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starry-bi-sky · 5 months ago

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I was hit with Brain Worms about this au last night at the sane hour of 3am (my dorm's AC turned off and i woke up sweltering and couldn't fall back asleep) and now that I have the time and energy to sit down, i am going to TALK about it.

I'm reverting back to my middle school roots and playing the game "how much can i fuse this character with another before the host character becomes recognizable".

AKA: How much Ras can I make Danny before he stops being Danny. And I have SO much practice here, i am frothing at the mouth. Beautiful world and character building here.

SO, meet Danny Fenton! At least, Danny Fenton to the rest of the world. His full name is Ras Danyal Alghul-Fenton. It's a mouthful, I know, but that's what makes it fun! Known as Danny to his friends and the world, known as Ras to his family.

Fenton is actually his mother's name, Alghul is his father's. Yehya Aghul, who changed his name to Jack legally for an easier transition immigrating to America with his family. But to family and friends, his name is Yehya. (Yehya is the arabic spelling of John, and Jack is a nickname variant for John, hence why his name is Yehya)

Yasmeen and Ras; Jazz and Danny.

The LOA is situated in Nanda Parbat, as it does not exist in Danny's world, it's simply the little town/village Jack grew up in before his family decided to immigrate. Danny's family visits in the summers when they can.

Growing up, Danny and Jazz were constantly told about these "secret underground pools full of ectoplasm" that Jack stumbled upon as a kid after he was playing around the area and fell down a hole. He'd broken his leg on the way down, and when he'd gone to wash the blood off in the strange water (he was desperate and in pain) it healed the injury entirely and reinvigorated him. He was able to climb out, but he could never find the cave again.

("I didn't know what to call it, so I called it lazarus until i learned later that it was ectoplasm!")

It's what started his obsession with ectoplasm, and then ghosts. Prior to the portal, Danny and Jazz just brushed it off as simply their dad telling tall tales again. The idea that ectoplasm had healing properties was never proven because whenever Jack tried, he was always stopped by either Maddie or Vlad in college. And then after the kids were born, he was banned from trying to test the theory on their kids.

It was only after Danny had his accident that he realized that his dad was right, and after that he started carrying a water bottle full of ectoplasm around with him. But since he couldn't call it that in front of people, he just called it lazarus water. Says his dad came up with the stuff, and that typically tends to deter people from wanting to try.

Now I know you said that Danny ends up in the DCU via a portal in the GZ while he was on the way to Clockwork, BUT. I had this idea and had to share. Nanda Parbat, know how Danny and his family visits Nanda Parbat in the summers?

They weren't able to visit the first summer after Danny's accident because of Issues with the portal -- Maddie and Jack didn't want the thing to malfunction while they were gone, so they wanted to stay for the summer and make sure it could sustain itself in long term hibernation -- but the summer after? Oh yeah, they're going.

Danny steps foot in Nanda Parbat for the first time since his accident, and after getting accosted by Mother Soul ("Ras saghiri! Ya tiflati, laqad kabarat kthyran. Daeni 'ulqi nazratan ealayki."**) he goes looking around for the cave that his dad mentioned.

**("Little Ras! My child, you have grown so much. Let me take a look at you")

He finds it within a week, and he falls down the tunnel leading into it much like his dad did nearly thirty years earlier -- without breaking his leg, that is.

His dad never mentioned that the pools were so vibrant. A much richer shade of green than any of the ectoplasm he keeps in the fridge, as deep as the ghost zone's sky. And surrounding the misting waters were small bushes and flowers, the ectoplasm seeping into the ground and feeding the soil.

"Incredible." Danny breathes, running a hand through his hair in breathless shock, and he tiptoes closer to the water. He can feel the ectoplasm in the air, thrumming in his core like a pleasant hum.

He kneels down and dips his hands in the water, and as the water escapes off his skin, the scrapes and bruises on his palms seal and close as if they were never there in the first place. Danny's eyes are reflecting green in the water, the same rich shade.

Naturally, he falls in. And accidentally, in combination with his own core and ectoplasm and the water, a portal opens up as he does, and he lands in the DCU.

…And thats approximately where the brain worms end. With a bonus doodle! Because I couldn’t not try my hand at it.

Danny Is An Alternate Version Of Ra's Al Ghul And Flash Already Called Dibs On Adopting Him

Danny In All His Sleep Deprived Slightly Scuffed Up From A Fight Glory Is On His Way To Clockworks Tower To Hopefully Get A Nap And Maybe Some Homework Done When A Natural Portal Opens Up In Front Of Him And Proceeds To Unceremoniously Drop Him In The DC Verse Just Outside Of Central City Before Promptly Closing Leaving A Tired Danny Behind In A Run Down Abandoned Parking Lot.

It's Times Like This When Danny Regrets Putting Off Learning How To Make His Own Portals, Cause Now He Is Very Much Stuck For The Foreseeable Future And He Has No Idea Where Or When He Is. Luckily For Him However Central City Isn't Too Far Away, Unlucky For Him However Is That Once In The City He Realizes This Isn't His Dimension. He's Pretty Sure He'd Remember Something Called The Justice League.

So What Do You Do When Supernatural Bullshit Fails You? You Fall Back On Your Mad Scientist Roots And You Make A Portal Gun. So That's Exactly What Danny Plans To Do.

Unfortunately Staying Alive And Building Questionably Safe Portal Technology Requires Money And Supplies, So He Ends Up Wandering From City To City Doing Odd Jobs/Fixing Up Busted Tech For Cash Or Unwanted Electronics For His "Operation: Get Home" Needs. This Obviously Ends In A Few Superhero Encounter Shenanigans.

Though He Always Ends Up Back Near Central City, Both On The Off Chance The Natural Portal Will Open Up Again And Because Out Of All The Superheroes That Apparently Exist In This Universe The Speedsters Are His Favorite (Red Robin Is Solidly His Second Favorite Ever Since The Gotham Vigilante Gave Him A Large Coffee Filled With Enough Caffeine To Kill A Man).

Unbeknownst To Danny However Is That Every Hero/Vigilante He Has Encountered Has Come To At Least One Of The Following Conclusions; 1. Run Away Meta Who Is In Desperate Need Of A Good Meal/Adoption Bait. 2. Possibly Red Robin/Tim Drake Clone 3. A Good Kid But Could Possibly Be A Future Rouge If Left Unsupervised. 4. Did Bats Get A New Kid And Why Is He Here?

All Flash Knows Is That He Saw The Kid First And Therefore Has Dibs. Suck It Bruce.

Fast-forward A Few Months And Danny Gets Hurt During A Rogue Attack While Trying To Help Some Civilians Get To Safety (Old Hero Habits Die Hard (Ha Die Hard) And All That Jazz) And He Nopes Out Once Everyone Is Safe And When The Paramedics Are Busy With Other People Unaware He Left A Blood Sample Behind.

One DNA Test Brought To You By Paranoid Bat Concerns Of A Possible Red Robin Clone Later And They Find Out That Dannys DNA Matches One Ra's Al Ghul.

They Now Think Danny Is An Escaped Ra's Al Ghul Clone.

Memes For The Vibes:

#since its the first one i dont have the design fully fleshed out #but the long hair and brown skin is solid.#im not sold on the idea that people mistake him for a red robin clone considering the different ethnicities between Ras and Tim #ras danyal #thought of this last night and the only reason i didnt get up is bc i have a roommate to be considerate of #*leans full tilt into the ‘ras’ part of ‘danny is ras’*#im not kidding when i say i love ‘character is x from alternate dimension’ its so fun #*stares at my skydoesminecraft-harry potter crossover fic i wrote back in middle school for the sole purpose of turning harry into sky*#*and my bbc merlin and hp crossover fic where harry was the reincarnation of arthur. i turned him blond*#i had a huge hp phase in middle school before JKR’s crimes were Known #dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king

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literaryvein-reblogs · 6 months ago

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what are some ways to describe people other than eye and hair color

I am assuming you are looking for physical descriptors. Here are some examples. I may just make a different post on psychological descriptors.

Arms: Long, Muscular, Pudgy, Short, Skinny, Thin

Back: Bent, Hunched, Ramrod Straight, Rounded

Build: Anorexic, Athletic, Beefy, Brawny, Burly, Chubby, Coltish, Compact, Fat, Gangly, Gaunt, Gawky, Haggard, Heavy-set, Herculean, Husky, Lanky, Lithe, Muscular, Obese, Overweight, Petite, Rangy, Reed-like, Scrawny, Skinny, Slender, Slight, Solid, Spindly, Statuesque, Stocky, Strapping, Sylphlike, Taut, Thickset, Thin, Trim, Underweight, Voluptuous, Well-built, Willowy, Withered

Cheeks: Blushing, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Bold, Curved, Dimpled, Disturbed, Glorious, Glowing, Hairless, High (cheekbones), Hollow, Honey, Livid, Pale, Pallid, Pink, Plump, Puffy, Radiant, Reddened, Rosy, Rounded, Ruddy, Shining, Smooth, Soft, Sun-burnt, Sun-bronzed, Sunken, Sun-tanned, Tanned, Tearful, White

Chin: Angular, Bony, Bumpy, Chiseled, Defined, Doughy, Firm, Protruding, Round, Smooth, Soft, Square, Strong

Ears: Jug-like, Large, Protruding, Tiny

Eyebrows: Arching, Bushy, Emphasized, Near, Spaced, Thick, Thin

Eyelashes: Artificial, Beaded, Beautiful, Blinking, Dark, Dark-fringed, Dense, Dusky, Heavily-fringed, Long, Mascaraed, Sandy, Sooty, Sopping, Tear-drenched, Thick, Uplifted

Eyes: Almond-shaped, Bright, Bulging, Expressive, Frightened, Gentle, Languishing, Little, Luminous, Made-up, Round, Shining, Shortsighted, Smart, Stunned, Thin, Wide, Woeful

Face: Baby, Blood-stained, Bold, Chiseled, Contorted, Dead, Expressionless, Fair, Familiar, Fierce, Flat, Frightened, Furrowed, Honest, Indifferent, Little, Pale, Poker, Pretty, Radiant, Rough, Ruddy, Sallow, Square, Stained, Swollen, Trim, Weather-beaten, Wry

Feet: Athlete's, Big, Flat, Pigeon-toed, Small, Sore, Stinky, Stubby, Swollen

Fingers: Gnarled, Long, Short, Stubby

Finger Nails: Bitten, Broken, Claw-like, Dirty, Hooked, Long, Painted, Sharp, Talon-like

Hair: Afro, Bald, Beehive, Braided, Bristles, Bun, Chignon, Coiffure, Combed, Corkscrew, Corn rows, Cowlicked, Crew cut, Curly, Disarrayed, Disheveled, Dreadlocks, Dry, Flattop, Flecked, French braid, French twist, Fringe, Greasy, Grizzled, Knotted, Layered, Locks, Matted, Messed up, Mohawk, Mussy, Muttonchops, Neat, Oily, Page boy, Perm, Pigtails, Plait, Pompadour, Ponytail, Ragged, Receding, Ringlets, Ruffled, Shaggy, Shorn, Shoulder-length, Skinhead, Spiky, Split-ended, Straight, Tangled, Thick, Thinning, Tidy, Topknot, Tousled, Twisted, Uncombed, Unshorn, Untidy, Wavy, Wiry, Wisps

Hand: Big, Elegant, Small

Height: Big, Knee-high, Medium, Short, Shoulder-high, Sky-high, Small, Tall, Towering, Waist-high

Legs: Amputated, Bandy, Bony, Bowed, Brawny, Bulging, Fluted, Gartered, Gouty, Graceful, Hacked, Hairy, Jagged, Knotted, Leaden, Long, Lower, Muscular, Pitiful, Rickety, Shapely, Shivering, Short, Sinewy, Slender, Slim, Spindle, Stockinged, Sturdy, Thin, Thread-like, Tinder, Tiny, Toothsome, Tree trunks

Lips: Blue, Cracked, Cupid's Bow, Downturned, Dry, Fat, Full, Grim, Large, Luscious, Parched, Parted, Red, Ruby, Small, Smiling, Thin, Wet

Mouth: Arch, Ascetic, Baby, Cavernous, Churning, Compressed, Cooing, Coral, Cracked, Cruel, Delicate, Dumpled, Distended, Dry, Fine, Firm, Frothy, Full, Funnel-shaped, Gaping, Grim, Handsome, Hungry, Insistent, Irritable, Large, Luscious, Munching, Musty, Perilous, Puckered, Querulous, Relaxed, Resolute, Sardonic, Sensuous, Serious, Slobbering, Small, Sulky, Sweet, Tender, Thin, Wide, Winsome, Wrinkled, Yawning

Neck: Bullnecked, Elegant, Long, Short, Swan-like, Thick

Palm: Broad, Oval, Rectangular, Square

Skin: Acned, Alabaster, Albino, Apricot, Black, Blemished, Blistered, Blooming, Blotchy, Blushing, Bronzed, Cadaverous, Calloused, Caramel, Clear, Craggy, Cream, Ebony, Fair, Flush, Freckled, Glowing, Greasy, Ivory, Jaundiced, Leathery, Lily-white, Lined, Milky, Mottled, Nut-brown, Olive, Pale, Pallid, Pasty, Peeling, Pimpled, Pink, Pitted, Pockmarked, Red, Rosy, Rough, Ruddy, Russet, Sallow, Scabby, Scarred, Smooth, Splotchy, Spotty, Sun-burnt, Tan, Wan, Waxen, White, Wrinkled, Yellow

Stomach: Bulging, Distended, Empty, Firm, Flabby, Flat, Heroic, Hollow, Lean, Paunchy, Protruding, Unbounded

Teeth: Artificial, Black, Blunted, Buck, Canine, Chattering, Clenched, Clinched, Compressed, Crooked, Dagger-like, Dazzling, Decayed, Deciduous, Extracted, False teeth, Feeble, Ferocious, Filed, Flashing, Fluoridated, Foam-laced, Fractured, Gap-toothed, Gleaming, Glistening, Glittering, Gnashing, Goofy, Grinding, Hooked, Horrid, Ivory, Jagged, Lacquered, Large, Milky, Mottled, Neglected, Pearly, Perfect, Pretty, Protruding, Razor-like, Sharp, Shining, Short, Small, Snowy, Sore, Spaced, Straight, Sweet tooth, Tender, Tiny, Toothless, Toothy, Ugly, Unrelenting, White, Wisdom, Wolfish, Yellow

Hope this helps! If it does, do tag me or send me a link to your writing. I'd love to read your work.

More: On Character Development

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hairmetal666 · 1 year ago

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Eddie's a mechanic, has a shop in Indy. It's only got two bays, but he owns it, he saved up the money, it's his. He runs it with Wayne, is building up a customer base. He loves it.

Within the year, a bakery opens up next door, separated from Eddie's shop by a narrow alley. He has a perfect view into the bakery's kitchen from the shop's office, and almost immediately catches a glimpse of the drop-dead gorgeous guy behind the mixing bowl. He's got sun-golden skin, swoopy brown hair, wide puppy dog eyes, the poutiest mouth, and a face dotted with freckles. Eddie gapes at him for a solid two-minutes, salivating over the bunch and pull of his muscles as he kneads a ball of dough. A wet dream come true.

Eddie's always sneaking glances at the shop next door, can't seem to keep his gaze off the most beautiful man he's ever seen. Over the next few months, he becomes familiar with this herd of kids that hang around the bakery at all hours. There's one, curly-haired and mouthy, who often makes the baker frown with his hands on his hips, but as soon as the boy walks away, the baker smiles all wide and fond.

It's a silly crush, no big deal. He has a weakness for brown-eyed pretty boys, so what? It's not like he's going to do anything crazy, like make a move.

It's past midnight, a few months after the bakery opens, and Eddie's in his little office, doing the monthly accounting. He's exhausted, tired of calculators and numbers, when a flash of light catches at the corner of his eye. He blinks a few times, sure it's the exhaustion setting in, but it doesn't go away.

Instead, there's a light on over at the bakery. It's a kitchen light, and the baker is standing at the stainless steel counter, looking unlike Eddie's ever seen. His hair is a soft wave, swooping onto his forehead. He wears grey sweatpants and a yellow sweatshirt. Tonight, his movements are less precise and practiced; he's slow and contemplative as he gathers ingredients and mixing bowls.

It's been long enough Eddie should look away, but he forgets that it isn't a dream, that he's actually watching the baker roll up his sleeves as he whisks. It's inevitable that, eventually, the baker catches Eddie staring. He just smiles, though, and waves. Eddie manages to return the greeting before awareness smacks him in the face, and he flees the office and the building in acute embarrassment.

They share waves after that. Smiles. Laughter once when Eddie's reading over an invoice and walking, smacks face-first into the doorframe. Eye rolls after the baker gets into an impassioned argument with the curly-haired boy, one that involves a copious amount of thrown flour.

They exchange waves and smiles and goofy expressions, and it shouldn't escalate further, but one day Eddie steps into the shop's waiting room to find the curly-haired boy sitting behind the reception desk, flipping through Eddie's new dnd guide.

"What." Eddie says.

"You," says the boy. He's pointing and glaring and Eddie is a little scared.

"Me?"

"You like dnd?"

He hopes his sigh of relief isn't audible. "Best DM this town has ever seen." He postures and smirks.

"Doubt it," the boy says.

Eddie lets out an offended squeak, dramatically smashes his hand over his heart. "Insulted! Maligned! In my own place of business! Oh!" He falls into a dramatic swoon.

The boy snickers. "I'm Dustin," he says.

"Eddie." They shake hands and Eddie does not laugh at how overly serious this is all is. "Sir Dustin, what brings you to my fine establishment?"

Dustin shrugs. "Steve."

"Steve?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "The bakery."

"Oh," Eddie says. Steve. The baker is Steve.

He's having a little trouble breathing, sure he's done something wrong, a distinct feeling of doom settling on his shoulders. "Why?"

"He won't stop talking about the mechanic next door but refuses to introduce himself. Plus, I saw your D20 tattoo the other day."

Eddie's barely hearing him, reeling over the knowledge that Steve talks about him to his gaggle of children. He barely hears the rest of the conversation, but the next day Dustin shows up with the rest of the kids, Lucas, Mike, Max, El, Erica, Will.

They're loud, chaotic, wild, and somehow--before they leave--they've coerced him into running a one-shot for them. They come by in twos and threes for the rest of the week, eating all the snacks in the waiting room mini-fridge and talking at him and Wayne as they work.

It's Friday, it's sweltering, he's closing the shop for the night with the top of his coveralls hanging off hips, his sweat soaked undershirt tossed behind a tool chest. He steps into the waiting area and nearly jumps out of his skin to find a man there, holding a plastic container.

Steve.

"H--hi," he stutters. And fuck, he's shirtless. He's standing in front of Steve for the first time and his nipples are out. This is it, the moment he finally dies of embarrassment.

Steve's eyes are locked on Eddie's torso for a few seconds too long, cheeks flushing. He blinks, finally looking at Eddie's face. "I'm Steve. From the--the bakery next door?" He points. "I--uh--I wanted to stop by and apologize?"

"What?" Eddie asks. There's too much happening for him to keep up.

"Um, the kids?"

And Eddie can't fathom why he needs to apologize, can only stare at Steve in confused disbelief.

"It's just. They can be kind of a handful. I used to babysit Mike and the whole group of them started following me around, and--Anyway, I think Dustin took it upon himself to try to introduce us. I've been wondering where they keep disappearing off to, and Max told me today that they're here with you, and I thought I probably owed you an apology. You're trying to work and I know they can be a bunch of shitheads, and oh my god, I'm rambling, I really am turning into Robin, Jesus Christ."

Eddie is fucked. Oh he's so fucked. He's charmed, endeared, can't stop smiling at Steve who is somehow even more beautiful up close.

"I forgive you," Eddie says. "They're nice kids."

Steve lets out a hard breath. "They are, huh?" He smiles. "Don't let them hear you say that. You'll never get a moment's peace. And they shouldn't have been over here bothering you, anyway."

"It wasn't a bother. Though, they did eat all my snacks and swindle me into running a one-shot for them. Still not sure how that happened."

Steve laughs and his eyes crinkle at the corner. So fucked. So fucked. "I should've known that you play that game of theirs."

"Aw, not a dnd fan, Stevie?"

Steve blushes. "It's--there's a lot of math."

Eddie laughs, already knows he's never getting over this one. "You bake professionally."

"It's different?" Steve laughs. "Fine, fine! You got me, it's not my thing."

"Bet I could change your mind," Eddie says. He doesn't mean to be flirting, can't stop himself.

"I bet you could," Steve agrees. He moves his hand, like maybe he's going to run it through his swoop of hair, then seems to remember he's holding baked goods. "Oh, uh, please take these cupcakes as my apology for accidentally saddling you with my group of semi-feral children."

"You're already forgiven, but I'll never say no to a cupcake."

"You should stop by the shop tomorrow, then" Steve says. "On the house."

"You've already given me these." He wiggles the cupcakes in Steve's pretty face.

"I only save the free samples for the hottest customers." Steve does run a hand through his hair now, and it's dorky as fuck, but Eddie still feels like he's died and this is heaven. "See you tomorrow?"

Eddie can only nod as Steve backs out of the office with a cheeky little wave.

He goes to the bakery the next day, sure he just let his crush get away from him and imagined the entire interaction with Steve. Except, when he walks in, Steve smiles all big and pretty in his little blue apron, invites Eddie back to the kitchen.

And if they share their first kiss against the stainless steel countertops, it's between them, Wayne, and all the kids who spy on them from the shop's office window.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #mechanic eddie munson #baker steve harrington #ficlet #fluff #meet cute #mutual pining #matchmaker dustin henderson #longing glances #dustin is sick of hearing steve talk about the hot mechanic next door but never making a move #dustin makes it for him #the party are a bunch of well-meaning menances #for some reason insomnia is an intrinsic part of steve's character even in an au

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caffeinewitchcraft · 8 months ago

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The Mayor's Daughter and the Outlaw

Summary: After ten years, you've finally got your shot at your revenge. You've found the Hero. You have him in your sights.

-----

Pull the trigger.

You’ve worked too hard not to pull the trigger. The sweat, blood and tears you’ve shed have been the least you’ve given to be here. The air is crisp and clean nearly a hundred feet up in a pine tree overlooking a remote forest. You’re probably the only person in the world capable of spotting the brown, camouflaged building spanning the length of the small river running through the valley. There’s a hologram of the river it’s covering playing over the building’s walls. Hell, there are even birds flicking occasionally across the illusion, not often enough to draw attention, but just often enough their movement sends your eyes darting to other trees, trying to find where they went.

You breathe in the scent of sun-heated sap so slowly that it takes a solid minute for your lungs to expand. Your pupils flex and adjust whenever the wind rocks your tree. The window you’ve been staring at for the past hour remains in your focus.

The Sun, hair just as fake-gold as it was ten years ago, sleeps on. He’s definitely older now that you can see him in real life instead of on magazine covers or under studio lights. The skin of his neck is loose and folded under the weight of his chin drooping towards his chest. His eyes flicker under his eyelids. The bastard still has the audacity to dream. His arms are crossed over the sun motif emblazoned across his breastplate, his dust-covered boots kicked up on his desk so you can see how worn the soles are. Judging by the way his lips tremble, he’s snoring.

Pull the trigger.

You exhale. This is when you should do it. When your shoulders drop and the wind dies so that, for a moment, the world stands still. There are no whispers across the canopy. Every bough is frozen. The reflection of the sun in the river is overcome by a well-timed cloud and the Sun’s head tilts back to expose the long line of his throat.

The trigger presses back against your finger like an eager puppy. There’s nothing special about the bullets, nothing special about this gun. It’s not the right weapon for what you’re asking it to do, but you’ve had longer and harder shots. You know that you’ll shoot true and the confidence steadies your hand even more. You smoothly pull--

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back.

Your pupils dilate at the memory. For a moment you don’t see the Sun; you see her with her face burned as red as her prom dress. You try to dispel the image, try to remember that she didn’t die in her prom dress, but it’s too late.

I want you to live, Elian.

You’re suddenly aware of how your lungs ache and your legs burn from the way they’re wrapped around the tree and the bark is digging into your cheek and your fingers are like ice on the trigger. You’re out in the middle of nowhere. This is the Sun’s private residence. The security must be insane even if there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. What’s your exit strategy again? Your thoughts scatter as her voice rings through your head again.

More than anything, I want you to live.

-------Ten years ago----

You’re what the heroes tactfully call a nuisance. A juvenile delinquent with powers, aka a kid that the police aren’t equipped to handle and the local Hero chapter is too overqualified and too understaffed to address often.

Your moral compass has never had a true north and it only gets worse the more your powers develop. Soon you aren’t just stealing your mom’s car – you’re stealing the neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s and then the neighbor’s neighbor’s neighbor’s until you’re breaking into houses at the top of the hill and joyriding in a car worth more than your entire neighborhood together.

You find out pretty quickly that the heroes care a lot more when money is involved.

You spend your first night in jail after getting chased for three hours in a neon green lambo by the four heroes packed like sardines in a standard issue SUV. It’s laughably easy to out-drive them, choking around corners and careening down alleys that you scouted in the afternoon. Honestly, it would have been easy to get away, but your mom called just as the tank hit empty, asking when you were coming home. You decided to give the heroes a break before they decided to play too rough with a minor.

Mom isn’t thrilled when you tell her you won’t be home in time for school tomorrow.

You kind of expect to be sent to prison the next day when you find out just whose car you stole. The Mayor’s daughter’s car, bought new for her seventeenth birthday a month ago. There are two open secrets about the mayor. One, he’s probably one of the heroes that protect the city judging from how much he praises them every time there’s a mic nearby. Two, he loves his daughter more than anything else.

So when you’re released the next day with a slap on the wrist? Yeah, you’re surprised.

When you’re released the next day to find the golden-haired, blue-eyed Mayor’s daughter waiting outside? Having just bailed you out?

You feel fear for the first time.

“You could have at least crashed it,” she says when she notices you gaping at her from the end of the parking lot. She’s leaning against the hood of a black SUV that looks a lot like the one the heroes chased you in last night. She waves a hand in the air. “Dad says the dents you put in the side will be out by tomorrow.”

Fear, apparently, makes you snarky. “What, you wanted to spend another week getting chauffeured by a hero?”

Her brows jerk up towards her hairline. She throws a glance over her shoulder. “You seeing ghosts? Nobody’s in there. I drove myself.”

“Good for you,” you say. You think you smell. They didn’t give you access to a shower last night. You’re upwind from her and damnit why are you embarrassed if you smell or not? Your chin jerks forward in a challenge. “You gonna give me a ride back home?”

You’re joking, but she nods like it was the plan all along. “Let’s go.”

Is that an answering challenge in her words? Your teeth grind as you force yourself forward. “Very kind of you,” you chirp, swinging up into the passenger seat. The car smells like leather and justice. “Just drop me off on the other side of the train tracks. I can find my way home from there.”

She snorts. “Is that a Footloose reference? Very dated.”

You stare at her profile. “…No. I literally live on the other side of the tracks.”

She flushes. “Right. Well…I’m not dropping you off yet. I want to talk first.”

The doors are locked. You swallow as she carefully pulls out of the parking lot and then guns it into the road without looking. Luckily, no one’s there. “Talk? About what?”

“About how you’re going to steal my car again,” she says. “And this time you’re going to crash it right.”

“You hate the color that much?” you joke.

Her tone is not joking. “You have no idea.”

You don’t find out her name until dinner when your mom’s managed to entice her into a third slice of homemade pizza. She stares down at the slice while your mom waves for you not to stay up too late before going to bed early. Gamely, you’re already on your fifth helping. Criminal activity takes a lot of energy.

“Does your mom know who I am?” she asks.

“Like, in theory,” you say. You’re full and warm as you lean into the hard wooden back of your chair. Mom added olives to your side of the pizza. “She probably doesn’t know you’re the Mayor’s daughter though. Just that he has one.”

“The Mayor…right,” she says. Her jaw firms. She flicks some olives off her pizza and then eats half the slice in one bite. “I’m Gina.”

“Elian,” you say instead of No, you’re the Mayor’s Daughter. You refill her soda cup before your own, just to show her you can be fancy and have manners too. She’s so out of place in your family’s one bedroom apartment. Her shirt is crisp and white, her gold necklace so shiny, that it’s like there’s a sepia filter over the eggshell walls and oak cabinets. “Sprite. Only the finest for the lady who bailed me out.”

“I’m thinking you can take my car next weekend,” Gina says so abruptly you nearly spit out your soda. There’s a hard light in her eyes. “Dad’s out of town for…business. He won’t notice for a few days. You take it, you get out of the city, you drive it off a cliff once you’ve wrecked it doing donuts or whatever.”

“A cliff?” You know exactly where she’s talking about. There’s an abandoned quarry about an hour outside of town. You shake your head. “That’s where people dump bodies. No way am I going out there.”

“They find bodies there because it’s outside of Hero Force’s patrol,” Gina says. She waves her hands in the air so the yellow light from the inset ceiling lights catches on her golden manicure. “If you think about it, it’s the best place to dump a car. Especially when the heroes are going to be out of town.”

You stare at her. “Did you just admit your dad is part of Hero Force?”

Her eyes skitter away from yours. “No.”

“Your dad is out of town next weekend.”

“Yes.”

“And the heroes?”

“Maybe they’re traveling together.”

“I don’t think anyone is supposed to know when the heroes are going to be out of town. Isn’t that like a national secret, or something?”

“We’re not a big enough chapter for it to be a national secret,” she denies. She bites her lip. “Probably a state secret though.”

You stand and your chair chatters against the linoleum. “No. Absolutely not.” It’s time for Ms. Mayor’s Daughter to leave.

She scrambles up after you, following you into the living room. “Why not?! You already mess with the heroes. Weren’t you the one who kept breaking into the mall on a motorcycle? You hijacked one of their delivery trucks a month ago—”

“A food delivery truck,” you say. “Which was more of a commentary about the city’s investment in Hero Force luxury rather than after school programs—” You bite your tongue. You spin so that the couch stays between you. You glance at your mom’s closed door and consciously lower your voice. “How do you even know that?”

“I’ve been watching you,” she says. She laughs without humor, dragging one hand through her golden hair. “Sometimes living in this town is like being in a simulation. We have four A-class heroes for a population of 30,000 and everybody loves them. Nobody thinks it’s strange to have walking nukes in a small town. They love my dad. Did you know no one’s even run against him for the past two elections? It doesn’t matter what he does. He owns this place and these people. He has – could commit murder and it would be justified. People would think it would be justice.”

“He loves you,” you say weakly. Isn’t four heroes a pretty normal number? Sure, the ones in your town are big names, but that’s not weird.

Is it?

“He loves me so he gets to be a tyrant?” Gina scoffs. “If he’s even capable of love.”

“I’m not going to mess around with heroes’ civilian identities just because you’ve got daddy issues,” you say. When hurt flashes across her face, you wince. “Sorry. But it’s one thing to mess with heroes in masks, okay? Messing with a hero’s family—”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem when you were stealing my car the other night.”

“That was before I knew your dad was Mr. Solve or whatever—”

“The Sun,” Gina says.

“What?”

“My dad’s the Sun.”

“That,” you say, “is so much worse. Didn’t he burn some minor villain’s eyes out last week?”

“Yes,” Gina says. Her mouth twists. “The guy got off easy compared to some others.”

You stare at her, momentarily speechless. “And you wonder why I’m not going to antagonize the guy?”

“But you already do,” Gina says. Her eyes are glinting. She looks so out of place against the dim interior of your home, a radiant girl dressed all in white and gold. She rounds the couch and snatches up one of your hands between two of her own. “Everyone else loves my dad. Except you. My entire life, and you’re the only one who dares to make—make statements about Hero Force consumption by stealing their deliveries or make the heroes chase you around an abandoned mall on foot like regular people. You challenge them, Elian. All I’m asking is that you do it again.”

“That sounds like a lot more than just crashing your car,” you say. Your voice sounds very far away. You never thought of your actions as so noble. There’s a tingling in your stomach that you’ve never felt before and your hand is so warm. She sees you. You shake the fantasy out of your head. “I—look. I’m flattered, but I’m not your guy. The heroes know my face. It’s only a matter of time before I get sent to whatever detention super-powered kids get sent to. I have to graduate high school.”

Rather than discourage her, Gina presses closer. “What if I told you there’s a way to do both?”

Her closeness fogs your brain. “Both?”

“Take the heroes down a notch and maintain your identity,” she says. She releases you and whirls to get her purse off the couch. “I can help you. We can train so that the heroes never recognize the new you. You can use your powers in new ways. And you can wear this.”

She thrusts a piece of chewed leather into your hands. A mask.

“I’m thinking,” she says, “we call you Outlaw.”

------ Now ----

You can’t shoot. Night is falling by the time you admit it to yourself. You press your back against the rough bark of the tree and stare up at the first stars. You cradle your gun in your hands.

The bloodlust is still there. You aren’t a fair lily incapable of staining your petals red (as red as her). So why can’t you pull the trigger? Because of her ghost? Her last message to you?

If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back. More than anything, I want you to live, Elian.

You grind your teeth. Easy for her to say. The dying never have to feel the weight of consequence. They can just say whatever the fuck they want.

You aren’t thinking when you climb down the tree. Your powers give you a lot of things – speed and healing, an instinct for the outdoors, and excellent eyesight. You don’t need to look to find one branch and another, dropping to the forest floor in ten-foot increments. By the time your boots hit the ground, you know what the problem is.

Unlike your other kills, this one is personal. It was never going to be enough just to see him dead. You need him to know why you’ve got him in your sights.

The Sun is an old school hero. The traps you were so afraid of are predictable, turns out. You pick your way around bear traps and landmines, sharp eyes easily picking out silver trip wire when it glints in the moonlight. There are cameras, but there’s likely only one person with access. In the past ten years of following the Sun, you’ve learned two things about him.

One, he’ll kill the things he loves before he loses them.

Two, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself.

You get to the building inside of an hour. The first floor is hidden by steel shutters and there’s no light peeking out from behind them. The second floor window where he’d been sleeping for most of the day shines with the faint blue glow of a television.

The front door looks like a bank’s with how thick it is. There’s a keypad and a biometric scanner you don’t have a prayer of hacking.

That’s okay. You’ve already seen your way in.

You climb up the nearest pine tree. The Sun likes to think of himself as a competent hero, but too many mayoral kickbacks over the years made him soft. He surrounded himself with powerful heroes and never once struggled to win. Because of that, he’s missing some caution and common sense. The building’s first floor is locked up tight, but the windows on the second are regular glass.

And he hasn’t trimmed the tree line back far enough.

You fire your first shot of the night into his empty desk chair, exactly where his chest had been hours earlier. Immediately a siren sounds, and the TV glow coming through the office’s open door is consumed by bright light. You run two steps and then leap, neatly flipping through the empty window frame. Your boots slide for a moment on the broken glass and you catch yourself on the edge of his desk. There are medical papers scattered across it, prescriptions and diagrams of the face and eyes and heart.

You chew your cheek at the sight of a pill bottle. There had been rumors that the Sun is sick with his own radiation poisoning. It’s good you’re here before nature runs its course.

The siren wails for another beat before dying. The silence rings. Your heartbeat picks up as your ears strain to hear if anyone’s coming to meet you. Strange. The Sun had to have been the one who shut off the alarm.

So where is he?

You hold your gun out in front of you and check your mask. The Sun knows who you are by now, but you want him to see the mask she gave you. The handsewn leather, patched more times than you can count, is recycled from one of his old leather jackets. It feels oddly poetic to be dressed in the first iteration of your costume, cowboy hat tipped back and a biker vest embroidered with the name she gave you.

Is the Sun hiding? You creep out of the office, eyes darting from the quaint landscapes hanging on the wall to the tasteful wooden floors. The Sun’s safe house feels more cabin-y than you expected. The property deed has been in his name for the past fifteen years. Did Gina ever visit? Her ghost runs ahead of you, golden nails dragging along the peach wallpaper to the first open door on the left. She looks over her shoulder and smiles.

There are times when you’re glad for the afterimages your brain conjures. This is not one of those times. You don’t think she’d be happy to see what you’re about to do.

You swing around the doorway gun first, a snarl on your lips. “You old bastard, drop what—”

The smell of antiseptic hits your nose first, dashing away the red haze filling your vision in an instant. A TV murmurs against the wall, some rerun of an old western, but it’s not what holds your attention.

There’s a bed in the center of the room. The Sun sits at bedside, his attention wholly invested on the hand he’s holding up. Carefully, he applies gold paint to the nails without once looking up at you.

The woman in the bed is obscured with white gauze and beige compression bandages. Her breathing is soft and even. The one eye you can see is closed and still. No dreaming, no awareness.

“Outlaw,” the Sun says. He gently sets Gina’s left hand down on her stomach and picks up her right. He squints at her pinky nail. “Close the office door, would you? I don’t want the heat to escape.”

“What,” you breathe, “the fuck.”

-----Ten years ago ----

It’s a good year with Gina. You never realized how friend-starved you were until she was there, over at your house every day after school. She always makes it sound like she’s coming over to talk about the Outlaw thing, but there’s other stuff too. Movies and cooking and tutoring.

“Life is about balance,” Gina says sagely during one such tutoring session. “Besides, even heroes don’t go on more than two missions a month. We’re doing just fine.”

There’s always a pressing need to do more though. Whenever you pull off a particularly daring heist, she smiles this secret and pleased smile that makes your stomach flip. Sometimes, when the two of you watch news coverage of your getaways, she murmurs how impressed she is, how smart you are, how cool your powers are.

It makes you want to do anything for Gina.

You’re watching the news one day, waiting for a recap of how you stole the Sun’s favorite shield from the armory, when a rare story comes on. A Hero is dead, some guy named Ibis from Atlanta. There aren’t any leads to the culprit except for eyewitness accounts of a mysterious, winged super-powered individual flying low over the city, hiding in storm clouds.

“I’d kill a Hero,” you blurt out.

Gina jerks so hard that the popcorn bowl goes flying out of her hands. She doesn’t seem to notice. “What?”

“N-not your dad or anything,” you say quickly although yes, if you had to kill anyone, you’d start with the man who makes Gina cry like that. “Just…in general. The news anchor said Ibis was connected to a civilian’s death, right? I could kill a Hero like that.”

“No,” Gina says. She drops off the couch to kneel by you. “No, Elian.”

You flush like you’ve done something wrong. You sink into your hoodie. “I’m not going to, I’m just saying—”

“If you kill a Hero, there’s no going back,” Gina says. She’s too close, so close that you can see the flecks of gold hidden in her eyes. “Your life—it’s not like what we’ve been doing. Dad’s got rules when it comes to stealing. But if you kill a hero?” She shudders. “I want you to live, Elian.”

“I got it—”

“Please,” she blurts out. The plea in her voice makes you really look at her despite the pounding of your heart. Her eyes are wild and her mouth is pressed into a thin line. “No matter what. Promise me.”

“I—” No matter what? You slowly shake your head, trying to get away from the instinctive desire to agree with her. “I-if someone is really bad, I’d—”

“Elian—”

The tension makes you truthful.

“If your dad hurt you, I’d kill him,” you say. When she rears back, this time you follow. You brace your arm against the couch so you can lean into her space. With your other hand, you trace the fading burn on her cheek that could pass for an old sunburn if you didn’t know the truth. “I know you don’t think he will, but he’s been erratic lately. And I know about his temper. If he hurts you, I’d kill him.”

The air thickens between you. It’s rare that you don’t back down, but you’re not backing down now, staring into her eyes. Competing wills. For a moment you let everything you feel come to the surface. Your frustration when she visits with that fucking shadow in her smile, the helplessness when there’s another burn on her arm, the adoration when she’s just there.

Gina shudders and looks away first. She licks her lips. “I—I…appreciate what you’re saying, but I’m fine. You agreed I got to make the rules for Outlaw. I’m telling you one. Don’t kill heroes.”

She’s pulling away. You do too, falling to her side and sitting next to her rather than hovering over her. You try for a careless shrug but fall short. How can she make you feel so powerful one second and so powerless the next? You avert your eyes. “I won’t kill heroes,” you promise.

You hear her suck in a breath. “Good. Because I need you alive.”

“I do like being alive,” you say and don’t finish the sentence with with you.

“We’re done studying,” she decides. She darts up towards the kitchen. “I’m getting another bowl of popcorn before we start the movie. You want some?”

You stare at your reflection in the dark TV. Your jaw works. Finally, you say, “Nah. I’m good. I’ll just eat it off the floor.”

“Don’t be gross, Elian!”

------Now.----

“I will regret that day for the rest of my life,” the Sun says. He hasn’t looked at you once. His eyes are glued to the steady rise and fall of Gina’s chest. He times his breathing to hers and then sighs. “What a fool I was. Drunk on power.”

You’re standing on the opposite side of the bed. Your gaze flicks from Gina to him and back again. “Is she ever conscious?”

“It’s a medically-induced coma,” the Sun says. “The doctors say she should wake up any day now that most of her injuries have healed. Her last surgery was the final one. Now it’s up to her.”

This might be the first time in ten years that you’ve breathed. You suck in air greedily and imagine you can taste her scent under the layers of sickness and medicine. “They told me she died.”

“I told Hero Force you did it,” the Sun says. There’s no remorse in his voice. “They always tell villains they were successful, so they don’t try again.”

A decade of rage slides around your ribs. “You fucking bastard.”

“I did think it was your fault ten years ago.” He carefully picks up Gina’s left hand again to apply a second coat. It takes all your willpower not to slap him away from her. “If you hadn’t stolen Hero Force data, I wouldn’t have had to come after you with my full power. She would never have been in the line of fire.”

You’re fists shake at your sides. “I didn’t steal Hero Force data, I stole your fucking car. Don’t rewrite history.”

“There was Hero Force data in that car.”

“It was your Porsche, your civilian Porsche!”

“My fault to have left sensitive data out,” the Sun says. His confession surprises you into silence. “But I had to get it back no matter what. Then I blamed you by thinking how if you’d only asked me to take my daughter to Prom, I would’ve known she was in the car.”

“She’s not your property and it’s not the 1800s, of course I didn’t ask if I could take your daughter to—”

“I’m telling you what I thought,” the Sun interrupts. He finally looks at you. He looks worse than he did earlier, the years cutting deep lines into his face. There are black bags of exhaustion under his watering eyes. He breathes out shakily. “I had to tell myself it was your fault. It was the only way I could survive, Elian.”

Your real name shocks you. You stumble back. “How do you know that name?”

“She calls for you sometimes,” the Sun says. He drags a hand over his face before grimly returning to his daughter’s nails. “She’s never been really conscious for long. The d-damage took a long time to heal. But when she’s awake, she calls for you and she calls for Outlaw. Wasn’t hard to put the pieces together.”

Your chest throbs. “I should have been here. You should have—I could have—”

“Blaming you let me keep her by my side,” the Sun says. “I don’t expect you to forgive me or even understand me. But I…I regret more than anything what I’ve done to my daughter.”

“You’re going to regret it even more,” you say. The rage you feel is like a tidal wave. Ten years. Ten years. You could have held her hand through her recovery. You could have been there for her. And this selfish asshole who never even loved her like a father should took that away from you. You remember your gun. “You never deserved to be her father.”

“I didn’t, did I?” the Sun asks. He sets her hand down and swallows hard. He looks down the barrel of your gun without flinching. “She says one other thing, you know. When she asks for you.”

The curiosity stills your trigger finger. “What?”

“She says, Don’t kill heroes.”

Your face contorts. There’s the memory of popcorn in your mouth and the heat of her eyes on you. “Yeah, she said that to me before too. Back when I offered to kill you the first time.”

The Sun hangs his head. If he’s surprised to hear that, he doesn’t show it. “I wasn’t a good father.”

“No. But she didn’t want you dead.”

Understanding dawns. “Don’t kill heroes.”

“Exactly.” You tilt your head. “Do you feel like a hero?”

His lips tremble. His gaze drifts back to his daughter. Her eyes are flickering under eyelids. “I—I—”

The trigger presses back against your finger, eager and ready. “Do you?”

He licks his lips. “N-no,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

This time, it’s easy to take aim. Steady your breath. And—

Fuck.

“Leave,” you say. You drop your gun back to your side and scowl when the Sun’s eyes fly open in surprise. “If you do what I say, you’ll live long enough for Gina to decide what to do with you. Leave and don’t tell anyone about this.”

The Sun shakes his head. “No, no I can’t leave her—”

“Then die here,” you snap. You bare your teeth at him. “Leave. We’ll be gone in a week. Maybe she wakes up and calls you. Maybe she—” You take a deep breath. “Well. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way, your part is done here.”

“I need to be there when she wakes up. Please, I’m her dad—”

“You’re her murderer,” you say. More than anything, you want to pick Gina up and run out of here before the Sun can stop you. You eye the monitors and know three people you need to call for advice before you even attempt to move her. A week should be just enough time to disappear. “You think you deserve to stay by her side?”

The Sun opens his mouth twice before he finds words. “I just—let me stay until she wakes up. That way I’ll know.”

“I spent ten years thinking she was dead,” you say. “You can last a month in limbo. If I have to ask you again, we’ll finally see who’s stronger now that I’m all grown up.”

The Sun picks himself up slowly. You think he cries. You’re not sure. He may even plead with you again. You’re deaf to it. Your brain has given up on splitting your attention and every atom of your being is homed in on Gina.

She’s alive. She’s alive.

You kneel at her bedside and wait for her to wake up.

----

Thanks for reading! If you want to read more of work or get access to stories like this a week (or more!) early, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! This week's short story for my Triple Shot and above tiers is about a world where being loved adds years to your lifespan!

Based off this prompt (X): Love determines how long you live, some people are in their hundreds, but some don’t even live to be 20.

#my writing #short story #superheroes and villains #my superpowers

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yazmarina · 5 months ago

Text

close to you

for hit play, a drabble event.

—"break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight, just let me be" (close to you by gracie abrams)

oscar piastri (f1) x afab!reader

warnings/notes: smut, protected sex, cunnilingus, first date, basically you match with oscar on a dating app lol

a/n: what a weekend guys. have this as the cherry on top <3

You never really expected anything much to come out of it.

You swiped right on the app, highly suspicious if this was really even him, but for the plot (as the kids say), you wanted to try anyway.

The screen graphics confirmed that it was a match and you felt your blood run cold.

Oscar Piastri, Formula 1 driver, had matched with you on a dating app.

You locked your phone and paced about the room for a solid five minutes, refusing to pick your device back up. You yelped as you saw the screen light up. You shoved it under your pillow, rushing out of the room and pacing even more, but this time, around your living room.

It took another ten minutes for you to gingerly return to your room, your trembling hand flipping your phone upright to expose your notifications.

Oscar: Hey :)

You nearly dashed out onto your balcony and leaped off the edge right then. With bated breath, you tapped on the notification, thoughts cycling seemingly a million miles a second.

You: Hi! Fancy seeing you here haha

You groaned immediately after sending the message, cringing at the utter lack of eloquence.

A sob nearly escapes your lips when you see his reply.

Oscar: Don't tell on me, then ;) I take it you're a fan?

"You have no idea, Oscar Piastri," you whispered to yourself as you tried to maintain a semblance of composure in your following messages.

You really should have practiced restraint, a cautious approach to this whole situation. What if it was some sort of poser? What if whichever dickhead pretending to be Oscar posts your responses online to dunk on you? Your face was exposed, goddammit.

But after two hours of messaging and a selfie sent from his side to prove that, yes, he really was Formula 1 driver Oscar Piastri, the two of you agreed to meet the next day.

You're still not fully convinced at that point but you decided to go with it. You sent a vague yet urgent message to your friend who lives nearby, in case you need an escape plan.

You covered all your bases, said all your prayers, and plucked every stray eyebrow into perfection.

Your heart nearly gives out now as you look up to see Oscar approaching your table, the sun gleaming down, casting a glow on his wavy brown hair. You're seated just outside the restaurant doors, the breeze gently displacing some of your own hair.

A nervous giggle escapes you as you tuck your hair back in place. Oscar beams and pulls the chair out in front of you.

"Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting."

You shake your head almost instantly. "No, it's okay. I wasn't here for long."

Oscar smiles even wider and you clamp your hands together under the table to stop them from shaking.

"It's nice to meet you," Oscar says, reaching his hand out. You chuckle at the formality but grasp his hand in yours nonetheless.

"Same here. Though, I'm a little nervous," you reply.

"Though, I hope you aren't super weirded out about going on a date with a fan," you rush out. "I just really enjoy the sport and I think you're a great driver."

You see a hint of pink dusting Oscar's cheeks. Your own face heats up at the realization.

"It's fine," Oscar consoles. "Thanks, by the way. I mean, you're gorgeous, so you're not the only one in awe here."

Oscar's eyes widen as he realizes the words that had come tumbling out of his mouth. Your own jaw slackens and another nervous laugh rises from your chest.

"Thank you," you manage to splutter out. "I-I don't know what else to say to that without sounding like some lovesick fan."

Oscar bursts out laughing, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. You realize that every inch of skin above his shirt collar is tinged with red.

"I think that's our signal to order," Oscar offers, flipping through the menu in front of him.

You nod silently, doing the same.

The text you send to your friend after your lunch with Oscar is just as vague, if not a little more.

You tell them that your date went well and that you'll be moving to another place. You don't exactly clarify what this other place is, but with the way your friend tells you to be safe and call immediately if anything goes wrong, you know that they're aware of where this is going.

You lean back, comfortable in the passenger seat of Oscar's car. You set your phone down, sneaking a peek at the man beside you, and for a split second your eyes meet.

"You good?" Oscar asks, his eyes trained back on the road. There's an easy smile playing on his lips and you can still see pink on his cheeks.

"Yeah," you say, digging through your purse and retrieving some breath mints. You pop two in your mouth and you offer Oscar the container.

You smile knowingly as Oscar glances at your outstretched hand, his smile widening into a bashful grin.

"Want some?" you offer, toying with the candy in your mouth. Just then, you come upon a stoplight and Oscar turns to you fully.

He holds up his palm and you shake out two more mints onto his awaiting hand. Oscar places them in his mouth, watching as you put the candies away.

"Any particular reason you'd be needing breath mints?" Oscar asks almost playfully.

You snicker. "Not really. Just wanted to get the taste of food out of my mouth."

Oscar hums, eyes trailing down your face. You can see him continue to suck on the mints but he soon loses his patience and bites down, grinding his teeth.

Yours are all dissolved, the fresh sting of spearmint settling on your tongue.

"I don't really do this," Oscar suddenly declares.

You raise both of your eyebrows. "Do what?"

"Take girls home on the first date."

A grin settles on your face as you hear the words. You lean in closer, over the center console, noting the way Oscar inhales as you do so.

"I'm flattered," you admit. Oscar laughs, mirroring your posture, the proximity between you two diminishing.

Oscar kisses you, tenderly at first, his hand automatically coming up to hold you in place. It's easy to forget that it's the middle of the day in sunny Monaco, the tint on his car windows not the ideal shade to necessarily hide what you're doing.

You pull, back glancing at the stoplight just as it turns green.

It takes a honk from the car behind you to get Oscar out of his daze.

Oscar is a gracious host, as you quickly learn. Gracious in a way that his hands immediately cradle you close the second his front door latches shut. His lips are just as welcoming as they trail down your neck, careful and almost nervous. It's also so hospitable how he so eagerly ushers you into his room, settling you down on the sheets as he does all the work for you.

Your clothes are stripped one by one and the familiar anxiety rises back up in your throat. Oscar senses the shift in your mood and pauses just as he's undoing his own pants.

"We don't have to," Oscar offers, taking ahold of one side of your face.

You kick yourself in your mind. This is an opportunity you would never pass up and it's right in the palm of your hand.

You shake your head. "I want to. I really want to. With you."

Oscar grins and practically tackles you down on the bed. It takes some effort but the rest of his clothes finally come off and the two of you lay bare on his bed.

You can feel the desperation in his movements and you reciprocate with as much eagerness. You think for a moment what it could have been in your lunch that caused the both of you to just want to jump in bed together, but you ultimately doubt that the tapas had anything to do with it.

It feels surreal, having Oscar's mouth on your core, and even more unbelievable the way his fingers work as if they already know you, how to please you. You're trembling by the time Oscar comes back up, lips smeared with your arousal.

You blink the tears out of your eyes as you watch Oscar reach over to his nightstand, expertly dispensing a condom, rolling it down on his rock-hard shaft.

You scramble to get him close, not even caring about how quick he plunges inside you, the stretch eliciting a hiss from between your teeth. You relax and Oscar takes this as a sign to start moving.

"Jesus, fuck—" Oscar curses. "You're fucking tight."

You let out a breath, holding Oscar's body close as he fucks you, steady and unrelenting.

You don't particularly care if everything he's said up to this point is a lie. You could be his fifth this week, you could be herded out his apartment the moment he finishes. You really don't mind, not when he feels this good inside you.

"Oscar," you gasp as he starts to pick up his pace. Even that doesn't seem real. The way his name rolls off your tongue registers like a faraway dream to you.

Oscar pulls back to look at you, his hair falling over his eyes. You've gushed about this exact look a few times online. The thought embarrasses you a bit and you can't help the blush that creeps up your neck.

"What?" Oscar asks, the corners of his mouth turning up as he watches you.

You shake your head. "Nothing. Don't look at me like that."

Oscar smirks, pressing his mouth to yours in a heady kiss. Your whines and moans are muffled as Oscar takes you closer and closer to your release. You claw at his back, digging your nails into his supple skin. Your hips start to move along with his, your own orgasm now within reach.

The two of you cum almost simultaneously and Oscar stills inside of you, his mouth hanging open as the euphoria completely washes over him. You're panting, eyes unfocused, even as Oscar pulls out to discard the condom.

Oscar plops back down beside you and you can't help the giggles that erupt as the two of you catch each other's eye.

"That was great," Oscar muses, staring at the ceiling, his hand patting around the bed until it finally finds yours. He slots his fingers between the spaces of your own.

You risk a peek at him and you take it all in. A strange feeling blooms in your chest.

Oscar turns to you and you quickly look away.

"It's kind of cute how you think I don't notice you looking," Oscar says, scooting closer.

You meet his eyes again and the strange feeling only flourishes. Pessimistically, you think of that one quote about never meeting your heroes. You start to think that it might be true.

The illusion is shattered. You've come too close. Icarus reincarnated, the sun staring you right back in the face.

You anticipate the sugarcoated rejection.

"Wanna stay over?"

You blink.

"Stay over?" You repeat rather plainly. Oscar nods.

"Yeah. I'll get us dinner." Oscar tucks your hair behind your ear. "Unless you'd rather I drive you home."

A giddy sort of sensation shoots through your body. You tentatively reach out, laying a hand on Oscar's face.

Maybe you could get just a little closer to the sun.

You peck his lips briefly, smiling as you pull away.

"No. I guess you can have me overnight."

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #op81 #oscar piastri x reader

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warping-realities · 4 months ago

Text

Parental Pressure

Eddie watched the personal trainer's video for the thousandth time as he was getting closer to the little gym for his first class. He had snuck out of his house super early and quietly because he knew Nick, his old man, wouldn’t approve of his son wasting time on this kinda stuff. He became a single father really young, back in high school, and now, at 35, he did everything he could to make sure his kid didn’t follow the same path. Becoming a doctor was Nicholas Rousseau’s biggest dream, but early fatherhood messed up his chance to hit the books at college. Not that he blamed Eddie for it; on the contrary, they usually had a solid relationship, except when Eddie strayed from the plans his dad laid out for his future. If Nick couldn’t get into med school, Eddie sure as hell would, whether he liked it or not. And now, with less than a month before college kicked off, Eddie was having doubts about the path laid out for him. So, in a rebellious move, after getting an invite to check out Rocco “Rocky” Mancini's gym, an Italian bodybuilder who moved to the States, now retired and not exactly a big name in the game, who a few years back started hustling as a personal trainer and, according to the promo video on Eddie's Instagram, was looking for young men to boost his portfolio. It looked like that gig wasn’t going great either. The first person to sign up would get a month of free daily training. Perfect for Eddie; after all, a month of training with an expert before college would make things way easier when he had to hit the gym away from his overprotective dad’s watchful eye. Surprisingly he was the first one to sign up! And so, the young skinny man, with light brown hair found himself stepping into the dimly lit gym at 6 AM.

As he stood frozen at the door, anxiety washing over him, a monstrous figure approached, strutting with swagger, muscles bulging looking like they might burst from the thin layer of skin wrapping them. With a fuller beard and looking at least five years older than in the video Eddie had seen over and over, the guy oozed confidence and a certain arrogance. But those weren’t the only things he was giving off, as it became clear to Eddie when the dude came up to him with a sweaty hand extended to shake, a distinct animal musk dominating his senses.

“You must be Eddie! Nice to meet ya, kid; I’m Rocco, but you can call me Rocky—everyone does. Welcome to my little temple. So, you ever trained before?”

“Ahn, no... I wanted to, but my dad... no, I’ve never trained.”

“Feeling a little bit of Daddy Issues here? Just kidding, son! Where’s your workout gear?”

“I thought, since it’s the first day... I... didn’t bring any...”

“Damn, son, you weren’t kidding when you said you’ve never trained; you don’t have a clue! But don’t sweat it, we’ll fix that! You can wear the shirt; I’ll get you some shorts.”

“I... don’t wanna be a bother.”

“Son, you came here to train, and train is what you’re gonna do. I don’t know what your pops taught you but it looks like you got a lot to learn from me. First thing, you gotta be more assertive—don’t be scared to say what you think or do what you like.”

Hearing that, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the fear and anxiety that had been eating at him for weeks seemed to fade away. He wanted to be there, and nobody was gonna take that away from him, not even his old man.

After hitting the locker room and putting on the shorts Rocco lent him, which were way too big in the legs but surprisingly just right in the waist, Eddie went back to the main room where the personal trainer was waiting for him.

“We gotta fill those shorts, son!”

“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Mancini.”

“Hell yeah! That’s the spirit but none of this Mr. Mancini nonsense; you either call me Rocky or coach.”

“Yes, sir, coach!”

“That’s right! Now, back to our chat, you said you’ve been training for a while, but how long is a while, son?”

That info was totally wrong; he’d never trained, right? But why did he have fuzzy memories of sneaking out to hit the school gym before class during his senior year? If he hadn’t trained, where did those small but tight muscles come from?

“I’ve been training for almost a year, coach, but I don’t think I’ve seen much result.”

“Two more things to teach you, son: first, we’re never happy with the size we are, and second, even so, you’re never gonna downplay your achievements; you’ve done something that most people can’t even pull off. Be proud of that.”

“I... I’m proud, yeah!” he replied, realizing the coach was speaking the truth. He had a lot of pride in what he accomplished, even though he knew he was still far from where he wanted to be.

“Awesome! Now you’re talking like a real champ. But enough chit-chat, let’s see what you’re made of.” Rocco said before putting Eddie through the most grueling workout he’d ever experienced. His self-taught training hadn’t prepared him for this level of exhaustion. After half an hour of intense agony, they took a break, and Eddie tried to recover before what he knew would be another half hour of torture as Rocco praised him.

“Damn, son, all that fuss you had with your pops to come train with me in your junior year was worth it. You’re huge; another minute and that shirt ain’t gonna hold!”

Still exhausted from the workout, Eddie took a moment to wrap his head around what the trainer had said. A fight with his dad...? And training here for at least three years...? No... it didn’t make sense... but then he saw his own reflection in the gym mirror, and he was... fucking swole! And that... that wasn’t just possible; it was thanks to the time he’d spent caring for his body all this while, even with his dad breathing down his neck.

“Thanks, Coach, but I’m still not anywhere near where I wanna be!”

“Well, if you get closer, this shirt definitely isn’t gonna hold. I’ll grab you one of mine, or you can train shirtless until the other clients show up, son. In the meantime, figure out how to get that thing off, but I doubt it’s coming off without tearing. Maybe you should film a video for your social media; I bet your followers will go wild!”

“Haha, I don’t think that they will care, and I feel kinda uncomfortable putting myself out there. So I’ll take the shirt.” Eddie replied as the coach returned with an enormous shirt in hand and offered it to him.

“Son, there’s no reason to be shy about showing off; you sculpted that body for a reason. Don’t tell me that’s another one of your dad’s ideas? You never cared much about what he thinks, and I’ve known you since you were a little brat, fourteen years old, showing up on opening day to get an autograph!”

Once again, Eddie felt something shift inside him; the cordial relationship he had with his overly protective dad was turning into a conflictual one, with both of them constantly arguing about the expectations they had for Eddie’s future, which drove him to practically live at Rocco’s gym, where he helped with maintenance or took care of the place to keep training without having to pay.

“You’re right, as always, Rocky; it’s just that, I dunno... I think this crowd that needs to post everything they do is kinda empty and vain.”

“Son if you don’t show off your gains, you won’t grow your followers, and so what if it seems kinda empty? What matters is being seen. And nobody builds a body like yours without a bit of vanity. I’ll let you keep training; I’ve got a client in twenty minutes. If you need me for anything, just holler.”

“Rocky, I can train better than a lot of pro bodybuilders, man! You know that!”

“Son there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance! You can strut around all you want with your followers, but don’t come at me with that!” Rocky shot back, though he couldn’t hide a smile of approval.

As the trainer moved away to organize things for his client, Eddie focused on finishing his remaining exercises. Kicking off his sneakers and heading to the squat rack barefoot, he stacked plate after plate until he formed a sizable pile that would surprise anyone. But the truth was, despite the insane weight, it was relatively easy for Eddie. Next, he hit the leg press and finished with deadlifts using a bar that weighed more than a baby rhino. When he sat down to do his last exercise of the day, calves, a distinct funk emanated from his armpits, but mainly from his giant size 14 bare feet. Looking at himself and feeling pumped, he couldn’t resist pulling out his phone to shoot a TikTok video. He was in the middle of recording when Rocky interrupted him.

“Damn, kid, you reek! No offense, we all have a little man funk; I know how it is, but clients are gonna start showing up, so take a shower and let’s get to work.”

“Damn, coach, sometimes you’re worse than my dad.” The kid replied, stopping the recording.

“I am your father, boy!” The older man shot back with a sinister grin and a predatory look at the younger man before continuing. “And if you really wanna please your fans, be a show-off; don’t hide your assets, son; show off that chest and those abs, but hurry up, ‘cause this place is gonna be packed soon. We’re not the biggest gym in town by luck, Wardo. This young stud pose might please your fans, but the morning ladies prefer when you play the part of the innocent bambino.”

This time, the wave of strangeness hit Eddie so hard that he felt dizzy and nauseous, exacerbated by the potent funk he was putting off. And for the first time since he stepped foot in that gym, he fully realized what was going down as he automatically took off his shirt and walked toward one of the gym mirrors, a gym which seemed to expand with every step he took, turning from a small studio into a gigantic complex. As his skin took on an olive tone and his dark brown hair curled into perfect black curls, while his nose turned aquiline like a Roman emperor from antiquity, Eddie struggled within his own mind while Edoardo Mancini took control. If someone could hear the debate between the two, it would sound something like:

“Dude, I am... no, we are what you’ve always wanted to be! Pops gave you this chance; why not embrace it?”

“’Cause I... I’m going to med school...”

“You never wanted that; we never wanted that; that was Nicholas’s thing, not ours. This is our chance to be whoever we wanna be!”

“No... we are what Rocco made us; we’re just trading one controlling dad for another!”

“Not even close, dude! We chose this path; he didn’t pressure us! We followed him out of admiration, and that boosted both his success and ours; we’re legends in the fitness world!”

“Rocco was a mediocre pro... he’s using us for leverage!”

“And what’s wrong with that? We’re getting something out of it too! And how is that different from Nicholas pressuring you?”

“I... I... don’t know...”

“Dude, if you didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be here. Chill and enjoy; besides, Pops already got what he wanted from us. He’s not gonna pressure us to follow in his footsteps. We can be whatever we want: bodybuilders like him, or fitness models, or even kickstart an acting career; and I’m not even talking about porn, even though this big guy between our legs would be a hit. Just accept it.” Wardo said, stroking the giant cock in his mind and in real life.

“I... I... damn... this feels so... fucking... good!”

“Wardo! Wrap it up, kid, and stop playing with that thing; we got a new client coming.” Rocco scolded his son.

“Damn, Pops, another ruined video!”

“You weren’t gonna post that, kid; you wanna get banned from social media?”

“I was just messing around...”

“Kid... you’ve got five minutes to take a shower and get your ass to the front desk.”

“Okay, Dad! Did you hear that, folks? The great Rocco Mancini has spoken, and the good son obeys! I’ll be back with updates soon.” The young man said before stopping the recording.

“I’ll edit it so nothing racy gets out; don’t worry, Dad!”

“Five minutes and counting!” Rocco replied with fake irritation, but in reality, he was puffed up with pride for his son as he headed for the reception, spotting a man in his mid-thirties, wearing glasses and an outfit that screamed he’d never set foot in a gym in his life.

“Good morning, sir; welcome to Rocky's Gym; I’m Rocky Mancini, the owner and head coach. Are you looking for something?”

“Good morning, I’m Nick Rousseau, and I’m actually looking for my son; his phone tracker showed he was here just a few minutes ago before it suddenly stopped working.”

“Tracker? Isn’t that a bit much? Anyway, how old is he and what’s he like? We haven’t had anyone too young around here today, except for my own kid, but if I can help you out…”

“I... I don’t know...”

“You don’t know? What kinda dad doesn’t know how to describe his own kid?”

“I... I...” Nicholas replied, his voice filled with genuine desperation, which made Rocco feel a bit of sympathy, but not enough to stop him from making the next call.

“Hey, Wardo... Wardo!!! Damn kid never listens! Edoardo Mancini!!!!” Rocky yelled while watching Nicholas slightly tremble at the sound of that name.

“What’s up, Pops? I’ll get ready in a sec.” The handsome young man replied as he prepared to flex the powerful muscles that no kid his age could get without maximum dedication, watched by his dad and the other boy.

“Not that, you insubordinate ragazzo! This guy’s looking for his son; has anyone younger shown up today?”

“Nope!” He replied, giving Nicholas a quick glance over the shades he was wearing just for style before turning around and finally heading to the locker room.

“Sorry about that, teenage boys; you know how they are.” Rocco said, smiling at the other man.

“I... know?”

“Didn’t you come looking for your son?”

“Son?? Son... no... I don’t have kids... do I?” Nicholas replied, looking both confused and desperate.

“Are you feeling alright? I’m no doc, but I can try to help.”

“Doc... doctor? No... no need... I’m a doctor.” Nicholas replied with more confidence.

“Seriously? That’s awesome! Doctors are always good clients; they know how to take care of themselves.”

“Client?”

“You didn’t come here to train? We’re in a gym, after all.”

“Of course... I came... to train. You come highly recommended.”

“Modesty aside, it’s because I’m the best. I normally don’t take new clients, but we could use a doctor to evaluate our clients, so we could do a trade; you wouldn’t happen to be a sports doc, would you?”

“No, I…”

“Awesome! Just what I needed! But I can tell you’re already in shape!” Rocco said, grinning. “Let me show you the gym. Normally, this would be Wardo’s job, but the kid’s been so focused on his influencer career that he’s slacking here... between us, I’d rather he be a bodybuilder like me, but I think a dad should respect his kid’s wishes; don’t you think?” Rocco asked, and without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Don’t you wanna have kids? Are you single or married? Dude, if you’re single, I gotta introduce you to my sister; no disrespect to her, ‘cause my mama raised me right, but between us, she’s a total smoke show...” And so he went on while Nicholas followed, not realizing that with every word spoken, his reality was adjusting to the other man’s desires.

Minutes later, Rocco stepped into the locker room bathroom and watched his son recording another video, already showered but still unable to shake off the musk that surrounded him, maybe because he was still wearing the same shorts from his workout. He admired his boy, feeling proud knowing all this was his hard work paying off.

When the young man finished recording, he turned to him.

“Wardo, finish getting dressed and come out here for a minute; I got a surprise for you.”

….

“Hey guys, Wardo Mancini here, and I’ve got some awesome news! You’re probably tired of seeing my pops in my videos, but today, besides him, I wanna introduce you to someone else.” He said, repositioning the camera in the packed gym.

“This handsome fella next to my dad is my doctor, Nic Russo, and on top of that, he’s my uncle, married to my dad’s sister. And now for the biggest news: he’s about to be a dad, and he asked me to be the godfather of his boy! Just think about the genetics of that kid with a dad like this and an uncle like my pops. My uncle says the kid can be whatever he wants, but we all know the iron bug is in our blood, and as far as his godfather is concerned, Rocky Russo is gonna be a champion bodybuilder!”

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #mental transformation #race change #musclegrowth #my story

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yaniluvs · 8 days ago

Text

✿ : hazy mornings , lonely lips .

[ 승민‎ ] ✷ ‎ . . 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 .

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑏f!seungmin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑔n!reader g. domestic fluff , humour , uni!au , established relationship . I,2OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ L𝒾BRARY . 𓋜 . cw. suggestive , kisses , intimacy. ✦ requested drabble. ! ࿐

yani's note ! ✿ double post today >< thank you to anon for the request ! <3 also, this may be my first gender-neutral-reader fic :3 not too proud of this, but oh well, not my best work either !! requests are currently open, so are anon claims !! i lowkey cringed at myself while writing this... i'm so not good with suggestive fics, but i did what i could !! comments, likes, req/asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

the first thing you notice is warmth. not the kind that wakes you up in a sweat, but the kind that lulls you into staying—into sinking deeper under the covers where his scent lingers, where his presence is heavy and real.

your boyfriend is still beside you, half-buried in the blanket, one arm thrown lazily over your waist. his hair is a mess, tufts of brown sticking up in unruly directions, and his lips are parted slightly, a soft breath escaping with every rise and fall of his chest. he’s warm. solid. here.

you barely remember how last night ended—just flashes of laughter, his teasing remarks that made your stomach twist, the way he pressed a lazy kiss to your forehead before pulling you down beside him. the details blur, but this moment is sharp, etched into the quiet glow of morning.

soon enough, you heard a soft groan. looks like he was up early, too.

“good morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, rasping against the quiet like a melody only the morning gets to hear.

the golden light spilling through the window drapes across his face, tracing every sharp plane and soft curve as if the sun itself is enamored by him. shadows gather in the hollows of his cheeks, the slope of his nose, the gentle dip above his cupid’s bow. his lips are slightly parted, still kiss-bitten from the night before, and his lashes—long, delicate—flutter lazily as he blinks against the glow of dawn.

his hair is a tousled mess, strands falling over his forehead in an artless way that makes him look even softer, like something meant to be admired in the quiet hours between dreaming and waking. the light catches in his dark eyes, turning them into liquid gold, flecks of amber igniting within the deep brown. sleep lingers in them, slow and heavy, but there’s warmth too—something tender, something just for you.

he looks like a painting, half-finished, caught between shadow and sunlight, between sleep and consciousness. and when he turns to you, lips quirking up just slightly, eyes lidded with drowsy affection, you think the morning has never been more beautiful.

“are you done staring, pretty?”

“your morning voice is so hot.”

it slips out before you can think twice, your voice still drowsy, thick with sleep. you’re staring at him, at the way the first rays of light filter through the window, casting golden lines across his bare shoulder. he blinks once, slowly, before turning his head toward you.

then he laughs. a deep, husky sound, slightly raspy, like the remnants of sleep still cling to his throat. “what?”

you hum, inching closer, pressing your palm against his chest where his heartbeat drums steadily beneath your fingertips. “i said… your morning voice is hot.”

his lips twitch—amusement flickering through the sleepiness in his gaze. “did you wake up just to thirst over me?”

you grin, fingers tracing idle shapes against his skin. “maybe.”

seungmin exhales a laugh, shaking his head, but he doesn’t pull away. if anything, his grip on you tightens, his arm curling more securely around your waist, fingers pressing into your back like he needs to hold you there. his warmth seeps into you, and you find yourself slipping further into him, into this softness he rarely shows to anyone else.

“you’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, voice still gravelly, still unfairly attractive.

“and you love me,” you counter, tilting your chin up to look at him.

his gaze meets yours, dark eyes holding something quieter, something deeper. he doesn’t say it—not right now. but you feel it in the way he shifts, in the way he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, in the way his lips brush against your temple, slow and deliberate.

his touch lingers, fingers trailing down the side of your face, ghosting over your jaw before settling beneath your chin. he tilts your face up just enough for his lips to catch against yours, a soft, teasing press, barely there.

“you’re so clingy in the mornings,” he muses, voice lower now, warm against your mouth.

you scoff, but it comes out breathy when he kisses you again, firmer this time—less teasing, more intent. his lips part against yours, and you sigh into it, letting him deepen the kiss, letting yourself melt into the lazy pull of morning, the way his hands skim over your skin like he’s mapping you out all over again.

somewhere between the kisses, between the way he tugs you closer like he can’t stand even a sliver of distance, you murmur, “i should tell you your voice is hot more often, then.”

seungmin exhales another laugh against your lips, and it’s the best sound you’ve heard all morning.

“my lips feel lonely.” he spoke.

“yeah?” you murmur, lips quirking. “tragic. truly.”

seungmin hums, lazy amusement curling at the edges of his mouth. his fingers tighten around your waist, slipping beneath the fabric of your—his—shirt, tracing absentminded circles against your skin. his hands are warm, just a little rough, and the feeling sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“you could fix it,”

you raise a brow, feigning contemplation. “hmm. i could.”

his thumb drags slowly over your hipbone, and your resolve weakens by the second. you swear he knows it, too, because that smirk is growing—sleepy, teasing, stupidly attractive.

“but should i?” you continue, tilting your head. “i mean, you were making fun of me just now. you don’t deserve my generosity.”

seungmin scoffs, lips brushing your temple again. “you just called my voice hot. i think you’ve lost all your rights to act indifferent.”

you narrow your eyes, pressing your palm flat against his chest. “i can get them back.”

“mm, sure. go ahead.” he exhales a quiet laugh, nuzzling into the crook of your neck like he has all the time in the world. his voice dips into something softer, something closer to a whisper. “but you won’t.”

and you won’t. because he��s right here, warm and solid, pressed against you like he belongs there.

you sigh, tilting your chin up just enough to brush your lips against his jaw. “you’re mean.”

“you love me.”

“yeah, yeah.”

“then help my lips.”

your breath catches when he tightens his hold, pulling you even closer until your noses are barely apart, until his lips graze yours in the laziest, most infuriating tease. his gaze flickers down to your mouth—slow, deliberate—before returning to your eyes, dark with something knowing.

“see?” he murmurs. “clingy.”

“shut up,” you mutter, before finally closing the gap.

it starts slow, like the morning, like the warmth lingering between the sheets. his lips are soft, warm, moving against yours in a way that makes your thoughts scatter. there’s no urgency, no rush—just the gentle push and pull of something familiar, something sweet.

and then seungmin tilts his head, deepens the kiss just slightly, and you melt.

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently, and he groans into your mouth—a sound that sends heat curling through you. his hand slides up your back, pressing you flush against him, like he needs to feel every inch of you.

when you part for air, your breath stutters. seungmin’s eyes are heavy-lidded, lips just barely swollen, and he’s looking at you like he’s already thinking about kissing you again.

“feel better?” you ask, voice breathless.

he studies you for a second, gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, before dragging his thumb over the curve of your mouth.

“not yet.”

and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, pulling you right back into him like the morning is endless.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance

!! please let me know under this post, or this one, if i forgot you in the taglist, my inactivity made me lose track, i'm really sorry !!

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puckstories · 21 days ago

Text

Early Morning | Quinn Hughes

Pairing; Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warning(s); Fluff, established relationship, not sure what else only edited once.

Summary; The morning after the Winnipeg loss. Kinda cringe, kinda domestic.

Word Count; 2.5k

Author’s note; He looked so defeated in postgame media 😭 someone give him a big hug!! There isn’t really a premise to this fic, it’s just fluffy and I need that, personally. Inbox is open for requests, and any thoughts + reblogs are appreciated. Love you all. -Honey

Upon waking, the first thing you notice is the unfamiliar weight beside you. Still tangled in a fog of sleep, you roll over, expecting to find the usual emptiness. Instead, your arm brushes against something solid and warm—a hard lump beneath the covers. Blinking against the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains, you squint your eyes and focus.

Quinn is there. He’s sprawled out on his stomach, mouth slightly parted, emitting soft snores with every exhale. His chest, bare, rises and falls in a steady rhythm. A small, dried patch of drool sits at the corner of his mouth, and despite his tousled brown hair, you can still make out the faint red imprint on his forehead from his helmet—the telltale sign of his previous game. The messy sheets barely cover his lower half, leaving most of the covers bunched up beneath him, as though he’d fought for dominance over the bed in his sleep.

You sigh softly, rolling back onto your side, rubbing the heels of your palms against your eyes to wipe away the last remnants of sleep. The night before blurs in your memory—work had been exhausting, and by the time you’d collapsed into bed, you’d barely had the energy to think, let alone stay awake long enough to wait for Quinn to call. Last you heard, he was still in Winnipeg for the last away game of the roadtrip. And yet, here he is now, stretched out beside you, having returned home sometime in the middle of the night. You hadn't even heard the jangle of his keys in the door, much less felt the weight of him slipping into bed.

As you lie there, your eyes trace the outline of his body, the soft curve of his back, the way the morning light plays against his skin. You and Quinn had been dating for a little over two months now, and in all that time, he'd never once shown up in the middle of the night unannounced, not even after a home game—let alone after getting off a late flight from an away game. It was unlike him, the type who usually kept to his routines, always texting you first to make sure it was okay to come by. A spontaneous visit, especially after a road trip, was out of character, and it made your mind race with curiosity.

Reaching over to the bedside table, you fumble for your phone, its cold surface a sharp contrast to the warm cocoon of blankets. The screen blinks to life, and your heart skips a beat when you notice the unread message from Quinn. Swiping it open, you squint at the time stamp—12:03 AM, well after you’d slipped into unconsciousness.

I tried calling you but you must be asleep.

You feel a twinge of guilt as you scan the message. He had tried to message you, but you’d been out cold, blissfully unaware of both his texts and the game itself. A sigh escapes your lips. You'd barely made it through dinner, let alone the start of the game. Work had drained you, the kind of exhaustion that made staying awake for anything else a battle you couldn’t win.

Now, scrolling through your notifications, you can’t help but wince when you see the final score. The Canucks had lost, and badly—a brutal 6-1 blowout in Winnipeg. Your chest tightens, imagining how deflated Quinn must’ve felt stepping off that plane, dragging his gear behind him, shoulders slumped in defeat. The last thing he’d need after a night like that was silence from you, but that’s exactly what he got.

You drop your phone back on the nightstand, letting it land with a dull thud, before running a hand through your hair. You can picture it now: Quinn sitting on the bus, staring at his phone screen, waiting for a reply that never came, while the disappointment of the loss gnawed at him. He must have needed you, needed the comfort of something familiar, something steady to ground him after the sting of defeat. And you weren’t there to answer.

A small pang of regret settles in your chest, but as you glance at him lying peacefully beside you, your guilt softens into something warmer, something more understanding. He came to you. After the long flight, after the frustration of the game, after all of it—he came to you. Without asking for permission, without caring if it broke some unspoken routine, he just needed to be here, in your bed, in the one place where he could let his guard down.

Groaning softly, you stretch out your legs and arms, feeling the delicious pull of tight muscles loosening after a night of deep sleep. The sheets slip away from your body, and for a moment, you just lie there, savoring the lazy comfort of the morning—the warmth of the bed, the quiet of the room, and the weight of Quinn still sound asleep beside you. Even though you know he could probably sleep through a hurricane, you still move carefully, slipping out of bed inch by inch to avoid disturbing him.

The cold air nips at your skin the moment you leave the cozy embrace of the blankets, sending a small shiver through you. Your feet make a soft thud as they hit the hardwood floor, the contrast between the cold surface and your warm skin causing you to flinch slightly. You tread quietly across the room, mindful of each creak in the floorboards. As you walk down the hallway, the soft patter of your footsteps echoes faintly.

You push the bathroom door open gently, catching your reflection in the mirror. Your hair, tangled from sleep, falls in wild waves around your face, and you reach up to corral it into a loose, low bun. Turning on the faucet, the water sputters for a second before it flows smoothly, cool against your fingers. You splash it on your face, the shock of cold water clearing the last remnants of sleep from your mind. Droplets cling to your skin, rolling down your cheeks as you reach for a towel and press it to your face, savoring the softness of the fabric against your freshly washed skin.

You grab your toothbrush, the soft bristles brushing against your teeth as you lean against the sink. For a few minutes, the world is nothing but the sound of water swirling down the drain and the fresh taste of mint spreading across your tongue.

Lost in your thought, you’re startled when you feel a presence beside you. You jump slightly, your heart skipping a beat as you glance to your left and find Quinn standing there, his eyes still heavy with sleep, hair even messier than before. You hadn’t heard him get up; just moments ago, he’d been dead to the world, sprawled out in bed, the very image of peaceful slumber.

He leans in silently and presses a soft kiss to the back of your head, his lips soft against your scalp, sending a gentle shiver down your spine. The gesture is so simple, yet so intimate—a silent "good morning" You feel the brief weight of his hand resting on your shoulder as he steadies himself, before he steps away toward the toilet.

Without a word, Quinn drops his boxers, the fabric pooling around his ankles. He goes about his business, yawning as he stands there, the faint sound of the stream hitting the water filling the small bathroom. You’re used to this by now, the easy lack of pretense that has formed between the two of you, the understanding that neither of you needs to tiptoe around each other’s presence.

For a moment, you watch him, his shoulder to you, his posture relaxed. There’s something about this, about the way he moves through your space so naturally now, that fills you with a quiet sense of contentment—a reminder of how easy things have become between you two.

Turning back to the sink, you spit out the last bit of toothpaste, watching the foam swirl down the drain. You rinse your mouth and place the toothbrush back in its holder. As Quinn moves toward the sink, you step aside, your shoulders brushing briefly as you give him space. "Do you want coffee?" you ask.

He nods. "Sure, thanks." You return his nod with a small nod of your own before slipping out of the bathroom, leaving him to finish up.

Entering the kitchen, you move toward the coffee maker automatically, your body working on autopilot as you open the cabinet and pull out two mugs—his favorite, a chipped ceramic one from some team event, and yours, a simple white one with a faint coffee stain inside from countless mornings like this.

You fill the coffee filter with grounds, the sharp, earthy scent of fresh coffee filling the air as you tap the spoon against the edge of the basket. Once the machine is set, you press the start button, listening to the low hum as it begins to brew, the first few drops of coffee hitting the pot with a faint hiss.

Leaning back against the island, you cross your arms, letting out a small breath as the room fills with the comforting sound of the brewing coffee. The rich aroma slowly overtakes the air, curling around you like an old, familiar friend. You close your eyes for a second, savoring it, feeling the subtle shift in energy as the house starts to wake up.

Your fingers absentmindedly trace the edge of the countertop, cool and smooth beneath your skin, as you glance out the window at the pale morning sky. The world outside is still, a soft gray lingering just before the sun fully rises. Behind you, you hear the faint creak of a floorboard. You know Quinn is moving around, probably padding through the hallway toward you.

He enters the kitchen quietly, his bare feet padding softly across the floor. His movements are slow, unhurried, like he's still shaking off the last remnants of sleep—or maybe it’s the weight of the previous night’s loss still clinging to him. You look up as he approaches, and there’s something in his expression—tired, but warm—that makes your heart soften.

Without a word, he opens his arms, and you find yourself stepping into his embrace almost instinctively, like it's the most natural thing in the world. The space between you disappears, and the familiar comfort of his body presses against yours, grounding you both in the moment. His arms fold around you firmly, his hands splaying across your back as if to hold you closer, to keep the world out for just a few more precious seconds.

You let out a quiet breath, melting into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your cheek. His chin comes to rest lightly on top of your head, the weight of it comforting in its simplicity, and his hands begin to move in slow, soothing circles along your back. The motion is calming, like he’s trying to let you know—without words—that everything is fine, that he’s here and that’s enough for now.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the hum of the coffee maker filling the space between you.

"I'm sorry about the game," you murmur against his chest, your voice barely above a whisper. The words slip out before you can stop them, a quiet expression of the worry you’ve been holding onto since you saw the score this morning. You feel the sigh that escapes him more than you hear it, his chest rising and falling beneath you in a subtle gesture of frustration mixed with resignation.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, his voice rough from sleep, but there’s no edge to it—just the quiet exhaustion of someone who’s used to the ups and downs. His hands keep moving against your back, slow and reassuring, as if to say it’s not your burden to carry. You nod into his chest, accepting his words but still feeling that faint tug of empathy in your heart.

A few beats of silence pass, and you feel his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. You don’t want to push, but you need to ask. “Are you okay?” The words are tentative, cautious, as if you’re feeling out the depth of his mood.

This time, it takes him longer to respond. His hands pause for a moment, as if he's considering what to say, weighing his answer. “Just tired,” he says eventually, his voice low, the kind of tired that goes beyond needing sleep. There’s a heaviness in the way he says it, and you know it’s not just about the game—it’s the travel, the constant pressure, the physical and emotional toll of it all.

You close your eyes, sinking further into his embrace, letting the quiet stretch between you again. There’s no need to fill the silence; the simple act of being here, together, feels like enough. His chin shifts slightly against your head, and you can feel the warmth of his breath in your neck as he exhales slowly, as if just holding you helps ease some of the weight he’s been carrying.

The coffee pot gurgles softly in the background, signaling it's done, but neither of you moves to break the moment. You stay there, wrapped in each other, his arms still holding you close.

"Do you wanna stay in bed today?" you ask. You tilt your head back to look up at him, your cheek still resting lightly against his chest. His eyes are half-closed, his arms still wrapped loosely around you, and for a moment, it seems like he’s too caught in thought to respond. You wait, giving him the space to absorb the question, watching the way his expression softens as your words sink in.

"We can order food," you continue, your voice gentle and inviting. "Watch movies, whatever you want."

The offer lingers in the air, a way to hit pause on the outside world, to create a small, safe bubble just for the two of you. No obligations, no demands—just the simple pleasure of doing nothing, together. You know he needs it. After the brutal loss, the long flight, and the constant pressure, a day of stillness sounds like the perfect antidote.

He finally nods, exhaling a deep breath. His response is little more than a murmur, almost swallowed by the closeness between you. “Yes, please.”

"Okay, we'll stay in bed. No rush, no plans. Just us." " you whisper, your voice soft and reassuring. "Breakfast first?"

“Coffee first,” he says with a faint smile, his voice still barely above a whisper but more present now, a hint of his usual self creeping back in. “Then breakfast. Then movies.”

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagines #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x you

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gingernut1314 · 25 days ago

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It's Cold

Summary: It's cold on the island your crew has sailed into and Zoro refuses to wear his jacket.

Content: Gender-natural reader, Zoro being stubborn, set on the Thousand Sunny, Brook mentioned, Drum Island and Zoro's happenings there mentioned

Word Count: 1K

A/N: It's snowing in my part of the world and after seeing one of the prompts from this prompt list, I had to write this little fic. I hope you all enjoy!

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Your crew had yet again landed on an island perpetually thrown into winter. An island with winds so frigid it cut through the skin, knee-high snow that would make any journey monstrous, and a cloudy, gray sky that never seemed to have met the sun.

And yet Zoro still refused to put a jacket on.

“It’s cold, Zoro.” You huffed, thrusting his coat out for him to take. He crossed his arms tight over her chest in refusal. You could already see the bits of skin his short-sleeved shirt didn’t cover growing red from the biting wind.

“This is what you call cold?” He scoffed. “This is nothin’.” He brushed you off with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Not cold?” You bit just as sharp as the cold at him. “You’re one big fat liar.” Zoro narrowed his eyes at you.

“Am not.”

“Are too.” You childishly shot back as you all but lunged at the swordsman. Zoro gave a gruffing growl as you tried to wrangle the jacket onto one of his arms. Zoro moved and you held on tighter, the swordman all but swinging you around with him.

“Hey!” Zoro shouted, tossing you off in a not-so-gentle way. “Knock it off.”

“No. Not until you wear a jacket.” You huffed back, the cold air turning your words into a could of white before you. Zoro watched you, his annoyance growing with every second that ticked by.

“Not gonna happen.” He insisted. “It’s good for endurance.”

“Not when you're getting hypothermia on top of it.” Zoro rolled his eyes at you then.

Rolled them.

Like he thought you were being over dramatic.

“You remember Drum Island?” You stabbed a finger into his solid chest. “Remember how you got lost in sub-zero temperatures with no shirt on? Remember how you whined like a baby about how cold--”

“I did not whine like a little baby.” Zoro huffed, smacking your finger away. “I don’t need a damn jacket.”

You watched Zoro for a long moment.

A moment you took to shoot dagger-sharp eyes his way. Eyes full of dissatisfaction of his continued stubbornness. Eyes that had slowly but surely begun to make Zoro squirm.

“Stop that.” He gruffed at you.

“Stop what.” You shrugged, slinging his jacket over your arm neatly.

“That look on your face. Stop it.” You shook your head, starting for the rest of the crew waiting for you two, already having made it to land.

“What look? I have no look.” Zoro gruffed once more before quickly making his way to your side.

“You want me to wear that jacket.” You shrugged.

“Yes. It would make me very very happy if you did but what can I do about it? You have said no over and over again. You win. I don’t care anymore.” Zoro all but ground his teeth as he continued to follow you off the ship, Brook’s Yohohoing laugh floating up their way.

You looked calm.

Too calm.

A calm you would never feel unless he put that jacket on.

It was suspicious…but a pinched twitch of your lips told him you were far from calm.

“It’s not that cold.” He huffed, scratching the top of his green-haired head.

“It's very cold.”

“Maybe.” You glanced up at him, brow cocked.

“Oh?” Zoro grit his teeth, dark brown, near black, eyes glancing away from you.

“Snow is cold. There’s snow.” He muttered.

“Good job! You're right.” You said in mock cheery praise. Praise that was very much done condescendingly. Done to make him feel stupid.

Zoro wasn’t stupid….not all the time.

“Well, now I’m really not gonna wear the damn thing.” And you shrugged it off. Like you really didn’t care now.

“That’s fine.” And Zoro watched as you placed the jacket on the railing of the Sunny just before you started for the gangway. It stopped Zoro right in his tracks.

“Wait--you’re just gonna let me go off without a jacket?” You nodded, climbing up onto the gangway.

“Yep.” You gave the word a nice pop.

Zoro froze completely then. Like he was now refusing to even leave the ship.

“But it's cold.” You paused in your exit.

“What?” Zoro gave a dramatic grumble.

“You damn well heard what I said.” You turned on your heel then, leaning forward a bit as you cupped your ear.

“I really didn’t. You’re gonna have to speak up.” Zoro gave yet another grumble as he looked away from you. He crossed his arms, all but ground his teeth and--

“It's cold.” You couldn’t help the satisfied smile that pulled to your lips.

“That it is. And…?” You pulled your hand from your ear only so you could egg him on.

“I’m not gonna wear that jacket 'cause it's cold.” He huffed, looking back to find you now sporting a deep frown.

“Then--”

“I’m gonna wear it to make you happy and to stop you from looking at me like that.” You felt your heart give a little start at his words. Words he didn’t really find to be that big a deal but meant the world to you.

You hopped down from the gangway, grabbed the jacket, and held it open so you could help Zoro put it on. He huffed, but let you slip the furr-lined jacket onto his thick arms.

“It does make me happy.” You sweetly said. A sweetness that seemed to melt the hardness from Zoro’s face.

You zipped his jacket up, but instead of letting the metal zipper pull go, you yanked him down so that he was on level with you. His dark eyes widened the smallest bit at the action. Eyes that seemed to grow even wider as you nuzzled the tip of your cold nose against his, which was annoyingly warm despite the cold surrounding you both.

“Thank you.” You smiled, finding a small dusting of pink had begun to coat Zoro's cheeks just how the snow coated the Sunny’s deck.

“Whatever.” He grumbled, eyes glancing away from yours looking all too cutesily shy.

More Like This: Are You Mad? {Zoro x gn!reader}

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growthhyp · 18 days ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/growthhyp/772290645188657152/imagine-you-are-at-a-garage-sale-when-a-tall

I’ve always been a slightly beefy, very hairy white guy who’s longed to be stronger, a pillar of reliability and stability for all of those around me. I’ve also had a fascination for men of other races, especially black men. I wonder what kind of clothes he could be offering me…

Surprise Me!

You've always had a thing for muscular guys, especially those of different races. There was just something about the contrast that made you feel… safe. Like a bear craving to be the biggest in the forest. You weren't exactly small, but you've always felt like you could be more. More solid, more powerful, more… everything. You were a white guy with a decent build, a bit of a furry teddy bear with a gentle heart, but you had dreams of being a tower of strength, a man that could handle any situation without breaking a sweat. And there was something about black guys that just… did it for you. The way their muscles rippled under their dark skin, the way they held themselves with confidence and grace. It was like watching a sculpture come to life, all power and beauty wrapped in one.

So when you saw the garage sale with the sign saying 'MEN'S CLOTHING' and the muscular man standing outside, you couldn't resist. His biceps bulged under a tight blue tank top and his smile was as warm as the sun on a hot summer's day. He had a head of brown hair that looked like it had been kissed by the gods. He was everything you weren't and everything you wanted to be.

As you approached him, you felt a strange pull, like the universe was nudging you closer to your destiny. "What would you like to purchase today?" the muscular man asked, his voice as deep as a bass drum. You took a moment, scanning the racks of clothes, and then it hit you. "Surprise me," you said with a smirk, handing over the reins to fate.

The muscular man's smile grew wider, a glint in his eye as he handed you a pair of sleek, black sunglasses. "Ah, a man of mystery," he said. "Take these to the dressing room, and I'll find you something that suits your… desires." He winked, and you couldn't help but feel a little thrill run up your spine. You took the sunglasses and made your way to the back of the garage, where a small changing area had been set up.

Once inside the cramped space, you slipped on the sunglasses. The world around you grew fuzzy for a second, and then the heat hit. It was like someone had turned up the thermostat to a hundred degrees, and you were the only one who could feel it. You gasped as the warmth spread through your body, starting at your core and radiating out to your limbs. Your blue t-shirt, which had once hugged your slightly beefy frame, grew soggy and loose as your fat cells liquefied beneath the intense energy. You could feel your body shrinking, the extra pounds melting away like butter in a pan.

You glanced into the mirror, expecting to see the beginnings of a new you. But instead, you were met with the unexpected sight of a police hat perched atop your head. Confusion swirled in your mind like a tornado as you tried to piece together what was happening. The hat looked like it had been plucked straight from the head of a SWAT team member, complete with the shiny badge and the stern expression you've always associated with authority.

Your body followed suit, moving as if controlled by an unseen force. You found yourself standing at attention, legs apart, arms at your sides, and your chest puffed out. It was a stance you had seen countless times in movies and on TV, but never thought you would adopt so naturally. Your thoughts were jumbled, but there was something oddly satisfying about the way your muscles responded to the unspoken command.

The mirror reflected a transformation that seemed to be happening in slow motion. Your lats spread out like wings, pushing your arms slightly away from your body, creating an illusion of an ever-widening back. The fabric of your blue t-shirt strained against the newfound bulk of your shoulders, the seams groaning as your deltoids ballooned into boulders. The sunglasses sat on your nose, the only piece of your former self that remained unchanged.

As you stared in disbelief, your biceps peaked, the veins in your arms standing out like highways on a map, tracing the path of your newfound power. Your triceps took on a horseshoe shape, a testament to the strength you hadn't realized you possessed. Your forearms grew, thick cables of muscle now visible beneath your skin. The grunts grew louder as your abs swelled, each one popping into existence with a ferocity that left you panting. The tightness of your shirt grew more pronounced, the fabric clinging to your body like a second skin.

Then your legs began to change. Your calves swelled, each muscle group defined and gleaming with the promise of speed and power. Your thighs grew thick as tree trunks, the muscles flexing and pulsing with every beat of your heart. You could feel your feet stretching, the leather of your shoes straining against the new size of your enhanced physique. The seams of your jeans gave way with a dramatic rip, the fabric tearing as your legs grew and grew.

And with the growth came an unexpected sensation. Your cock, already half-hard from the thrill of the transformation, began to swell to unprecedented proportions. It was as if every muscle fiber in your body was being redirected to that one spot, the epicenter of your newfound masculine power. The bulge in your black boxer briefs grew obscene, threatening to burst the fabric. You could feel the pressure building, the need to release the energy coursing through you becoming almost unbearable.

As your muscles reached their peak, your body took over, and you felt a wave of pleasure so intense that it almost knocked you off your feet. You grunted and moaned, your legs shaking slightly as you shot out ropes of cum, each one feeling like it was carrying away the last remnants of your former self. Your mind was a blank slate, erased of all doubt and fear.

In its place grew a new identity, that of a black child with a burning desire to be strong, to protect those he loved. Memories flooded in, not your own, but ones that felt as if they had always been there. You recalled the endless push-ups and sit-ups you'd done in your youth, the hours spent in the sun running and lifting, pushing your body to its limits to be the pillar of strength you knew you could be. Your heart swelled with the love for your siblings, a fierce need to keep them safe.

Your skin, once pale with the warmth of a summer's day, began to deepen, the color of rich mahogany, as the essence of your new identity took root. You felt your body shift, your features morphing into those of a young black man, strong and proud. Your cheekbones grew more pronounced, your jawline sharper, and your hair grew coarser and curlier, framing your new face. The sunglasses slid down your nose slightly, the bridge feeling tighter as your nose narrowed.

You took the police pants from the muscular man's outstretched hand, still in a trance. The fabric was cool and firm, a stark contrast to the heat emanating from your body. You stepped into them, and as you pulled them up, the waistband cinched around your now thickened hips, the material stretching to accommodate your new size. The legs were long, but not too long, as if they had been tailored for you, a perfect fit for the tree trunks that had once been your legs. The pants had a crisp crease down the center, and the heavy-duty belt looped around your waist, feeling snug and secure.

As you put on the pants, more images of your new life as a black child flooded your mind. You saw yourself studying hard, pushing through the challenges of school, all while maintaining a rigorous workout routine. You saw yourself growing taller, stronger, and more focused with every page you turned and every dumbbell you lifted. You felt the pride of graduating senior high, the satisfaction of a job well done, and the excitement of a future filled with purpose and strength.

Then the muscular man handed you the police polo shirt. It was still a bit baggy, but it didn't matter. As soon as it touched your skin, your body responded, growing to fill out the uniform perfectly. Your chest bulged obscenely, your shoulders widened into boulders, and your biceps and triceps grew to ludicrous proportions. Your forearms looked like they could crush rocks, and your legs thickened into tree trunks. The fabric of the shirt stretched taut against your new physique, showcasing every ridge and contour of your muscles.

Still in a trance, you stared into the mirror, watching the transformation complete itself. The polo shirt now hugged your torso like a second skin, highlighting your newfound power. You flexed, the fabric straining to contain the might of your body. The hat sat atop your head like a crown, the sunglasses hiding the awe in your eyes. You had become a vision of authority, a beacon of protection.

You stepped out of the dressing room with the confidence of a lion. The muscular man's gaze met yours, his smile growing even more as he took in your new form. "Looks good on you, officer," he said, his voice now holding a hint of respect. You felt a thrill at the sound of the word 'officer' and the way he said it, like you had already earned the title.

The black shoes he held out to you were like the final piece of a puzzle, completing the picture of the man you had become. You took them with a nod, feeling the weight of your new identity in your hands. You sat down and slipped them on, the leather feeling cool and sturdy around your growing feet. They were surprisingly comfortable, almost as if they had molded themselves to your new size.

As you stood up, the mirror in front of you reflected a man ready to take on the world. The hat, the shirt, the pants, and the shoes all fit perfectly, as if they had been made just for you. You couldn't help but flex, watching the muscles ripple and dance under the tight fabric. You felt like a superhero, ready to leap into action at the first sign of trouble.

"Thanks, how much?" you asked, your voice deeper, more commanding than it had ever been before.

The muscular man's grin grew even wider. "It'll be 15 dollars," he replied, holding out his hand expectantly.

You didn't even hesitate. You pulled out your wallet and counted out the bills, feeling the crispness of the paper under your thickening fingers. You had never felt more alive, more in control of your destiny. You handed him the money, your heart racing with excitement. "Thanks," you said, the word feeling strange in your new, deeper voice. The muscular man took the cash with a nod, his eyes never leaving yours.

As you left the garage sale, you couldn't help but feel like you were floating on air. The world looked different now, more vivid, more… alive. You felt like you could tackle any challenge that came your way. The police academy was just the beginning. You knew you'd breeze through it, with the knowledge and strength that now coursed through your veins. You had always dreamed of being a cop, of being that beacon of safety in the night. And now, that dream was within your grasp.

#muscle growth stories #jockification #personality change #jock tf #male transformation #ai generated #hypnotised #race change

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gracie-eilish · 25 days ago

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morning, her place☀️

an: happy sundayyyyy! here’s a short fluffy blurb to start your day:) i’ve got some time this week so hopefully more of those taylor song fics will be out. and more normal fics too hopefullyyy :))) love ya!💋

☁️☀️💗🥰

The soft morning light peeked through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. Billie had woken earlier, quietly slipping out of bed to let the dogs out, making sure not to disturb you. She’d pulled on a cozy hoodie and padded outside in the crisp morning air, shivering as she watched the dogs dart around in the yard. By the time she returned, her cheeks were pink from the chill, and the smell of morning dew clung faintly to her.

She stopped at the doorframe to our bedroom, her breath catching softly as her eyes landed on you. You were still curled up under the covers, but something about the way the sunlight kissed your face made her pause. Your lashes fluttered softly against your cheeks, your breathing steady and gentle, until you began to stir. As the light grew brighter, you squinted, wrinkling your nose and letting out a small, sleepy sigh. Your hand reached out instinctively for warmth before you stretched, arching your back slightly, and then nestled back into your pillow with a contented little smile.

Billie stood there, enchanted, watching you wake up as if it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The soft golden light bathed your face, highlighting the curves and contours she adored so much. She didn’t move, too captivated by the way you slowly blinked awake, your lips curling into a gentle, dreamy smile when you finally noticed her.

“Hi, baby,” Billie whispered, her voice as soft as the morning light.

You smiled wider, your heart fluttering at the sight of her, cheeks rosy and hair slightly messy from the wind outside. She closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, climbing back into bed with you. The mattress dipped under her weight as she slipped under the fluffy blanket, her chilled hands warming instantly against your skin as she cuddled close, making you squeal at the chill.

She didn’t stop there, though. Billie crawled over you, her body fitting perfectly against yours as she settled on top of you. Her chin rested lightly on your chest, and she began peppering your face with tiny kisses, each one soft and affectionate, making you giggle sleepily.

“You’re so cute,” you murmured, pushing her hair out of her face. Your fingers lingered, cradling her cheeks as your thumb brushed over her freckles. Even in the soft light of morning, Billie was breathtaking. Her chocolate-brown hair fell in messy waves, long enough now that her bangs were starting to drift into her icy blue eyes. Those eyes that held you captive every time you looked at them, filled with so much love and warmth. Her perfect button nose scrunched up slightly as she smiled, and her pillowy pink lips curled into a grin that made you melt on the spot.

“Stop staring,” she teased, her voice still thick with sleep, but there was no hiding the pink tint creeping onto her cheeks.

“Never,” you whispered back, pulling her closer until there wasn’t a breath of space between you. Your arms wrapped around her back, holding her tightly, as if letting go wasn’t an option. She nuzzled into you, her body warm and solid, grounding you in a way that nothing else could. Time slowed down as you stayed there, tangled in each other, the world outside your love bubble forgotten.

After a while, Billie tilted her head back to look at you, her expression soft and a little shy. “Wanna shower with me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her lips pulling into a small, hesitant smile.

She was so irresistibly cute that you couldn’t help yourself—you leaned up to kiss her, your lips brushing against hers with tenderness. “You’re too cute, you know that?” you mumbled against her mouth before giving her a playful squeeze.

Her laugh was warm and low, vibrating through her chest where it pressed against yours. “Is that a yes?” she teased, her smile growing.

“Of course,” you replied, smiling back at her.

Reluctantly, you pulled ourselves out of bed, the cold air making you both shiver as your feet hit the floor. Billie grabbed your hand, leading you toward the bathroom, where the promise of warmth and more time wrapped in each other’s arms awaited. The sound of the water starting to run filled the room, and soon enough, the steam began to rise, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort.

Together, you stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over you, washing away the last traces of sleep. Billie wrapped her arms around you from behind, resting her head on your shoulder as the warmth enveloped you both. It was a slow, quiet morning, just the two of you, savoring the simple joys of being together. And in that moment, you couldn’t imagine a better way to start the day.

☁️☀️💗🥰

#billie eilish #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x you #fanfiction #billie eilish fanfiction #wlw #billie eilish fic

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spiralsdrop · 11 months ago

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This is a hypnosis story I've always loved. If anyone knows who the author is I would love to give them the credit they deserve for this.

“My friends and I were at a bar across town. It was dark, a little loud, underground, with dim red lights and drinks that cost too much. But there were lots of plush little booths and we managed to snag ourselves a corner, so we sat and got deep into drinking and chatting.

After an hour or so, there was a big commotion going on in one corner with people falling around laughing. Before we saw what was going on, everyone involved had stumbled away hooting and giggling. But my friend Rachel leads me over and there’s this young guy kind of holding court.

“What’s going on?” Rachel asks, over the music.

“Oh, I’m hypnotising people,” he says, casually, like people do that all the time.

“For real? You’re a hypnotist?”

“Yes I am,” he says.

Rachel thinks this is hysterical. I think it sounds ridiculous.

“We should dooooooo this!” she says, waving over the two other friends we’re out with.

“Should we?”

“We should! YOU should.”

“I don’t think so,” I say, but she’s already tugging on this guy’s arm… and pushing me towards him.

“Hypnotise Emma!”

“Yeah?”

“She REALLY wants to!”

He looks at me.

“Do you want to?”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I’m un-hypnotisable.”

“Well,” he says. “Wanna find out?”

“You can try,” I say. I’m smirking a little bit. Silly me.

“Well, OK then. Here, take a seat.”

Like I said, I thought it was ridiculous.

There are two small wooden chairs facing each other and I sit in one. I smooth down the short, tight little dress I’m wearing. He – neat grey t-shirt, jeans, a tattoo of swirling black lines, like a soundwave, on one arm, a mischievous sparkle in his deep brown eyes, like someone who’s just had a sinfully good idea – sits on the other one, pulls it closer so our knees are almost touching. I’m a little nervous… but determined not to let it show.

“OK,” he says. He takes my arms and places them on the arm of my chair, palms up. He holds my hands with his and gives them a reassuring squeeze.

“You OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“This is going to be fun, OK?”

“Well, if you say so.”

Three of my friends are now gathered watching us. I hear Rachel say “I bet she thinks she’s a chicken five minutes from now.”

He lets go of my hands and wraps his gently around my wrists, his thumb on each, like he’s taking my pulse. He starts talking to me low and urgently, looking into my eyes warmly.

“So what’s your name?”

“Emma.”

“Where are we?”

“A bar.”

“What colour are the lights here?”

“Red.”

“Only red?”

“Some white.”

“What’s your name again?”

“Emma.”

”OK, Emma. We’re good.”

His thumbs are tracing circles on my skin.

His questions became… rhetorical. Think of my feet on the floor. Were they heavy? Did it feel good to just rest them there? Doesn’t it feel warm? Isn’t the chair comfortable?

It did feel comfortable. It felt like the second when an elevator stops descending and you’re that little bit heavier. I felt warm like sinking into a fresh bath. He put his hand on my bare shoulder. It felt solid and good.

Didn’t I feel calm? Isn’t it nice? Try closing my eyes. Keep listening to his voice. Even raised over the music is voice, is like a heavy blanket on a lazy Sunday. His hand slides to rest under my hair, on the back of my neck. Weren’t my wrists relaxed? Like they could rest on the arms of the chair forever. His other hand taps out a rhythm on my knee. Calm like warm sunshine on my skin. The sounds around me drift off into a dull hubbub. This was more relaxing than I th…

…I open my eyes and time has jumped just a little. Maybe it’s a few seconds later – or a few minutes? Which was weird. But it can’t have been long. My friends were all still there. And I still felt good. Calm. Nice. The rest of the world feels a little muffled, like the air is thicker.

“All awake, Emma?”

I nod.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel… fine.”

“That’s good.”

He rested his fingertips on my wrists and… oh.

“How does that feel?”

For some reason, it felt SO good. It was like one of those feelings that ran all through your body, like the feeling I get when my neck is being kissed, or my nipples are teased, or having ‘good girl’ growled quietly in my ear.

“It feels good,” I murmured. I was still sort of sleepy.

His fingertips started running slowly up and down my wrists, from my up-turned palms to the crook of my elbow. It was like the sexiest teasing I’d ever felt. Tingles rushed up to my shoulders and through my chest. I could feel my nipples getting hard under my dress.

“Do you like the way it feels?”

I nodded. The tingling was spreading through my tummy and between my legs. I was calm and floaty and burningly turned on all at once. He pulled his hands away. I bit my lip in frustration.

“More?”

“Yeah.”

He picked up his chair and moved it. I felt him sit down behind me. He leaned in close and whispered “Close your eyes…” into my ear. I did what I was told.

The moment his hands touched my back I gasped like lightning ran down my spine to my crotch. Every tiny hair on my neck stood up in reaction to his touch.

“Fuck.”

Each stroke of my shoulder blades felt like being stroked… everywhere, all at once. My clit was getting harder and more sensitive with each rub. My underwear felt hot and wet. I could barely control my breathing.

His hands slid over my shoulders and teasingly over my upper arms. It was like ecstasy. Just the fabric of my underwear against my clit was delicious. I slid my ass against the wooden chair instinctively trying to find some friction or relief. As he blew gently on the back of my neck I leaned back and spread my legs in the confused hope of being touched. I fucking ached with pleasure.

“It’s such a strong feeling,” he murmured in my ear, “when you think about it.”

He pulled his hands away once again. My heart was thudding in my chest, my nipples were hard through the fabric of my dress which had ridden up from my accidental grinding against the seat. Even with my eyes closed, I looked like a hot mess but I was so turned on I was beyond caring. I was just glad the club was so dark.

He puts brought his chair around to my side and just in front, so it was perpendicular to me. He sits in, close.

“How are you feeling?”

I open my eyes. I’m dimly aware of the giggling of my friends, and the gaze of some other onlookers over me. I feel a wave of heat as my face reddens.

“Don’t worry about them,” he says. “Look at me.”

“This is crazy,” I mouthed.

”I told you it would be fun.”

I’m speechless.

“Keep going?”

I was nodding before I even thought about it.

He scoots in front of me a little more. “Put your leg on my lap, Emma.” I lift my bare leg and place it tentatively across his knees.

His hand rests on my knee and a jolt of pleasure hit me. It snakes up my thigh to my wet cunt and fizzles deep me, my hips twitching. To my embarrassment I let out a moan of pure pleasure.

His fingertips are stroking my skin in soft, little circles. My thighs are starting to shake. Laughter among the crowd sends me blushing. He shakes his head in their direction and then looks at me.

“Emma, look at me.”

His twinkling eyes lock mine.

“You’ve been doing really well. Don’t worry about them. Listen to my voice.”

I nod in breathless agreement. His fingertips start drumming slowly on top of my thigh, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two three..

It feels like a fluttering feeling inside me and I scrunch my eyes closed in delight. I squirm in my seat, squeezing my thighs together tightly just for a hint of pressure on my clit.

“Emma, look at me.”

“You’ve been doing really well. I know it feels intense. It feels so strong…”

I’m trembling with each quickening tap. One-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three…

“It’s getting stronger and stronger, Emma. Like you can’t hold back.”

The drumming moves imperceptibly up my thigh, to the edge of my dress and it feels 100 times stronger. I’m arching my back. My hands grip the arm of the chair like they’re my bedsheets when I’m touching myself. I’m so close…

“Emma, listen to me.”

“Oh my god.”

“Emma, listen.”

“I’m… please… I…”

“Let go.”

With those two words the orgasm hits me like an explosion, my thighs clamping together, the contractions in my cunt are so strong I bend double in my chair.

“Let go.”

It feels like I’m being fucked hard and deep while I cum, my g-spot is spasming with pleasure. I cry out helplessly.

“Let go.”

His hand gripping my thigh sends another orgasm shivering through my clit and then bursting inside of me. I feel a hot flood of wetness soak through my panties as I involuntarily squirt a little.

“Let go.”

I slump back in the chair as my hips jolt into the air. I can hear my friends shrieking with laughter as they watch me orgasm uncontrollably. I try to hold back but I can’t stop cumming. Each squeeze of my thigh sends another wave of powerful juddering contractions through my pussy, makes me moan, twitch, gush, gasp, grind, shake, cum.

I’ve never cum for so long.

“OK, you. Come here.”

He takes my leg off his lap and comes in close to me. He wraps his hand on my neck and pulls me toward him, my forehead resting on my shoulder, exhausted and trembling. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “Listen to my voice…”

I sink back into a calm darkness.

A few moments later I wake up, sheepish and embarrassed… but even so, I can’t stop grinning. He strokes my wrist one last time – no unbearable pleasure, this time – and smiles. I tentatively stand up, and my legs are like jelly. Rebecca grabs me incredulously and says “OH. MY. GOD.”

“I. KNOW.”

I tell her I have to excuse myself to use the bathroom and shakily stumble in that direction. It’s busy with girls streaming in and out, but in the mirror, I see my face and chest are flushed pink. And my hair’s a mess.

I shut myself in the cool dark cubicle and slide off my panties, down my ankles and over my shoes and step out of them. They’re so drenched from my cum I throw them in the trash can. I instinctively reach between my legs and fuck, I’m still so wet and sensitive. I lean back against the cubicle door and let my fingertips find my slick, hard, throbbing clit. It feel so good to finally feel the touch my body had been craving.

Around me were the sounds of doors opening and closing, girls talking, water running, the throbbing music from next door and the hand-dryer blowing.

I was so hungry to feel full inside and I greedily pushed two fingers deep inside, sliding in deliciously easily. My knees buckled with satisfaction as I slowly, quietly fucked myself. Each time the hand dryer switched on, I pumped my fingers in and out hard and fast, the noise of the motor covering the sounds of my wetness, until it stopped and I had to wait for more agonising seconds.

When I couldn’t take it any more, with one last blast of the hand dryer, I frantically rubbed my clit, my other hand grabbing my tit, and then those commanding words “Let go… let go… let go…” suddenly reverberating in my head, until, my hand clamped over my mouth, I came for the second time that night, my legs buckling in shock, sliding down the cubicle door until I was sat on my heels, waves of pleasure still shuddering through my thighs.

I sat on the toilet for a few minutes and straightened myself out, until the red flush of orgasm had faded from my chest. Then I went back out to join my friends… embarrassed, sans underwear but oh-so-satisfied.

And when I’m alone, the words ‘let go…’ can still push me over the edge sometimes :)”

I would love to give proper credit to this author. If any of you know who wrote this please let me know so I can tag them and give them the credit they deserve.

#hypnosis #hypnotized girl #hypnogasm

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cheriecoke · 1 year ago

Text

seeds of doubt

ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor

summary — you don't feel like you’re good enough for them

contents — they comfort you when you’re feeling insecure about your relationship, sfw !!

notes — my other dazai wip is taking a while, so i decided to finish this one! i started it a few wks ago but since i’ve been feeling a lil down lately, i decided it was time for a comfort piece!

₊˚⊹♡ DAZAI

when you'd come home from work that evening, dazai had already known something was wrong. your usually bright smile didn't quite reach your eyes, your shoulders slumping the moment you crossed the threshold of your home.

dazai hadn't pushed you, but he had drawn you up tight in his arms, held you close when you breathed heavily into his shoulder, releasing all the tension in your body. his fingertips were soothing along your neck, massaging small, relaxing circles.

for the past hour, though it was nearing dinnertime, you'd found yourself buried in blankets, so warmly entangled with him, even when all of your hypercritical thoughts threatened to chill you to the core.

dazai spoke to you softly, asking you questions about your day for a while, ones that you refused to answer. you kept your eyes glued to the screen, watching mindlessly as a movie played, one that neither of you were paying any attention to.

that continued on for as long as he could stand it.

finally, with a sigh, dazai paused the film. he shifted, turning so that you were both face to face, his long limbs twisting around your own. limbs that were always so solid and warm, despite the iciness of his hands.

"kunikida told me what you said."

hesitantly, you stared back with wide eyes, jaw clenching. already, you knew what dazai was talking about. it was something that you'd told kunikida in confidence, because of all the members of the agency, you'd been certain that he was the least likely to spill your true feelings.

you stared back at him blankly, your shoulders stiffening. "hm? we talked a lot today. i'm not sure i know—"

though you pretended not to remember, dazai didn't let you run away from the question.

his lips fell into a frown, unamused. he drew your name out on an exhale, before running his palm over your cheek, across your chin, dipping his fingers into your hair. "don't bother. he's already mad enough at himself for telling me, but he hated how upset you were about it."

"osamu," you began. "i don't—"

"why did you tell him that you think you're not good enough for me?"

the seriousness in his deep brown eyes was so different than his usual playfulness, and you almost withdrew from them, curving deeper into yourself.

though, alongside the stoicism of his expression was something so melancholy, you found yourself offering your unfiltered emotions instead.

a long pause ensued. you breathed.

"because it's true," you finally whispered, your words wispy. "i'm not good enough for you, osamu." you swallowed when his face fell even further. "you're so smart, so handsome. you make me laugh all the time." your eyes grew hot as you felt tears at the edges of them. "i'm so plain compared to you."

"plain?" he repeated back, so wildly upset that you found yourself at a loss for words. "how can you say that, any of that, when i'm the one that's not good enough for you?"

despite yourself, you cracked a smile at his overzealous need to change the narrative. "don't say that just to make me feel better.”

"i'm not.” he frowned, his lips puckering as he held your cheeks, elongating each of the letters. "you're beautiful. inside and out. in a way that i can never be." he kissed the tip of your nose, smiling as you swatting him away. "i'm certainly not funny to everyone, either. i make you laugh only because i love you, and i want to see you smile." he kissed you between the eyebrows, then, this time laughing when the skin wrinkled there. "and i'm smart because i have to be, because i don't want to see the people i care about get hurt if i can do something to stop it." his expression softened at your glossy eyes, the way you slowly melted under his touch.

you let the words sink in, each one slowly chipping away at the doubt that had clouded you. dazai had never looked at you with anything but adoration in his eyes, something he spared for you and you alone, even when you felt unworthy of it.

"you could have anyone you wanted, osamu,” you said, the honest truth twisting something deep within you. “anyone at all.”

"funny," he said, tilting his head as he studied you carefully. "i've always thought the same thing about you."

₊˚⊹♡ CHUUYA

“i’m home,” you heard chuuya shout down the hall. he was always careful to alert you of his presence every time he returned, never wanting you to fear that his enemies had found his home, leaving you vulnerable.

you sniffed, some form of acknowledgement as you swirled the alcohol in the glass, pouring it down your throat. it burned on the way down, a buzz already at the edge of your mind, your thoughts slowing as you it sank into your bloodstream.

chuuya didn’t say anything more as he came into the room, kicking off his shoes and hanging up his hat and coat. there was a healed cut running down his left arm, a cluster of bruises on his left.

even though he’d gone on a dangerous mission earlier, he’d come home relatively unscathed.

despite your endless relief, it only did more to fuel your insecurities, the knowledge that compared to all his infinite glory, you were a lackluster, powerless no one.

you poured another glass, unbeknownst to the fact that chuuya was speaking to you at all.

“what?” you turned, the word slurring; you weren’t even sure what set of syllables had left your lips at all.

chuuya made a face as your head plopped down on the table, your eyes red from the tears you'd expelled. “is something wrong? it’s a little early for this, isn’t it?”

you stared at him, and though he was amused, you turned away, feeling the sour emotion of doubt lodge deep in your chest. “no,” you said in a small voice, turning away from chuuya.

he paused for a moment, his expression sobering before he took the seat next to you. chuuya held out a gloved hand, one that you could only see from your peripheral vision. “you expect me to believe that?”

“nothing’s wrong, chuuya,” you muttered, as sharply as you could in your current state. your arm grew numb under the weight of your head, throat sore from your earlier sobs. “i’m fine.”

chuuya sighed and took the bottle from you. even as you protested, every inch of his expression was so caring and delicate.

“that’s how i know you’re not fine.” he ran a hand over your hair, flattening it as you looked up at him from under wet eyelashes. “please tell me what’s wrong. i don’t like to see you sad, baby.”

though you wanted desperately to keep your mouth shut, you were too drunk to hold in the words. you leaned into his touch, letting the tears roll down your cheeks once more as panic grew in chuuya's eyes.

“i just think you deserve someone better than me, chuuya."

his brow wrinkled, and he blinked twice before shaking his head, puzzled. “what?”

you buried your head further into your forearms, unable to look at him any longer. despite your embarrassment, your lips didn't stop moving, releasing every little secret you'd bottled up since you'd met him

“you deserve someone you don’t have to worry about every time you’re away." you swallowed. "i’m not strong like you, chuuya, i don’t have any special ability that can save me from enemies." you thought of all the people he worked with, all of the ability users in the city that could compliment him so perfectly. "someone out there is a perfect match for you… i just don't think it's me.” you looked back at him, with teary, red eyes, right into his own sullen ones.

he scoffed, but his expression was gentle, open, fingers curling delicately around your wrist. "well, you're certainly wrong about that."

you curled yourself into a ball, resisting him, looking down at his knees instead of his eyes.

“none of that matters to me. i love you just the way you are. even if you were the strongest in the whole world, i'd still do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

you rubbed your cheeks, frowning as chuuya began reeling you in, grabbing you by the wrist to tug you onto his lap. “chuuya..." you said, hesitating as he planted you on his thighs, lips pulled tight in complete sincerity as he spoke his next words.

“i don’t care about anyone else. they could have all the power in the world, and it wouldn’t matter because they wouldn’t be you." he held you steady, one hand on your hip as he let the other caress your cheek gently. "i'll never want anyone else, okay?"

you nodded, though the sadness didn't dispel so easily from your face.

chuuya sighed, offering you as much of a smile as he could, even though he knew it wouldn't be a magic solution to cheer you up. "i'll remind you every day if i have to."

₊˚⊹♡ FYODOR

your hands curled in the water, tracing patterns throughout the soap and bubbles as your thoughts consumed you. it was just after midnight, but you'd woken up alone in your bed, full of thoughts that seemed determined to convince you that you'd never be enough.

though you'd gotten better at dispelling those dismal emotions, they dug their claws in deep this time. you'd crawled out of the cold sheets and drawn yourself a bath, hopeful that it would clear your mind.

fyodor had disappeared, and you weren't sure if he was in another room or if he had left your home completely.

it was quiet, but that told you little; he was always so silent, sneaking up on you with footsteps that never made a sound.

the door creaked open not a moment later, as if he had heard your thoughts. you didn't look over at him, but he sat beside the tub, his slender fingers curling over the porcelain.

"is everything alright?" he asked, his voice soft in the dim bathroom, illuminated only by candles and moonlight. "it's late."

you hummed, and contemplated voicing your thoughts at all. but you were half asleep, drowsy, and it didn't seem to matter what you said. the feelings would still be there, whether you voiced them or not.

still, you hesitated. "am i enough for you?"

you spared him a glance, and his eyes were wide, surprised by your simple question. a brief pause, before he answered, almost gently. "have i made you feel that you are not?"

you leaned your head against the edge of the tub, staring at the ceiling, the cracks in the paint, the uneven texture.

"i sometimes wonder if i'm just a hindrance to your plans." you breathed, thoughtful as he waited for you to finish. "i feel that maybe you'd be better off without me."

fyodor said nothing as you laid in the water, the temperature dropping with each passing minute. quietly, he discarded his clothes, keeping his eyes on you as he climbed into the tub to sit across from you.

he whispered your name once, but you remained silent, breathing in and out, trying to calm your mind.

"would you look at me?” fyodor asked, and the softness in his words was enough.

you sat up, pulling your legs closer to make space for him, even though he held your calf, drew himself towards you instead.

"you know that i do not make decisions lightly, and yet, i decided to share my heart and soul with you." he caressed your knee before letting his hand fall into the water, tracing patterns around your shin. you shivered. "do you really think i would have devoted my time to you if i ever intended on letting you go? if i didn't need you?"

"i know." you frowned, fully aware that it was true, to the deepest part of your soul. still, there was an ache in your mind, one that wouldn’t just go away with his pretty words. "but i can't help the way i sometimes feel."

fyodor smiled, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners. "i know," he said, and when he had you close, he dipped his head to kiss your bare shoulder. "but you do not need to hide that from me. i am here for you, always." he squeezed your hand. "i apologize if i am not always the best at showing that."

his touch was cold in the exposed bathroom air. "and when you achieve your goals, what will become of me? will you dispose of me, along with everyone else who stops being of used to you?"

"of course not." a laugh escaped him, like your question was unfathomable. "even then, you will be right by my side." he held your jaw tenderly as he forced you to look deep into his eyes. "you are mine forever, don't you understand? just as i am yours.”

dash is a teensy bit dead rn, but i want to let this one go so i can focus on my other wips <3. this was so nice to write though :))

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hairmetal666 · 9 months ago

Text

It's 3am. It's pouring down rain. Steve's soaked to the skin, been wandering the city for most of the night, hasn't slept in almost 24 hours, thinks maybe he's on the brink of delirium, and then a truck hits a pool of ponded water, sending a muddy wave cascading over him.

He just wants to go home but Dustin lost his dog and he can't leave a puppy out in this weather.

Steve steps off the curb, and what looks like a shallow puddle turns out to be a water-filled hole. He crashes towards the pavement, nothing he can do to stop it. As fast he's falling, he's miraculously not, arms wrapped around his waist. It takes a second for his brain to catch up, to understand that he's being held upright in an old-fashioned, romantic dip.

"Careful, sweetheart," a deep and smoke raspy voice says from above him.

it sends chills down his spine, the good kind, and warmth slips through him. His rescuer is a solid 10 knockout. Long, curly hair; eyeliner; decked out in leather and studs and chains. He smells like booze and cigarettes and weed, and it's intoxicating. Steve has to fight the instinct to nuzzle the guy's leather jacket. He's beautiful, holds Steve with the swagger only a guy with rings on every finger could pull off.

And Steve is a mud soaked mess in sweatpants and a threadbare Hawkins High tee. But the guy holding him isn't letting go. He stares down at Steve, brown eyes wide.

"Steve!" A voice calls over the patter of the rain.

"Dustin?" He says at the same time that the man holding him says, "Henderson?"

"Eddie?" Dustin asks.

"Wait, dnd Eddie?" Steve gets his feet under him, but Eddie's arms don't drop.

"You're the famous babysitter Steve I've been hearing all about?"

They gape at each other until Dustin reaches them.

"What are you still doing out here?" Dustin shouts. "We found Dart hours ago."

"Dustin!" He thinks he might cry. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You weren't answering your walkie!"

"Fuck." Steve drops his face to his hand. The walkie. Which is on the table by the front door where he and Robin leave their keys.

Steve swallows his frustration, the misery of waterlogged shoes, having to be up to open the store in a few hours, meeting the hottest guy he's ever seen when he looks like a drowned rat.

"I promised I'd find Dart, didn't I? Now what the hell are you doing out so late?"

"Mom and I were looking for you!"

"Let's get you back to the car, man, okay?" Steve says to Dustin. He wants to end this weird, terrible, embarrassing night before it gets even more humiliating.

"I can give you a ride home," Eddie says. He's got this weird, intense look on his face, staring at Steve.

"I'm only a few blocks away. I'll be fine. C'mon, Henderson."

"Oh, I can walk him. You head home."

He nods, starts towards his apartment, but turns back just in time to see Eddie and Dustin share a look he can't parse.

---

A few days later, Dustin's following him around at work, chattering about dnd as Steve shelves books, and without taking a breath during a soliloquy about owl bears, says, "Eddie's running a one-shot for us next week. You should come! It's a great way to get into the game."

"I'm not playing dnd," Steve answers. He slides a book onto the shelf. "I've told you this."

"Yeah, but you liked Eddie, right? He'd help you out!"

Steve squints at the kid. "I didn't really meet Eddie to know. Anyway, I'm sure he doesn't want a newbie crashing."

Steve is pretty sure Eddie doesn't like him, based on their short introduction, so he's not interested in forcing himself into the guy's dnd club. The night they met was humiliating enough, Steve in all his dorky glory.

"No, he totally wouldn't care. C'mon, Steve!"

"No can do." He ruffles Dustin's hair as he walks away.

He thinks that'll be the end of it, but every few days, for weeks Dustin and all the rest of the kids stop at the store to beg him to join their dnd club.

---

Steve is working the register and he hears the shuffling clank of a customer, looks up and finds Eddie. He's staring at Steve with that same look from the night they met, intense and piercing, cutting straight through the heart of him. He feels himself start to blush.

The first thing out of Eddie's mouth is, "Wait, this is your store?"

"Yeah?" Steve asks. "Is that--is that weird?"

"No! Not at all. It's a good store. Cute." His nose wrinkles when he says it and Steve's blush grows hotter. He knew Eddie thought he was a dork.

"Cute. Yeah. Right. Can I help you with something?"

Eddie rocks back on his heels, hands going to the pockets of his leather jacket, sending his chains jingling. "Oh, so, actually I wanted to see if you were busy?"

"Yeah, man. I'm busy." He laughs, doesn't intend to be mean about it, but he and Robin only opened the store six months ago and both take night classes at the local community college. Plus, everything he does with the kids.

Eddie's face flushes bright. "Oh, sure, of course. Yeah, I--I'll see you around."

The door thunks to a close behind him, and a voice immediately pops up to ask, "What the hell was that?"

He turns to find Max Mayfield hands on hips, glaring up at him, Robin close behind.

"Shouldn't you be in school?"

Max rolls her eyes and strides up to the counter. "Why were you an asshole to Eddie?"

"He started it!"

"I highly doubt that."

"Okay, Ms. Know-it-all, why don't you tell me what happened?"

"I know for a fact that Eddie came in today to ask you out. So, tell me, Steve Harrington, why he rushed out of here looking like a kicked puppy?"

"What?" He yelps. "Eddie doesn't even like me!"

She glares. "Doesn't like you? He's been pathetic about you since you met."

He gapes at Robin. "Don't look at me," she shrugs. "But that guy was definitely here to ask you out."

"Fix it." Max commands as she stomps out the door. "He bar tends at that metal place on 68th."

---

It's just after 9pm and he's at the metal bar on 68th, decidedly out of place in the yellow t-shirt and jeans he wore to his business accounting class.

It's fairly busy for a weeknight, but Eddie's not hard to find. He's obviously in his element, bobbing his head to a song Steve's never heard as he mixes a drink.

With a hard swallow and a healthy dose of humility, he walks up to the bar.

"Be right--" Eddie starts, balking when he notices Steve.

"Can we talk?" he shouts over the music.

Eddie's eyes widen a little, but he nods, slips out from behind the bar to guide him to an employee exit.

"What's up, Steve?" Eddie asks. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders bowed in.

"I wanted to apologize."

"What for?"

"Earlier, I--when you said the store was cute I thought you were making fun of me."

"But--why?"

"I thought you didn't like me." Steve cringes at the admission.

"What?" He laughs.

"I don't know. We met in the middle of the night and I was covered in mud looking for a dog that wasn't lost anymore."

"Steve. Holy shit." Eddie shakes his head. "You looked gorgeous that night. The way your clothes were sticking--you know what? Never mind. Did you think I wanted you to come to dnd because I hated you?"

"You wanted me to come?"

"Dustin didn't..."

"No! And he's been asking me to play dnd weekly for the past five years."

"Jesus Christ," Eddie slumps agains the brick wall at his back. "No wonder you turned me down today."

"To be fair," Steve slumps next to him. "If I had realized you were asking me out, I wouldn't have turned you down."

"No?" Eddie asks. His brown eyes gleam.

"Definitely not. I've had a crush on you since that night. Sort of devastating since I thought you didn't like me." Steve runs his hand through his hair, watches Eddie track the movement.

"The store is cute, Steve. I--uh--I've been a few times. Back before I knew you were the owner! I just kept seeing a hot employee with great hair and a perfect ass, and the vaguely mean lesbian barista gives me free drinks."

"That's Robin," Steve says. He's smiling so hard.

"I know that now," Eddie smiles back. "Sorry for being an idiot."

"Me too." Steve nods. "Do you--could I still come to dnd? Or take you out sometime?"

"Why not both?" Dimples pop on Eddie's cheeks, and Steve's heart flips.

"I like both." They're still against the wall, but drifting into each other's space.

"So Dustin said."

It surprises a laugh out of Steve. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Too bad. He's a nice kid."

"Eh, we've got six more to choose from."

"I have a few more hours here, but there's a diner down the street that does some of the most mediocre pancakes I've ever tasted. Meet me there? Around 2?"

"A thousand lost puppies wouldn't make me miss it."

The next time Steve is out at 3am he's pressed against a building, Eddie kissing him so thoroughly he knows he's never recovering from this one.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #meet ugly #misunderstandings #feelings confession #mutual pining #idiots to lovers #hero eddie munson #damsel in distress steve harrington #steve thinks eddie is disgusted by him #meanwhile eddie is down bad crying at dnd #the kids try to do matchmaking and only max is successful #bookstore owners steve and robin #bartender eddie munson

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