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aurorawritestoescape · 3 months ago

Text

CRAVING YOU

Joel Miller x f!reader || 3,9k

Summary: after a breakup you throw a big Halloween party and look for someone hot to spend the night with, but no one attracts your attention. That is until you see Joel.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, age gap (how big is up to you bb), soft!Joel, soft!dom vibes, sex with a stranger, praise kink, fingering, squirting, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, reader getting emotional, aftercare, talk of past heartbreak, smoking. Pics are only for the mood but reader wears a described slutty costume. Joel can lift reader.

A/n: this is written for @mermaidgirl30 ‘s Halloween writing challenge. Thank you for the fun event, Jamie!🩷 Smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 Happy Halloween everyone!🎃🖤

MASTERLIST

“As if!”

You push away another drunk frat boy off yourself and head to the kitchen to get yourself a drink. Yes, you look hot as hell practically naked in your red bra, tiny red skirt and a red latex coat over your naked shoulders but it doesn’t give them the right to get handsy with you. Walking through your parents’ house, dark except for the strobing lights, drowning in loud music, you wonder why you invited all of these assholes but it’s totally on you. You wanted to throw a big Halloween party after breaking up with your long-term boyfriend. Not so ‘long’ anymore. He was the one you planned to marry. To spend all your life with. You were high school sweethearts, went to the same college and suddenly all your plans turned to ashes. You found yourself lost, heartbroken and in need of comfort. Tonight you wanted to be hugged or fucked or both.

But unfortunately nobody has attracted your attention. You’re walking through the buzzing crowd but suddenly you stop in your tracks as soon as you spot him.

He’s standing outside in the empty backyard, illuminated by the string lights and the moon. His back is to the house and the first thing you notice is a tool belt, hanging around his hips. A builder costume? Interesting.

The belt attracts your attention to his gorgeous ass and even from afar you see that it looks delicious in jeans. You bite your lip, imagining your hands on those cheeks.

His back is broad. Strong. A plaid shirt is strained over his muscular shoulders. His dark curls shine with the silver of the moon.

Like a shark finally smelling its prey, you start moving towards him, pushing away everyone in your way. You slide a glass door, releasing the music and the chatter of the party into the yard, and the loud sounds make the man turn. Internally you squeal with excitement when you see his handsome features, partially hidden behind the cigarette smoke. When it dissipates, your breath hitches. His prominent nose is asking to be sat on, his dark eyes are scorching every inch of your exposed skin yet his plush lips curve into a warm smile at the sight of you sauntering towards him.

”Hey,” you purr, waving at the stranger with your fingers. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You offer him your hand and he blows the smoke to the side, before gently shaking it.

“Sorry, miss. I’m Joel. Joel Miller.”

You tell him your name and notice his eyes linger on your body, barely covered and sparkling with glitter. In your mind you smirk— you’re so fucking him tonight.

“Jus’ havin’ a smoke. I’ll leave soon.”

“No, why, it’s allowed,” you giggle and look him up and down before adding. “I really love your costume, Joel.”

You step up closer to him and slide your index finger along the tool belt, stopping over his big bulge. You both glance down and he smiles,

“ ‘s not a costume, sweetheart. I’m a contractor. The man who owns this house wants to redo some stuff in the backyard. He told me I could come and take the measurements tonight. My crew is starting work tomorrow. Didn’t know there’d be a party.”

He glances at the house and chuckles, seeing someone do a keg stand in the living room.

“Oh.”

You realize why your father had told you to keep the guests out of the backyard. Strangely the fact that he’s a contractor makes the situation even hotter. You give Joel a little smile, batting your eyelashes at him, and whisper, “My mistake.”

“It’s ok. ‘s Halloween after all. What are you?" Joel asks, taking in your 'costume' that barely covers anything. To lure him in further, you push your chest out and your red coat opens up more, showing the man all of your assets. Joel shifts on his feet and you wonder if his jeans are getting too tight.

"I'm a girl who wants to have fun tonight."

You give him a loaded smile and in a second giggle as his eyebrows shoot up.

"I'm the devil, Joel."

You tilt your head down and point at your little red horns.

Joel nods slowly, taking another drag of his cigarette. His gaze sticks to your breasts, your belly, your barely covered thighs.

"Lookin' great, sweetheart. I'm ready to sell my soul."

Melting from the pet name, you tilt your head to the side and ask in a sultry voice, "Oh, really? And what do you want for your soul, Joel?"

The man narrows his eyes at you and his tongue slides over the lower lip as he contemplates his answer for a second.

"Jus' what every man wants, I reckon."

"What's that?"

"A sexy devil ready to grant his every wish."

It seems that you stop breathing and immediately feel yourself getting wet. Your heart is fluttering as he’s flirting with you. Your gazes are dancing over each other’s bodies, hungry and enticing, and he puts out the cigarette and inches closer to you. Your eyes lock, challenging each other to act on your desires.

“Guess you got lucky tonight, Joel” you whisper.

His smile is downright devilish.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

Your voices are barely audible with the music, blasting inside the house, but you hear each other perfectly well. It feels intimate even with a bunch of people, partying behind the glass doors. There’s no one else in the world, just Joel and you, and the moon, bathing you two in its pearly light. Heat radiating from his big body contrasts with the chilly air, and you shiver.

“Let’s go inside, you’re cold,” he offers, motioning to the house, but you’d hate to be interrupted by anyone.

“There’s a guest house over there — I’ve heard. I doubt you’ve already measured stuff there.”

You bite your lower lip as a fear grips your stomach. What if he says ‘no’? Rejection would cut you like a knife right now. But Joel surprises you.

He lifts his hand to your face and pinches your chin, holding you in place. His tone is serious all of a sudden.

“Are you drunk?”

His piercing eyes are assessing your face for a few seconds and you slowly but surely drown in them.

“No. Only had one drink. I’m fine.”

You look at his lips, your breath frozen, until he replies,

“Actually... You are right. Let’s go take a look at that house.”

Flashing him a mischievous grin, you take his big warm hand and start walking. On your way there your core is tingling with anticipation. You've never done anything like this before. Never been so turned on by someone you’ve just met. But your body burns with the need and you take a leap.

As soon as you step through the door, finally away from the annoying party in the main house, you take your coat off, hop on a desk and playfully beckon Joel with your finger. You feel sexy and ready to have fun.

He looks around the place and then his obsidian eyes focus on you. He prowls closer, taking his tool belt off.

“You can leave it on,” you purr, planting your hands on the surface behind you and arching your back.

He shakes his head. “Don’t wanna hurt you…sharp tools.”

He throws the belt on the floor and steps up between your spread thighs. You throw your legs wider apart and your short skirt rides up, exposing your pussy covered by red panties.

Joel’s eyes land there immediately and he mumbles, “Fuckin’ hell.”

Happy with the effect you have on the man, you lean forward and press a kiss to his scruffy cheek. He drags his nose down to your neck and then whispers into your ear,

“Why are you doin’ this?”

You smile at the question. “Because I’m horny. And you’re hot.”

“Hmm, let me ask again. Why— are you doin’ this? Don’t lie now.”

You pull away and glare at him, your brows furrowed. His eyes are set on your face, his expression serious, waiting, and you snap, not hiding your rising frustration.

“Can’t a girl just wanna get fucked?”

His hands run over your naked thighs, and then he brings them to your shoulders. Joel glides his thumbs over your skin there, while his warm eyes are darting between yours.

“Yes, baby, but usually there’s a deeper reason.”

A few seconds pass and his soft gaze breaks your walls, emotions stir in your chest, and you feel your throat tighten and drop your head, averting your eyes from the man.

“My boyfriend… he cheated on me.”

A few moments pass before Joel gruffs,

“The fuck’s his problem? Is he insane?”

You smile and Joel sighs before leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“Soft then,” he mumbles against your sensitive skin, sending vibrations through your trembling body.

“What?” you ask as your soft lips are grazing his beard. Joel presses kisses to your face, slowly moving to your mouth.

“I needed to ask— to know how to fuck you, baby.”

Your lips finally meet and he kisses you as his hands wrap around your body.

The kiss makes your head spin. He smells like a cheap deodorant and something so manly, your core floods with sticky lust. His scent intoxicates you. It’s completely different from your ex’s and it makes you throb. Your core, burning with desire, demands him inside you and the ache between your legs sends your hands to his belt. Your body is pleading, ‘Give me— please—need you’.

Joel gently bites your lower lip, slightly pulling away, and you murmur,

“Fuck me.”

He searches for your eyes and takes your impatient hands in his.

“No.”

You open your mouth to protest but he continues,

“I wanna make you feel good first. Can I?”

You nod and then softly gasp as Joel cups your pussy over your panties and his thumb slides up and down caressing your clit under the thin fabric.

”Have you let anyone touch you after… him?”

You shake your head, your lips parted, your nails digging into his shoulders, as you’re watching him take you apart even with a barrier of the material. It’s unbelievable that a fire is already smoldering deep inside you. You struggle to remember the last time your ex turned you on so hard and so fast.

“Am I your rebound then?” Joel asks and your eyes snap up to his. Your stomach drops in fear of him getting offended. But you see his plush lips curve into a smile as he reassures you,

“It’s fine, sweetheart. I don’t mind. I’d be a fool. Look at you.”

His hungry gaze slides down your face, your neck, your chest until it lands on his own hand still pressed to your pussy. Then his thumb snakes under the gusset of your panties and a lightning bolt shoots through your body when his finger finds and starts swirling your slippery clit.

A pathetic whine leaves your parted lips and he pulls you closer to him with his free hand on your lower back.

”Oh my god,” you moan and he takes a deep breath, his cheek pressed to yours. His lips tickle your skin, your whole body burning up under his caress, as he whispers into your ear,

“Do you feel it— how wet you’re?”

His finger is gliding easily over your puffy clit with all the slick lubing his and your skin, and you mewl a soft ‘yeah’.

“Such a good girl for me. But anyone can make a girl come like this—,”

“My ex rarely could,” you blurt out with a hazy smile.

Joel chuckles and his beard lightly rubs your cheek.

“Damn. What an ass.”

You’re so lost in pleasure that you just hum, breathing in his scent.

“Baby, can I put my fingers inside you? Wanna make you feel real good.”

You think, if you’re even capable of thinking right now, that you’d let him do anything to you. Of course you agree, surrendering your body to the man you see for the first time in your life, spreading your thighs a little wider as a silent invitation.

“Thank you, my sexy devil,” Joel growls and his mouth crushes against yours before his middle finger pushes into your sopping hole.

The noise you make doesn’t sound devilish. It’s a soft whimper that he swallows, not parting from your lips even for a second, even to watch his ring finger quickly join the first one. He’s kissing you feverishly, licking into your mouth, while his thick digits plunge in and out your squelching pussy with a steady rhythm. You tilt your hips up to grant him better access and he dives in deeper, claiming the furthest parts of your core.

Joel breaks the kiss and presses his sweaty forehead to yours.

“Listen to yourself— moaning on my fingers like this— imagine what I can do with my cock.”

“Joel, please,” you beg not sure why- to make him stop talking or asking him to continue. He knows the answer even better than you.

“You’ll be screaming my name soon, little devil. Give me a chance and you’ll be screaming it every day.”

He drops his gaze and you follow.

A lustful moan falls from your lips when you see his manly fingers move in and out your glistening entrance, your panties and his digits are coated in your shiny slick. The sight adds pleasure to your already ecstatic sensations.

“It’s like my fingers belong in your pussy, sweetheart.”

He almost pulls them out but then hooks them inside you and his pads start rubbing a spot that makes your core vibrate and eyes roll back.

“Yeah—oh, yeahhhh—“, you moan, digging your nails into his shoulders mercilessly as you feel your climax approaching fast.

“Fuck! you’ll make me bust into my jeans soundin’ like this —lookin’ like this.”

Joel is massaging your soft spot for a few moments and suddenly you feel tickling pressure rise under his touch and a panic grips your heart.

“Oh no, Joel—wait—,” you mumble but in a second you feel warm wetness rush out of you as Joel keeps fingering you, lewd noises filling the room, and your thighs, the desk, Joel’s jeans get splayed with your clear juices.

“Yes! fuck, yes! Give it to me, baby!”

With the added wetness you come hard, shaking on the slippery desk, and Joel holds you with a free hand, pressing his body closer to yours, while your whole world squeezes into the size of this room, where the man you’ve just met is making you see the brightest stars behind your eyelids.

As soon as your body stops trembling, you fall into his embrace and Joel holds you against his chest, letting you catch your breath. His arms, secure and strong around you, send waves of comfort to your heart and suddenly you feel wetness not only between your naked thighs but also in your eyes.

You sit up on the desk, your eyes glistening, your hands gripping his shirt, and give him a warm smile, full of affection and gratitude.

Joel chuckles and kisses your cheek,

“Have you never squirted before? You looked so terrified, little thing.”

You shake your head and drop it, hiding your eyes but also assessing the damage. The desk is a mess.

Joel notices your unease and takes your chin between his fingers.

“I’ll deal with it. Don’t worry.” Then he lifts your face to his and winks, “I’m honored to be the first.”

You’re trying to keep yourself from melting under his dark brown eyes but it’s hard. Your whole body is longing for him, his touch, his lips. Joel’s gorgeous and he’s just given you the best orgasm of your life. What chances have you got?

So you give in to your heart‘s and pussy’s desire.

“I want you, Joel. Want you to fuck me.”

Joel runs his hands over your whole body with a smile before saying,

“I’d love to fuck you, baby. But tonight I think you need me to make love to you. Let me do that.”

You feel warmth stir deep in your belly before replying with a quiet but confident ‘yes’ and in the next second Joel wraps your legs around his waist and lifts you off the desk.

“There must be a bed here,” he mumbles, carrying you to another room and you hum into the crease of his neck. You know there’s one.

The bed is soft and warm under you in comparison with the desk but you don’t think about it. Your whole being is focused on the man discarding his clothes in front of you. You can’t help but moan when he takes his boxers off and climbs on the bed completely naked. His body is strong, the broad chest and shoulders make your hands itch to touch and squeeze them, your lips desire to trace his happy trail down and to kiss his big hard cock, standing proudly. He’s perfect.

“Your turn baby,” he motions to your ‘costume’, and when you sit up he stops you.

“Let me. Please.”

You gladly give him full control and your body vibrates under his fingers when he slowly and gently undresses you.

Both naked except for the horns on your head, you immediately gravitate to each other and the sensation of his hot skin against yours sends shivers through your body.

“Cold, sweetheart? I’ll warm you up.“

Joel kisses you again and pushes you to lie down before getting between your thighs and covering your body with his. His leaking cock smears precum over your belly and you impatiently start rubbing your folds against his shaft, chasing any pressure you can get.

“My devil’s needy, huh? Pretty girl wants my cock?”

“Yes, please,” you whine and Joel locks eyes with you.

“Wait a second—“ he mumbles, about to leave you, but you wrap your arms around him.

“No, I need to feel you. Fully. No condoms.”

Joel presses his forehead to yours.

“You sure? I promise I’m clean but —.”

“Me too. I’ve had sex only with my ex. Ever.”

He looks into your eyes and you don’t see pity there, only care, respect.

“If you’re sure, baby—.”

He kisses you again and you feel his hand slither between your bodies as he grabs his cock and pushes the tip past your folds. The fat head nudges your soft hole and you gasp when he begins pushing his length in, inch by inch, careful not to hurt you.

“Fuckin’—sorry, hnggg—that’s it, little devil. Taking me so good.”

And you are taking him easily, despite his size. You’ve been opened up by his thick fingers, your recent orgasm, and you happily welcome him into your warmth and wetness.

When Joel bottoms out, he growls and you wrap your arms and legs around him tightly. With your lips caressing each other, he begins rocking his hips against you, sending his cock deeper and deeper, until it hits your cervix and you bite his lip.

Joel smirks, “Naughty devil. You feel too fuckin’ good to be real.”

You smile, your eyes hazy as they roll behind your head, when Joel changes an angle and begins rutting into you, stroking the right spot over and over.

You moan loudly and he swallows your noises with another kiss. You’re clawing at his arms and back, making him groan, spreading your thighs wider for him to take everything from you, to give him yourself completely. Your puffy clit grinds against his pelvic bone and another orgasm crests in your core.

With every thrust the head of his cock deliciously massages you from the inside and he picks up the pace sending you higher until another climax blooms behind your clit and explodes in the deepest part of your core and you come apart from both stimulations.

You scream his name just like Joel predicted and he doesn’t shut you with a kiss this time. His eyes are on you, drinking your pleasure.

“Yeah, good girl. Take it, baby— fuck! your pussy —choking me —ahhhh…”

He moans and you feel warmth spread inside you when he starts squirting his seed against your pulsating walls. You wrap your legs around him tighter to keep him in, take all of it gratefully. Your pussy is fluttering around his throbbing cock and you keep whimpering while his hips thrust in, sending his load deeper.

After Joel fills you up, he stills inside you and searches for your eyes. Through heavy breaths he asks you, brows knitted together, voice worried,

“What is it? Did I hurt you? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

When he cups your cheek, you realize that you’re crying, tears streaming down your face to your temples, your chest shaking with quiet sobs.

“No, I’m not hurt— I don’t know— I don’t know—,” you shake your head, mumbling, confused by your own reaction but he doesn’t push further.

Joel gently pulls out, lies down next to you and takes you in his arms. His body presses to yours as he covers you both with the bedspread. He leans closer and kisses your forehead, your cheeks and you slowly calm down, comforted by your lover.

“I don’t usually cry after sex. I’m sorry,” you whisper after a few minutes, still sniffing from time to time, and he glides his warm hands over your back.

“‘s ok, baby. Is it me?”

“No! Well, kinda—yes. Because it was amazing. I’ve never felt so good before.”

You feel Joel’s smile against your forehead, and you lift your face to his and whisper,

“Thank you.“

“My pleasure.”

With a twinkle in his eye, he presses his lips to yours and softly kisses you, hesitant to push too soon, too hard. But you know what you want so you deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue between his lips and soon you’re making out as your pussy clenches around nothing. Your inner thighs are wet and sticky but you don’t care.

When Joel breaks the kiss, he locks eyes with you.

“I doubt you’re the devil, baby.”

“Oh?” You sound a little offended.

“Yeah. I think you’re the most beautiful angel. Too perfect for any asshole on this planet.”

Your lips curve into a smile as you purr,

“You don’t seem like an asshole.”

“Thank you,” he smiles back.

He pulls you in closer again and you two rest together, relishing the new-found intimacy. Joel is the first to break the silence.

��Did he ever apologize?”

The question rings loudly in the quiet room. An hour ago it would make you upset, as a reminder of the biggest heartbreak of your life. Now it barely grazes your soul.

”No.”

Joel hugs you tighter and murmurs,

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

You take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of Joel’s skin. Breathing out the pain of the previous relationship.

You’re lying in each other’s arms for a few more minutes until Joel searches for your eyes.

“We can’t let this night be the only one. What do you say, baby? Can I see you again?”

Your heart sings but then drops into your stomach. You have to tell him. After clearing your throat, you admit,

”This client of yours. It’s my dad. I live here—,” You see Joel’s eyebrows rise up and quickly add, “I can stop by the backyard tomorrow? If you’d like.”

Regret is clawing at your chest. Why haven’t you said anything sooner? He probably hates you now. But Joel smirks, lifting weight off your soul.

“You’re full of surprises, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Naughty devil.”

With that he pushes you down and kisses your smiling lips.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

MASTERLIST

Tag list:@milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

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bigification · 7 months ago

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Careful What You Wish For - M2

The wind felt great on Nate's arms as he sped down the road on his motorcycle. It made him feel badass, swerving through traffic and pissing off other drivers.

He finally slowed down as he pulled into the parking lot in front of his gym. A man needs his workout, otherwise there wouldn't be much to show off while riding his bike. He parked and took his helmet off, ready for his daily workout.

Nate gave a charming smile to the man behind the front counter as he waltzed into the gym. He had a routine, always starting with the same machine. He saw it was free and took his shot to get on it. But just as he was about to get there, another man walked through him like he wasn't even there and took the machine. The man was tall with broad shoulders and biceps the size of melons. Nate's first instinct was to stand up for himself, but as his head turned up to look the other guy in the face, he backed down. The man had a buzz cut and a beard, and looked scary as hell. This was not worth it.

He swallowed his pride and decided to go back to the locker room and wait. It wasn't his proudest moment. He went back to his bag and sat down, but something was different. Someone has been in his bag. Nate opened it to see if anything had been taken, but it was the opposite. Someone had left a weird looking lamp in his bag. He pulled out the lamp to check it out but as soon as he touched it, a purple mist started to pour out of it. He looked around the locker room to see if anyone else was seeing it, but there was no one in the room. The mist swirled into a human-like figure that floated above him.

"I may grant you one wish." It whispered.

Nate just sat there in awe for a moment, unable to react. Then an idea popped into his head.

"I wish I was bigger." He said confidently. No more assholes will fuck with him now.

The mist started to circle him. It felt like a massage as the mist worked its magic on his body. His shoulders started to broaden and his traps grew thick. His biceps exploded with muscle, making him look like a body builder. His pecs thickened until they stretched his shirt to its maximum. He felt his perspective rise as his body grew taller and taller, leaving him at an intimidating 6"5. His hands and feet also grew significantly to match his new height.

The mist then receded back into the lamp. Nate sat in shock for a moment, thinking what happened was some sort of dream. But then he looked down and saw his massive biceps and juicy pecs. He got up and stumbled forward, taking a moment to adjust to his new height.

"Ha... Holy shit!" He said with a chuckle, "I'm huge."

He walked over to the closest mirror and started to flex, nearly ripping through the sleeves of his shirt. He ran back to his bag and took off his shirt. He confidently strutted back out to the gym, making sure to duck under the doorway. He made his way back to the machine he got kicked off of before, and it was empty again. He sat down in the machine, struggling to fit his large body comfortably. He saw the intimidating man across the room and flexed at him.

The man just responded with a confused look, as he could have sworn Nate was half that size just minutes earlier.

Nate set the weights much higher than usual and started his workout. About halfway through the set, he noticed a tingling feeling around his crotch. The same feeling his had felt in his upper body before. He looked down and saw that the purple mist was now circling around his crotch. The transformation wasn't over, there are more ways of being big after all.

Nate's legs buckled slightly as his dick started to grow. 6, 7, 8 inches long, a visible bulge began to form in his gym shorts. He made weird faces trying to hide the pleasure he was feeling. 9, 10, 11 inches, his dick started to slip down the side of his leg. He blushed as he tried to hide the obvious bulge running down the leg of his shorts. This was plenty big, he thought. 12, 13, 14 inches, it wasn't slowing down. It felt so good, but Nate started to panic as his dick was getting close to slipping under his shorts. It didn't help that he was starting to get hard. 15, 16 inches long and nearly as thick as a pop can, it finally stopped growing. He squeezed his legs together to hide the sable that was hiding in his shorts. This was not what he meant when he said 'big'.

He was distraught, but he continued his workout instead. After his set, he sat there for a moment, thinking about what he was going to do. He knew his dick would be impossible to hide when he got up. He thought that maybe he should just go home and buy looser clothes before he embarrassed himself. Though before he could build up the courage to get up, the purple mist returned. It swirled around his midsection and tickled his stomach. He naively thought that this might give him a six pack, but it was quite the opposite. Nate watched in horror as his stomach jiggled as far poured into it.

"What? No!" He cried out as he grabbed his chubby belly.

He got up and ran back to the locker room, hoping no one would see him like this. He ran past the mirror and saw as his beer belly bounced with every step. Even his pecs started to look a little softer. And the sharp V shape on hips was slowly getting replaced by soft love handles.

Nate threw on his shirt hoping it would fit, but it wouldn't get past his belly button. And he had to tuck his dick up into his waist band to stop it from hanging out of his shorts.

He held his bag to his stomach hoping it would hide his exposed belly and the large bulge in his shorts. Then walked as fast as he could out of the gym, hitting his head on every doorway. He made it out of the gym and to his motorcycle with only a few passing glances from other gym goers. He got on his motorcycle and had to sit back to leave room for his growing belly and his massive legs.

He hated how good the wind felt on his exposed belly. And he hated how much his body would jiggle every time he hit a bump.

Nate finally made it home and rushed inside. Finally he was safe from the prying eyes of others. Though he wasn't safe from his main issue, the mist still surrounded his midsection. He managed to find one of his dad's shirts that barely fit him. He couldn't believe he was the same size as his dad of all people. Granted he was now significantly taller than his dad, but there was no denying his belly was getting big enough to rival his father's.

He stood in front of the mirror for what felt like forever, analyzing his body. The undeniable gut that hung in front of him, and the soft moobs that sat on top of it. The double chin that was hiding under his beard. The pudgy fat that covered his thick arms. Even his hands and feet looked swollen. And that's not even considering the problem that is his cock. He pulled it out and saw as it hung nearly down to his knees, it would have gone past his knees if it weren't for the fact that his legs had increased significantly in length.

As he was sulking about his body, he remembered the lamp. It was what caused all these problems for him, maybe it could reverse them. He walked back to his bag and pulled it out.

"I wish to go back to the way I was before." He said into the lamp as he rubbed it.

The purple mist once again poured out of the lamp. This time it engulfed his entire body. He smiled, thinking it would cause all of his problems to go away.

His comfort quickly turned to regret as he felt his clothes begin to tighten around his body. If his gut wasn't bigger than his father's before, it sure was now. Surges of fat poured into Nate's gut, each one adding tens of pounds of fat into his belly. His father's shirt started to ride up above his gut as it began to hang over his waistline. He would never be able to see anything past his belly anymore. His body also began to stretch again, making his shirt ride up even more. The fat also thickened his sides, making his love handles stretch to his back and spill over his waistline. His pecs were on the edge of being considered moobs, but now it was undeniable. His pecs swelled until they started to sag over his gut and into his armpits.

"Please ...ugh.. stop." Nate begged. Barely able to get words out due to the sheer amount of pleasure his body is feeling.

Whatever muscle definition that was on his back quickly got replaced with soft rolls of fat. And you would never guess there was any muscle under the thick layer of fat that covered his arms. His ass was still perky with all of the muscle that laid underneath his fat, but that didn't last. His ass widened as it began to sag under its immense weight. It quickly filled out all the space in his pants and popped the button off of them. A large fat pad quickly engulfed part of his dick, making it appear a couple inches shorter than it was. Though his dick responded by growing a few more inches. 17, 18, 19, 20 inches long spilling past his knees.

His thighs started to balloon, making him have to spread his legs to even walk. And his legs also became longer, topping him out at a monstrous 7 feet tall.

Finally he felt his face begin to change. His chin became three soft chins that connected to his thick neck. Though they quickly got covered in a thick bushy beard. His face widened as his cheeks became round and chubby.

With that, the most finally dissipated. Leaving Nate as the big guy he always wanted to be. Although he is not very appreciative of this.

"What the fuck!" He yelled.

He looked down and all he could see were his fat man tits and his monstrous belly. Though based on how heavy he feels, the rest of him is probably not much smaller. He desperately tried to buckle up his pants, but couldn't. They snapped open every time, sending a shockwave through his blubber.

He gave up and started to waddle back to his bedroom. He stumbled at first getting used to the way his body weighs him down. His gut swung back and forth with each step. He sucked below his doorway and squeezed his fat ass through. Looks like he's gonna have to get his doorways adjusted.

He grabbed a large pair of jeans with some suspenders his father had left at his place. He had to pull hard to get the jeans on and they're not long enough, but they fit better than anything else he has. And he found a black shirt he was going to gift his dad for his birthday. It was bigger than the rest of his father's clothes because he was scared his father would outgrow them too quickly. Lucky for him that made them fit him better, though his gut still hung out the bottom of them.

"You know what, fuck this!" Nate yelled as he angrily waddled back to the lamp. "No more!" He cried out as he threw the lamp on the floor, making it shatter on impact.

The purple mist spread across the room. Nate tried to back away, but was not nearly fast enough. The mist entered through his ears and clouded his brain. His insecurities soon disappeared as his ego inflated. His worries about his hulking body turned to pride, he loved being the biggest man in the room and commanding attention from everyone.

Nate fought the feeling and managed to stumble away from the mist. He coughed as he squeezed into his bathroom and shut the door.

"Good thing I got away." Nate said in a shockingly deep voice. "What the hell?"

He walked in front of the mirror and jumped when he didn't recognize himself. He had gotten so old. His hair turned grey as his hairline receded. His big bushy beard turned white and the body turned salt and pepper. His skin wrinkled and formed sun damage from all the years in the sun.

"Wow I'm looking good, hehe." Nate gave out a hearty laugh, making his body jiggle. "But as much as I love showing off this tank, I should probably get me some clothes that fit. I outgrew my pops a long time ago, so his clothes just won't do." He said as he ordered 6XL clothes online.

#male tf #masculine #fat tf #hairy #male wg #reality change #male transformation #muscle tf #age progression

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captainkirkk · 10 months ago

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A quick review: The Goblin Emperor

I binge-read the last of the The Goblin Emperor today and my brain is still buzzing. Everyone knows that I'm a big fan of stories about people in power choosing consistently to be kind, especially when it's hard and it does not benefit them, and this book DELIVERED.

I loved reading about Maia choosing, over and over again, to be compassionate, even though he was miserable and overwhelmed and it would have been easier to be cruel. Maia felt like the purposefully isolated, abused teenager he was, overwhelmed and powerless when he first came to court, but I adore that we saw the slow, hard-won changes that hebrought about: winning allies simply by being kind and honest, making REAL change for the betterment of his people

Maia has only been ruling for a less than a year (I think) but already the world is benefiting from the care of Emperor Edrehasivar the Bridge-Builder (and what a title!!!). All the birthday messages Maia received - not just platitudes but warm gifts from people whose lives he'd changed - made me tear up

And I also really liked all the hurt/comfort scenes with Maia being surprised by being liked and treated nicely, and winning the loyalty and affection of so many just by virtue of being himself :'))

Anyway if you haven't read The Goblin Emperor, you should definitely give it a chance!! Especially if you also read and enjoyed The Hands of the Emperor

#now i'm off to read everything on ao3 bye #the goblin emperor #tge #my posts #book reviews

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totothewolff · 7 months ago

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Chemtrails Over the Yacht Club Collection

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨 Toto x reader(fem service staff)][💘 Romance][🥵Smut][🎀 Age-gap][❤️‍🔥Daddy Kink][🛳Yacht Culture][✍️WIP]

Summary: The number of sleepless nights you spend thinking about what you would say to his face, to that gorgeous, gorgeous face, if he ever dared to cross your path again. And here you have him, the fucker! Did he get amnesia or something?! Why is he acting so calm? As if Toto didn't leave you the way he did? The fact he still looks at you THAT way after all these years, and he is aging like a fine wine, looking even better with those couple of numbers added to his age. Still fit, still charming, still intimidating, still him, doesn't help you remain angry at him for abandoning the ship. No pun intended.

< Previous chapter | Masterlist >

3 - Not all who wander are lost

Your life after Toto and college has gotten much better. You like your current job. It's not the highest salary, but it's enough to enjoy yourself, buy cute clothes, and invest in revamping the apartment you once shared with your aunt.

It's nothing glamorous, though. It's just some cosmetic repairs and better decor, but you couldn't imagine affording it before.

Humidity is such a bitch in Monaco. There's more hidden inside those walls than you expected when you started restoring them.

Your phone buzzes in the front pocket of your washed-down tiny shorts, the ones you are wearing right now along with an old oversized T-shirt. A proper attire for working with paint!

A text from an unknown number got in.

"Are you in town?" it reads.

You dismiss it and continue your "Bob The Builder" activities.

"I'm near your place," comes a following text.

"Hi, wrong number! No idea who you are."

"This is Y/N's number, right?"

"Yes... but who is it?"

Now, you need help. You have all your friends and family in your contacts, and then a photo loads in the chat before you can text back.

It's a picture of one of Toto's hands. His long fingers appear in the snap as he is about to press the bell button of your unit's building.

It takes you a minute to grasp the reality of what the fuck is going on.

Okay, this is indeed happening.

This is not one of your fever dreams.

Don't panic! Don't panic!

Fuck. It's been a while.

Fuck! Fuck!

For the past four years, you have successfully avoided the thought of him.

You even feared it, back in the day, knowing quite well what the mementos of Toto did for your body and mind. A lethal cocktail for your mental health and well-being. Self-harm is a dangerous buddy you don't want to welcome back.

You did your best to get clean of him, casting Toto away from your soul and memory till there was left no trace of him in you at all.

And now this?! Shit.

But your body reacts on its own and instinctively for you, hitting the button for the entrance to get open so fast.

A buzzing sound on the front door allows Toto to access your building.

What the fuck?! What was that sort of Spider-Man reflex?! Girl, get yourself together, jeez.

Toto's footsteps on the stairs and a soft knock on your door follow.

You walk so quickly to get the door, more than you feel proud to admit, already feeling the self-love leaving your body by your actions.

Fuuuuuuck.

The view that greets you feels like something out of a stupid rom-com movie. Argh! Toto is the reason why you despise those films and distrust men, romance, and relationships.

He looks gorgeous as fuck! With that stupid beautiful face and those ridiculous bambi eyes, he is putting on, holding those stupid breathtaking flowers, and sporting that perfectly tailored suit, accentuating his best features.

He is aging like a fine wine and looks even better with those couple of years added to his age. Still fit, still charming, still intimidating, still him.

He is holding a massive bouquet for you. In his other hand, he carries a paper bag with a bottle of wine and other items unknown items inside.

"This one is for you." The sound of his deep voice reaching your ears brings back many memories, more than you can handle and you don't know what to do, if you faint, scream at him, or cum.

To your lack of response, he moves to place the flowers in your hands, observing you frozen before him, and then reaches closer to kiss your cheek as a greeting, way too close to your lips and more tenderly and slowly as he should be allowed to.

That warm wet touch you feel in the corner of your mouth takes you out of the trance and back to reality.

This is happening, he is really here. It's not one of those frantic dreams you used to have, ala Bella Swan.

"And this is for your aunt," he adds as he walks past you and enters your place inviting himself in.

He goes straight to leave the bag on the brand-new trendy table you recently bought. That table at the momment is pulled all the way to a corner, away and safe from the chaos and the paint.

Toto is already walking around your apartment as if he had the right to it, checking out what's going on.

"It's a good thing you haven't changed your phone number! That's a nice wall color," he tells you with a big smile, his beautiful teeth showing.

Did he get amnesia?! Why is he acting so calm, as if he didn't leave you like he did and in pieces?

"Us regulars can go with just one phone number our entire lives, you know?" There's a hint of anger hidden in your first words to him. It's been a while, yet it feels like yesterday.

Oh, the number of nights you spend fighting to sleep in your bed, thinking about what you would say to his face if he ever dared to cross your path again, to that gorgeous, gorgeous face.

And here he is, the fucker! What a nerve!

You move peacefully to place the flowers in a vase, which is contrary to how you feel inside. Still, a frown is visible but you hold your feelings. You bite your tongue not to lose it.

Silence reigns for a moment.

"Are you planning on moving out?" Toto asks, his voice lingering with worry and nervousness. He points with his finger to the revamping.

"No, I'm just making it my own since now it's just me here."

His eyebrows go up immediately. "Is your aunt..?" He doesn't get to finish his question as you instantly reply, interrupting him.

"She moved in with her longtime boyfriend. It took her a while to finally decide to move out, she kept returning to the apartment most of the nights just for me, knowing I don't cope well with sudden changes or people leaving abruptly" There's the jab! You go, girl! "She feared I could go back into a bad place... once more." you finish explaining.

"The one you sent me to. Thanks for all the trauma you caused me!" it's what you feel like screaming at Toto, but you don't. You are grasping at composure with your nails.

Toto stares at you solemnly, sensing the mood shifting. "Frankly, it's going better than I hoped for. I'm surprised you are not screaming at me or slapping me so far," he expresses with a smirk, arms on his hips, flexing those biteable, toned arms.

Your eyes finally move from the water stream coming from the tap to face him. Hurt is visible in them. "It's been years, Toto. You chose to move on without me, and so I did."

He clears his throat before slowly walking closer to you, closing the gap between you, and stepping over the splatted plastic covering the brand-new wooden floors of your place on his way to you. It's the only sound heard in the apartment.

You feel a nervousness in the base of your stomach as his towering body approaches, feeling tiny and like a little girl.

"Answer me this question," he looks at you so intensely. You lean back on the kitchenette counter, his big body almost trapping yours against it. "Do you regret me?" he whispers, his body nearly rubbing yours.

You take a minute to answer.

"I do regret..." you answer, with each of your words gaining momentum and you pause to look up at Toto straight in the eyes, confronting him, not letting him win. The man looked so hopeless for a second, and so tempted to break those inches setting you apart and taking you right there in the spot. "...not grabbing that juicy tip you offered me." You let out with a smile, feeling victorious.

You little shit. His facial reaction is a poem.

If he wants to play games this time, they will be with your rules.

As the bottle of wine reaches its end and the coat of paint on the wall is almost complete, he taunts you with the fresh brush he's holding, getting you an ivory splat of dye on your forearm with a cheeky smile.

You playfully toss yours on his way, staining his nose too. You two start making a mess, throwing paint at each other.

"Hey! Don't fuck up my clothes! Is this your cheap excuse to make me take off my shirt?" he teases you.

"Oh, no, none of that! I love myself nowadays!" you snap back, laughing.

"Fuck you," Toto pushes you to the side.

"Let's grab dinner somewhere. I'm getting high with this smell! I need some fresh air" Toto invites you.

And you accept.

Being around him feels so good. Indulging yourself with him is fixating and delicious, like the most fantastic and fatal drug. You have his full attention, and you can make him laugh and smile like that and make him look at you with those eyes in THAT way.

The moment he reaches your cheek over the table to caress it with his hand and thumb, provoking you to close your eyes, rub against it, and seek more of his touch immediately, enjoying the contact of his warm skin on yours desperately, makes you feel like a trained pet waving his tail to his master, and it breaks something inside you.

God, you used to be so desperate for him, craving anything he gave you. No matter if it were crumbs or leftovers, you would settle for anything to have him even if a little, a taste. Gosh, you were so young and dumb.

By the moment you get the question that Toto silently asks you with his imploring eyes, as he drops you back at your place late in the night after spending an honestly great time together downtown, you are strong enough to resist it.

Even after you two just had a, you don't want to throw around the word "date," but yeah, basically, you just had one. You feel powerful enough to shake your head no, even if, in reality, you were scared to death by what Toto provoked in you with the simple touch of his hand.

Oh, and to think there was a time when the mere idea of Toto taking you someplace fancy, out of that fucking Yacht Club, in public, holding the door open for you, pulling your chair, looking at you with adoring eyes across the table, and sharing soft touches and kisses here and there, was something you only could dream of and you used to beg for it to happen.

As you take off his jacket, the one he gave you to keep you warm in the nightly breeze now by the entrance door of your building, Toto's eyes speak volumes to you, almost in a plea to let him inside, not only into you but into your life once more, into your bed and fill you every single inch till your very core.

You feel his nose tenderly brushing yours, the warmth of his mouth brushing your lips, his muscular arm stretching next to your face as he leans in on you.

"Good night, Toto. It was great seeing you," you say almost in a whisper, getting on your tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek before entering back to your place without looking back, without falling for it.

Every once in a while, texts from Toto arrive.

As the days go by, your chat remains pretty active.

Here and there, you two have a casual call to share, you know, life or when important things happen.

Maybe once a month, you find yourself Facetiming with him when you feel you miss or need him, even if you hate to admit it, or when he feels he wants to tease you by appearing with his shirt off, just wearing those briefs that leave nothing to the imagination and make you salivate.

The number of immediate likes he gives you on Instagram every time you post something —the only social media account you own, and that he has, you are sure he mentioned one he only joined for you— constantly reminds you that Toto is there, looking over you. That you still his girl.

It doesn't matter if you appear in photos hanging out with random dudes or kissing your new Portuguese boyfriend. Toto still leaves you a like, maybe just to let you know he saw it or to remind you he is there for you no matter what.

He gets to know all about your relationships anyway, even the details.

How can the two of you talk about each other's love lives? It's an enigma your friends simply don't get. Speaking of, some of them are team Toto and others just hate him. Calling your weird status as toxic or codependent.

You don't let them know the whole truth, it's mostly about your love life you two talk about.

Toto only has flings, and sometimes, he doesn't even remember the names of the girls he sleeps with. He confessed to you during a drunk call around 3 a.m. - he went out with his friends on a boys' night out - that he only fucks girls that are the spitting image of you.

But still, none of you seem able to dare to talk about your past relationship, which is something that needs to be studied.

Two more years pass by without seeing each other in person, until that one day Toto randomly shows up at your place at a terrible time. Which wasn't a mere coincidence.

You are dealing with your painful breakup with "the French boyfriend", which Toto knows as "The One".

You believe he showed up to be supportive, since and by accident while entirely intoxicated, you disclosed to Toto on the phone in the middle of the night, that same night right after Manu ended things with you and you sought comfort in a bottle and his voice, that you felt Manu was the one, that this one truly hurt, not as much as when he left you, but close second.

And that you had no idea how to fix things with Manu since what he asked you was to get rid of "your dynamics" before he agreed to move further with you.

"To leave the other relationship you sustain! Which sometimes feels like the real one!" the memory of Manu confronting you comes alive in your mind, while he raises his voice, angry and jealous, referring to Toto and what you share.

Toto and you are having the most friendly chit-chat, chilling around in your finally completed, rebuilt place. When he lets you know, he will be staying in Monaco for some weeks this time.

"I'll be staying at the Yacht Club," he says and looks amused at your reaction to his words.

"Shocker!" you answer, pulling a faux stunned face, making him chuckle.

"Well, not so. That place has outstanding customer service! 5 out of 5." His eyebrows go up and down several times, teasing you and hinting about your past whereabouts. "Well, still..."

"Oh, so you are fucking the girl in turn?" escapes your lips, without much thought, interrupting him.

Yes. You are still bitter after all those years, even if you like to pretend you are not. Four? Five years have passed by?

"I didn't mean that," he clears his throat before answering. "You cut me halfway through the sentence, well, still... it's not the same without you. That's what I was going to say."

"Oh, please, don't mind me if you are doing so! It's none of my business. Just, if you have another fiance you want to leave, please inform the girl she's an excuse beforehand." You start vomiting words coming from deep within you, out of nowhere. Jesus! Since the break up you have been so incendiary.

"Like a ticking bomb!" your aunt described your current mood perfectly.

Shit, sentiment got the worst of you, and Toto's presence is not helping much either.

It gets quiet and awkward so fast.

"You weren't an excuse. You were the reason," Toto confesses, getting visibly irritated too.

"Ahem... Weren't you already running away from her? If I remember correctly, that's why you arrived at the Club unexpectedly in the first place! Before you got yourself all inside me, and what for?! Oh, yeah, to immediately leave me? That makes total sense! How romantic of you, thank you!"

"It wasn't the right moment for what you asked of me. You were too young, and we just had met, to move in that fast. I wasn't ready for that back then, to take you fully as my responsibility. It was for the better. I don't regret my actions." He sounds dead honest.

"I wasn't ready then?!"

You roll your eyes at him, and you're done with the conversation. You change the subject. You don't feel like going to war right now.

The following day, at dawn, Toto is already there at your place, all joyful, with iPad in hand, as if you hadn't discussed heavy subjects last night.

He always looks too comfortable in your place, claiming the armchair for himself as usual.

Some minutes later, another couple of knocks come on the door. Toto quickly gets up, stretching those long muscular legs as if he knew who was on the other side.

He skates in his socks, like a kid, on the freshly cleaned wooden floor and avoids stomping the Roomba currently doing its work, on his way to get the door.

He lets in his hot, busty redhead assistant.

She enters your kitchen holding two massive fancy paper food bags. Toto made her get you breakfast from your favorite dinner in town. He still remembers which one is it and your favorite order.

As you finish setting the table, his assistant prepares him his coffee, grabbing things from your drawers.

Yeah, girl, go ahead! Feel free!

Halfway through your Croque Madame, you remember you need to install a higher bookshelf, so you ask Toto for his help.

"I don't do that, but my people will handle it. Please leave it to me, anything you need." He offers you a big smile. "You know that, right?" he looks straight at you, placing his fork down on the table for a second. "Anything you need of me, you just ask me for it, a quick text or a call," he leans forward on the table. "And I will get it done."

Your face shifts to an expression he wasn't expecting and a prominent frown forms on your eyebrows. "Oh! Now you do that, huh?! Good to know!" you let out, angry.

Fuck, here it comes.

He stares at you, serious. Everything goes silent.

"Y/N..."

"It's not like I had asked you for something before!" you laugh off, resentful. "Not a single "I'm sorry" has come out of your lips, yet"

"Kid, I won't ask for your forgiveness since I don't regret what I did. I have told you that before," he sounds solemn now, his smile fading.

"Don't call me kid," you answer, rage building up.

Okay, you sense those repressed feelings coursing out.

"Then stop behaving like one." He sounds so calm, but his voice is more in-depth than usual. His beautiful dark eyes dispatch you a glare.

Oh, he is mad but not as furious as you are.

"Would you mind?!" you let out loud, losing it at the noises coming from the kitchen amidst your fight. You turn your head to the hot girl still doing shit for Toto at the counter.

Okay, that was rude of you, but you are pissed off and this is your house!

She looks at you, perplexed, before nodding and exiting the place to give you two some needed privacy.

"I don't have to eat shit in my own house," you warn Toto, returning your attention to him.

"You are the one who allowed me back. You let me spend all the time I want here and be by your side whenever I feel like it. Oh, please don't tell me it didn't cross your mind all things that could happen by doing so?"

"Oh, right, then save me the fights. Why don't you go back to stay gone? How about that?! Why don't you leave, better? I mean, must be easy, you have done it before."

"Y/N," he exheals your name, exasperated, his hand running through his hair, a tic he has.

"No, seriously, 'cause I was doing perfectly fine without you! Or do you need to fuck me first to then disappear?"

HOLY FUCK! You are taking things that far? Phew.

Toto looks visibly hurt by your words, but he only slightly nods. He is still sitting in the chair across the table from you, arms tightly crossed, his tight white shirt displaying his muscles.

Then, starts shaking his head in an "I'm about to lose my cool" way.

And yet you dare to push for more.

You want to let it all out of your system. You have been holding it, eating them, carrying these feelings for years! And you are done.

There's no point of return when the following words exit your mouth: "Let me ask you the same question then, you showed up here, don't tell me you weren't expecting this," you point with your finger referring to this exchange, "to happen at some point after you had me relentlessly for your own enjoyment and pleasure, and then left me out of the blue, not caring about my feelings, why don't you use that energy better to..." tears are menacing to slide down your eyes, you finally lose it and he looks like he does too.

Toto looks at you with such dangerous intensity, then he jerks to his feet in a sudden move and drops his hands on the table forcefully, shaking it, before leaning in his tall body overpowering you still sitting down.

You immediately shut up, witnessing his reaction, his body language screaming at you, "Abort, abort, danger."

"Go on," a threatening sound comes from his trembling lips. It's both a command and a whisper. His long nose is almost touching yours, he leaned in so close you can see the pores on his skin. You can feel his anger and the extremely tense static in the air. "What were you about to say?"

"...To fuck another idiot who is willing to keep your bed warm, and your dick wet like I did." you let out against his mouth.

"You know quite well there's no other like you," he says without hesitation. His hand pulls you by the neck closer to him, his nails digging into your hair. He looks angry in capital letters.

"Lies. Be honest for once, say it" You confront him, no rodeos. Toto starts rounding the table, coming straight to you. He looks menacing.

You feel intimidated for a brief second before adding the killer punch, "You just were looking where put your dick in"

"That's enough!" In a brisk movement and with a firm grip, he pulls you up from the chair, wrapping your legs around his waist, and smashing his body and yours against the wall, pressing himself on you, with no inch of space between your cores, trapping you against his warm body and the cold wall.

He starts whispering to your ear and neck, "I keep coming to your place because I can't bear to be in my villa without looking at the bed and desiring you wrapped around me, bouncing on me, to be buried deep inside you, to have you moaning and begging me for more, don't you think that every corner of that place reminds me of you loving me" his hand slide from your calf to your tight. At the same time, he leaves a trail of kisses from your neck to your lips.

"I fucked your twin the night you didn't let me come in. You have no idea what number of girls I have called your name. They all look like you," he admits again between ravenous kisses as you run your hands on his hair and undo his shirt.

You feel the adrenaline rush coursing through your veins as your eyes lock and memories flood you until you finally can articulate between groans, "I missed you."

The corner of Toto's mouth twitches upwards into a small smile, his eyes sparkling with fervor. "I missed you too, kid," he replies, a hint of huskiness in his tone that is too much for you to bear, you feel yourself so wet.

His eyes scan you from head to toe, drinking you in like a thirsty man, and you suddenly feel naked under his gaze.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his cologne. He still wears the one you picked for him, the one you liked, the one that's for you. His eyes meet yours again, and you mirror back that same hunger.

The years apart melt away like a morning fog, and with it, the anger, pain, and regret.

His lips brush over the curve of your neck, and Toto starts pressing in circles his erection against your thighs and core. You let out a gasp, the pleasure so intense that you break away from him.

"We shouldn't," you mumble, struggling for air. Toto's hand reaches up to cup your cheek, and you feel his smile against your lips.

"Yes, we shouldn't," he echoes your words, but his fingers are already tracing your lower lip, as addictive as always.

"But we will," you say as your fingernails dig into his now naked back, and you pull him closer by the waist, your legs still wrapped around him, and he captures your lips in a more urgent, passionate kiss as his dick gets pressed hard against you.

The more pieces of clothing slide from your bodies, the more urgent you two become. As if you two were magnetically drawn to each other, stumbling towards the bed, unable to separate a second.

He carries you there while smooching you, throwing stuff to the floor by accident in the desperate pursuit to merge your bodies.

"You have no idea the number of times I have jerked off to your boudoir photos; I need new ones," Toto mumbles as his intense gaze looks into your soul, stirring sensations that you had long tried to bury, memories that you had attempted to obliterate.

His thumb finds its way to your lips, gently pressing against the softness, leaving an imprint of his skin on yours before his mouth reaches your breasts, taking a rigid nipple within his lips, teasing it with his teeth and tongue until you cry out.

When he releases it, Toto turns his attention to the other breast, showering it with the same love and desire.

His hard-on is pressed into you, eager and persistent, a hot, demanding presence between your thighs. You let out a moan as you wrap your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him closer. With every lap of his tongue over your sensitive flesh, you feel your hips bucking against him.

You want him to fill the void he'd left behind. The throbbing of your pussy lets him know just how much it craves him.

Toto pauses for a moment as he takes in the sight of your sweat-slicked body, your heaving chest straining with every shallow breath. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around his cock, positioning himself at your entrance.

You feel the head of his dick rubbing along your swollen, aching pussy lips, the warmth of his skin so intense.

Toto leans back, his brow furrows with concentration, and with a crude growl, he pushes himself hard inside you.

You let out a guttural moan as he fills you balls deep, your bodies connecting in the most delicious of ways. After a second, his hips start to move in earnest, pounding into you with focused intensity.

There is no time for tenderness or affection, just two bodies engaging in an animalistic rhythm fueled by pent-up lust and long-denied desires.

Your nails cling to his sweat-dampened muscular shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as he smashes your pussy so hard.

"Fuck, you have no idea how much I missed your tightness, this pussy," he grunts, withdrawing slowly before slamming back into you with bruising force.

The bed squeaks and creaks beneath you, and your intense pleasure movements shake the bed frame as well.

You can feel every inch of him, the veins snaking down the length of him, the hot, heavy weight of him inside you. "Daddy, more!" you cry out. He groans and flexes his hips again, grinding deeper.

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the room as he starts to piston in and out of you in a steady rhythm.

You hear the slaps of skin on skin as he thrusts you harder, as well as the growls of pleasure and the filthy, dirty talking that comes out from both your mouths.

It feels as glorious as you remembered it, this relentless pounding leading you to a fantastic climax.

"Oh daddy, daddy, daddy," you moan eagerly, hips colliding with his.

Toto is really here, plunging deep and hard all those years without him. Your hands grip the sheets, and you arch your back as his thickness claims you entirely, he is so fucking hard.

"Fuck yeah," Toto's voice is almost unrecognizable between your gasps and moans. "That's it, kid, take it all."

The scent of sweat and sex clings heavily in the air as you feel like your body might shatter with each push into you.

His fingers dig into your hips as he pulls you to another position again, and you claw and scratch at the sheets beneath, searching for something to ground you as he fucks you so painfully hard.

"Don't stop. Don't ever stop," you moan desperately, your teeth grit as Toto gives it to you relentlessly. "I'm so close, fuck! Please!"

You are his, completely and utterly and only his, after all these years. It's inexplicably raw and it shows in how you two are devouring each other at that moment.

"Oh," Toto moans loudly. His cheeks are all red, and his eyes are becoming watery.

Loud and extended growls from both of you start coming out as you reach your peaks.

Within a second, you feel yourself releasing with such force, unable to hold yourself a minute more, trembling on him.

"Kid, you are so gorgeous," Toto moans out as he enjoys the view of you, his eyes filled with lust as he watches you climax in front of him, dripping, enjoying that extra sleekness of leave on his hard cock for his final thrusts.

He is barely able to thrust you completely three times more before pulling himself out, quickly and between loud groans, as you stroke him, you feel his warm release on you, his cum falling in your skin and his big fat dick throbbing on your belly as you tenderly keep stroking it, enjoying the sensation of having him in your hand.

"I love you" he lets out, between heavy breaths and as sweat drops go down his muscular pecks and arms. You run a hand on his abs and hairy firm thighs.

When Toto wakes up after taking that much-needed post-angry intense sex nap and doesn't feel your body weight on top of his, he instantly knows what it means.

"Until you are willing to say I'm sorry, don't forget to close the door on your way out."

He reads on the sticky note you left for him on the pillow next to his.

Join us at The Wolff Pack Discord Server > https://discord.com/invite/tpgArxqbfd

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atlasthegreatest · 3 months ago

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Alchemy of Minds / Mel Merdada x Male Reader

Mel Medarda, ever the calculating and composed Piltover leader, unexpectedly finds herself drawn to Y/n Tenwick, a bold Zaunite scientist brought to the city as an apprentice under Professor Heimerdinger. Drawn to his bold ideas and unguarded kindness, Mel begins visiting his lab, finding an unexpected companionship. Yet, she’s haunted by the dangers of this attachment in Piltover’s cutthroat society, leaving her torn between duty and a desire for something genuine.

Warning: soft angst (?)

Word count: 3791

A/n: Any grammar mistakes will be fixed later

The morning light that bathed Piltover’s marble streets was crisp, cutting through the chill of the early hours. On the balcony of a towering estate, Mel Medarda sat alone with a goblet of honeyed wine, her golden eyes sharp and calculating, as always.

Mel enjoyed being alone. Silence gave her room to think—strategize, analyze, and dismantle obstacles before they even arose. But the morning’s peace was interrupted by a sharp knock at the entrance to her estate, followed by a servant informing her of a peculiar invitation.

“Professor Heimerdinger requested that you attend today’s symposium at the Academy, Madam. He said there would be… interesting minds.” The servant bowed low, sensing Mel’s irritation, though she allowed none of it to touch her face.

Mel exhaled through her nose. Heimerdinger, with his endless optimism, had a knack for making promises about “interesting minds.” Most of those minds, however, were stuffy bureaucrats clinging to outdated ideas of order. But Mel was bored, and boredom was dangerous—dangerous for her and anyone caught in her path.

“Tell the Professor I’ll be attending,” she said, rising from her seat.

She didn’t know, not yet, that today would be the beginning of her undoing.

The symposium buzzed with the usual self-importance that Mel had grown to despise, but her entrance commanded attention as it always did. Draped in silk and gold, she glided through the hall like a queen surveying her court. Most eyes followed her—except for one.

In a far corner of the room, a young man sat with his head bent over a complex schematic, completely absorbed in his work. His unkempt hair and stained gloves marked him as out of place among the pristine scholars of Piltover. His clothes, though freshly pressed, bore the lingering smell of smoke and strange chemicals—a scent familiar to anyone who had been to Zaun.

Mel’s lips curled into a smirk. A Zaunite apprentice, here in Piltover, under Heimerdinger’s tutelage? Intriguing.

She moved closer, intrigued not just by the novelty of him but by his sheer lack of awareness of his surroundings. His focus was magnetic, a sharp contrast to the superficiality she saw in most Piltover elites. The man looked like someone who had never cared for politics, only precision.

“You seem determined to solve the mysteries of the universe without bothering to attend the actual lecture,” Mel said, her voice smooth as silk.

The man's eyes. A brief flash of panic crossed his face, but it faded into something softer—curiosity.

“I—sorry. Didn’t realize it started,” he murmured, his Zaunite accent faint but unmistakable. He straightened, pulling off his gloves and offering his hand. “I’m Y/n. Y/n Tenwick. Apprentice to Professor Heimerdinger.”

Mel studied his hand for a beat longer than necessary as if considering what kind of man would offer a handshake without realizing who she was. She took it, feeling the slight roughness of his palm. A worker’s hand. A builder’s hand.

“Mel Medarda,” she replied, watching his expression closely for a flicker of recognition. There was none. He didn’t know who she was, and somehow, that thrilled her.

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Miss Medarda,” he said, oblivious to the weight her name carried in Piltover. “Sorry about earlier. It’s just—there’s this problem I’ve been trying to solve with stabilizing Hextech particles, and I guess I lost track of time.” He chuckled nervously, brushing a streak of grease off his cheek.

Mel raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. Most men she met tried to impress her with wealth or power. Y/n, it seemed, had no such pretense. His passion lay elsewhere, somewhere genuine, raw, and entirely untouched by the delicate webs of politics that Mel wove daily.

“And have you solved it?” she asked, her voice carrying a playful challenge.

“Almost.” He grinned, the nervousness in him easing slightly. “But it keeps slipping. Like… like trying to catch smoke in a bottle. I think I’m missing something—some variable I haven’t accounted for.”

Mel tilted her head, resting her chin delicately on her fingers. “Or perhaps you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the solution is simpler than we want it to be.”

Y/n blinked at her, surprised by the comment, but instead of brushing it off, he seemed to consider it. It was a rare thing, Mel thought—someone who didn’t dismiss her out of fear or ego, but who genuinely listened.

“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully. “Or maybe the solution’s just… waiting in the right place.” He looked at her then, and for the first time, Mel saw the flicker of something unexpected—interest. Not in the way most men looked at her, as if she were a prize to be won, but as if he were seeing her for the first time, as a person rather than a political tool.

It was disarming. And dangerous.

“Tell me, Y/n,” she said, her voice softening just a fraction. “How does a Zaunite find himself under Heimerdinger’s wing? That’s no small feat.”

Y/n scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “Bit of a long story. But… the short version? I built something dangerous back in Zaun. Heimerdinger found out and thought I might do less harm if I had proper guidance.”

Mel laughed—truly laughed—and it caught Y/n off guard. “And here you are, in the heart of Piltover, still building dangerous things.”

“Old habits die hard,” he admitted with a grin, his eyes alight with mischief.

For a moment, the world outside this strange conversation faded away. Mel forgot about the political games she played and the alliances she had to maintain. In Y/n’s unpolished charm, there was no hidden agenda, no expectations—just a man who looked at the world through the lens of what could be instead of what should be.

It was a dangerous feeling, this lightness in her chest. Mel knew better than to let her guard down. She knew the risks of attaching herself to someone so far removed from her world. And yet, as she watched Y/n return to his schematic, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, she found herself wanting to stay just a little longer.

Maybe, just maybe, not every connection had to be calculated.

And for the first time in a long while, Mel Medarda felt something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Hope.

That evening, as she returned to her estate, Mel stood on the same balcony where her day had begun. Below her, the city glittered with light and life. But her thoughts were not on Piltover tonight.

They were on a Zaunite with ink-stained hands and a mind full of impossible ideas.

And though she knew it was foolish—knew it could lead to ruin—Mel allowed herself the smallest flicker of something dangerously close to longing.

The fractures in her golden armor were beginning to form. And she didn’t know if she wanted to stop them.

——————————

Over the next few weeks, Mel Medarda found herself drawn back to the Academy more than she would have cared to admit. Meetings and state dinners were rearranged, political allies left waiting. Each time she promised herself it would be the last visit—just a passing curiosity, nothing more—but each time she ended up in the same place: the lab tucked into the far corner of the Academy’s west wing, where Y/n Tenwick worked tirelessly under dim lantern light.

To her surprise, Y/n never seemed fazed by her sudden appearances. In a city full of people eager to curry favor or steal glances at her, Y/n treated her like a familiar shadow, neither unwelcome nor remarkable. He greeted her with an easy smile, even when his hands were buried in some strange contraption or his face was smeared with soot.

“You’re back,” Y/n would say with a lopsided grin, as if she were a colleague stopping by to chat rather than a Medarda.

And each time, Mel found herself lingering just a little longer, fascinated by the way his mind worked—so unlike the polished aristocrats she dealt with every day. His ideas were messy, chaotic even, but underneath the disorder lay brilliance. Y/n thought not in rules and limits, but in endless possibilities.

One evening, long after the sun had set, she found herself sitting on a workbench in his lab as Y/n fidgeted with a delicate device in his hands—a small sphere of polished brass, etched with intricate runes.

“It’s supposed to detect anomalies in Hextech crystals,” he explained, turning the sphere slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration. “But it keeps shorting out the second it gets near anything remotely unstable.”

Mel leaned closer, watching the way his hands moved—deft and precise, despite the chaos of his surroundings. “So what you’re saying is it works too well. It’s not detecting failure. It’s… anticipating it.”

Y/n looked up, his eyes widening slightly in realization. “Exactly!” he exclaimed, his grin spreading. “It’s rejecting anything it thinks might destabilize, even if it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Sounds like the people of Piltover,” Mel murmured with a smirk. “Refusing anything unfamiliar before it even has a chance to prove itself.”

Y/n laughed, a warm, unguarded sound that filled the small lab. “And here I thought Piltover was all about progress.”

“Progress at a carefully calculated pace,” Mel replied, a sharp edge beneath her smile. “One that doesn’t upset the delicate balance of power.”

Y/n gave her a curious look, as if seeing her for the first time in a new light. “You sound like someone who knows a lot about power.”

“Maybe.” She met his gaze, unflinching. “And you sound like someone who doesn’t care about it at all.”

He shrugged, turning the brass sphere over in his hands. “I care more about discovery than control. Power doesn’t build things—ideas do.”

Mel’s heart skipped, just for a moment. It was a dangerous way to think in a world like theirs, but it was also… intoxicating. Y/n wasn’t weighed down by ambition or fear, and that made him unlike anyone she had ever known.

“That’s a bold philosophy,” she said softly, as if testing the words on her tongue. “Not many people think that way.”

“Maybe that’s why the world’s so broken,” Y/n replied with a grin.

Mel shook her head, amused. “And here I thought it was because people keep building dangerous things in secret labs.”

Y/n laughed again, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Fair point.”

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, the quiet hum of machinery filling the space between them. Mel found herself strangely at ease here, in a room cluttered with strange inventions and half-finished projects. There were no expectations, no masks to wear. Just the quiet companionship of two people from different worlds, drawn together by the alchemy of shared curiosity.

At some point, Y/n handed her a set of blueprints, his fingers brushing hers briefly. “Here,” he said, almost shyly. “Take a look at this. I could use another pair of eyes.”

Mel arched an eyebrow, bemused. “You want my help?”

“Why not?” he asked with a grin. “You seem like someone who knows how to spot a flaw.”

She laughed, surprised by his boldness. “Careful, Y/n. I’m not known for going easy on people.”

“Good.” He winked. “I don’t want easy.”

Mel stared at him, caught off guard by the simplicity of his honesty. There was no pretense in Y/n, no ulterior motive. Just a man who wanted to build something better, no matter the cost. And for the first time in years, Mel felt the walls she had built around herself begin to shift, the cracks widening just a little more.

It was foolish to let herself care, she knew. Dangerous, even. Y/n was a distraction—one she couldn’t afford in a city as treacherous as Piltover. But some part of her, the part that longed for something real amid the artifice, refused to let go.

“Alright, Y/n,” she said quietly, tracing a finger along the edge of the blueprints. “Let’s see what kind of trouble we can build together.”

And as their eyes met across the cluttered workbench, Mel Medarda realized she was in more trouble than she had ever anticipated.

——————————

Days turned into weeks, and Mel Medarda found herself entangled in something she had not prepared for: late-night conversations over prototypes that wouldn’t work, laughter shared over failures, and moments of unexpected silence where the air felt heavy with something unspoken. Piltover’s glittering society faded into the background whenever she was with Y/n. It was a dangerous kind of indulgence, one she knew she couldn’t afford—but she kept coming back.

Y/n was a puzzle she couldn’t resist solving. His mind danced between chaos and brilliance, never fully constrained by rules or fear of failure. Where Piltover’s scientists worked within lines, Y/n thrived in breaking them. He was building something more than inventions—he was creating possibilities.

And Mel, for the first time, didn’t feel like she was playing a game. Here, in Y/n’s lab, there were no Medardas to live up to, no political alliances to manage. She wasn’t a strategist. She was just Mel.

But that freedom came with a price, and it wasn’t long before the weight of reality began to creep back in.

It was another late evening, and the two of them stood over a table littered with gears, diagrams, and shattered crystals—casualties of their latest attempt to stabilize Y/n’s anomaly detector. A thin trail of smoke curled from a busted component, and Y/n rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at the mess.

“Well,” he said with a lopsided grin, “another brilliant failure.”

Mel smirked, watching as he absentmindedly smeared a streak of oil across his cheek. “Not every failure is a loss,” she said. “Besides, it’s not the first.”

Y/n shot her a playful glance. “Is that your polite way of saying I’m terrible at this?”

“No,” she replied, leaning in just slightly. “It’s my way of saying you’re reckless.”

He laughed, that easy, open laugh that seemed to come so naturally to him. “And you like that, don’t you?”

Mel raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting in amusement. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just waiting for you to blow something up.”

“Careful. You say things like that, and I might take it as encouragement.”

They were close—closer than they had been before. The air between them felt charged, like the moment just before a storm. Mel could feel the heat radiating from Y/n, smell the faint scent of smoke and copper that always clung to him.

She should have pulled away. She knew better. She had always known better. But Y/n wasn’t like the others who wanted something from her. He wasn’t looking for an alliance or trying to worm his way into her family’s power. All he wanted was her, just as she was.

And that, more than anything, terrified her.

“You know,” Y/n murmured, his voice softer now, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Mel’s heart stuttered in her chest, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. “I could say the same.”

For a moment, it felt as though the entire world had shrunk to the space between them. And then Y/n took a step closer, hesitating for just a breath, as if waiting for her to pull away. When she didn’t, he reached up and gently tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear.

His touch was light, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Mel wasn’t used to tenderness—she was used to power, to control. But there was no calculation in Y/n’s gaze, no hidden agenda. Just quiet, unspoken affection.

“I think you’re dangerous,” Y/n whispered, his eyes locking onto hers. “And I don’t care.”

Mel swallowed, her throat tight. She had always known how to handle ambition, betrayal, manipulation. But this—this quiet honesty—was something else entirely. It was disarming in a way she hadn’t expected.

Before she could stop herself, she leaned in, closing the distance between them. Their lips met, slow and tentative at first, as if neither of them quite believed it was happening. But the moment their mouths touched, something inside Mel shattered—something she hadn’t even realized she was holding onto.

The kiss deepened, and for a few fleeting seconds, there were no politics, no families, no cities divided by wealth and desperation. There was only the two of them, caught in a moment that felt both inevitable and impossible.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Y/n rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.

“That was… unexpected,” he said, a breathless laugh escaping him.

Mel smiled, feeling lighter than she had in years. “You Zaunites do have a talent for disruption.”

Y/n grinned, brushing his thumb gently along her jawline. “Maybe Piltover could use a little disruption.”

Mel laughed softly, but the sound was tinged with something bittersweet. As much as she wanted to believe in this fragile thing between them, she knew it wouldn’t be that simple.

Nothing ever was.

——————————

The next day, Mel’s carefully constructed world began to close in on her.

It started with a meeting—an innocuous summons from her mother, Ambessa Medarda. But nothing involving her mother was ever innocuous.

“You’ve been distracted,” Ambessa said, her voice cold and sharp as a blade. She sat with perfect poise, her gaze as piercing as ever. “And that’s dangerous, Mel.”

Mel kept her expression impassive, though her heart hammered in her chest. “I’m handling everything.”

“Are you?” Ambessa arched a brow. “Because I hear whispers. Whispers of you spending time with a Zaunite.”

Mel’s stomach tightened, but she didn’t flinch. “He’s an apprentice to Heimerdinger. A scientist. Nothing more.”

“Nothing is ever ‘nothing’ in Piltover,” her mother snapped. “You know that better than anyone.”

Mel clenched her jaw, her mind racing. She had always known that her relationship with Y/n would be dangerous—not just for her, but for him. Zaunites were not welcome in the circles Mel moved in, no matter how brilliant they were. And a Medarda could not afford to be seen consorting with someone so far beneath their station.

“This is not a game, Mel,” Ambessa continued, her voice low and deadly. “The council is watching. Your enemies are watching. One wrong move, and they will destroy you—and him along with you.”

Mel’s hands curled into fists at her sides, but she kept her voice steady. “I know what I’m doing.”

Ambessa gave her a long, assessing look. “I hope you do. For his sake.”

As her mother’s words echoed in her mind, Mel felt the weight of reality settle over her like a shroud. What had started as a reckless indulgence was spiraling into something far more dangerous.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could control it.

But as she stood on the edge of ruin, one thought remained clear:

She would not let Y/n be another casualty of Piltover’s games.

Even if it meant risking everything.

Bonus Chapter:

The rain was falling softly over Piltover, turning the cobblestone streets slick under the warm glow of gas lamps. From the balcony of her estate, Mel Medarda watched as the drops slid off the iron railing, lost in the night below. The world outside her doors was peaceful for once, yet her thoughts were a tempest she couldn’t escape.

Y/n had become something she could no longer ignore. What began as curiosity had grown into an ache—persistent, unrelenting, and far more dangerous than any political alliance or council negotiation. She knew she should walk away. She should shut it down before the inevitable fallout began.

But that wasn’t what her heart wanted.

A knock at the balcony door interrupted her thoughts, and before she could call out, it creaked open. Y/n stepped through, rainwater glistening on his coat. He wasn’t supposed to be here—he knew it, and so did she. But the sight of him, soaked and wind-tousled, was enough to shatter her resolve.

“Y/n,” Mel whispered, half in warning, half in relief.

He grinned as he pulled off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair. “I figured you could use some company tonight.”

She should have scolded him, reminded him of how reckless this was. If anyone caught him here—

But Y/n had a way of making her forget the rules, forget the consequences.

He crossed the balcony to stand beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke, content to listen to the patter of rain against the rooftops.

“You don’t belong here,” Mel said finally, her voice barely audible over the storm.

“I know.” Y/n’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “But I came anyway.”

Her heart twisted painfully at the simplicity of his words. Y/n never fought to earn a place in her world—he had simply shown up, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And somehow, that made it harder to resist him.

“You should leave before someone sees you,” she whispered, though the words felt hollow.

Y/n turned toward her, his expression soft. “Do you really want me to go?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the scar along his wrist—an old wound from an experiment gone wrong, a reminder of the risks he took for knowledge. For discovery.

“No,” she admitted at last, her voice breaking like the first crack in a dam. “I don’t.”

Y/n exhaled slowly, as if the weight of her confession had lifted something inside him. He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Then let’s stop pretending we’re not in this together.”

Mel squeezed his hand, a mixture of fear and relief swelling in her chest. For so long, she had lived with caution, every move calculated, every relationship a step toward something greater. But with Y/n, there was no strategy. There was just the raw, messy truth of it.

And it terrified her.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n smiled, brushing a damp curl from her face. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out.”

For the first time in years, Mel felt something unfamiliar—hope. A fragile, dangerous hope that maybe, just maybe, they could make something real in a city built on lies.

They stood there for a long time, wrapped in the quiet rhythm of the rain, two souls from opposite worlds daring to believe in each other.

And in that stolen moment, beneath the shimmering veil of Piltover’s storm, Mel Medarda allowed herself to believe that some things—no matter how dangerous—were worth the risk.

#arcane #league of legends #mel merdada #male reader #mel merdada x reader #arcane zaun #arcane piltover #professor heimerdinger #ambessa medarda

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hermitszine · 6 months ago

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Hermit Reveal!

Hmm... we've been dropping some clues... 🧐

And we’re back, here to officially announce what I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for. It’s time to announce the next Hermit to stand in the spotlight for the new Hermits Zine!

Can you guess who it is? Have you already figured it out? Well how about a hint or three?

The Hermit to be featured in this zine is equal parts artistic builder and chaos gremlin, he just can’t help but poke the goat, and he’s currently the face of the closest thing Hermitcraft has ever come to a built-in DMV office.

That’s right! GRIAN is taking center stage in this zine!

We invite you to join us as a contributor to celebrate all things Grian. Everything from Arianna Griande, to Poultry Man, to whatever was going on that one time he dressed like Buzz Lightyear. if it’s Grian, we’re here for it.

We look forward to collaborating with many talented authors and artists to show appreciation for the pesky bird. Until then, though, the interest check has OPENED, so please fill it out and share it around! Keep an eye out for sign-up forms to be released in the near future. Get creative. Brainstorm. Dig right in. We look forward to seeing you there, and all the wonderful things you’ll make revolving around everyone’s favorite waffle-headed hermit!

#fandom zine #hermitblr #hermitcraft #trafficblr #traffic series #hermits zines #grian #grian zine #hermitcraft grian

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gaybatmanenthusiast · 3 months ago

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STOLEN GLANCES (oneshot)

(GALLY X M! READER)

⋆★ word count : 810

⋆★ warnings : n/a

⋆★ summary : M/N harbours a small crush on Gally but keeps it a secret out of nervousness. Unbeknownst to M/N, Gally is aware of his feelings and finds amusement in the way M/N acts around him.

⋆★ extra : this has been in the drafts for a whileee,,, I just didn’t like the writing to be honest but a fic is a fic so here we are

The Glade was buzzing with its usual activity. Runners were preparing for their daily venture into the Maze, Builders were reinforcing the walls, and the Cooks were bustling around preparing breakfast. Amidst all this, M/N tried to keep his eyes off the one person who made his heart race: Gally.

It wasn’t easy. Gally had a presence that was hard to ignore. Strong, confident, and always in control, he commanded respect without even trying. M/N couldn’t help but admire him from afar, his feelings a mixture of awe and a small, fluttering crush. He kept his distance, though, too nervous to let his feelings show.

“Hey, M/N!” Gally’s voice cut through M/N’s thoughts, making him jump. He turned to see Gally striding over, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re daydreaming again. What’s on your mind?”

M/N’s heart skipped a beat. “Uh, nothing much. Just thinking about the run today.”

Gally raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Really? Because it looked like you were thinking about something a lot more interesting.”

M/N felt his face heat up, he started picking at his skin nervously. “No, just... just the run.”

Gally chuckled, clapping a hand on M/N’s shoulder. “Relax, I’m just messing with you.” He lingered for a moment, his touch warm and reassuring, before heading back to his work.

M/N let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. Gally had that effect on him—making him nervous and flustered with just a few words. Little did he know, Gally found it endearing.

Throughout the day, M/N tried to focus on mapping the maze, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Gally. Every time he saw Gally, his stomach did a little flip. It was both thrilling and nerve-wracking, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his feelings hidden.

Later, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the runners came back and the rest of the gladers gathered for dinner, M/N found himself sitting across from Gally. The firelight cast flickering shadows, and Gally’s eyes seemed to glint with mischief.

“M/N, you’re awfully quiet tonight,” Gally observed, leaning forward. “Something on your mind?”

M/N fumbled with his fork, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. “Just tired, I guess.”

Gally smirked, clearly not buying it. “You know, if something’s bothering you, you can always talk to me.”

M/N swallowed hard, his nerves fraying at the edges. “I know. Thanks, Gally.”

Gally’s gaze softened, and for a moment, M/N thought he saw something deeper in those eyes. But the moment passed, and Gally leaned back, returning to his meal. “Just remember that, okay?”

M/N nodded, his heart pounding. He was grateful for Gally’s concern, even if it made him more nervous. As the night wore on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Gally knew more than he let on.

The next morning, M/N was preparing to head into the Maze with Minho when Gally approached him again. “Hey, M/N. Be careful out there today, alright?”

M/N looked up, surprised by the concern in Gally’s voice. “I will. Don’t worry.”

Gally nodded, his expression serious. “Good. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

M/N’s heart soared at the words, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I’ll be fine, Gally. Promise.”

Gally’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “I’m holding you to that.”

As M/N ran through the Maze, his thoughts kept returning to Gally. The way he seemed to care, the subtle hints in his words and actions. It was almost as if Gally knew how he felt, but M/N couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Minho picked up on M/N’s mind wondering while running around, giving glances his ways but he decided not to mention it.

When he returned to the Glade that evening, exhausted but unharmed, Gally was there to greet him. “Made it back in one piece, I see.”

M/N smiled, feeling a rush of warmth. “Yeah. Like I said, nothing to worry about.”

Gally’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Good. Because I’d hate to lose my favourite runner.”

M/N’s breath caught, his heart pounding. “Gally, I...”

Gally held up a hand, his expression softening. “It’s alright, M/N. I know.”

M/N stared at him, wide-eyed. “You know?”

Gally nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah, I know. And for what it’s worth, I like seeing you nervous around me. It’s kind of cute.”

M/N’s face flushed, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Gally laughed, a sound that made M/N’s heart flutter. “Maybe. But I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?”

M/N nodded, feeling a sense of relief and happiness he hadn’t expected. “Yeah. We do.”

As they stood together, the Glade bustling around them, M/N realised that maybe, just maybe, his feelings weren’t as hidden as he thought. And that was perfectly okay.

#gally #gally the maze runner #gally maze runner #the maze runner #maze runner #x male reader #male reader #m! reader #gally x reader #gally x m! reader

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lilbodybuildermk2 · 3 months ago

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Went to buy 12 bags of cement wearing my hi-viz jacket to show off my biceps. I got a buzz seeing the other guys at the builders depot watching me easily lifting two 25kg cement bags at a time into my truck! Hope they enjoyed the gun show 💪

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mikemerz · 2 years ago

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Mark Anastasi (JVwebinars.com – Top 20 Best Joint Venture Webinars for March 2023), Buzz Builders, and More … in Today’s in collaboration with JVNP/JVNW edition of the JVNP 2.0 Update. Have a Great Saint Patrick's Day Weekend … whether you're celebrating, or not! - Mike Merz Sr

#Mark Anastasi JVwebinar Top 20 Best Joint Venture Webinars for March 2023 Buzz Builders JVNotifyPro JVNewsWatch Mike Merz Joint Ventures JV

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feyhunter78 · 2 years ago

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Pink Pastels Pt 7

Description: You catch up with Gabi and Emma, Todd is an ass over text and the O'Haras give you a gift.

Pt 8

You were kneeling down on the wooden walkway, a fake bridge designed to imitate what the builder of the zoo thought the jungle villages of Africa looked like, talking quietly to Gabi and Emma.

“Girls I know you’re excited to see the hippos, but you can’t run away like that, what if either of you had gotten hurt? I was so worried about you two, and I’m sure your friends, and Mr. O’Hara, were as well.” You explain softly, holding one of their hands in one of yours, and keeping your expression calm to keep them calm.

“We’re sorry.” Gabi says, her bottom lip trembling slightly.

“We’re sorry, Ms. Y/N.” Emma begins to cry, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

You coo at them and pull them into a hug. “It’s okay, you just have to be more careful next time.”

The sound of footsteps, four sets of small feet, and one larger set, the sound of which you’ve strangely come to recognize.

“Are they okay?” Miguel asks, his voice is rich with concern, and you feel him kneel beside you, his large hand resting on Gabi’s shoulder.

“Everyone is just fine, we just got a little overwhelmed, huh?” You direct the second half of your answer towards Gabi and Emma, who pull away and nod, sniffling a little.

“¿Estás bien, Mija? ¿Estás herida?” Miguel’s hands were cupping her face, thumbs smoothing over her tearstained cheeks. Trsl: Are you okay, are you hurt?

Gabi nodded her head. “Estoy bien, Papá.” Trsl: I'm okay/good, dad

He breathes a sigh of relief and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Never run off like that again, you know the hippos aren’t going anywhere.”

She nods again, but is still pouting, and the two of them together is an adorable sight.

You feel a pang of longing right as your phone buzzes in your back pocket. You release Emma and begin to guide the group towards the hippos, fighting the urge to throw your phone into the nearest exhibit.

Todd has been texting you all day. First to bitch at you for leaving him wasted in his apartment, three weeks ago, then for ignoring his calls the next day, then he was mad because you wouldn’t let him chaperone, even though, he didn’t actually want to go, and it wasn’t your fault, the school has rules.

He’s sent you a photo, the one the whole first grade took at the zoo’s entrance. The one you’d very quickly—offhandedly, uploaded to your social medias to mark the occasion.

Todd: I thought you said men weren’t allowed to chaperone? Was that just an excuse, so you could fuck somebody else without me knowing?

He had circled Miguel in the photo, like a crazy person.

Y/N: I said male non-family members are not allowed to chaperone, that’s a parent of one of my students. We are not having an affair, and I would never abandon my students to do something so inappropriate.

He always did this, always got so jealous of any guy who was around you for even a minute. It was exhausting.

He left you on read, and you bite your tongue, trying to keep calm as you slide your phone back in your pocket.

“Gabi told me it was your birthday a few weeks ago.” Miguel says casually.

Your stomach drops. “Oh yeah?”

“I feel bad, usually Gabi and I get her teachers flowers on their birthday, but I was out of town for work, so I guess we missed it.” He towers over you, but you don’t feel unsafe, in fact you feel strangely protected.

Miguel looks so good in that cheesy field trip T-shirt, it stretches across his chest, and clings to his arms in a mouthwatering way. He looks down at you, a sheepish smile on his face.

“We hoped maybe this would make up for it?” He hands you a daisy shaped pendant, it’s beautiful, and well-made.

“I—I can’t accept this; it looks way too expensive.” You try to give it back to him, but he shakes his head and closes your fingers around the pendant, his hand dwarfing yours.

“It wasn’t expensive at all. Gabi found the necklace when we visited one of the farmer’s markets in the city. Daisies are her favorite flower, and she wanted to get you a birthday gift…and I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for her. I mean, it’s still the first half of the school year, and I’ve never seen her be so fond of a teacher…” His hand is still covering yours, and you’re frozen in place but basking in the praise.

“Well, it is beautiful, and if it’s not expensive then I can’t turn down a gift from one of my best students now, can I?” You joke lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

Miguel releases your hand and motions for you to turn, sweeping your hair up with one large hand, the other clasping the necklace around your neck. “It would break her heart.” He breathes, his warm breath on your neck making you shiver.

You want him. Fuck, you want him bad.

“Can’t have that.” You whisper, breathless and resisting the urge to lean into his strong chest.

“Ms. Y/N, you’re wearing my gift!” Gabi notices so quickly, weirdly quickly, for a moment you wonder if they planned this.

“I am, it’s very pretty, thank you.” You finger the pendant, it is absolutely beautiful, maybe the nicest gift anyone’s ever given you, definitely better than anything Todd’s given you.

“Now you gotta promise me you’ll never take it off.” Gabi pleads, giving you those puppy dog eyes she does so well.

You pretend to think it over, then nod your head. “Alright, deal.”

She lets out a squeal of happiness and runs back to her friends.

“She’s so good at that.” You remark, turning back to Miguel.

“Good at what?” He asks, his eyes keep drifting back to the pendant, where it sits between your fingers as you absentmindedly toy with it.

“Those puppy dog eyes, it’s so hard to say no to her.” You feel a rush of boldness and drop the pendant. “Did she learn that from you?”

Miguel’s eyes shot up to yours. “Beg pardon?”

“The puppy dog eyes.” You smile at him, a carefully crafted carefree smile meant to make the receiver feel comfortable, to get them to let their guard down.

“Oh, no, no, she learned that all on her own.” He laughs, and the sound is like syrup, muddling your thoughts with a thick sugary sweetness.

You remember his words when you admire the necklace in the mirror, the day is done, you’ve showered, and now you’re getting ready for bed.

You’re not a vain person by any means, but you can’t help but admire how it shines against your skin, as you stand bare, fresh from the shower. It hangs a bit between your breasts, the metal is sturdy, and no matter what Miguel says it’s not cheap. There’s no fake metal smell, or green staining your skin.

You spend a little longer staring at it, running your fingers along the edge, feeling each petal’s edge. It wouldn’t hurt to keep it on, at least for a little while, until Gabi forgets all about it.

Tag list: @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia, @witchy-lizard

#meg's writing #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #Miguel and Gabi sercret manipulators #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader

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huggaboos · 2 months ago

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A Day in the Digital Den

(TADC short agere story! Two smol beans and their caregivers! Enjoy!)

The soft hum of the digital world buzzed in the background, a constant melody that filled the sprawling confines of the abstract space. Today, however, it had a softer, warmer air about it. Sunlight — or the simulation of it — streamed through non-existent windows, casting gentle golden rays across the playroom floor.

Pomni and Jax, now regressed with the energy levels of excitable toddlers, sat in the middle of a patchwork rug covered in colorful blocks, plush toys, and a few odd objects that had seemingly manifested from the code itself. Pomni was busy stacking blocks with intense focus, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. Jax, meanwhile, was doing his best to knock them down with the most dramatic "accidental" swipes imaginable.

“Whoops! My bad,” Jax snickered, grinning wide as the blocks tumbled into a heap.

Pomni huffed, her tiny frame puffing up with irritation. "Jaaaax! I worked hard on that!" Her eyes narrowed into a pouty glare.

Perched nearby, Kinger observed with the regal air of a king watching over his kingdom — albeit a very peculiar kingdom of foam blocks and stuffed animals. His eyes, always a little wide with wonder and confusion, darted between the two. "Easy, easy, little ones. Toppling it? That's treason, Jax."

“Pfft, treason?” Jax plopped onto his back, kicking his legs playfully. “What are you gonna do, King? Throw me in the timeout dungeon?” His laughter echoed around the area, loud and infectious.

Ragatha, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the rug, giggled behind her hand. “He’s got you there, Kinger. I don’t think the 'timeout dungeon' has enough room for his ego.” She smiles at Jax, who beamed at the recognition.

“Ha! She gets it,” Jax said, shooting finger at her.

Ragatha leaned forward, hands on her knees, her grin warm but mischievous. “Oh, don’t think you’re untouchable, little guy. I am bigger than you right now, after all.”

Jax’s eyes widened with mock panic. “Y-Yeah, well, I got… I got speed on my side!” He shot up and dashed across the room, little feet padding noisily on the floor. Pomni, feeling rather playful, darted after him with surprising determination.

“Get him, Pomni!” Ragatha cheered, cupping her hands around her mouth like a stadium announcer.

“I am! I am!” Pomni’s voice came out as a high-pitched squeak as she wobbled after him, arms stretched forward like a monster chasing its prey.

Kinger tapped his chin thoughtfully. "This pursuit shall be chronicled in the royal archives as 'The Great Chase of Jax the Jester.'" He nodded to himself, satisfied with his self-appointed role as historian.

The chase zigzagged around toy piles, running in loops around Kinger, whose balance teetered but never toppled. Ragatha leaned forward, arms spread, pretending to block Jax’s path. “Nowhere to run, prankster! Surrender at once!”

“Never!” Jax pivoted hard, his foot slipping just enough to send him spinning. He crashed into Pomni, the two of them rolling in a heap of giggles and tangled limbs.

Pomni was the first to recover, taking the opportunity to tap Jax with her hand. “Gotcha! No more block-smashing for you!” she declared triumphantly.

“Alright, alright, I give!” Jax wheezed through his laughter, his eyes scrunched shut with mirth. “You win, Princess Pomni!”

“Princess?” Pomni blinked, then tilted her head with a smile. "Hmm. I like the sound of that." She lifted her arms like royalty being honored. "All hail Princess Pomni!"

“Hail, indeed,” Kinger said with a flourishing bow so deep it looked like he might fall forward. “Princess Pomni, champion of order and builder of great towers.”

“Don’t forget block protector,” she added with a proud nod, puffing up like a hero.

“Sure, sure,” Jax said, still flat on his back. “Block protector, kingdom defender, and supreme tattletale, too.”

“Hey!” she squeaked, cheeks puffing out in indignation.

“All hail Princess Pomni!” Ragatha said again, laughing as she ruffled Pomni's hair. "And the Jester Jax, whose antics keep us all on our toes."

"Hey, I like that one," Jax grinned, sitting up and brushing off his imaginary cloak. "Jester Jax. Sounds pretty cool."

"More like troublemaker Jax," Ragatha quipped, tossing a soft plush cube at him. It hit him square on the head, eliciting another round of giggles from everyone.

The warmth of the moment lingered, like the glow of a setting sun that never truly set in this world. Kinger settled back, his eyes half-lidded as if savoring the peace. Ragatha leaned back on her palms, watching the two little ones bicker, laugh, and play without a care in the world.

For all its strangeness, this world — at least for now — felt like home.

#safe agere #sfw agere #agere sfw #sfw age regression #sfw age dreamer #sfw little blog #sfw interaction only #sfw littlespace #sfw caregiver #tadc agere #tadc kinger #tadc pomni #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #agere story #huggaboo

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alistairtheyrin · 7 months ago

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the bard of riverbrook farm, pt. i

la belle dame sans merci, frank bernard dicksee

aemond targaryen x lowborn!reader

masterlist | ao3

summary | the people of the riverlands begin to find peace once more as the land recovers from the dance of the dragons. in an unremarkable village, a musician draws the attention of a peculiar stranger

tags | secret identity, soft romance, bard!reader, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending, discussions of trauma related to war, gender-neutral pronouns

wordcount | 3k

likes, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated 💞 please let me know if this is something you'd like to read more of!

Days like this rarely fell on the Riverlands.

Days when the sun shone, the brook that babbled through your village took on a glimmer, and there was an air of ease about. The green of the leaves on the trees seemed richeron a day like this, branches growing heavy with fruit. The cobblers and tool sharpeners who wandered from village to village plying their trade only had to reach their arms overhead to pluck a golden apple to go with their lunch. Sometimes, they’d even pull down a spare apple to pass to a beseeching child, not because the child needed food but because they wanted it.

That was the best thing about days like this, times like this - the children weren’t hungry, not anymore. Only years ago - when you’d been but a child on the cusp of adulthood - these lands had burned. Your people and your fields had been fodder for dragons and great men playing at war. But then the dragons - and the men in armour - vanished. Travelling bards told stories of Good Queen Rhaenyra putting down her brother’s rebellion and striking a triumphant peace with the Dowager Queen Alicent, her late father’s wife. It had taken time for the Riverlands to recover - time when your stomach had felt hollow, and your father would have gladly sold the farm for a crust of mouldy bread - but aid had come when a peace was brokered. Food and seed from the Reach, timber from the North, builders from the Westerlands. It had taken time, but recovery did come, and your baby sister - born in the Year of the Dragon’s Peace - had never known an empty belly like you had.

So your steps were light as you made your way down the stony path from your father’s farm to the village. The evening air was warm and syrupy with the scent of summer blooms, and your lute bumped happily against your back. Up ahead, the village inn - The Fine Fool - was already buzzing with life, as tomorrow was a day of rest for most, and the townsfolk wished to make a merry start. You could hear a constant stream of chatter from the open doors as you approached the inn with its thatched roof and warm, glowing windows. You slipped inside and saw it was crowded already. The farmers and their farmhands had dirt under their nails and flagons in hand, smelling faintly of sweat from a day on the fields. The wives traded news and gossip, some with children underfoot or babes in arms. The innkeeper - a ruddy-cheeked man everyone called Good Beck - was yanking a wheel of presumably stolen cheese out of the hands of a wily boy with a grin on his face. You weaved through the villagers, smiling at all as you went, and a ripple went through the gathered throngs around you.

“The bard!” A man called.

Good Beck looked up at that, “Aft’noon, bard!” He called over the sea of heads to you as you made your way to the little raised stage in the corner. You tilted your head in greeting at him.

“The Bard of Riverbrook Farm!” A woman this time called, and you winced at the name a little. You were no more a bard than a peasant with a pitchfork was a great army general. Just someone born with a halfway decent voice and a mind for melodies, courtesy of your mother. And a lute, of course, courtesy of your father - a gift he’d bought when he’d been courting your mother. You’d picked up the lute when your parents’ evenings had become filled with tending to the baby, and you’d been left in want of something to do. When the villagers complained of the lack of musicians on the Riverroad these days with the terror of war still so close to memory, your father had let slip what a good player you were becoming, playing gentle tunes before the fire in the evening and softening the babe’s worst tempers with a lullaby. Good Beck had been at your door within the sennight, offering fair coin and mead on the house. Honestly, how could you refuse?

It had been a tremendous success so far - Good Beck had music livening his common room, you had extra coin in your pocket to help about the house, and the village was near as cheerful as it had been before, in the halcyon days of your childhood.

You took to your stage, avoiding the gazes of the onlookers as you always did. You always felt nervous when you were cold. You pulled your mother’s loot from your back, took a deep breath to steady yourself and block out the noise, and gently strummed and fiddled with the pegs for a second, finding the lute singing sweetly - just as you’d left it. You hummed as you tuned, feeling your throat warm. Good Beck sent a serving girl over with your first tankard of mead. He was good to you, and the honeyed drink was smooth in your throat.

Once you judged yourself ready, you took in the crowd. Some watched eagerly, and some carried on their conversations. The melody leaping from the strings hushed more voices as you sprang into a lively rendition of The Bear and The Maiden Fair.

Before you were three songs deep, the townspeople were singing along and setting up impromptu dancing sets. The ale was flowing freely tonight, you could tell, and you quickly set out your cap for any coppers the townspeople might throw your way. The sound of music drew in more spectators and revellers, and soon, Good Beck and his serving girl were fighting to keep up with the flow of thirsty patrons at the bar.

During a particularly ribald song, you looked out upon your crowd, and your eye caught on a group of men unfamiliar to you in a darker corner of the room. It was a small village and faces totally unfamiliar were quite unusual, but the berth the villagers were giving the men told you all you needed to know. Their clothing was shabby, their faces sunburnt - they were former army men, the sort who still wandered the Riverlands. Likely Aegon the Usurper’s, but it could be some of Queen Rhaenyra’s Northmen who had no wish to return to their frozen homeland when the fighting was done. Many had sustained injuries to their person, many more to their minds, and had nothing to return to from whence they came. So they wandered, eeking out a living by offering help on the farms or sites of construction whenever needed. It was a hard life, and you felt for them, but the wariness of the townsfolk made sense - such men were known for causing trouble when they had nothing left to lose.

One of them caught your eye, and you looked away in a hurry.

By the time your song was finished, you were huffing and puffing for breath, and the villagers were no better. Dancing sets had turned into barely contained circles of swinging, spinning, and chaos. Everyone was laughing, and the mood was high, but it was also growing desperately warm in here, with many a man or woman wiping sweat from their brow with a yellowed sleeve.

Time to slow it down, you thought, as you watched the patrons join the queue at the bar, desperate to quench their thirst. Good Beck looked flustered behind the bar - pleased but flustered - so it was time to allow him to catch up and rake in the good custom. You sat on your stool for a moment and took a long draw from your tankard of mead. Now was as good a time as any to try something new you’d been working on, one of your first original songs. If it went over well with the townsfolk, that was great, but if not, at least you weren’t killing the good mood but giving them a well-earned chance to recover before they spun into more dancing.

You cleared your throat and drew a breath, striking a chord that rang clear above the chatter.

The river runs red, my dear, can you see it?

High in your tower, the earth is bleeding,

The home burns, the water breaks

Upon the tomb at our love’s wake

Is it too late for us? Your beacon, my fire,

We were just children drunk on sweet desire,

Where did that go? What did we do?

What has become of me and you?

Save your prayers for your Gods, for I want none,

I only want the honeyed words on your tongue,

Fly with me now, stand with me at heaven’s gate,

Only love’s forgiveness can change our fate,

You trailed off in the soft, mournful ballad, for that was as far as you had gotten. There was a small round of appreciative applause around your stage, but most were more concerned about getting their drinks refilled. That didn’t bother you, though. You’d played it aloud now to someone who could offer more feedback than a squalling babe - as sweet as your sister was. It was time for you to take a quick break, and your mind buzzed with the possibilities of what you could add and change as you squeezed through the crowd to go and get some fresh air.

The sun had set outside and the sky was that soft purple it was before it was truly night. You stepped away from the throngs outside the inn and found yourself a quiet patch of wall to lean against and catch your breath. Your breathing slowed, and your heart settled as you took in the inky sky, the lighted windows in the village, the distant trickle of flowing water. On your leg, you tapped out the metre of your ballad and sang softly to yourself, thinking of the next words and the stories that had inspired them.

“I’d never heard that one before,” the accent was unusual for these parts - crisp - and it took you a second to realise the voice was speaking to you.

You looked up and felt your stomach lurch. One of the army men was approaching you in the quiet patch outside the inn you had chosen. His head was shaved to the scalp - probably lice - and his left eye was covered by a battered leather patch. He wore a sword on his belt - not unusual in these parts, but not exactly welcoming either. You didn’t want any trouble, and you certainly didn’t want any unwelcome attention.

“It’s mine,” you explained. It answered the question but didn’t invite more conversation.

“That explains it,” the man said. Your ears hadn’t been deceiving you - his accent was smooth, his tongue precise on the sounds. He wasn’t from here. He wasn’t from anywhere you had ever seen. “You have a talent for playing and for writing, then.”

His features betrayed no emotion, and you wondered if he was as insincere as he sounded or if you were just being paranoid. “You’re too kind,” you said in the absence of a better response.

“What inspired your work?”

The flinty look in his remaining eye was putting you on edge. “Stories,” you said, “from… real bards who have passed through. Their tales are a good inspiration. Otherwise, all my songs would be about harvests and plough horses. Not much going on around here, not much to keep a curious mind occupied.”

“You don’t have books?” He asked.

You scoffed like he’d just asked if you could fly. “What use are books if you were never taught how to read?” You asked. Who was this man, with his refined tongue, thinking that farmers have use for books?

He had the decency to look embarrassed at least, and the softening of his gaze, the flicker of his eye, and the way his cheeks darkened made you feel calmer. He wasn’t angry. Most men would be angry at being talked back to like that - your father had often warned you about it. Not because you tested his patience - he was a good man, a kind one. He just prayed his firstborn’s quick tongue wouldn’t cause more problems than it fixed.

“That was foolish, I beg your pardon,” the man said, and you were so confused by his humility that you nodded your acquiescence without a second thought. He drew closer and leaned his shoulder into the wall by you. “My earlier question stands, however. What inspired your song?”

You raised an eyebrow. “A tale from a bard - the tale of the Dragon’s Peace,” you said. You swung your lute down by your side to trace your fingers over the strings, like a focal point for the frenetic energy you felt as the man asked his probing questions. “The tale is all over the realm - how Queen Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent came together to stop the war and the shedding of innocent blood. Words saved the day when swords could not - I guess I liked that.”

He raised an eyebrow. There was something deeply morose about him. His features betrayed no warmth - in fact, he was so still it was like he was cold-blooded. “It’s just that you… you sounded like you were singing of something more than just a peace accord.”

Obviously, you thought dryly, but you were still wary enough of this man not to provoke him outright. “A peace like that does not just happen. The two Queens were friends in childhood. I just thought… they could have been more. What if they were - still are - more? It must be a… special friendship to forgive what they have had to forgive each other of.”

His brow creased as his frown deepened. “Is such an unconventional… friendship not a dangerous thing to sing of? To even imply?”

You felt a heat rise in your cheeks. What a fool reason not to speak of it, to hide behind euphemisms and platitudes, you thought. “The only dangerous thing is forbidding certain loves for the form they come in. Love is the one thing, the only thing that ever saves us from ourselves.”

He hummed thoughtfully at that. It struck you as just another thing that was strange about him. Anyone else might have laughed, made fun or cursed you for an ungodly wretch. But he seemed to be thinking of your words with a deep seriousness. “Is it finished?” He asked. You must have looked confused because he clarified, “The song, have you finished it?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m trying to find the words, the tune to express the betrayal but also the loyalty. The joy in spite of the suffering. I’ve only just begun writing my own songs in the past few moons - I think I’ll need to practice it.”

“If I am any judge, I think you have made a good start.” His eye looked almost purple in the dusky light, reflecting the soft hues of the sky.

“And who are you?” You asked, bold all of a sudden. “To judge, that is?”

He gave you a smirk like you’d just told him a slightly amusing joke. “Just a man with an interest in that tale.”

“Because you fought in the war?”

He was quiet for a second, and you wondered if it was because he was considering lashing out or fleeing. “Yes,” he said instead. “I did.”

You nodded. “And now you have… nowhere to go?”

“I have… somewhere,” he said, considering. He looked far away, far into his own mind. It was not an uncommon look on the men who had seen war. “It was just never truly home. And now I don’t know how to return or how to be that person again.”

“You can never go home,” you said. It came out blunter than intended, but it was something you had found to be true. “Not really. Figuratively speaking. I… home to me is before. Before the hunger and the bodies and the fear. That home no longer exists for us; you can’t go back.”

“So what do we do then if we cannot go home?” The moon had emerged and cast shadows on his face. He was beautiful, you realised, with a thud in your chest. With his long nose and carved cheeks and strong jaw cast in sharp relief by the flood of moonlight. You wondered what colour his hair was when it was not shorn. Maybe chestnut, like your father’s plough horse. Or golden, like wheat at harvest.

You wished you had an answer to his question, but you didn’t. “I don’t know,” you said truthfully. “I don’t know.”

He looked a little crestfallen but nodded like he hadn’t foreseen any other answer. “Maybe I should just start anew, then. Build a home, sow a field, fall in love.”

You smiled. It was all any of you could hope for - a chance to start again. It was all any of you dreamed of. “There’s many an empty croft and field around here, since the war. And many a girl who wishes for a handsome husband with a good sword arm.”

He smiled back. It wasn’t like the earlier smirks - icy and guarded - it was warm, liquid. It nearly reached his eye. Nearly. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

You took one last look at his face before you turned. It was high time you were back on stage. No sooner had you turned away than a hand caught your wrist. You looked back. Like a thrice-damned fool, you looked back.

“You need to finish the song,” he told you. His gaze was so sure, so serious you felt that he must know everything about you. Like your every waking moment could be felt through the joining of skin, the index finger he was tracing on the inside of your wrist. “If you cannot go home, you must at least finish the song.”

He raised your hand to his lips and kissed it.

Like he was a knight. Like you were noble. Like the words passing between you carried the bond of castles and gold and histories and dragons.

“I will,” you said, and your voice trembled just a little.

“I truly hope it is not too late for them.” He spoke of the Queens in the song. He spoke of himself. He spoke of you.

“I hope so, too.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #hotd #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon

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paranoidginger · 6 months ago

Text

Mann or Machine

A post-Spy's Disguise Engiespy angst fic (For real though, please go watch Spy's Disguise by Fortress Films on YouTube if you have not! This takes place after that short movie, and has references to Emesis Blue as well!)

Tw: Minor Gore, Violence, and Body Horror

At first, the change between human and machine was a blessing, a self-taught command that gave him the upper hand and made him feel nearly immortal. After the sawmill incident, all of that changed, however. The changes became unpredictable, uncontrollable... The intersecting of man and metal was never meant to be, it was an error in the program of a broken disguise kit. It had broken the moment it hit the first sentry, and the rest, as they say, is history.

At first, it had felt like a superpower, something to flaunt and embrace; Now, however, it felt more like a curse. After the nightmares, and seeing the video that doctor Fritz Ludwig had taken while in his care, it was clear that it was an ailment, as opposed to anything else... He and the engineer that kept him company had lost contact with the doctor not long after the incident, both dismissed from their faction of Builders League United and left to make themselves as normal lives as they could, without any aid from the company.

The pair had moved onto land that the Engineer already had in his possession, a small ranch, fairly isolated, but close enough to a nearby town to get regular groceries and whatever tinkering supplies the engineer could have possibly wanted. It was safe there... But all the same, Spy struggled with himself, unable to properly regulate and prevent the unwanted shifts between man and machine. PTSD... That's what Doctor Ludwig had called it... Post traumatic stress disorder... It wasn't surprising, after what he had gone through...

Spy sat quietly, his mind buzzing as he tried to read a book. He was on high alert, by himself in the little ranch house he shared with his dearest Engineer... They hadn't always gotten along, some days were better than others, but they had been able to bond as colleagues, then as comrades, and now... Perhaps they were more. He was all alone, poor Pierre DuPont, left to his own devices as he waited for Hal to return from the store.

He saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye as his arm raised, as if by reflex, rotating barrels taking over and spraying shots towards what the machine in the back of his mind deemed a potential intruder. He hadn't heard whenever the engineer had opened the door and came inside, bags of fresh groceries in hand as he made his way to the kitchen, interrupted by the sudden spray of bullets. The wall beside him was marred with bullet holes, all but one having missed their target.

"D'aw shit-" The man muttered quietly, hissing as he lightly touched the blossoming wound in his side. "T-that's my fault... I didn't mean to spook ya, darlin'..." He exhaled a shaky laugh, carefully setting the bags of groceries down beside him as he pressed his hand to the bloodied hole in his side.

The Spy scrambled to his feet, unable to force his arm back to normal as he dropped the book he had been holding, rushing to the other man as he wobbled slightly on his feet. This wasn't supposed to happen...

"No! Non, please... Mon dieu... I didn't mean to-"

"Shhh..." He cut the Spy off, not allowing another word from the taller man "It's okay, I've had worse. One bullet ain't gonna put me in the ground." He looked up at the spy, watching as the other man continued to panic. Gently, he patted the other man's cheek, grabbing his shoulder gently after a moment "Look at me, Pierre, I'm gonna be fine. I'm gonna go get myself patched up, you take care of these here groceries, alright? I'll be ok, I promise." Hal gave a small smile, sighing gently as he made his way to the bathroom to patch himself up, making sure to be loud enough for the other man to be able to hear him as the Spy got to work, carefully putting away the groceries as he fought to push his guilt and worries down.

That night was quiet, Pierre having eventually corrected his arm once again with his Engineer's help. They sat on the couch together, Hal's arm wrapped gently around the other man's shoulders as they watched a movie together, the Spy eventually falling asleep at his side.

Pierre's sleep was plagued with nightmares, memories of Hal 'dying' playing back in his mind, followed by the fresh scene of him shot and bloodied by the Spy's own hands. He met the machine again... A twisted mirror version of himself, a robot with his face... It had been peaceful that first time, but now, it came at him, aiming for the jugular.

Hal was jostled awake by the seizing, jerky movements of his unconscious partner, bits of him swapping in and out of humanity, his head tipped back slightly as his mouth began to froth. Quickly, the engineer grabbed hold of Pierre, hugging him gently as he carefully moved him down onto the floor, pushing the coffee table out of the way as he fumbled to grab a small flashlight off of the wooden surface.

"Shit- shit, goddamn it-" He straddled the Spy as he continued to seize and twitch on the floor, gently opening one of the other man's eyes and shining the light into the dilated pupil, wincing slightly as it failed to react. Metallic barrels took over both forearms, rotating back and forth with jerky, clicking movement.

"Come on, damn it! Wake up!" The engineer grabbed the front of the other man's shirt, wincing at the pain in his side as he attempted to wake him up, shaking him slightly. "Come on!" He shouted through his teeth, his eyes beginning to water slightly as he knelt over Pierre's seizing body.

After a moment, his arms returned to normal, the seizure seeming to finally come to an end. Quietly, Hal watched, hesitating for a moment before gently cupping the side of the Spy's face, watching as his chest rose and fell with his breaths. Pierre shuddered slightly, his eyes opening just a bit before Hal was forced to yank his hand away, the familiar rocket barrels of a sentry closing around the man's head, the rise and fall of his chest becoming shallow and frantic as he awoke.

Pierre let out a muffled, mechanical scream, grabbing and clawing at what had once been his face. Quickly, the Engineer moved off of him, hissing slightly in pain as he hoisted the other man into a sitting position, grabbing one of his hands and hugging him gently as he traced his thumb over the other's palm.

"Breathe! I need ya to breathe for me!" Hal called gently, worry evident in his tone as he held the other man close, preventing him from scratching and clawing at the metal that now covered his face. It took some time, but eventually, the Spy's breathing returned mostly to normal.

The rocket launcher that had replaced his face lifted once again, pulling away from his head with the mechanical arm that had placed it there to begin with, tucking back down into the motor that had protruded from his back, which slowly retracted inside of him, leaving the surface of his back no different than any other man's...

"There you go... There you are, darlin'... I've got you..." The Engineer spoke softly gently cupping the other man's cheek for a moment before the spy slipped his hands beneath Hal's arms, pulling him closer and hiding his face in the crook of the smaller man's neck, shaking as small sobs wracked his thin frame. "It's gonna be alright, sunshine..." Hal's voice was soft and gentle as he held the other man close, beginning to rub his back slightly as he just sat there, doing his best to comfort Pierre.

The next incident was nearly a week after Pierre had shot Hal by accident. Another late night, another bad dream... He thought he would be fine... He had woken up, just like he had so many times before.

The Spy made his way to the bathroom, careful not to wake his sleeping partner, turning the water on and running his hands beneath it, splashing his face slightly before looking at himself in the mirror... His eyes were blue again... They weren't supposed to be blue... There was a metallic clink as his arm hit the edge of the sink, feeling too heavy to hold up as it shifted once again to the multi-barreled machine gun that he couldn't keep from happening, his other arm following suit. It hurt this time... Why was it hurting? It had never hurt before.

He took a couple of steps back, his breaths catching in his throat as he began to run, stumbling slightly as he made it to his room... Their room... After everything, he couldn't find it in him to sleep alone... He had shut the door.. He bumped it with his shoulder before ramming it harder, pain radiating through the contact points as began to shout.

"Wake up! Hal please-" His legs gave out beneath him, the motor on his back popping out once again, and that horrible metal arm forcing the launcher barrels back over his head, muffling his cries for help as the rest of his body folded in on itself, leaving a sentry once again in his place.

Congratulations, you made it to the end! I'm leaving it up to the readers to help me decide whether I want to leave it as a one shot, or if I should give this another chapter! Feel free to vote below!!

Part 2

#tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #engineer tf2 #spy tf2 #engiespy #spys disguise #spys disguise fanfiction

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