason they do not even attempt to approach you is because they know I like you. I did not mean to…It was not my intention to make you lonely. I did not know that it would make the girls dislike you and I'm sorry for that. Now, the reason I avoided you was because the Sullys offered friendship, something that you weren't able to have in your own home, because of me. I distanced myself because I realized that I took you for granted. I used my position as a guarantee that no one else would try to court you. I was selfish and it made you…it turned you into an outcast…"

You hardly knew how to react, and you, in an attempt to try and make sense of things, stammer over your words, a torrent of sentences that makes absolutely no sense pouring out of your lips. Finally, you pinch the bridge of your nose and you take a deep breath.

"You give yourself too much credit, Ao’nung."

He raises his head to look at you.

"My social life was already done for, even before your supposed destruction of my potential relationships."

"No, it is my fault. You are not some property or a thing to be claimed. It's my fault that the boys…I feel like I ruined your chances to choose whoever you may want."

"Ao’nung…Even if that is so, they are not worth my time if they are too scared of you to even try to talk to me. It means they do not like me enough. My point is—listen—my point is that you should not blame yourself for something that you cannot control. Seriously, d'you think everything that's happened in my life is caused somehow by your decisions? You idiot."

He bites his lip, eyes narrowing in deep thought.

"Okay, it sounded a little less conceited in my head. But that's how I feel."

"I understand…what I don't understand is the whole 'I have been courting you since we were kids' thing."

"What's so hard to understand about that? I like you. I love listening to you sing. I love spending time with you. You're kind. You never talk bad about anyone, you actually cared about me and wanted to be my friend not just because I’m the chief’s son…You gave me flowers, you wrote songs about me, (I am partial to the ones about us on an adventure, by the way) you make me feel warm and appreciated. I adore you…I pine for you.”

"...Oh, wow. Sorry, this is a lot to take in. And I didn't even notice that you were courting me."

"I still am. You have no idea how much you mean to me," he says, looking at you through his ridiculously long eyelashes, his ears flat against the side of his head.

You feel your chest tighten at his words. Why he hadn't told you this before, you do not know.

"You can't just. Why, I never even…" You trail off as he holds a hand up.

"Now, I'm wondering if I was being too subtle, or if you're just too dull."

"Hey, that's not nice."

"Kind of hard to be nice when the person you adore is fawning over a foreigner."

"I was not." you huffed.

"I know. I'm sorry for saying that. It's just, I never seem to know what to say. I know what I want to say but I can't put it into words that would perfectly describe it."

"It doesn't need to be. Also, are you kidding me? That confession was perfect!”

Ao’nung groaned, running his hand down his face. “Okay, stop.”

“It was heartfelt, and poetic.” You see his tail wagging sideways from behind him.

“And,” you continue, your voice carrying venom. “It’s the most you’ve said to me for days!” You punch his arm and he glares at you, mumbling something about ruining the mood.

"Y'know what? I'm gonna write a song about you, about how stupid you are." You say, still seething.

"As long as it's about me…" He shrugs, stepping closer towards you, grinning like a fool.

"You asshole." You say, but without any real anger.

He hums. "Well, I'm your asshole…"

You both frown as you take in his words.

"Okay, that did not—"

"Uncalled for." You shake your head.

"That was not what I…wow, it did not sound romantic at all, I don't know why I…"

"I feel violated…"

End.

***

Note

Can't believe I have to say this but pls remember that x readers aren't going to be a 100% accurate presentation of you. I don't wanna be gettin no "but I can't sing" comments. I stopped writing fanfic because of comments like that (which is dumb). So don't do that please, Thank you!

Also read on Ao3!

English ain't my first language so pls be kind.