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almostfoxglove · 3 months ago

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BLOCK PARTY

written for @auteurdelabre's TROPE OFF! challenge & a special thank you to @jolapeno for coming up with this idea - ilysm!

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 4.6k | TROPE: FAKE RELATIONSHIP CW: Tooth-rotting fluff, so much soft!joel, a tiny bit of protective!joel as a treat.

SUMMARY: After your ex moves into the neighborhood, Joel offers to pose as your boyfriend at the annual block party. It shouldn't be hard to pretend for a night, since he's hopelessly into you.

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Joel remembers the day you moved into the house on the corner perfectly—that orange craftsman with the cute triangle yard and a pergola on which the last owners let their wisteria die, left empty for nearly half a year. He’d just gotten home from a job, sweat-stained and spent, desperate for a shower when he’d heard the hum of an unfamiliar car. He’s not curious by nature, keeps happily to himself, but that day he found himself spying out through the picket of window between his curtains, wondering who it might be.

Thank god he did.

Thank god, too, that no one else bought that house. Has a little wrap around porch, a red door. Whole block wanted it—hell, Joel even heard the couple left of him consider it one evening. We could sell, one had said, hushed and conspiratorial, then buy that one.

But they didn’t, and a few weeks later you and your beat-up hatchback rolled up into the driveway, gifting Joel one measly glimpse of the back of your head as you rushed inside. No sight of you the next day; you kept the curtains drawn. But two evenings later a moving truck squealed up the quiet street and Joel, well. Joel happened to be near the windows when the truck happened to stop outside your orange house and happened to catch a look at you slogging down from the porch to roll up the back of the van with a distant grunt, unveiling your boxes and towered belongings.

He was pretty much a goner right then, right there.

Because you looked miserable, an Atlas lugging the world on your shoulders. Dark shadows clinging to the hollows of your cheeks. Your hair pulled back and greasy, your t-shirt a size too big, puddled at the hem with a stain. And maybe he’s getting soft or was from the start, because against his better judgment and the complaints of all his tired joints, Joel jogged out of his house and right on up to you. Offered to help you carry it all inside.

Took an hour to trek the boxes in, twenty minutes to tetris the couch, and another thirty for the rest of the furniture. One lampshade broke, for which Joel will never forgive himself but you swore it was fine, insisting it wasn’t one you liked, that it belonged to an ex.

The whole evening sped by and bruised blue, and Joel’s stomach sank just a little when it was done. Though his body howled and ached, he wouldn’t have minded if it’d taken eight more hours to haul all that shit into your house. Might’ve offered to help you unpack if that wouldn’t have been a creepy thing to do. But you shook his hand in thanks, gave him your name and a stiff smile, promising him dinner, or muffins, or whatever the fuck neighbors do as you walked him to the door with the urgency of a vampire who has only a few minutes left to black out all the windows and doors before sunrise. Hurrying him out, wanting to be alone.

When his own front door was latched, the house dead in its quiet, Joel swore to himself that once you got settled, he’d find some way to tell you that you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, that the caw of laughter you let out when he’d dropped the foot of your couch on his ankle was the best fucking sound even if it did bruise purple and green, that all the furniture you own is somehow perfect and warm and exactly what he’d never think to buy but would love to come home to, and that just shaking your hand made him feel like a kid again. That he’d pretty much do anything to be the one who puts a smile on your face.

But you’ve lived across the street three years now and he’s never told you.

Can’t now. It’s too late. You’re friends.

And anyway, these days you smile plenty on your own; you don’t need him. Took the better part of a year, but you perked up. Transformed that triangle yard into an Eden, built trellises for sweet peas and tomato vines. Every year, bushels of strawberry plants bloom in summer and rows of squash unfurl in autumn. Stalks of bulb plants flower every month right on cue. Your birdfeeders never vacant, the little wooden house driven into the yard on a stake dizzy with mason bees in spring.

Three years after you moved in, no one would ever believe Joel if he told them how you’d looked that first day. Her? Can’t picture that girl sad. Her? The one who’s always smiling? You’re messing with me.

Now, both of you swaying on his porch swing—looking out into the rutted wasteland of backyard he swears one day he’ll landscape—Joel watches that old shadow cross your face as you lift your lemonade to your chewed-up lips. He can see it. The light in your eyes swishing dark like you’ve drawn the curtains. For three years he’s watched you build yourself up, coax yourself into the sunshine, only to have it extinguished by your ex—an ex who’s moved in just five houses down.

It might kill him to see you like this again.

Joel might kill the bastard just to prevent you any more harm. Burn that goddamn house to the ground. He’s glad that he broke that lamp when you moved in. Not that he says.

“C’mere,” he says, stretching out one arm, and without hesitating—without even turning your head to look at him—you sink against his side, cheek squished to his chest. A torture and miracle, the gift of your touch. How you have, over the years, decided to trust him.

“Of all the fucking neighborhoods to—” you start to say, but your voice cracks, betrays you, and there’s a jagged edge to your next breath that makes Joel’s whole body yank with pain. “Of all the fucking neighborhoods for him to choose.”

“I know, darlin’,” Joel mumbles, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Praying he doesn’t imagine the way your body deflates at his touch.

“Block party’s gonna suck,” you sigh, and if he closes his eyes Joel can almost imagine that this is something that it’s not. That if he wanted to, he could kiss you right now, touch you properly. Pet and lick and fuck every thought and worry right out of your head. That your heart’s racing even half the speed his is right now.

You must hear it, he thinks—with the shell of your ear resting so near that traitorous organ—but if you do you don’t say a word.

Joel squeezes your shoulder. “Don’t gotta go alone,” he says.

This stiffens your shoulders, holds your breath. You peel yourself from his side and evening sun paints your face orange as a clementine, gilds your eyes with tendrils of gold. Your brows pinch together so sweetly, curving down above your nose as a laugh rises to your lips. “Right,” you chuckle. “Sure.”

“I mean it,” Joel says, and takes his arm off you to sit up straighter, rocking the swing. “Could go together.”

He’s not sure why you look so surprised. You’re friends. You go places together. Lunch, the movies, to the grocery store. Shit, you drove him home loopy from the dentist after they cracked out his wisdom teeth. Took photos of him after you waddled him into his house, drugged up and chipmunk-cheeked. Relished showing him every snapshot for weeks afterward, giggling and pinching his face until he blushed.

Going to the annual block party together seems a hell of a lot more neighborly than that.

“What,” you say, still smiling at him like he’s crazy. “And you’ll pretend to be my boyfriend?”

It’s possible Joel’s heart stops. All his thoughts certainly do. All sound, reasonable logic floats away until all that matters in the world is your face, your gob-smacked smile. The dissonance of what he was offering and what you heard.

“If you want,” Joel hears himself say.

And that’s that. He digs his own grave.

If anyone was around to see Joel’s face when he first lays eyes on the guy, they’d probably assume you used to date the devil himself. Jaw grinding, arms crossed tightly over his chest, every nerve flayed and hair on end—doesn’t seem to matter how much you assured him that your ex isn’t a bad person, Joel hates the guy. If he were a younger man, as reckless as he’d once been, he’d knock the guy on his ass for daring to step foot in the neighborhood, let alone buy up a place.

You’re with Joel in your front yard showing off the mason bees that dart in and out of their paper tubes when something flickers in the corner of Joel’s eye—a man running on the sidewalk, earbuds in, sweat pooled in a V on the front of his t-shirt. He does a double take at the sight of you.

Joel squares his shoulders.

The guy comes to a jogging halt, pops an earbud out as he calls your name, and Joel’s heart might rip clean out of his chest when your face falls at the sound of his voice, all the pride in your smile snuffed in the blink of an eye. You turn so slowly. Wave a little sheepishly. “Hi.”

“Do you—” the guy starts to ask, his bright eyes flickering between you and your orange house.

You nod. “Three years now.”

His eyes damn near pop out of his skull—this, at least, is one small comfort. He had no idea you lived here. He’s not following you or nothing. As you rub the back of your neck, suddenly quiet, Joel hears your voice in his head saying, You’ll pretend to be my boyfriend?

Guess that starts now if you wanna sell it. At least that’s what Joel tells himself as he takes a small step closer and settles his hand on the small of your back over your t-shirt. Swears he can feel your every tiny twitch beneath his palm, every degree of your body heat. There’s just one second of lag before you inch closer, too, making a shrew of his nervous heart. Blood races in his veins; his stomach turns to molten gold.

A twitch snags in your ex’s cheek and Joel’s lips tighten, fighting back the smug urge to smile. Tucked against his side, you look up at Joel and he can’t help feeling like next to you is exactly where he belongs. Perfect, you smile before drawing your eyes away, and slip your arm around his waist.

“Sorry,” you say, grinning in a way Joel’s not seen you manage since this jackass showed up. “This is Joel. My— uh—boyfriend.”

Maybe heaven is one beautiful lie.

Joel must be a greedy man, because he slips his hand up your spine to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s either the best or worst feeling in the world, the way you don’t resist for a second. The way you melt against him, your hand gripping at the hem of his t-shirt over his hip.

“Right,” says your ex, still doe-eyed when he meets Joel’s blackened stare. “Clark. S’nice to meet you, man.”

Joel hmphs , gives him fuck all but a stiff nod, and for just one second you turn your face into his chest like you’re trying to smother a laugh. Pride has never filled him quite as quickly as it does now, knowing he’s the cause. That he’s put that smile on you, making you bite your bottom lip. He’s the one who’s made this gentler on your heart.

When Clark takes off again, you and Joel wait until he disappears around the corner to withdraw your arms, then you break into stomach-y laughter, smothering your face in your hands. “Oh god,” you wheeze, your whole face split by joy. “His face. That was—shit, that was incredible. That felt so good.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Joel looks out into the empty street to hide his blush, focusing on the golden light of August’s showboating. It’s a perfect evening, oak trees gossiping in the balmy breeze. It’s small, sure, but knowing he’s made you feel so good sets him on fire, fries his brain. He wants to make you say so good, so good, so good, in every possible way.

You snort, you’re laughing so hard.

“Happy to be of service,” he mumbles.

“Jesus,” you go on, and he turns to find you’re wiping your thumbs under your eyes. “That felt so much better than I thought it would. I think you might be a genius.”

Sure, genius. That’s the word for it.

On the day of the block party, you ask Joel to creep across the street at the break of dawn, insisting that people could be setting up, and, wouldn’t it look weird if we didn’t come out of the same house? We have to look like we’re sleeping together, dumbass. He only managed to restrain himself from suggesting that he just sleepover by the skin of his teeth, so tempted by the thought of being close to you at night—even isolated on your couch, so many doors away from your dreams.

But he’ll take the morning. He does. As early light sets the asphalt ablaze, Joel slinks across the road to your house, finds your front door unlocked, and lets himself in. Inside is cold like winter, the air-con cranked, and you’re on the couch in a sweater that’s cuffed at your wrists, coffee smoking in your hand, your legs folded up beneath you, bare.

“Morning,” you say, when you see him, a kind smile on your lips.

Joel shuts the red door behind him, clears his throat. “Mornin’,” he says.

There are hours until the block party begins, so you and Joel kill the morning on your couch watching shitty TV and drinking enough coffee that Joel’s hands begin to shake—though maybe that’s just the cold, the air frigid in a way that transcends summer. Maybe it’s just you. You, transforming leftovers from your fridge into a breakfast hash, rich with cilantro from the plant on your windowsill. You, knocking your knuckles against his arm whenever you laugh at something stupid he’s managed to say or a joke on screen. You, handing him his refilled mug or breakfast bowl or taking them back to wash up, brushing your fingertips against his hand. Every time.

It’s a jolt to his whole system, this small meeting of your skin.

Soon the television is challenged by the din of your neighbors setting up tables and booths and games for the kids—at which you straighten on the couch, craning to peek through one of your picture-frame windows. A sigh blooms from your lips, then you set down your mug.

“Should put clothes on,” you tell him as you rise, legs unfolding. You look so soft. Joel knows you would be. “Gimme a second.”

Then you’re gone, and his head falls down against the back of your couch, the heels of his hands grinding into his eyes. It feels like you’re only gone for a second before your footsteps pinch down the stairs once more. “Headache?” he hears you ask, catching him with his hands still over his eyes. “Did I give you too much coffee?”

You’re teasing. Joel can hear your smirk as his hands slip back down to his lap, craning over the back of the couch to look up at you, and the world crumbles below him and falls away. Brows folded low over your eyes, you slide your hands down your front to soothe wrinkles from the skirt of your red sundress that only you can see. Slack-jawed, Joel finally manages to sit up, then twists to look back at you properly—perfect, that’s what you are. Every temptation and every vice and every poison he’d willingly drink.

“The dress is too much, isn’t it?” you say, sounding worried now.

He shakes his head, fights not to reach over this goddamn couch and pull you onto his lap. The thought alone makes his cock twitch traitorously in his jeans. You’re close enough that he could. You’re right there.

“S’perfect,” Joel croaks.

You let out a sigh of relief and nod before moving toward the door for your shoes. With his last remaining sense, Joel turns his head just before you bend down to reach for a pair of sandals. This was a terrible idea. He sees that now. A huge fucking mistake.

But it’s too late to back out now, because you’re already calling him over, sliding your hand into his as you step out onto the porch like this is normal, like you’ve done this before, like you don’t mind his sweaty palm. Outside the street is a racket, a flurry of children chasing each other between driveways and neighbors cracking the caps off beer bottles, a painted banner strung over the road between two maples:

B L O C K P A R T Y !

He hears you make a quiet hmph sound of amusement as you draw toward the crowd.

Joel waits, but to his surprise, no one asks why you’re here together, why you’re holding hands. Sorta figured you’d have to do the awkward uh, yes, it’s very… new for everyone, but nobody asks. In fact, when you vanish momentarily from his side to get drinks—the ruffle of your dress flirting with the tops of your thighs—someone tuts sweetly to Joel, “I knew it.”

Then you’re back before he can blush, two bottles sweating in your hands, and the neighbor vanishes the second you pass one to him. Your forehead has pinched up with nerves. Must mean you’ve seen him, Clark or whatever, and Joel’s a man of his word—you’ve asked him to do a job—so he glides one hand around your waist and presses his lips to your temple. Mumbles softly, “I’ve got ya,” against your skin as he breathes you in. There’s something sweet in your perfume, he thinks. Lilac or honey.

As if on cue, a soccer ball zips beneath the banner and a moment later it lifts as someone chases after it. Clark, obviously, looks up, sees you in the nook of Joel’s arm, and tucks the runaway ball under one arm without a word, then takes off in the direction he came from without so much as a nod.

Joel feels your chin jut into his chest as you squeeze him, smiling. “This is gonna be fun,” you grin.

Joel takes a deep breath to keep himself from hoping. That glint in your eye—one part mischief and another affection—ain’t good for him, but he can’t help the twitch at the corner of his mouth, that instinct to return your smile. “Careful, darlin’,” he mumbles, and as he brushes his thumb across your cheek you lean into his hand. “Face might stick like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you say, “What, you don’t like it like this?”

Though he only hmphs, Joel suspects you know that he does, in fact, like you very much like this: smiling up at him like he’s painted the sky with stars just by standing at your side.

How quickly the day passes with you beside him. For every year he’s lived in the neighborhood Joel has too attended the block party, but like most obligatory functions, he finds himself worn down quickly, always the first to leave, retreating into the quiet of his house when he’s reached the end of his meager tolerance. When he’s had too many conversations and seen too many faces too close together and he’s desperate for quiet, for sleep.

It’s different with you. You buffer so much of the polite conversations he’s never been good at having with grace and ease, always drawing the focus away from him just as he starts to feel it’s too much, like you can tell when Joel’s at the end of his rope. Sure, he’s still gotta stand there while you chat to whoever about mixed up mail or work or garden soil, but so long as they’re looking at you, that swell of too much never comes. He can just stand there, sipping his beer or lemonade, and focus on the swipe of your thumb across his knuckles as you hold his hand. The heat of your body when you lean into him.

By sundown, Joel forgets that it’s all pretend. He forgets this is nothing but a favor between friends.

Now the food has dwindled, that summer smell of hotdogs dissolving from the air, and all the lawn chairs once relegated to each person’s lawn shuffle into the black street as cicadas form their nightly orchestra. You don’t have any lawn chairs, but Joel’s got two. Always has—he doesn’t know why. Only ever just him at these things.

Maybe he was hopeful, back when he bought them.

It’s hard not to feel—as he drags both out to sit at the back of the crowd—like he was waiting for you. He just didn’t know it at the time.

“So prepared,” you tease him, as you settle into your seats.

“Keep it up,” he replies, his eyebrows warning in their slow rise. “I’ll take that chair you’re sittin’ on.”

You scrunch your nose. “No you won’t,” you say.

Obviously he won’t. But you don’t have to be so cute about it.

Then a sudden chorus of children shrieks, announcing the first firework. There’s a hissing, then a dart in the darkness, and a small spark of golden light cracks open overhead. A smattering of applause simmers, punctuated by oohs and awws, and all the kids giggle every time a sparkler booms. Beside him, the glitter of each explosion forms a galaxy in your eyes, your lips parted with wonder. The prettiest thing Joel’s ever seen, just like that first day. After a while you notice that Joel’s not watching the show, and turn slowly to look at him, your expression open and tender.

“Missing the show,” you say.

He shrugs. “I’ll see ‘em next year.”

When you smile, he wants to kiss you so badly his heart might actually stop, strangled by its longing.

But your head whips back at the thunder of a vibrant firework—a dandelion of neon blue and searing white—and the moment passes. Then Joel watches your smile falter as your eyes fall into the crowd; Clark, sitting up near the front of the pack, is looking back at you over his shoulder. Trying to be subtle and doing a shitty job; head snapping away the moment he sees Joel’s glare.

“Ignore him,” Joel says, and reaches down to wrap a hand around one leg of your chair, dragging you closer to him. You let out a giddy yelp of surprise and draw your ex’s attention again.

This time you don’t flinch or falter. One glance at the guy and you’re reaching for Joel, fist gripping the collar of his t-shirt to tug him toward you. He’s got no chance to think, to panic; it happens too fast. Your sweet mouth closes over his—not for a peck, but a real kiss. Lips parting to taste his bottom lip, a breathy sigh passed from your tongue to his. Joel’s lost all at once, no use resisting. His hand curls gently over your wrist to keep your grip on him as he tilts his head to lick into your mouth.

The fireworks fall away.

You taste like lemonade and hops and the raspberry cobbler someone cooked up, and there’s not a cell in Joel’s body that doesn’t swoon at the way your lips chase and melt into his, humming softly against his mouth when he cradles the back of your head in the palm of his hand. How you tug gently at his bottom lip before you draw away, forcing his hand to slink from your hair.

Clark’s staring. Your lips proud and grinning. Plush and kiss-bitten. Looking every bit as calm as Joel feels walloped. You hm smugly to yourself and drop your head on his shoulder, attention once more captured by the crackle of fireworks Joel forgot were happening, and even though he’s a fool for agreeing to something he knew would rip him up, he can’t bring himself to regret it. Not when you’ve kissed him like that. Not when you’re lying against him still, even though Clark has turned away.

The whole rest of the show passes in a dizzy haze. A blur of shattering light, and the heady weight of you leaning against him. Near the end you slip one hand over his knee. Your ex isn’t watching, doesn’t see the way your thumb glides slowly across the denim of Joel’s jeans, intoxicating.

It feels, or else he hopes, that it’s just for him.

The night is black by the time he walks you home, all your neighbors disappearing into their darkened houses, his lawn chairs stowed safely on his porch, and even though everyone’s gone when you reach your porch you still don’t let go of his hand until you’re at the door and you have to get out your keys.

Your lock surrenders with a metal crack and you let your red door swing open. Inside your furniture beckons from the shadowed living room, cozy and soft. But you hesitate in the doorway, looking up at him. Joel has to put his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from pulling you against him properly, and pinning you to the wall.

You scrunch your nose at him again. “Thank you,” you say, and your bottom lip pinches between your teeth as Joel’s gaze falls to your mouth. “Was actually pretty fun, in the end.”

Joel nods, drops his eyes shyly to his shoes. “I had fun too,” he manages to say.

Your sandal nudges the toe of his boot as he stares at his shoes. “Y’alright?”

No, he’s not alright. He knows what it’s like to kiss you now—how the hell’s he supposed to go on living with that, and not ever have it again. “Mhm,” Joel lies, head snapping up to meet your gaze. He mistakes the look in your eyes for discomfort, thinks he must be keeping you from your night, from sleep. That after you were so sweet to him all day, he’s got the nerve to bother you. His heart winces as he forces himself to take a small step back. “Sorry. Don’t wanna keep ya.”

“Oh,” you say, face falling a little. “Okay. Goodnight then.”

There’s no way the pathetic flinch of his lips looks anything like a smile as he mumbles a sorry g’night.

Then your face shrinks slowly in the closing gap of the door, a darkened look haunting your face that Joel swears—in the split second he sees it—almost looks like disappointment. Like you don’t want him to go.

When he licks his lips, Joel remembers the plush of your lips, the soft hum you’d made when he licked into your mouth, how you’d leaned into his hand when he cradled your head. How your ex could never have seen or heard any of that sitting so far away.

Maybe you just wanted to. God, he hopes you wanted to.

So before he can talk himself out of it, Joel’s hand jumps out and smacks flat against your door, holding it ajar. Through the slender gap he watches a grin bolt across your face as you sigh thank god and grab hold of his shirt, hauling him through the doorway to crash your lips against his.

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#joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel tlou #almostfoxglove #tropeoff2024 #myfics #fic: blockparty #one shot #tlou fanfic

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lilacgaby · 2 months ago

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title: awaken.

pairing: barbarian!bakugo x goddess!reader,

synopsisꨄ. you've been asleep all this time, who knew a barbarian would be the one to awaken you?

(extended ver of this)

as katsuki wandered through the never ending forest, he let the words of the elders ring through his head. "you'll never be anything more than a placeholder for the next king."

he set off, destined to prove himself, show that he was worth more than any of them could predict. his father was worried and heartbroken at his sudden departure, but his mother understood that he'd need to do this now, or he'd never forgive himself.

the first thing he did as he set off was to secure food for the night. he eyed a group of hogs, all large and heavy, perfect for feeding him throughout the night. he grabbed the bow out of his satchel and aimed it at the largest one, which landed perfectly in his target's head. he couldn't help but to let out a celebratory laugh as it fell to the ground, making the hogs around it scurry off into the forest.

that seemed to be the last of his luck for the day. he now wished he chose a different day to set off, as the rains and winds were heavy, it was impossible to set up camp in the forest as it was. suddenly, through the curtains of heavy greenery, he saw an abandoned structure. he'd prefer anything to the harsh conditions mother nature set out on him now, so he cut through the vines as he made his way into the structure.

it was grand inside, he thought. he couldn't see very well thanks to the darkness brought on by the rains, but from what he could see it must have been a place of high regard in its peak.

he lit a torch, carrying it as he continued on into the structure. he determined it had been a church in its old days, long forgotten due to.. well he didn't figure that part out yet.

he bumped into a object that resembled a bench, besides the old candle wax, fresh leaves, and golden statutes he saw littering it. he made a mental note to take those with him as he organized his things onto the bench.

he laid his wine down first, a treat he'd enjoy on the way back to his kingdom. next, he laid down his clothes he planned to change into. though he was a barbarian, and by nature they did not wear many clothes, katsuki knew the trip would require such clothing, so he brought the best.

his next item was the huge hog he'd caught earlier. he lugged it on to the bench-like object, thinking of how it was a perfect spot to gut and prepare it for his meal later on. speaking of his cooking, he made sure to bring only the finest oils to cook in. he set it down next to the hog, satisfied with his array of items, he'd slumped against the bench, closed his eyes and sighed.

when he opened it again, he saw the shadow of a person moving behind him. alarmed, he readied his other weapon he always kept on his side, his blade welded by his mother.

though, his blade was dropped out of his hand at the sight. his jaw went slack, eyes wide, and the sudden urge to worship overcame him as he finally saw who was behind him.

a gorgeous.. deity? who glowed with an luminous essence, who adorned pointed ears, heavy amounts of gold, a silk dress that encapsulated your body, and an unreadable expression as you sifted through his items.

the ability to speak was taken from him, he felt as if he was at your mercy, and he was. he was on his knees before he could process it.

your hands glided through the items he had placed on the bench, after you finished looking through the group, you finally spared him a glance.

"your gifts are of high value," you spoke, your voice royal, with an unimaginable presence. "i'm not as powerful as i used to be, my temple and followers were lost to time, my memory faded from the minds of the new." you sauntered over to him now, becoming eye-level with him.

he'd never felt so unworthy.

"i have not much i can give you or do for you, so what would you like from me?"

his ability to speak finalky returned, his mind though, remained blank, so he answered with the only thing on his blank mind:

"your hand."

he immediately rescinded back, never feeling so unnerved and unknowing as he did in this moment. "i- it was an unreasonable request! you-- it's beneath y-"

"that's acceptable. i will go with you, barbarian."

he was shocked as you accepted, though he wouldn't dare question your judgement. "katsuki." he blurted out. "please call me katsuki."

"i will marry you, if it's what you desire katsuki."

his eyes shot open. "yes. i-- it's what i'd like."

"you may call me [name] then." he clutched his heart, he wasn't sure if he was dreaming, but if he was he'd never want it to end.

"alright.. [name]." you smiled at the hesitance in his voice, and waved his worries off with a smile.

"shall we head out then?"

"we can't, the weather is horrible."

"what weather? it's sunny as normal." surely enough, as he turned around the weather had returned to a calm, warm day. the harsh winds and rains no longer present, replaced by the mundane weather.

"i-- i suppose you're correct." he gathered his supplies, even getting your permission to take the things he had on your alter, as he learned it was, back with you two. he slung his satchel behind his back and turned to you.

you held out your hand, and after he placed a chaste kiss on it, he carried you in his arms. the journey back was a blur to him, the burning in his feet nonexistent as he focused on the feeling of his skin on yours, the feeling of his hands on your body.

you arrived sooner then expected. internally, katsuki was excited. not only did he manage to revitalize a goddess, but he'd marry her. he was ecstatic not only at the prospect of beating this into the elders' faces, but to be yours for his eternity.

as he burst back into the conference room, the elders were shocked to see him back so soon. the smug expressions they would've gotten were wiped off the second they noticed you in his arms.

even they, from their distance at their cabinets, could sense the raw presence you had.

"prince bakugo, what is the meaning of this?"

"i've brought to you undeserving folks my wife."

the table of elders all collectively choked at the revelation. "wife? but we've yet to go through the proper trails and period of compatibility. that woman isn't even a barbarian."

"you're right, she's above all of you. she's a deity, and i've earned her hand in marriage. i want my wedding planned for next week, make it fit for a god."

"a deity you say?" the elder's felt like their eyes were about to burst out their sockets. "but--"

they heard nothing as he walked away from the room, you still in his arms. as you eyed the new, strange innovations and buildings around you, katsuki clutched you closer to his chest.

he set you onto a bed, the feeling of silk under your hands one that was foreign, as you hadn't been awakened for over a century.

he knelt in front of you, taking off one of his necklaces, and wordlessly asking for permission to set it on you.

you didn't know this, but this was sacred to the barbarians, presenting one's necklace to another was like talking a piece of your soul and entrusting them with it.

he looked at the sight of you, his ruby necklace with the teeth of the beasts he slayed contrasting severely to the gold you adorned, and he smiled.

you felt your heart go into a knot at the sight of him, he held your hand as he suddenly made a vow to you.

"i vow to be your greatest worshipper. even if i am not the last, i will set a standard that will long exceed my lifespan.

for you are my wife now, and i'll cherish you as long as i may live."

you smiled softly, reaching out to him to hold his other hand. "you've already become my most interesting worshipper, that i'm certain of."

as the two of you basked in each others presence, other gods were smiling upon you two as well.

unbeknownst to you, zeus, a god who had favored you since your birth, had set off the storm on bakugo, leading him to your alter.

not like it was what you were pondering at the moment anyway, as you caressed and embraced your soon to be husband, who you were already planning to turn into a god alongside you.

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zephyrchama · 7 months ago

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Belphegor followed you down the hall as you dragged your suitcase. It wasn’t very big, but it was still heavy and annoying to lug over the thick decorative carpets. Every time one came to an end, the luggage thudded loudly back onto the hardwood floor.

“You sure you have everything? You packed the pillow I gave you?” Belphegor sluggishly matched his pace to yours. Having long legs must be nice.

“Of course, I triple checked.” ”Good. That’s my fifth favorite pillow, so you have to come back and return it, ok?”

You nodded as the suitcase went over another bump. This was your third time going over this exact conversation.

It wasn’t just the youngest, all of the brothers were antsy about your little trip. It was written all over their faces as you arrived at the foyer where they were waiting. Satan and Asmodeus solemnly stood up from the steps they were sitting on. Mammon and Leviathan had a hard time looking at you, their eyes darted all over the walls and ceiling. Beelzebub offered to move your suitcase by the door.

Just one weekend away. That was it. Solomon volunteered to take you back to the human world for a bit. You couldn't let a rare trip home pass by, as who knew when the next opportunity would arise. You could eat some normal food for once and stock up on your favorite human things. Though, your housemates reacted like you were leaving for a year.

“Did you pack everything?” Lucifer asked.

“Of course, I triple checked.” Deja-vu.

“Even the lotion I gave you?” Asmodeus looked so worried. He loosely took hold of your forearm with a tear in his eye. “Don’t forget, the sun is awful this time of year. I’ll never forgive you if you come back looking like a lobster.”

“Asmo, I won’t.” You grinned at his silly concern and leaned in for a hug. Asmodeus did not disappoint.

Everyone else took a step forward, hoping for a hug of their own, as Asmodeus breathed into your ear, “I’ll be waiting.”

“You have my number. If anything goes wrong, call me.” Lucifer sounded so reliable as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

There were half a dozen chimes of “mine, too!” and “same here!”

You’d been away for longer trips. How in the world did these guys survive for so many millennia before you met them? You turned to look at Lucifer, wanting to counter that Devildom phones didn’t even work in the human world, but he probably knew that already.

"Don't talk to strangers," he reminded, "and don't go out alone at night. Some humans are worse than demons." He wrapped his arms around you and wished “safe travels.”

Mammon stepped up next. He forced himself to stare at you, haughtily playing off the sadness he was really feeling. His bottom lip jutted out a little more than usual. “Well! You’ll bring me back a good souvenir, right?”

“Oh? I don’t know, I might not have time…” It was playful banter, yet your words shocked him. Mammon’s eyes widened. He began stammering and gripped your fingers. You quickly performed damage control, “Joking! I’m joking, Mammon. Of course I’ll get you a souvenir.”

The younger siblings piped up, “us too!”

“I’m getting everyone souvenirs, don’t worry!” You already had a few gift ideas in mind.

Mammon put his forehead on your shoulder and a hand on your back that he rubbed. “But mine’ll be the best. I trust ya.”

“Don’t let Solomon give you any food he cooks,” Beelzebub warned. “Actually, don’t let Solomon give you any food. Ever.” He tried to give you a lumpy-looking cloth bag, no doubt filled with homemade treats to take with you. It smelled scrumptious. Only issue was, the bag was half your size.

“Beel, there’s food in the human world. I can’t take all this, why don’t you enjoy it with your brothers?”

Beelzebub frowned, setting aside his present. It tilted under the weight of its own contents. You felt a slight pang of guilt, but how could you carry it all? That much food could last you a week.

He picked you up for his hug, your toes dangling several inches off the floor until he gently set you back down. Belphegor caught you as you regained your footing.

His hug was simple and cozy. He tucked a strand of your hair behind an ear. “Don’t forget about my pillow.”

You suspected that if you ever actually tried to run away, these seven would go to the ends of the three realms to find you.

Satan nudged your luggage, observing the way it slided forward an inch. It was heavy to you, but clearly not them. “That’s really all you’re bringing? Do you have enough clothes?”

“Yes! You helped me pack!” The repetition was really starting to grate on you. Things were never this crazy when one of them had to leave the house for a few days. They wouldn't even care unless somebody went mysteriously unseen for over a week. “You all know I’ve got everything under control. I’ll be back in two days.”

“Hey, how come Satan got to help you pack?” Mammon complained.

“We did too,” Belphegor said, his twin in agreement.

“It was a group effort,” according to Asmodeus.

Mammon crossed his arms. "No way! You let these guys see your underwear?"

Satan ignored them. “Do you want another book for the road?”

“I’ll be fine.” You gave Satan his hug. After letting go, his fingers hovered by your side. “We’re teleporting there anyway. I don’t think there’ll be time to read anything.”

One suspiciously quiet demon in the back stared at the floor. “Two days,” he sighed. Leviathan did a poor job of hiding how upset he was.

“Levi, aren’t you going to say goodbye?”

“Yes!?” His head jerked up, met your gaze, and looked down again.

“I can’t leave until I get a full set of hugs from everyone,” you admitted. “I’m missing a very valuable part of the collection.”

Asmodeus and Mammon readily offered themselves for a second go. Leviathan’s cheeks flushed with envy and he grabbed you a little roughly, squishing his face into your shoulder. “You’ll take lots of pictures? A-and you won’t forget about us?”

You scoffed, “how could I forget about you? We’re bound together by a pact, aren’t we?” As for photos… you didn't know what would be interesting, but it couldn't hurt to take a bunch anyway.

Lucifer cleared his throat, signaling to Leviathan it was time to let go. "I miss you already," he muttered.

The seven of them followed you out of the house and down to the House of Lamentation’s front gate. It was like having a school of fish circling you. You could call it a miracle they weren't following you onto the main road, but if they went that far you knew they'd unreasonably demand Solomon take them along too.

“It’s just one weekend!” you reiterated. “Take care, you guys.”

They peered at you through the fence bars, waving when you glanced over. It was a sad sight, and possible attempt to make you come rushing back. If it was this bad already, you didn't want to think about how they'd act if you were going away for one week.

#maybe sequel when I come back? this was supposed to be more funny but it turned into more fluffy. hm!#i think my original thought was “mc going to a sleepover at purgatory hall and lucifer being all 'overprotective parent' about it”#idk about this but i wanted to get it out of my system so i'd stop thinking about it #obey me! swd #obey me swd #obey me!#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me scenarios #omswd #obey me x you #obey me brothers #obey me fanfic #obey me drabble #obey me fluff

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ameliathornromance · 8 months ago

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A part of you was unsure how your Orc Boyfriend would react. As you pruned the bouquet of flowers in your hands, you were starting to regret your idea. It was only a few paces from the camp now, surely you could just turn back around and throw it away, right?

Flowers were something that women received typically. Maybe he would think you were insinuating something about him, or that maybe he was weaker than you thought he was-

“Love! You’re back!”

Too late for take backs now. Hiding the bouquet behind your back, you watched as your Orc Boyfriend dropped a wood chopping axe and rushed over to you. “How was your walk? Did you get what you needed?”

You weren’t sure why you thought you could hide the flowers from him. He was at least two or three feet taller than you.

He peered over your shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “What’re those for? You’ve never brought flowers back before.”

Well, now or never, you thought. Meekly, you pulled them out from behind your back and held them out to him.

Your Orc stared at you for a minute, looking you up and down in confusion. “I… Um…” Where did you even begin with this? You must look insane.

Sighing, you lowered the bouquet and looked down at the different blooms. “When humans really like each other, sometimes they give flowers. So, I picked some flowers for you.”

There was silence for a moment and you felt your face burning. You knew it, this was a stupid idea.

“You picked these… for me?” His green hand came into view, wrapping around your interlocked fingers.

You nodded, still not looking at him.

Before you could stop him, he had snatched up the bouquet and held it high above his head. He bellowed to his others in the camp: “Look here! My lovely lady brought me flowers! What have you suckers got?!”

Orcs from their various work stations looked up, growled, snarled and swatted their hands at your Orc, “get stuffed you lug!”

Your jaw hung open at your Orc's audacity, before he looked back down at you and gave you the widest grin. “I didn’t know humans did such a thing,” he admired the flowers in his hand, seemingly as big as daisies in his huge hand. “You picked these yourself?”

“Wait, you like them?”

“Why wouldn’t I like them love?” Your Orc kissed you on the forehead. “You went out of your way to get them for me.”

“It’s just… I thought… Human men don’t normally get flowers, so I thought that…”

Your Orc let out a bark of laughter, “but I’m not human, am I love?” He pulled you into his arms and squeezed you tightly. His arms were the most reassuring and calming thing at that moment.

Hugging him back, you realised that there had been nothing to be afraid of. How could you have assumed that he would have been insulted by your gift?

“Anything from you is something to be treasured.” He mumbled to you, giving you another kiss on your lips.

Patreon

#monster romance #monster x female #monster x you #orc romance #monster x human #monster x reader #orc fiction #monster lover #orc x reader #orc boyfriend #i'll probably be changing up my content now #i'm a little worried about burn out #so it will be vampires for a a little while #i want to produce good quality work #for all of you #i also have an orc romance book in the works #idk when it will be out

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rottencherrypie · 1 month ago

Text

R-18+; Harder, Better, Faster...

Summary - Comparing three dwarves to your exes...

Warnings - Smut, language, male genitalia, mention of bodily fluids, creampie, rough sex, lowkey breeding kink (maybe?), slight dom themes (Thorin and Fili)

Pronouns & POVs - None, third-person.

Pairings - Thorin x Reader, Fili x Reader, Kili x Reader

Word Count - 2,500+

A/N - I am once again stumped on the full smut I am writing and was listening to music when "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" by Daft Punk came on which for some reason sparked this idea. (I have had this sitting in my drafts for far too long.) Pure smut under the cut!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

- thorin

Harder. When it came to your past lovers, there always seemed to be something lacking when it came to more intimate activities. It was not that your past lovers were awful, but they never seemed to get you to the finish line, so you began handing out fake trophies.

It was hard to explain your desires. It was not that your previous lovers treated you poorly in or out of the bedroom; they treated you as if you were a fragile flower in and out of the bedroom, and that was the issue.

It was not an issue outside the bedroom: you loved being doted upon, having your every wish and command acted upon without question. Yet, when it came to inside the sheets -- you preferred it hard. It was simple, the easiest thing to grasp in your mind, but your previous lovers seemed to absorb the information as well as glass absorbs water; it doesn't.

It appeared hopeless until you had met Thorin.

The journey to the Misty Mountains had been treacherous. One that had left all members littered with new bumps and bruises, as well as new scars that littered their bodies alongside bruised, potentially even fractured, bones.

Throughout the journey, the company of dwarves experienced several hard struggles. Ones that took them many hours, if not days, to resolve; their nights often spent pondering as they gazed upon the stars. Yet, the stars held no answers regarding the hardest hassle they had dealt with: convincing you to accept aid.

It was not if you were neglecting yourself; you accepted food and medical aid when needed, yet you refused items the company of dwarves attempted to gift you -- such as new clothes and boots. You had been perfectly fine repairing your clothes when you had a moment. After all, the cloak you journeyed with had covered any tears within your outfit, so it was not as if the world could see the flesh the cloth once shielded.

You reminded yourself that you had to travel light: extra luggage meant extra weight, which meant extra aches and pains from lugging around said weight all day. Yet, there had been the odd occasion upon your travels where an item had caught your eye.

You had managed to stay strong until you passed it. The most beautiful pair of boots you had yet to see, in a color you adored and a style you knew was comfortable for travel: they looked perfect. You could not help but approach the stall, making small talk with the woman who ran it as you examined the boots from afar; they even appeared to be your size!

It appeared to be too good to be true, and that it was. You had been a few coins short of purchasing them, and attempting to barter the boots down to what you had was out of the question -- you needed the coins to pay for your next meal.

"How much?" The dwarven king asked from beside you, his sharp sapphire gaze glued upon the same boots. The suddenness of his deep voice startled you as you were quick to look at him, as he stood there with his arms crossed at his chest, leaning back slightly, a stance he often did while in thought.

"How much for the boots?" The dwarf repeated the question in a low and serious tone as his gaze rose from the boots to the seller. The seller calmly restated the price for the item in question, earning an amused "That's all?" from the dwarven king as he handed over the payment without hesitation.

Yet, the boots did not remain in the dwarven king's hands for long, as they quickly fell into your grasp as he thrust them into your arms.

"Hurry up." The command left his thin lips in a low tone as the heat of his gaze examined your body from head to toe. "We need to find a tailor; you're practically in rags." The words became distant, accompanied by the tap of his boots against the creaking wooden dock. A creaking almost as hard as when the frame of your bed shakes as he pleasures you.

The sharp thump of the bedframe bouncing against the wall danced throughout the air, accompanied by the melody of your moans as the dwarven king continued to drive his hips into yours. Each inch of his hardness pounded into you, the squelching click of skin slapping against one another growing as loud in the air as the bedframe against the wall.

His hands would tightly grasp upon your legs, your legs spread upon his shoulders, new boots upon your feet as they bounced slightly against his back with every hard thrust of the king's hips. His gaze upon you would be lustful as a smirk spread upon his thin lips.

"That's it." He'd breathe, his breath caressing your face as he leaned down, pushing you further into the bed and pushing further into you, allowing every inch of his cock to have a chance inside of you before sliding out. "Give me every inch of you. Show me why I spoil you." He'd purr, lips hovering a breath above yours as his eyes remained locked onto yours.

His harsh gaze would urge you further into submission, to give into the hardness of his thrusts and the hardness of his cock.

A hardness that left you utterly entranced: how it stretched your inner walls perfectly, carving itself deep into your center as the rhythmic pulsations of his lust lulled you closer to the brink of release.

The dwarven king was far harder in many ways compared to your past lovers, yet it was a hardness you craved.

──────

- fili

Better. The terms of your love life had always been lackluster. The lovers of your past rarely managed to wow you, and upon the rare occasion that they managed to, it always appeared to come with terms and conditions.

It never felt as if you were the priority, yet you sat idly by for many years as you patiently awaited with the hope that a lover would make you feel special, wanted, and better than any had before. And, as if an answer to your nights of blandness, Fili came into your life.

And he was better.

The moment you had met, the golden-haired prince had whisked you off your feet. It was not through his title, nor was it through lavish gifts or promises that would be broken, no. He listened.

You had been enthusiastically speaking of a weapon you had found upon your travels, going into depths about the elaborate carvings upon it and what origins you had suspected it to be. You had been raving about this weapon for many paths now, excitedly showing whoever would listen.

"And, best of all, I haven't needed to--" The words had stalled in your mouth as you noticed how the dwarven company rolled their eyes at your rambling. A heat began to spread beneath the flesh of your face as your lips shut suddenly, and the warmth of embarrassment began to spread from the center of your chest as your gaze fell.

"Haven't needed to what?" A familiar voice had spoken, one deep and full of warmth. "I am listening. And I would like to see this magnificent weapon." The golden-haired prince spoke, a smile upon his thin lips as your gaze lifted from the ground and onto him.

The warmth within your chest had quickly eased from the uncomfortable sensation it felt moments prior, as the speed at which your heart raced now turned to various fluttering as your gemstone-colored eyes locked with his ocean-colored pair.

You had felt the harshness of his calloused palm upon the back of your hand, gently rotating your hand to fit into his before he applied a soft pressure upon it, a reassuring squeeze as the smile upon his thin lips softened.

"Go on." A phrase the golden-haired prince had used for various events. The most frequent was not in comfort, though it always made you feel better when he spoke it while he was deep inside you.

The thickness of his manhood would stretch out your inner walls, expanding them to mold perfectly around his throbbing cock, feeling the pulsation of his heartbeat, his arousal, within one of the most sensitive parts of him.

His thrusts would be deep and slow, allowing you to feel every inch of his throbbing length as his eyes scanned your face. It was as if you were a novel, and he was reading you, jotting down mental notes of what made you gasp in pleasure and what made you hiss in pain.

The bed would creak rhythmically, the headboard hitting against the wall, creating a beat that danced alongside the melody of your moans.

"That's it." His tone would be full of praise as he stroked your cheek; the sensation of his calloused thumb brushing against the flesh of your cheek would send a wave of pleasure down your body. "Let me hear how good it feels." The heat of his breath caresses your face as he leans closer to you, causing his thrusts to deepen as he does so: ensuring his cock reaches the most sensitive and pleasurable spots within your core.

That was what you adored about Fili; it wasn't only his pleasure he did this for, but your pleasure as well.

Your lips would entwine with his, your moans muffled against his thin lips as he continued the same pleasurable pace. The faint taste of ale lingered upon his lips, becoming more apparent as you parted your lips, giving his tongue access to yours.

Tongues entwined in a sloppy dance, breaths becoming uneven and deepened until you both parted. Lungs expanded vastly as the pair of you gasped for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips as your gazes met.

"I love every sound you make, every noise that escapes your beautiful lips." Fili would breathe, his lips curved into a lopsided grin as his hips continued to jut against yours, ensuring that the familiar tingle of pleasure would roam throughout your body before he would even recognize the knot within his abdomen. That your hands would grasp at the sheets of the bed, or your nails would claw down his toned back before he would allow his grip to tighten upon the flesh of your hips.

That your lips would be stuck open as a slew of moans fell from them before he uttered a single curse of pleasure. That the sweet nectar of your being would cascade upon your skin before he allowed his seed to paint your sensitive inner walls, or allow it to coat the flesh of your abdomen.

He cared for your pleasure as much as he cared for you. He was simply better.

──────

- kili

Faster. The speed at which your love life progressed had always been slow. The lovers of your past seemed to enjoy silly games instead of commitment, and for the rare few who desired something more -- they seemed to move even slower.

It felt drawn out. It felt as if your previous lovers had held a meeting on how to waste your time, yet you held onto faith that you would find a lover who wanted to belong to you as much as you wished to belong to them.

And though your heart had yearned for a faster pace in terms of romance, you were not prepared for the fast dwarven prince.

The night air nipped at the flesh of your skin, and the soft crackling of the campfire danced alongside the sounds of the woods and your dwarven companions. Some of your companions were off eating their stew, a mix of mushrooms and other things they had managed to forage within the woods, though you'd never question where they found the meat or spices that went into it.

The low chatter of their voices nearly muffled the gentle sounds of the fire; the soft sway of its light and warmth reminded you of its presence as your gaze remained glued to the stars above. It was a brief moment of peace within the sea of chaos that had become your life, and though you had lost the comforts of home, the dwarven prince who sat beside you had found those comforts within you.

The sound of your voice, the scent of your skin, the light that shimmered within your eyes; you became his home on the road. Yet, he had been too nervous to say anything until that night.

Either overcome with confidence or immense stupidity, the dwarven prince could not help but blurt out the three words that had been swirling around his mind since the moment he laid eyes upon you.

"I love you." His voice echoed throughout the makeshift campsite, his amber gaze glued upon your face, and a sea of laughter erupted from his fellow companions. The heat of his cheeks burned as bright as the fire before him, yet he did not back down as your sparkling gaze met his. "Y/N, I love you." He repeated, his confident voice wavering as the words left his lips. A wavering you would hear in far more intimate events.

The rapid thumps of the bedframe bouncing against the wooden wall echoed throughout the not-so-silent room. The sounds of the bed were so close together in pace that a thump barely had enough time to become an audible sound before another came in its place, masking the previous one as fast as it was made.

His cock raced within you, desperately stretching out the inner walls of your core, as his face was buried within the crook of your neck. The heat of his short, quick breaths tickled the side of your neck as he inhaled your scent.

"So good." The words wavered in pleasure upon his lips, hanging upon the tip of his tongue before escaping in more of a whimper than a moan. "You feel so good." His words would become a full whine of pleasure as he held onto you.

His hands would be tightly clenching at your arms, grasping so tightly that his nails would begin to dig into your skin. A delicious twinge of pain and pleasure flooded your sensations as his cock would continue to rapidly carve itself deep inside you.

His breaths would come out as quickly as his movements, each harsh thrust a silent devotion of his love, his neediness for you. His head would remain buried in the crook of your neck, allowing his whimpers to vibrate against the exposed skin as the burn within his hips grew hotter.

His body moved like a well-oiled machine, never ceasing in action as it brought you closer and closer to the brink of release. And as fast as you were thrown overboard, drowning in the sea of pleasure, the dwarven prince dived in after you.

He was far faster than your exes, yet he always ensured you came first in all scenarios.

──────

Want to read one part at a time? Read separately on AO3

Thorin, Fili, Kili

Want to read it as a book? Read separately on Wattpad

Thorin, Fili, Kili

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

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dcandmarvelimagines · 3 months ago

Text

sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 3)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 3.8k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, canon typical violence (mostly all off screen), descriptions of dead/dismembered bodies, reader is injured (leg injury and slapped), the kidnapper emotionally manipulates the reader, on page murder. Author's note: Thank you so much for all the support it's been crazy!!! This chapter is a bit intense, I'm not going to lie. We just need to hold hands and get through this. But I swear, the next part of this will be sooo tooth rottingly sweet. It's so long that I actually had to make this five parts lmao. I could not stop with the comfort and softness. ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know. If I forgot someone I'm so sorry!!): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o @thedevilsaysthings @jaeyuni @redmitsuru5 @jeffs77 @spideybv28 @trumanbluee @jennapearce13 @chxrrybomb22 @7soulstars @what-the-jams @lostinheavensworld @purplestars222 @movieat @whiskeyghoul @paintballkid711 @unmotivated-artist164 @sun7lowxr @minniekitties @ceobuggy @amararoseblog @harryshousewhore

The first thing I felt was rough rope as it scraped against my skin. I worked my eyes open, the task feeling too great. I was strapped to an old chair. Nausea swirled in my head as I tried to take in my surroundings. It was a plain, nondescript gray room. The walls were concrete. In the middle of the room, directly in front of me, was a large iron door. It looked like something you would find in a bomb shelter. Around my chair were shafts of moonlight provided by a skylight above. There was a bite in the air that made me shiver. My breathing was uneven as I weakly struggled against the ropes.

“I see you’re awake. Wonderful.” The man with ice cold eyes appeared from the corner of my vision, a folder in his hand. “I don’t want to waste either of our time.” He lugged a metal chair in front of me and I cringed at the horrible screech as it echoed around the room. “Where is Wade Wilson and Logan Howlett?” I blinked, my brain foggy.

“I don't know who those people are.” The man tsked. There was a flash of anger across his calm face before it was replaced by cool indifference.

“Bullshit, we see you coming in and out of their apartment.” My stomach churned, either from whatever they shot me with or from the creeping anxiety.

“Oh you mean Al’s roommates? I work for social services for her. I don’t know anything about them.” The man grinned. It was vicious and predatory.

“You are a bad liar.”He sat on the chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Why do we have photos of you with both men? What? One not enough for you?” He flicked open the folder and pulled out two pictures. One was of Logan and I on the fire escape. It had been captured at the perfect moment to have clear shots of our profiles in it. The other was of Wade and I at the bar. No, not just the bar, the bathroom. I was half exposed, Wade’s face against my bare breast. The woman who interrupted us had worked for him. Now I was actually going to throw up. I had been followed for months at this point. “Now, I’m going to ask again. Where are they?”

“They don’t tell me about their jobs, I swear. Please just let me go.” The man shook his head with a hum, sounding like a disappointed teacher, sliding the photos back into the folder.

“I’ll leave you here for a couple days, see if that jogs your memory.” Days?

“Wait no! Please!” But he had already disappeared through the metal door. In the doorway, I saw a woman waiting. I blinked in shock. The woman, the one from the dingy bar bathroom. She was the one who had taken our picture. My kidnapper nodded at her before the heavy door thudded shut. Days did pass, the skylight allowing me to count by the motion of the sun. My body soon grew stiff and achy as I sat on the chair. I wanted to sleep, anything to pass the time, but I wasn’t able to calm my mind enough. The shadow of the woman never moved from the small window. I could feel her watching me, my arm hair standing up at the feeling. To distract myself, I thought of Wade and Logan, of them bursting in here and rescuing me in a blaze of glory. But as the days bled into one another, hope started to fade.

The man reappeared after four days. He removed the chair from in front of me, opting to just stand. “Have you thought about your answer?”

“I don’t know where they are.” It was the truth. They didn’t give me any information about their jobs. They could be on Everest for all I knew.

“I don’t believe you!” He began to pace, wearing a line into the concrete floor.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me, it’s the truth.” He rushed at me suddenly, fingers digging brutally into my cheeks as he gripped me. My fists clenched as I forced myself not to jerk away.

“Stop bullshitting me,” his voice was a venomous hiss. “Tell me now.”

“Do you not understand me?” My voice had lowered too, anger boiling inside me. “Get it through your fucking head that I. Don’t. Know. You are wasting your time. Let me go. Do it before they find me here. They’ll kill you before you can even try to fight back.”

“Oh is that right?” I knew he was toying with me, but I fell stupidly into his trap anyways. I was angry and tired and so fucking scared. My brain was barely functioning.

“Wade’s gonna make a necklace of your intestines.”

The slap made a stomach churning crack. My mouth filled instantly with blood from my split lip. My cheek throbbed in the aftershocks. Tears pooled and trickled down my pulsating cheek. Another thunderous slap caught my other side. Blood splattered across my sweats. It was so hot, it practically burned through to my skin.

“What a shame.” His hand wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back, neck stretched too far. The warm blood rushed down my throat and I gagged. “You had such a pretty face. I see why those two kept you around. It’s so nice to have some stress relief. But it seems that they’ve moved on to a better piece of meat now.” He winced when I spat at him, the saliva and blood sticking to his cheek. He touched it like he couldn’t believe it, rubbing it between his index finger and thumb.

“When they get here they’re gonna eat you fucking alive!!” His face twisted in rage. His grip tore at my hair as he ripped my head to the side. Something pricked my neck, cool liquid rushing through my veins. My vision began to fog, body feeling too dense, brain going fuzzy.

“Sleep well.”

It had been days.

I watched the sun beams make their slow progression across the dusty floor, only to be replaced by the darkness of night. My face still stung and my lip kept dripping blood. I called to the woman who was still standing there, hoping that she would take mercy and help me. But I might as well have been shouting at the wall. No one came. No one helped. All I could do was wallow in my pain and loneliness. Maybe they had really abandoned me. What was I to them anyways? Exactly what he said, stress relief. Nothing more than a convenient body. Something to pass the time. If I was worth anything, they would have been here.

My eyes had just slipped shut, head lolling to my shoulder, when the door opened. “Good morning!” It was him. My shoulders slumped, hoping I could just ignore him, that he was just some hallucination. “Your saviors haven’t appeared. So we have come up with a solution.” I opened my bleary eyes when I heard the chair in front of me creak. He clutched my phone in one hand and a wickedly sharp knife in the other. He swiped my phone open before clicking on the screen. I could hear ringing and then someone picked it up on the second one. My eyes were fixated on the knife as he flipped it, catching the hilt each time.

“Baby cakes?! Where are you? What happened?” Wade’s voice was horrifyingly panicked.

“Aw baby cakes?” The tip of his knife traced my cheekbone and I held my breath, hoping I wouldn't flinch and cut myself. “What a cute name.”

“It’s not as cute when you say it,” I grumbled. My voice was thick through my swollen lip.

“What happened? Why do you sound like you have cotton in your mouth?” The man pinched my busted lip, fresh blood bursting forward, and I whined in pain. My nails bit into my palms. Over the line, I heard a growl, letting me know Logan was also listening in.

“Sometimes I just don’t know how to handle myself around such a pretty lady.” Wade let off a string of choice swears and Logan snarled. “She has such a naughty mouth. I see why you keep her around. But it seems you’ve left her for good, huh? She won’t be too pretty once I’m done with her.”

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her,” Logan was spitting in rage. “If you do I swear I’ll rip that worm you call a dick and ram it down your throat.” I smiled despite myself, something warm unfurling in my chest. They were still trying to find me. After over a week, they were still hunting.

“I told you,” I hissed, “they are going to eat you alive.”

There was a split moment where I knew I had fucked up. His eyes snapped to me, lips pulled back in a horrifying smile.

Then the knife flashed.

The pain in my leg was indescribable. I thrashed, desperate to escape the blade stuck through my thigh. I knew I was screaming but I couldn’t hear it over the pounding in my ears. Fresh blood from my lip and tears traveled down my chin. More blood pooled under my thigh, soaking into my ruined pants. I was only faintly aware that others were shouting and someone was laughing.

His hand hammered the knife in deeper, the wood seat cracking under me, the hilt flush with my leg. I wailed, pleading sobs of mercy clogging my throat. “Stop moving so much.” There was more shouting. My head knocked against the back of my chair. The corners of my vision grew dark. “Do you want to say goodbye? Who knows if you’ll make it to see them.” All I could do was weakly whimper. “She seems preoccupied. I’ll see you two soon.” He tapped my face, the force just under another slap. “You sound so nice screaming. Maybe I will actually keep you around.”

He left me like this, bleeding, trembling, pinned to the chair like a piece of meat. More days passed and the bleeding didn’t stop. It wasn’t normal. I should have died like this. Cold was lingering on my skin and small shivers racked my body. My bare feet had long gone numb. Someone, my foggy vision only registered them as a blob of white, entered the room. They carefully removed the knife and then eased me out of my pants. They methodically stitched my skin together, the haze of shock covered the pain of the stitches. Once a thick white bandage covered the wound, they turned and left.

On the fourteenth day, I heard shouting. Then gunshots. My head jerked from where I had been sleeping. Panic spiked. I needed to run. “Fuck,” I mumbled, looking around desperately for something, anything, to save me. The room was mostly bare besides a table against the opposite wall. Then I saw it.

The knife.

I tried to wiggle closer, but failed to move an inch. “Fuck,” I repeated, desperate now. More shouting and gunshots, closer this time. The more I fidgeted, the more of the seat fell away from under me. Think think think. I continued to sway, lifting the chair onto its sides before it cracked against the floor as it fell. Then I heard a splinter in one of the legs. I took a breath to steel myself before I tipped myself completely over. I nearly sobbed in relief when the chair leg connected to my uninjured leg was the one that snapped off. I awkwardly propelled myself across the scratchy ground, the exposed skin on my left side becoming ragged. The rope on my left wrist began to fray, just enough that when I got to the table, I was able to yank my hand off and reach blindly for the knife. The blade caught my palm but I gripped it tightly, ignoring the bite of pain.

I made quick work of my other binds, the knife almost slipping from my wet grip, and rose to my freezing feet. My injured leg protested instantly, nearly giving out when I put weight down. But I had to run, had to escape. I limped toward the door, and looked through the small window. I couldn’t see anyone, but I heard screaming. I had to yank hard on the door to get it open. There was a dead end to the right and a long twisty hallway to my left. I took a few tentative steps out. When no alarm sounded, I sprinted.

The stitches in my thigh ripped right away. I couldn’t think about the pain. Only escape. I clutched my stolen knife close and ducked into any small nook I could when I heard people thundering by. I should have followed them, maybe found an exit, but the squelching sounds of limbs being severed launched me forward. I turned left, left, right, middle at a fork, up a flight of stairs. I was hopelessly lost but all I could think of was escape, running on pure instinct to find it.

The smell of blood hit me first as I turned a corner. Body parts were strewn across the wide room. Intestines dangled from the ceiling beams. Heads, half crushed, lolled away from their torsos. I wretched, nothing came up besides bile. But I could see outside through large bay windows. My legs were like water under me as I moved to the door. I stepped on an eyeball, the firm jelly bursting between my toes. Just keep going. My head was swimming, nausea from the gore around me mingling with the searing pain in my leg.

I collapsed. I could barely feel the pain as my hands slammed down on broken glass. Then I heard two men’s voices. I scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes, jamming my sore body into the smallest crack I could find. “I know she’s in here, can smell her.” My knuckles turned white around the knife. My breath was weak, I had lost too much blood.

“Could you maybe sound less like a pervy vampire?” I heard boots lightly hitting the floor as they spread out. “Do you think this scared her?” He sounded timid, maybe even a little afraid. The first man laughed.

“What do you think? You pulled this guy’s entire spine out! Of course she’s fucking scared!” The shout made me jump, huddling deeper into my hiding spot. “Fucking idiot.” A pair of red boots passed my hiding spot, then planted back in front of me. I sucked in a breath as fear rippled through me. My eyes closed tight.

“Hey,” the voice was soft, barely above a whisper. “There you are.” I was so on edge, so terrified, that the hand with the knife whipped out on pure impulse. The tip pushed through something firm, before that gave way to softness. It sunk deep, blood rapidly flowing over my hand. I couldn’t open my eyes. I had attacked someone and they were bleeding all over me. My victim barely made a noise when I stabbed them.

“You can let go of the knife, you're okay.” A hand caressed my face and my teeth sunk into the leather glove, jaw latched tight. I felt like a cornered animal, ready to tear into anything that came near. “Sweetheart,” the name, the voice, pulled me back. I released the hand and opened my blurry eyes. Logan and Wade were squatted down in front of me. Their faces were covered but I recognized the suits.

My knife was stuck through Wade’s neck.

“Wade,” my voice shattered, tears welling. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see it was you.” He pulled the blade out with a little grunt. There was a hole straight through his throat. My stomach churned again but I held it back. The muscles and tendons laced together rapidly before the skin closed over it completely.

“Don’t apologize. I said the height of romance was stabbing, didn't I?” Logan reached out again and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. A frown drew down his lips when he saw the bruises on my cheeks. “What do you say we get you out of here, yeah? I don’t think extreme violence is really your scene.”

Logan was examining my leg the best he could without touching me. I could hear him sniffing as he leaned closer. “We need to take her to a doctor. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“They stitched me up but I think all of them have ripped now.” My head felt so heavy. “My fingers are cold…is that normal?”

“We have to carry you out, is that okay?” As Logan asked, Wade was already reaching for me. He scooped me into his arms and clutched me tight to him. I hissed as my thigh stretched, head falling heavily against Wade’s chest. Logan walked beside us and I reached blindly for his hand. He gave it a small kiss, but didn’t hold it.

After two weeks, I was safe.

I was safe.

But we had to get out of this building first. Logan walked a head to peer down corners before signaling we could move forward. Wade moved slowly, keeping a firm hold on me. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet. I felt limp and weak in his arms, ready to sink into sleep as soon as I could. To keep myself conscious, I tried to remember all our turns, but it felt like there was an impossible amount. There was a round of clicking and the shuffle of feet as we rounded a corner.

“Ah shit.”

“Fuck.”

My sore eyes opened to find rows and rows of armed men. In front of them was him. There was a cruel smile on his face as he took me in. The woman was tucked behind him, her eyes pinned on me. “I see you pulled your stitches. You should have waited for me to get you instead of trying to run off on your own.” Logan snarled as his claws extended.

“Listen here bub. I don’t make idle threats. So best believe I’m going to follow through with skinning you alive.” Wade moved suddenly, his back to the men. He moved far quicker than he had before. I heard men readjusting their guns, their anxiousness clear.

“And where are you going Mister Wilson?”

“First off, Mister Wilson is my father.” I groaned as Wade placed me on the hard concrete floor, safely tucked behind a stack of boxes. He stood, “you can call me Marvel Jesus.” I watched with an unfocused gaze as his hand snapped open a holster and handed me the gun that it held. “Just dropping off special cargo.” I took it, my hands shook at the light weight. There was a flash of gold along the black metal but my hazy brain couldn’t make out the text. I carefully tucked it under my leg to hide it from view. Once that was done, Wade traveled back to Logan’s side. “What do you say darling?”

“Let’s fucking go.” My hands slapped over my ears at the thunderous noise of all those guns firing. I was desperate to drown out the screams, the wet slap of limbs falling to the floor. My first instinct was to take deep, calming breaths, but my nose was too full of the scent of iron. The time stretched, the fight going for hours.

Just as a sense of shaky calm fell over me, hands grabbed me. I recoiled instantly. “Don’t be difficult.” It was him. He was trying to pick me up, trying to move me. But my body was dead weight and he struggled to lift me. Something cool pressed under my thigh.

Now don’t be afraid of it. If you show fear around guns, you’ll end up shooting yourself in the foot.

Okay, see this little switch? No, not me you insatiable minx. This. Get a feel for it. If you are ever in danger you have to know where it is right away.

He was distracted, watching something over the boxes next to me, his arms suspended in mid air. A female scream cut through the rest of the deep shouts. That rush of time, the feeling that wasn’t easy to explain, snapped. I blinked in confusion. With the man’s focus somewhere else, I put every ounce of concentration into my hands, willing them to stay still, as I lifted the gun. I found the safety and flicked it back.

Now don’t get any big action hero dreams of just pulling this trigger and letting bullets fly. It requires a lot of force, so you have to pull the hammer back first. Make sure you hold it with both hands, okay? Last thing you need is a concussion from it flying back and hitting you in the head.

My sweaty thumb slipped from the hammer. The movement seemed to catch the man’s attention. There was a split moment where neither of us moved. Then, as if in slow motion, he reached for his own gun. I raised mine and pressed the barrel to his forehead. Both of my index fingers wrapped around the trigger. I squeezed with every ounce of strength I had left.

You can’t look away, pumpkin.

You gotta make sure anyone who is trying to hurt you is dead.

I didn’t.

One second his head was there, eyes bulging in fear. The next, just a cloud of red remained. Squishy chunks of brain, shards of skull, and a splatter of blood went everywhere. It was in my mouth, in my hair, across my bare legs. All sound died and was replaced by a dull ringing. His body slumped before it fell. I stared at it, dark red spluttering from the exposed veins of his neck, the liquid pooling on the floor. The concrete was quick to drink it up. Logan was the first to appear at my feet. He took me in, his face unreadable under his mask. I saw his mouth move but it was jumbled, words half broken. I shook my head, tapping my ears. It was like a dial slowly moving up on the radio. The sound of bullet casings hitting the ground, screams of pain, the thud of bodies.

“You alright?” Logan sounded panicked, his loud gruff voice cutting through the renewed sound. I nodded. “We’ll get you out of here, don’t worry sweetheart.” I nodded again. There was one last shout of agony before silence fell again. Logan maneuvered the dead man off me, throwing the body carelessly away. He slipped the gun from my sticky hands before hoisting me into his arms. I buried my face in his neck, taking in his scent. Sweet, earthy, the tang of sweat.

“We got you. I got you, sweetheart. Always will.”

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cold-kitty · 7 months ago

Note

Hello! Can we please get more Yan!Naga? Maybe after reader is healed and reader is trying to leave?

Dear lord I'm praying for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Contains: kidnapping, abuse (just really really bad), terror, regret, angsty(?), non-human yandere.

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Yan!Naga who expected it honestly. he knew you were scared of him, so he saw it coming.

Yan!Naga who prepared for this, he had a whole plan ready. he gave you a double dosage of affection after it, trying to give you every reason to stay.

but... you try again?

Yan!Naga who is heartbroken. he doesn't know what to do. i did everything right! everything and he still doesn't love me... *sniffle*

Yan!Naga who definitely cries. like, bawling and sobbing. he knows he can't waste time getting to you, but it's so hard to get up for him.

Yan!Naga who lugs himself off the bed - still sniffling - and bursts out of the cabin.

Yan!Naga who doesn't find you as quickly as the first time, but he does nonetheless.

Yan!Naga who tackles you, full on body slamming you into the ground and knocking the air out of your lungs.

Yan!Naga who buries his face into your stomach, crying. why!? i'm really trying, really really trying! *wailing*

Yan!Naga whose heart only breaks more as you try to pull away, and he knows he has to do something.

you couldn't move when you were injured, you had to stay. you had to.

Yan!Naga who cries as he moves down your body, his tail keeping you tight in place. i'm sorry! i'm so sorry but i need to do this, i need you to stay!

Yan!Naga who grabs your ankle, cradling it like a baby. but that doesn't last long before-

CRUNCH

oh. oh no no no no no no no no no no no no no that was worse than it was supposed to be...

Yan!Naga who wails, his body shaking. he looks so heartbroken, so disgustingly desperate.

Yan!Naga who purposely had his tail in your mouth, muffling your scream.

Yan!Naga who only meant to twist your ankle, not to have a bone sticking out of your leg. i-i can fix it! please, PLEASE DON'T HATE ME!

Yan!Naga who keeps you silenced, letting you bite down on his tail as hard as you want to help with the pain. he can't even look at you right now he's so ashamed.

Yan!Naga who picks you up as gently as he possibly can, cradling you like stardust. he moves as fast as he can to get to the cabin, still sobbing his heart out.

Yan!Naga who handles the wound well, and it heals pretty good for such a thing.

Yan!Naga who had refused to go around you unless needed, ashamed.

Yan!Naga who dislikes the way you stare at him from them on, pure terror.

Yan!Naga who really tries to make things normal again - and almost succeeds - but there's always something, an underlying something that was different.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Naga is a crybaby, but this time it was reasonable. And I know what you're thinking, "how does he do that instead of twisting your ankle? he meant to!" non-human. he doesn't understand exactly how brittle your bones are.

~🐈‍⬛

#yandere x reader #yandere x male darling #yandere x you #yandere #🐈‍⬛ answers #male yandere #yandere naga

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munsonthings86 · 9 months ago

Text

sunshine

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a love-struck steve cooks you dinner for the first time

warnings: cursing, alcohol, bit of backstory, oversimplified summary, steve's parents kinda suck (when do they not), best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, soft!steve

an: i think this is my favorite thing i’ve ever written. i'm so in love with these two. i hope you all enjoy this one as much as i do. * don’t copy my work * (also pretend there's a big city near hawkins for the sake of this pls)

wc: 6.0k

“Ow!” Steve hissed, nicking his finger yet again as he made his best effort to dice pesky onions. The knife was razor-sharp as it was fresh out of its packaging, having never been used yet. Frustrated, he squeezed the band-aid he'd spent a solid ten minutes looking for, tighter on his finger, earning a harsh sting.

"Goddamned knife," he whispered, tightlipped, but as soon as the complaint left his lips he wished to yank it back in. It was the chef's knife you'd bought him along with many other thoughtful housewarming gifts to celebrate Steve moving into his first apartment. Steve had insisted that you return some of the gifts, noting that "one gift was more than he could ever ask for".

In spite of his pleas, you didn't return a single gift. Of course, you didn't. You had bought items you knew Steve would need but would ultimately forget to buy for himself. Just to name a few, you'd gotten him a trash bin for his bathroom, a record player, and the best utensil set that the rest of your Family Video paycheck could buy.

Peering at the odd assortment of household objects you'd lugged into his barren apartment with a bright smile pulling at the corners of your lips, an expression of gratitude and bewilderment claimed his face. Steve's round, chestnut-brown eyes ogled yours as you ranted and raved, explaining your thought process behind each purchase.

The record player was for nights like these. Peaceful nights indoors, simply enjoying each other's company without the tense presence of his parents who would shout for him to turn that damn music down if he even thought about letting the needle hit the groove of the record.

"Now we can play music as loud and as much as we want to," he remembered you saying, blushing at your use of the word "we". Though you two were only best friends and have been since grade school, Steve couldn't help but fantasize about a life with you. You, drowning in one of his bigger-than-you t-shirts, prancing around the apartment as you listened to some your favorite records.

He'd begun pondering on how he would rearrange the bit of furniture he had, that'd allow for space for your belongings as well, before you lured him out of his thoughts, defending the bin.

From what he gathered, you bought the garbage bin due to his burning inability to keep his bathroom clean. Steve was someone who took great care of his appearance, always well-kempt and attentive to even the smallest of details.

His bathroom did not reflect this, whatsoever. He had a bad habit of harboring empty cans and bottles of Farrah Fawcett spray that littered the already limited counter space he had in his en suite bathroom.

Steve was such a boy when it came to tidiness.

Everyone knew that about Steve, though. What they didn’t know, however, was how skilled he was in a kitchen. After being left to his lonesome whenever his parents would venture off to one of their many business trips, Steve spent his nights learning to cook after his allowance dwindled and he couldn't afford pizza delivery anymore. The second he'd clock in for his shift at Family Video, he'd make a beeline to where you stood, stocking VHS tapes, and instantly began buzzing and bustling about the new recipe he tried the night before.

You had begged him to let you come over one night to taste one of his home-cooked meals, but his response was always the same. "You can't rush perfection, sweets. But I promise, when I'm ready to grace the world with my master chef skills, you'll be the first to know."

You would roll your eyes dramatically at him but admittedly, you felt a sense of pride wash over you whenever Steve would tell you about his cooking endeavors. It may not seem like a big deal to others, but you knew how much his parents being so negligent, so often, bothered him.

Though they were never the most warm and affectionate, there seemed to be a colder chill and heavier sense of loneliness in the house when they were gone. That's why you never denied Steve whenever he'd call late at night asking if it was okay to spend the night at your house.

He always felt at home there.

Steve learning to cook for himself meant that his parents' absence was finally beginning to help him grow; no longer craving validation and tenderness from his family. He got that when he was with you. That's what the utensil set was for. A silent sign saying that though his parents weren't there, you were.

"Don't get me wrong, sunshine, I love the gift, but why's this knife so funny looking?" Steve asked, squinting his eyes at the sharp object that looked like it was from some alien universe. It had three square-like holes infiltrating the blade, and the tip came to an up-turned point that split in two. The handle was the only average looking part about it.

"That, my friend, is a cheese knife," you answered matter-of-factly, gazing at the box that had all of the included utensils neatly labeled.

"They make knives specifically for cheese?"

"Apparently, yeah," you snorted, tossing the empty box off to the side of the room with the other discarded cardboard that you made a mental note to move to the recycling bin on your way out. Steve never recycled. Bad habit he picked up from his parents, you figured.

"Well, I can't wait to use my weird new knife. Thank you. Seriously," Steve smiled softly as he watched you with those big brown eyes that voiced his gratitude and sentiment louder than his words ever could.

"The best weird chef has to have the best weird equipment. You're welcome," you grinned, toying with the loose thread dangling from your distressed band tee, as your eyes collided with Steve’s.

Looking at Steve was hard.

In the midst of quiet and almost intimate moments like these, the nerves bolting through your body screamed at you to look anywhere else, but the greed of your heart yearned for you to keep drinking in the deep chocolate pools that were Steve Harrington's eyes.

The two of you gazed at each other for another second, though it felt identical to a blissful eternity, until Steve furrowed his eyebrows after registering what you'd just uttered. "Did you just call me weird?" He asked, hand on his hip as if he's offended, though he truthfully isn't because he's positive you're infinitely weirder than he is, and he's more than willing to debate with you for hours on that topic.

"Nooo," you sang, quickly turning away to distract yourself with some unpacking that Steve had called you over to help him with, which you happily agreed to. A little extra time with him was time well spent.

"Yeah, okay," he rolled his eyes. He happily tucked away the flashy silverware he'd poached from his parent's kitchen into the darkest corner of the drawer, leaving the less flashy but much more appreciated utensils you bought him, front and center, ready to be shown off.

"Oh those? My best friend got them for me. Aren't they nice? Did you know they make knives for cheese?" He imagined himself saying, hoping he'd get the opportunity to boast about them to his guests some time soon.

Steve smiled to himself at the memory, angling the cutting board that harbored a pile of diced onions that he'd at last conquered, into a bowl, sliding them off with the blade of a knife that was a lot less odd shaped compared to his trusty cheese knife. It didn't even have to be that specific memory. It could've been any imagery of you being the effortlessly sarcastic, intelligent, breath-taking person that you were, and it would be the warm light to inevitably guide him out of whatever dark mood that dared to plague him.

Steve was so helplessly in love with you.

April 14, 1978, he could never forget the day, was particularly dreary. So dreary it made Steve begin to question why the spring time was thought to be such a radiant, pleasant season when all it ever did was bring rain and provoke people with allergies. Steve slammed his blaring alarm off with a groan, never bothering to pry open his tired eyes.

The sky was dark and dreadful, concealing the golden rays of the sun he yearned to see. As he trudged through the house, reluctantly gearing himself up for yet another torturous day of middle school, Steve silently prayed for some unorthodox happenstance that would call for the canceling of school.

But much to his dismay, that wasn't the case.

When the bell pierced through the classroom speakers, alerting the beginning of Steve's favorite class, P.E., he rushed to the locker room, jumping into his gym uniform, as he was determined to continue his unfaltering streak of dodgeball victories.

Steve was in the zone, taking out his opponents left and right as if it was nothing. If dodgeball was an Olympic sport, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he could've won multiple gold medals.

Then you came.

Sauntering into sixth grade gym class, adorning a lengthy, bright yellow dress with your hair done up, looking as anxious as can be. It was your first day at Hawkins Middle and you'd just transferred halfway into the semester, all thanks to your parents decision to move to the small town, leaving New York City and all your friends behind.

Everyone turned their curious heads to peer at you, whispering amongst each other, prompting you to clutch your books tighter to your chest as if to shield yourself. Your soft smile as you looked around at your new classmates instantly made Steve's chest and stomach warm and gooey inside, making him want nothing more than to walk up to you and convince you to be his friend. Steve hated how gossipy his classmates were, as it clearly made you uncomfortable, but he couldn't bring himself to look away either.

The way the illuminous medallion hue complimented your skin tone was nothing short of art. To him, you were the sun personified. The sun he was so eager to see.

Due to your lack of sports attire, Coach Daniels had you sit on the bleachers, watching as the other kids resumed their game of dodgeball after mumbling a "warm" welcome to you, per Coach's request.

Steve lost his first game of dodgeball that day. He just couldn't seem to focus when you were perched just a few feet away, thumbing through your withered book, looking like one of the prettiest girls he'd ever laid his adolescent eyes on. Steve, or the boy with the hella good hair as you dubbed him in your diary later on that night, was too enamored with you to be bothered by the taunts coming from his friends. He jogged over to you, offering to keep you company until fourth period began, which you happily accepted.

And ever since then, the two of you have been as thick as thieves.

"Hawkins PD, open up!" Steve recognized your muffled voice, though you deepened it, to imitate a police officer. Your signature three knocks followed, urging butterflies to erupt throughout his stomach, as he longed to see you. It couldn't have been more than twenty-four hours since the two of you had last seen each other, but even one hour without you was an hour way too long for poor Steve.

"It's open", Steve called, tossing a hand towel over his shoulder, setting the stove ablaze, planting a pot over the flame. Right on time, he thought.

"Hey, Harrington," you smiled as you struggled to enter, cradling two bottles of rosé wine and your purse in your arms, pushing the door open with the help of your hip.

"Hey, sunshine. Lemme get those for ya," Steve offered, stowing your bearings on the counter gently, while you kicked your shoes off, mumbling a "thanks".

A warm amber light casted from the ceiling of the kitchen spilled into the shadowy living room a few feet away, like a neglected can of paint. The only thing that remained un-melted by the darkness was the quiet record player, as if the generous light knew you'd be looking for it the minute you walked in.

"How was your day?" Steve smirked as he watched you rush over to the object he swore was the only reason you liked to come over, sifting through the vinyl's searching for your favorite one. What’s Love Got To Do With It by Tina Turner. Steve spotted it before you did. Absentmindedly, you responded, “Not too shabby, ya know? How was yours?”

“Yeah, it was alright.”

You crouched down to the two tier storage table, running a finger across the spines of the records, searching for your beloved song. It quickly became the song you most adored when you'd bought the tape for your Walkman a few years prior. Your days weren't complete unless you played the song at least twice, so much so that Steve found himself quietly humming the song to himself whenever he'd miss you. He even caught himself doing that dumb little finger dance you normally did whenever you listened to a song you really liked. He'd never tell you that, though.

Much to your dismay, you couldn't seem to spy that sneaky record. You dropped your hand disappointedly, faintly fearsome that it'd been misplaced. Steve's apartment wasn't huge, but it wasn't exactly tidy either. “It’s right there, sweets. To your left.” So you diverted your attention to the left. No Tina Turner. “No, your other left.”

“Here?” you pointed. Steve hummed in confirmation.

“Well, that’s not the left, Steve. That’s the right,” was your response that you punctuated with a roll of your tired eyes. Apart from knowing how to get to Skull Rock with his eyes closed, the boy had zero sense of direction. It was something you found both endearing and infuriating. It depended on the day, really.

“Potato, potahto.” Oh, Steve. Melting butter into the burning pan in front of him that he almost completely forgot about, all thanks to your beautiful presence, he began sautéing his diced onions along with some fresh garlic. "Well, speaking of 'potahtoes' you need to be cooking some, 'cause you promised me dinner tonight," you smiled tight-lipped, cocking your head at an angle.

You felt the unpleasant sensation of your stomach growling, cursing you, at the heavenly thought of food as your shift at Family Video earlier today was unforgiving to your non-existent breakfast. You fumbled with the vinyl a bit as the mouthwatering aroma of home cooking stormed your senses and Steve spoke once more. "Feisty today, aren't we?"

"Just a tad," you laughed quietly.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you but tonight we're not having potatoes. I'm making your favorite," he pointed, shuffling the pan to give it a gentle stir. He made sure to turn to face you in time to see your hopefully delighted reaction. "Alfredo?!" you spun around with a glittering grin, almost knocking over Steve's plant. A fake one, of course. A real plant was a bit too much responsibility for him.

At the nod of his head, your cheesy smile soften to a smaller, less toothy one as you watched Steve while he resumed cooking. What you failed to share with your best friend was that the last phrase you'd actually use to describe your day was "not too shabby". Besides waking up almost an entire hour past the start of your shift (Keith made sure to give you an earful about that) and everyone and their mother in town deciding to be at Family Video today, it seemed like your day was never-ending. The only thing keeping your mood from turning stink to sour was the idea of going to see Steve.

Steve was kind of magical in that way. Anger, sadness, anxiety, you name it, it was no match for Steve. Though he was no poet, he had this way with words that would never fail to make you feel so comforted. So safe. Any instance where Steve had to talk you out of whatever mental turmoil you were enduring, it felt you were being endlessly wrapped in a cozy, tight blanket, sheltering you from all the darkness.

How Steve knew you were having a shit day and needed your favorite meal along with your favorite boy? Lord knows. His ability to read you without even needing to be near you was nothing short of wizardry. But like you said. Steve was magical.

"You're the best," you proclaimed, prompting a mumbled sly remark from your chef for the evening, before the music began. Being here, along with the divine sound of Tina's ethereal voice and pasta boiling in water, was more than enough to make you feel like you were right at home, though your true address was miles away. When the time to depart would make its cursed arrival, it was never easy to leave, especially with the way Steve begged for you to stay, using those unfairly adorable puppy dog eyes that paired beautifully with his lengthy lashes, against you.

And it always worked. Well, not always. You had some degree of self-control. But more times than not, you couldn't help but to cave in to his protests. How could you resist? It was Steve.

With a satisfied grin that carved deep smile lines into his blushing cheeks, he'd tuck his sheets snug around your body, repeatedly asking you if you were comfortable enough. His bed was cloud-like, plush and doughy and his pillows smelled like his shampoo and conditioner, a hint of cologne on his comforter. It was like you were trapped in a cocoon of Steve. You wanted to tell him you were beyond comfortable, that there, in his bed, you were in just about your favorite place on Earth but, habitually, you concluded that a simple nod would suffice.

Crawling onto the empty space beside you, he made sure to face you, leaving a soft squeeze on your shoulder before humming "G'night, sunshine," closing his eyes and tucking his hands under his head. And like always, Steve was a perfect gentleman, dead set on never getting under the covers himself when you'd sleep over.

Guilt would disrupt your relaxation at the sight of the brisk night chill building little hills on his freckled arms, though you selfishly loved the way he'd cuddle up to steal some of your body heat. His plump lips would part as he drifted into a peaceful slumber, light snores and chirping crickets being your lullaby.

You hoped to have another night like that soon.

In the midst of times like those, storms of wonder and doubt raged on. Was Steve like this with everyone else? Were you being silly thinking that you and Steve could be more than friends? Being Steve's best friend for nearly a decade, you knew he wasn't exactly a prude. His King Steve era was honestly one of your least favorites. Though he reserved his usual tenderness and affection all for you, you've witnessed a whole slew of girls enter and leave Steve's life, and none of them looked like you.

You wanted nothing more than to be one of the girls he'd have leaned up against his locker, arm resting next to their head, cheeks fanned by his minty breath as he whispered honeyed words. You craved dates at the drive-in theater in Steve's burgundy 1983 BMW only to neglect the movie and end up making out, like he did with other girls.

When Steve would bring his latest lover around, desperately, you did your damnedest to bury your jealousy and and fill its grave with merriment for him, because if anyone deserved to be happy, it was Steve. But the girls at school only wanted to be with Steve because of his status and all the flashy things he could buy them.

The flashy things were dull to you, though.

You wanted to be with Steve because you wanted to hold his hand and press soft kisses to his cheek. To hug him a little tighter and little longer than a best friend normally would. To run your fingers through his fluffy hair whenever he would grow stressed because you knew it calmed him down. To make him breakfast in bed when he was sick and even when he wasn't. To love him your fullest potential.

But you had to settle for this. Calves tucked under your thighs with a blanket draped over your legs as you stared off into space, longing for someone you thought you couldn't have, not knowing he was stealing glances of you wondering what was running through your pretty little head.

Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, holding your head up, your lips were downturned in a pout, eyebrows pulled together as you studied the throw pillow a few inches away from you. A little pillow can't be that interesting, something has to be bothering you, he thought. He was unapologetically curious to know if pressing his lips against your own would make that frown melt into that sweet smirk you usually had.

Steve hated when you were unhappy. It made his mind race. Did someone say something to you? Did someone do something to you? Did you eat today? How was your shift? Why did you lie when you said your day "wasn't too shabby"? Obviously it was shabby. Look at your face. That tired and troubled, cute little face. What can he do to fix it? You were his sunshine, you deserved to be happy, always.

Giving the pot a final stir and turning the flame off, Steve carelessly tossed the grease-stained hand towel flopped over his shoulder, down by the sink, strolling over to where he'd earlier set down the two bottles of wine. White Zinfandel. Neither you or Steve were wine connoisseurs, but when you called Nancy panicking about how extensive the selection at the liquor store was, she swore by it.

Balancing two glasses and a single bottle of the rose-tinted alcohol, Steve took an extra glance at your face, deciding to scoop up the second bottle into his arms. By the looks of it, it was gonna be one of those nights.

You tried to hide your smile as you noticed he was coming over, a slight grin on his face as he set the glasses down. You and him both knew he was only coming to cause trouble. He set the delicate haul down on to the thrifted wooden coffee table in front of you, slipping you one of those comforting 'Steve smiles' he usually did.

Like the forgotten towel, he threw himself down on the couch next to you, warm hand having a much softer landing on the plush of your thigh; a familiar and welcomed touch. Habitually, you curled up closer to him, no longer able to hide your smile.

"Why so glum, chum?" He tilted his chin down, slightly poking his bottom lip out, as he looked at you through batting eyelashes.

Laughing through your nose and subsequently parading a grin that displayed nothing but teeth and hollow happiness, you remarked, "What do you mean? Don't you see me smiling?"

You were fooling absolutely no one. Steve knew you were sad. And, goddamn it, he was gonna get it out of you.

"You know exactly what I mean, you weren't smiling just a few seconds ago until I came over. You're welcome, by the way, I'm flattered that I have such an effect on you," he smirked, placing a hand on his chest in gratitude.

"Okay, now I'm glum again," you roll your eyes at his not-so discreet cockiness. You hid your face in your hands, resting your forehead on Steve's shoulder. It was hard with muscle, but soft with tenderness and safety. "I was smiling at the wine, for your information."

The palm of your hand that pressed against your face muffled your words, but Steve could still understand what you said, it was evident in the way your tone was laced with satire.

"Ah, yes, that makes way more sense" Steve replied, monotone. His thumb began coasting along your skin as he urged you, "Alright, jokes aside. How are you really feeling?"

Hoisting your head up, you almost answered before he continued, "And don't give me that 'not too shabby' crap 'cause that frown you had going on earlier already snitched on ya."

When the hell did he get so observant? Steve was no idiot, but sometimes things needed to be spelled out for him. But come to think of it, you never had to spell things out for Steve whenever it came to you. He just always had a way of knowing.

"I don't know, Steve. Honestly. Some days are just a bit tougher than others. Today was one of those days," you murmured, avoiding the attentive gaze he was burning into your shifty eyes.

He slowly nodded as he processed your words, head falling on top of yours as you again found comfort on his shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut as you began mimicking the affection he was giving you on your thigh, rubbing his arm through the creamy cotton material of his crewneck. You hadn't seen it before. This one was new. So were the jeans he'd paired with it.

"Why're you dressed so nice, Harrington?"

He laughed more to himself than to you. "Well, the food can't be the only thing that looks good, you know? Wanted to look nice too. It's our first dinner together, after all," he mumbled the last bit.

Steve felt the skin around your eyes tighten against his shoulder as your eyebrows scrunched together. "We've had dinner together before, though."

"This one's different," he replied, almost instantly. You'd hoped Steve's eyes were still closed so that he wouldn't see the bashfulness you were weathering, plucking the corners of your lips into a soft smile.

A silence fell between the two of you. Not unusual. Not awkward. Never unusual or awkward. There was a mutual cherishment of moments like these. Shamelessly invading each other's personal space on the couch as if it was made to only fit one person, music playing lowly the distance, but preferring to listen to the sound of the other's breathing.

"How can I make you feel better, sunshine?" Steve questioned, voice still hushed. The volume of your voice wasn't much louder as you responded, thoughtlessly, "You don't have to ask me that. You make me feel better without even trying."

"Oh yeah?" He craned his neck so that his head was impossibly closer to yours, awaiting your confirmation. Steve knew that you enjoyed his company, as he did yours, but he was only joking earlier when he gushed about having such an effect on you. It was now his turn to hide his blush, when you hum, nodding your head fervently.

These were the warm moments that confused you so much more than any subject in school ever did. And unbeknownst to you, it messed with Steve's head too. He'd never been this close with anyone before. Especially not with any of his "girlfriends" in the past. Sure, they'd cuddle and talk about their feelings. But it never felt the way it does with you. Steve was in love with you. It was hopeless.

And he had to make it known. Soon. If not, he swore he'd explode.

"Ready to eat?"

"Mhm," you buzzed, untangling yourself from the envelop of Steve. As he pressed his knuckles into the sofa, willing himself up, you reached for the bottle of wine and a glass, but your hand only made it so far until it felt the sting of a petty swipe from the boy next to you. "Ah ah, missy, dinner first. Lord knows how many hours its been since you last ate."

You snorted, "Relax, it hasn't been that long."

"Oh yeah? When was the last time?" He looked at you with raised eyebrows and an expression that said he already knew your answer was going to be ridiculous. And if there was anything you learned tonight, it was that Steve was highly skilled at knowing when you were lying, so instead, you left him with a goofy smile and giggle that told him he was absolutely right in his assumption.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the spot where he sat went cold as he left to the kitchen, fixing two plates for the both of you. You moved the drinks and glasses over to the dining table, using a nearby lighter to ignite the accompanying lavender and vanilla scented candles. Tina Turner's vinyl was replaced with Tears for Fears' album Songs from The Big Chair instead, as Steve used his elbow to dim the kitchen lights, hands full with heavy plates of pasta.

"Oh my gosh, this looks so good! Good job, Stevie," you cheered, as he set your plate down in front of you, pouring you a much needed glass of wine. Your hands shook with hunger or excitement, or both, as you picked up your fork, ready to dig in. "Yeah, don't get too psyched yet. Let's hope it tastes as good as it looks."

"I'm sure it does."

His knee rests against yours as he sits adjacent to you, gathering food on his fork, though his eyes are peering at you, awaiting your verdict. The mouthwatering smell of garlic, butter, cheese and other heaven-sent elements overwhelm your nose and you feel like you can't eat it soon enough. You pause for a beat and so does his heart, hand over your messy mouth as you chew. Steve's hand twitches as he contemplates wiping the sauce from the corners of your lips and licking his finger clean.

"Steve," you begin, eyes flickering shut. "I'm gonna need you to cook for me every night. This is so fucking good." The tension in his face eases at your palpable delight, mission well accomplished. He was proud of himself. Very proud. Almost as much as you were of him.

You throw your head back, the purest form of satisfaction consuming you. "I'm glad you like it, I've been trying to nail it for weeks," Steve laughs, finally taking a bite for himself.

"Well, you've succeeded," you beam, washing it down with a sip of wine. Everybody Wants to Rule the World begins playing and you smile at Steve, knowing it was his favorite song at the moment. You nod your head along as Steve hums. A truly peaceful pocket in time.

Through the large windows opening the living room to the rest of Hawkins, you had the perfect view of the bright lights and mountainous buildings from the neighboring city. It was like the sky had flipped on its axis and the stars weren't in the sky anymore, they were among the trees and high rise properties.

"Steve, look how pretty," you point towards the window as his gaze shifts from you to raindrop-riddled glass. "I love being able to see the city so close. Sucks that we can't see the stars, though. I've always wanted to go stargazing."

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that a while ago. We gotta go one of these days," he replied, shoving a forkful of alfredo into his mouth.

"Oh, did you wanna go too?"

He shrugs his shoulders, chewing before speaking, "Eh, I'm not really a big stars guy. Besides, if I wanna see a pretty little light, all I gotta do is look at you," he says inattentively, going right back to eating as if he hadn't just said the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you.

"Shut up, Harrington," you roll your eyes, letting out a half-hearted laugh as you take your last bite. How could he flirt with you so easily? So carelessly? Couldn't he see that you loved him and that whenever he says things like that it does something to you? Clueless boy.

"I'm serious. Why do you think I always call you sunshine?" He replies, not a hint of irony in his face.

"Steve," you warn, sitting back in your chair. You didn't know where this conversation was going, and you'd be damned if you got your hopes up for what you always got whenever you did: absolutely nothing.

"It's why I love when you wear yellow. Reminds me of the first time I ever saw you," he pressed. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Clueless girl.

"Steve," your voice wavered. "What? Why do you keep saying my name like that?" He laughed, dryly.

He grew worried that he was saying too much. Saying things that a person shouldn't say to their best friend. He took a sip of his wine. Then another. Then another. He was considering just downing the whole glass. Maybe he was saying too much.

Screw that, he was in love with you.

"What're you saying to me right now?" You charged, voice a little harsher than what you'd intended, but you demanded an answer. A straightforward one. "I'm saying that I'm done hiding it."

"Hiding what?"

"That I love you."

The revelation yanks your parted lips shut, unsure of what to say next. You had dreamed for what felt like a lifetime for Steve to say those words to you and at last, it was no longer a dream, but instead reality. The rapid pace of your heartbeat could be felt in your chest and ears, and the butterflies in your stomach were more wild and untamed than ever before.

Steve's eyes didn't leave yours, though the stillness from you was killing him. The silence between you two that was once never awkward or unusual, was now painful and nearly unbearable.

Your dilated pupils scanned over his face, relentlessly. The jokey, teasing grin that he often sported when he was messing with you was unaccounted for. Holy shit. The gate to your thoughts opened once more. "You're serious," you whispered.

"How could I not be?" Steve watched you with adoring eyes, the warm light of the candle giving the melted chocolatey pond the sweetest infusion of honey.

"Kiss me."

Forks and butter knives fall to the ground with several, loud unpleasant clanks as Steve leans over the square dining table, hungrily pressing his lips against yours. His lips are garlicky and a little chapped, as yours probably are as well, yet the kiss is nothing short of perfect.

His mouth does a passionate dance against yours as you follow his lead, embracing the plush little pillows with your own. It was both everything you've imagined it'd be and nothing like you'd thought at the same time. You already knew Steve was an amazing kisser. Anyone who went to Hawkins High knew it. But experiencing it for yourself was completely different and new. It was euphoric.

The two of you have to reluctantly pull yourselves off of each other to catch your breaths. This moment was a long time coming.

Steve's hands are still holding onto to either side of your face, unwilling to let you go just yet. Truly savoring every second of the present. His breath fans across your cupid's bow, as he smiles against your lips. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

Giggling, you wrap your palms and fingers around his wrists, rubbing your nose on his. "Sorry," you shrug, feeling his thumbs caress your warm cheeks.

"Don't be," he shakes his head, engulfing your soft lips into another kiss.

message from jojo: pls comment and reblog if you enjoyed! it means a lot <3

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve and sunshine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x you #steve harrington headcanon #soft!steve harrington #stranger things 4 #joe keery #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x poc!reader

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zarteyaz · 2 months ago

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Snowy Nights

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: In which, during a snowy night in Velaris, Azriel reflects what or rather who brings him peace

A/N: This is my first time posting anything, so forgive any typos etc. Not really sure what this was, more of a late night ramble, but I hope you enjoy! -----

Fractals of ice dance, a silent symphony that only he seems to hear. Azriel’s on the front porch of the townhouse, staring silently into the sea of white before him. He feels the warmth and laughter of the house behind him, the rumble of Cassian’s laugh or the twinkle of Feyre’s laugh, and the shenanigans they were certainly up to.

As much as he loved his family, they didn’t truly understand the concept of quiet. The lights, laughter, the drinks all got to be too much and Azriel found himself longing for a moment of peace, which is why he was currently standing outside alone, looking out over Velaris. He let out a breath, and loosened the damper on his shadows, letting them roam about.

“You are undoubtedly going to freeze to death” came a smooth voice behind him, and he startled.

Azriel shot a glare at his shadows, she seemed to be the only one capable of sneaking up on him, his shadows never caring to inform him. Before he could respond, a fluffy throw blanket was dumped unceremoniously over his shoulders.

Azriel hadn’t even realized he was shivering, but upon the warmth of the blanket found himself unconsciously drawing it around himself. She came up beside him, the night painting the smooth planes of her face in moonlight, setting her aglow, something akin to a goddess.

She fixed him with that viridian gaze, “Don’t expect me to lug your hulking ass indoors when you freeze into a sculpture out here”.

Something in his chest warmed at the concern, albeit harsh, in her voice. He chuckled, “I’ve survived worse temperatures, I’ll be just fine.”

She simply shook her head and shoved a steaming cup into his hands, a shadow passing over her eyes, as she considered what circumstances exactly had subjected him to such extreme conditions.

He blinked down at the cup of hot cocoa complete with a healthy serving of marshmallows and a dollop of whipped cream. No one really expected the feared Spymaster of the Night Court to have a sweet tooth, and Azriel wasn’t one to voice his preference for all things sugary and sweet. All the more reason he was shocked by the sweet treat in his hands, one he hadn’t even asked for.

She studied him for a moment longer, her dark waves tumbling over her shoulder as his shadows twined through the tresses. She never seemed to mind his shadows’ constant attention, for some unnamed reason Azriel could never decipher.

She reached out a hand and he ceased to breathe as she gently brushed some fallen ice crystals out of his hair. He fought the urge to shut his eyes and lean into the warmth, the care of her touch, the feeling of being wanted, of being seen -

“Just because you can handle worse, doesn’t mean you should Az” she simply replied, with regard to his previous comment.

He met her piercing gaze, and as always found himself lost in the stark clarity in her eyes. From the moment he met her, he always had the sensation that she saw him, straight to his core, and by some miracle he supposed, she did not shy away.

There was a bleak sort of understanding in her eyes now, an understanding of how after years of torturing and dealing with the worst Prythian had to offer, it was hard for him to allow himself to enjoy a simple night with his family, to believe he even deserved to feel peace, or gods forbid happiness.

That sometimes he couldn’t stand to be around his family, all the joy they all fought for, because Azriel couldn’t stand to burden them with his dark thoughts when he felt the walls closing in so tight he thought he’d just suffocate right then and there-

She smoothed her thumb down the rough scarred planes of the hand he kept clenched on the railing and his head went quiet. You are not judged her eyes seemed to say.

Another stroke down his hand. You deserve the world and more.

Another. Let it out, I’ll always be here.

No judgment laid in her gaze for ditching the party, just clear acceptance and an uncompromising vow.

She turned to head back inside, understanding his need for a few moments to himself. An unfamiliar panic rose in his chest and he reached out a hand to grab her wrist.

“Stay” he said quickly, stumbling over the word.

Now she blinked at him, whether it was at his flustered demeanor or at him voicing a request he couldn’t tell.

“Someone will need to chaperone me in case I do end up turning into an icicle” he amended.

She let out a breath of laughter at that, “I’ll chaperone fine, but like I said earlier, I will not be lugging you inside” she said, giving him a smile.

Azriel found himself smiling dumbly back at her as she came back up beside him.

“I’ll never leave you alone” she said softly, eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

Struck speechless, Azriel considered the words, a promise of something more.

As he stood there with a female who had proven time and time again that she couldn’t be scared away, he considered. Perhaps his peace wasn’t found in silence, but a person.

And perhaps his peace was something worth, more importantly, something he deserved to find.

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x female!reader #azriel imagine #azriel #acotar fanfiction

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whorekneecentral · 1 year ago

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Winter Wonderland

Toto Wolff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: toto would do anything for reader, some friendly teasing, alcohol and the consumption of, a bit of an age gap (reader's late 20s/early 30s), handsy toto, the two of you are kinda drunk, daddy kink, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slight edging, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie.

Word Count: 1,772

Author's Note: this one goes out to all the dilf lovers.

merry smutmas series

Your husband skips out on Christmas every year due to work but this year, he ends up in London. You make it your mission to introduce him to some holiday fun.

Toto had one last work engagement to do this week before he's officially off for the holidays and it took him to London. So by extension, you made it to London as well.

Your husband had left you in the hotel, promising you that he'll be back in a few hours after doing his final work meeting before he was on holiday break.

When he returns, he finds you in the same spot he left you, on the couch. "Babe, have you not gotten up all day?"He asks, shrugging his coat off.

"I did, I ordered room service so I had to get it from the door," you tell him, eyes glued to the TV.

Toto laughs, making his way over to sit next to you. You lean into the man, his arms wrapped around you and you can still feel the chill on his skin despite him wearing a coat when he was outside. It takes him a second to realize that you weren't in your pyjamas, but you were dressed as if you were going out.

The man looks at you with raised eyebrows, there's a hint of a smile on your face. "I know that look, what are you up to?" He asked.

"Okay I know you're probably tired but we leave for home tomorrow and I really wanna go!"

"Go where?"

"Hyde park," you tell him, showing him the pictures of their winter wonderland on your phone. "I saw the ad already for their winter wonderland today and then I looked it up and I fell into a loophole, so now we have tickets." You smiled sweetly at him - if there was one thing more important to Toto than work, it was you and your happiness.

"Are you serious, y/n?"

"Yes, now come on," you get up, trying to pull him up. Toto huffs, "I have emails to answer." He reluctantly follows you to the door.

"The emails will still be here when you get back," you handed him his coat before putting your own on. "Let's go."

Toto drives, of course - not like he ever lets you drive anyways. The first half hour was just the two of you trying to find your way around, it was a lot more packed than you were expecting but to be fair it was a week until Christmas, so it was to be expected you suppose.

You grab his hand and pull him towards what seems to be a circus tent. Toto looks at you a bit unsure for a moment, "is this.. an actual circus?" He followed you in and his question was answered; it was.

He sits next to you in the back row, the two of you waiting for the show to start. "Are you 5? Why are we at the circus ?"

"I mean, in comparison to you, I basically am." You smiled and he chuckled, his hand in yours as you two watched the show.

He would never admit it to you but he enjoyed doing things like this with you, it was nice to see that you kept a bit of your childishness alive.

After the circus, you made your way around the park once more, taking a million photos and trying out all the games until Toto was lugging around a big bag with stuffed animals.

"Do you think that's enough?" He asks, walking towards the car. You shrugged, "I guess but I'm hungry now."

"Dinner then?" He suggests, nodding to the busy street. You're not, fingers interlocking with your husband as you walk down the street towards no actual destination in mind. You were just hoping to stumble upon a place that wasn't too busy.

And eventually you did, a little restaurant tucked away between all the madness. You and Toto sat at a table by the window, the table covered in junk food and a bottle of cheap wine.

"Did you have fun tonight ?" You asked your husband, popping a fry into your mouth. He shrugs, taking a sip of wine. You can't help but roll your eyes, "you totally did! Don't lie."

Toto laughs, a grin on his face. "Yeah, okay. I did have a little fun, but maybe next time find an indoor activity?"

"Nope," you popped the P, "as your wife, it's my job to make your life unnecessarily complicated, just for fun."

He rolls his eyes, taking some fries off your plate. "You'll be the death of me."

You two ended up topping off the bottle of wine, Toto pays the bill and his fingers interlock with yours as you walk back to the car. The streets have calmed by now, but there's a few people walking around on their way to wherever.

Your husband pulls you into his side, your arm wrapped around his torso as you make it back to the car. The man has you leaning on the hood, his cold hands cupping your cheeks before he kisses you. His hands wander and you blush, stopping him.

"Not here."

"Don't tell me you're getting shy on me." He kisses along your cheek, the tip of his nose cold as it rubs against your skin.

You giggled, giving him a slight shove off of you. "We're in the middle of the street, it's more like stopping you from getting arrested for public indecency."

He laughs, opening the car door for you and letting you get in. Toto's hand rests on your thigh the entire drive back to the hotel and he can barely keep his hands off of you to make it up to the room.

His lips on your neck, arms wrapped around you from behind, the two of you giggling as you attempt to open the door.

"It's not opening," you grumbled, trying to unlock the door.

Toto pulls on the handle a bit, pressing the key to it. "Finally," he says when the lock clicks, "let me unwrap my gift."

You giggled, rolling your eyes at your husband's cheesy use of the words, but you let him drag you into the room and drop you on the bed.

He's careful, even though he's drunk - his movements are exact as he undoes the buttons on your shirt, tossing it into the pile of clothes that's developing on the floor.

"Move your legs, baby." He whispers, moving them up to rest on the edge of the bed as he drops himself down onto his knees. You’ve propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him and Toto drags his fingers up your thigh, moving to your clothed pussy.

“I like this,” he tells you, fingers rubbing over the red lace that covered your cunt.

You smile, “I know. Wore it just for you, daddy." The name makes the man smile.

Toto can feel your eyes on him, he reaches for the red lace you’re wrapped up in and tugs it down your legs, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He shifts to lay on his stomach between your legs, leaving a trail of kisses as he works his way up to your cunt.

Your eyes meet his, he knows you’re looking. He wants you to look at him.

Your hips buck when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping on his hair. He knew you like the back of his hand, gripping your thighs to keep them in place as his tongue lapped your clit. Your hips buck, your way of saying you want more.

Two fingers pushing into you, he glances up to see your head tossed back onto the pillows, eyes fluttering shut and your free hand groping your tit.

Between his fingers and his tongue, your orgasm was teetering on the edge; he knew that much.

He's sick and twisted and pulls his hands away, the sticky fingers wiped on your inner thighs. A whimper leaves your lips at the loss of fullness.

"I hate you," you grumbled, your husband smiles as he kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "You love me."

"Sometimes."

He smiles, standing up to undo his pants. Toto pulls you back to the edge of the bed, one of your legs hitch on his hip as his hand wanders.

Your eyes fixed on his hand that was moving down your chest at the moment. Toto's lips follow his fingers, kissing and leaving little marks as he goes along his way. His tongue brushes over your nipple, your back arches involuntarily; your body betrays you.

Your eyes find his and his hand rubbing along your thigh before pulling you toward the edge of the bed a little more before he pushes into you. The other ankle is over his shoulder now.

He fucks you the way he knows you like it; rough.

You were a sight to see; back arched off the bed, hair sprawled out in perfect curls, eyes closed and your head tilted back, his name tumbling from your lips for what felt like the millionth time.

He’s never seen a prettiest sight.

He feels you clench around him, the hand on his shoulder digs in, your nails leaving behind their own set of marks. His hand reaches between the two of you, his fingers finding your clit once again.

“Oh my god,” your hips bucked, his fingers matching the pace of his hips, your body rocking back and forth to get the most out of him.

“C’mon pretty girl, want you to cum for me.” he says, knowing it won't be long more, especially not after him leaving you on the edge earlier.

He watches as your eyes flutter shut and he reaches you with his other hand, holding your jaw and pulling you up a little, your elbows holding up the weight of your body.

"Open your eyes, baby, look at me." He whispers, kissing you softly.

A few more sloppy thrusts and between that and his fingers, you’re over the edge. He kisses you, muffling the noise you were making. The wetness wrapping around his cock, and with a few sloppy thrusts, he follows behind you.

It takes you a second to gather yourself and register that your husband has collapsed on top of you. Your hands rubbing over his back.

"You okay?" you asked him quietly and the man nodded, moving so you two could lay comfortably.

Your leg draped over his, his arm wrapped over your shoulder. You catch him staring at you and you smile, nodding. "What?"

"We should come to London every year."

"Yeah," you nod, resting your head on his chest. "I'd like that."

---

taglist: @nosugarallspice @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16 @books-and-netflix-pls @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @forza55 @norrisleclercf1 @allalngthewtchtower @therealcap @burningcupcakefire @stargirl36 @brettlorenzi3 @guiseppetsunoda @magnummagnussen @flippingmyshit @savrose129 @lovelytsunoda @irda12-blog @dhhdhsiavdhaj @slytheringirlthatkillpeople @f1lovers22 @toomuchdelusion @eviethetheatrefreak @faye2029 @lillians-world-is-f1 @chalando1604 @lenaxwbr @im-obsessed @potashiuhm @lcxlerc16 @enjoythebutterflies3 @lillyfootballsworld @micksmidnights @mashtonbunny @chrlsleclerc @logischeroktopus

#merry smutmas xoxo #toto wolff #toto wolff smut #toto wolff x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 smut

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hairyjocktf · 7 months ago

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Greek Vacation

It was finally June, and Alex could barely sleep. He’d worked his ass off the last year in college to avoid having to take summer classes, which meant he could join the rest of his family on their trip to Greece. His mom had apparently won tickets or miles or something through her job, he couldn’t remember. All that mattered was he was going to Greece! It was finally time to relax and unwind from the insanely stressful last few months. He’d gone over his packing list six, seven times now; he was absolutely sure he was ready. His family was meeting him at the airport, so he was just pacing now, waiting on that text to start moving. The phone on the countertop buzzed and he lunged for it. It was time.

Alex grabbed his oversized suitcase and lugged it down the stairs of his apartment building out to the street. He hopped on the bus and found a seat. He was giddy, this trip was his dream trip as a kid, and now he was finally getting to go. He’d helped plan out their whole itinerary, from the Acropolis to the ruins at Delphi and so so many more. Before he knew it, they were dropping him at the airport. Inside the chaotic lobby he managed to spot his parents, his dad was already wearing a massive sun hat which helped. The next hour was a blur getting their bags checked, through security, and corralling everyone to the gate. Then began the longest part of the trip: the flight. Alex had brought noise canceling headphones and an extra strong dose of melatonin that he prayed would do the job. And miraculously, it did. Nearly ten hours later he woke up to the sounds of the plane landing, and next thing he knew they were in a cab headed into Athens.

The cab pulled up to their hotel, depositing them and their bags at the foot of a beautiful white building with a grand entrance. This part was his mother’s domain. She ushered everyone inside and got them to their room in no time. Alex was unpacking and setting his stuff out when he realized he couldn’t find his phone charger. He tore everything out of his suitcase and backpack, trying desperately to find it. Nothing. He must’ve left it in his haste getting out the door, after all his phone was plugged in while he was waiting.

Shit, he thought, before solemnly announcing the news to his family.

“We’ll stop by a store or something and get you a new one, it's fine,” his mother said, buried in her own suitcase. What a start to the trip. Alex sat on the side of his bed looking out the window at the building next door, kicking his legs waiting for them to get going. Finally, after another 30 minutes, they were getting back out the door.

Alex and his family started wandering through the massive metropolis of Athens, surrounded by white buildings and the intense noise of a city. Only a few blocks away they came upon a massive street market, with locals selling everything imaginable. Fruits, street food, bags, shirts, phones, you name it. Surely, Alex thought, they would sell a phone charger here. He squeezed up and down through tight corridors of shops, flooded with people. He was deep into the market when his path was blocked with a crowd. He turned around, only to find the way he came in also packed tight with tourists. He was stuck. As panic started to set in, Alex heard a deep, husky voice from the stall behind him.

“You there, tourist boy,” the voice said, and Alex whipped around to see a large man with dark olive skin, and the hairiest body he’d ever seen. It was on his fingers, hands, forearms, and crawled out of his open shirt solidly up to the thick bushy beard on his face that nearly hid all his features. Alex was frozen, taking in the sight of this man. He was snapped out of his daze by the man speaking again.

“You look tired, boy. Did you just arrive?” he looked Alex in the eyes.

Alex was jumbling his words, “Uh, yes, yea I did. But I slept! I shouldn’t be tired.. I don’t think…”

The man grabbed his hand and pulled it towards him. “Here boy, this will help you,” he said in his thick accent. He took out a small beaded bracelet and slipped it onto Alex’s wrist, tying it tight.

“Uhh, thanks?” Alex remarked, a little confused about the whole situation. The moment was interrupted by his mother’s voice piercing through the crowd.

“Alex!! Alex!! Are you over here?” Alex jerked his head towards the voice, starting to back away from the man.

“Enjoy your trip, boy,” the man said, releasing his arm and giving a slight wave. Alex turned away and pushed through the throng of people in his way, eventually reaching his mother.

“Alex! Thank god you’re okay, we lost you immediately. Here, we found someone selling chargers,” she handed him a cord, not even noticing the bracelet on his wrist. “Alright, let’s get back on track today, shall we?” she put some pep in her voice. As the family squeezed through the crowded Athenian streets, Alex failed to notice a slight itch where the bracelet clung to his wrist.

The summer sun beat down on them as they slowly made their way up the hills of Athens. Alex was sweating buckets, the back of his shirt absolutely drenched. He looked over in envy at his dad’s sun hat that he had mocked earlier. After what felt like an eternity, they made it to the base of the acropolis. Alex’s dad groaned at the sight of not only immense crowds, but another massive rock they had to climb. Alex was undeterred however, his eyes lit up with the sight of the ruins atop the hill. This was what he’d been waiting for, and he let nothing get in his way as he dragged his family into the crowd to get closer. The slight itch under the bracelet continued, unbeknownst to Alex. His skin under it was darkening to an olive shade, slowly creeping up his arm and down towards his hand. Where the darker tone had spread, hairs began popping up, thick black hairs in contrast to his light brown wispy hairs. They continued to sprout, growing in between the last, creating a dense, curly coat. The back of his hand was next, the same black hairs wriggling out. Soon enough, his forearm stuck out like a sore thumb next to the rest of his pale body, yet no one seemed to notice.

The next couple hours were heaven for Alex. He explored the acropolis with his family, pointing out everything he’d researched and explaining even more. Between the numerous ruins and museums, the rest of the day was jam packed with artifacts. Alex even found himself remembering facts about spots he didn’t remember researching. The other constant of the day was the sun. It beat down on them from above with the full force of a Mediterranean summer, sweat constantly dripping from his forehead. It seemed like significantly more than usual for Alex, but he chalked it up to the different climate, and how much they’d been walking. Under his soaked shirt, however, his body was adapting. The deep olive color had spread all the way up his arm, with the forest of hair following, coating his upper arm. The hairs crawled over his inflating shoulder, sprinkling it with black wisps. His bicep has also grown substantially, almost like he was a regular gym-goer, matching his now beefier hand and forearm.

The sun-kissed shade continued to spread, imposing itself over his chest. Not long after, his chest began growing. It pushed out two meaty pecs, skin stretching to accommodate the immense muscles growing in slowly. His chest was sore as years of workouts applied themselves at once. The crisp definition melted somewhat as his form softened, fat layering itself onto his chest and further down as a thick muscle gut grew in. His stomach pressed tight against his shirt, stretching it to its limit. As the muscle pushed out of his frame, so did the hairs. Small black hairs began rearing their heads around his growing nipples, pushing out like thick shoots of grass. The hairs radiated away from his nipples, surging across the open fields of his pectorals, burying them in a black, curly forest. They grew longer and thicker, matting together into a rug across his chest that scratched against his shirt. The fur coat grew denser in the center of his pecs and right below, making them look like real pillow cushions. His gut tingled as the hairs began erupting, swirling together and giving his belly a thick black coat to match. By the time Alex and his family were headed to dinner it looked like he’d eaten plenty, putting on dozens of pounds.

They sat down at a street-side restaurant that Alex had recommended, exhausted after a very active first day. While they browsed the menu, Alex scratched loosely at an itch above the neckline of his shirt. The wave of darker skin tone had slowly been inching up his neck, leading a wave of black hairs. His chest fur had overtaken his collarbone and continued to spread. His neck remained bare until, suddenly, a single dark hair sprouted above his shirt. It was black, thick, and curly. Seconds later, a second hair joined it, shooting out from his shirt collar. More and more began sprouting, giving Alex a thick dark tuft of hair curling over his shirt. This was just the beginning, though. The dark hairs climbed up his neck, following the wave of olive complexion. Alex’s lean face cracked as it widened, jaw growing thick and square. His brow jutted out and his nose grew more prominent as his face took on the darker tone. His wavy brown hair pulled back some, turning black and more curly. The itching grew as a shadow developed across his jaw, darkening as thick stubble emerged from the bare skin. The scruff seemed to age Alex up a good few years, he seemed like a real adult with the stubble, hairy forearms, and chest hair pushing out of his shirt.

As they ate, Alex briefed his parents on their plan for the next day, starting with an early bus out to Delphi. He already knew the exact times, costs, and routes to take for the perfect day. His parents were impressed at how well researched he was, not noticing the dark scruff covering their son’s face. They finished up dinner and caught a cab home, knowing they had to be up at the crack of dawn the next day.

The next morning came quickly, and with some disgruntled grumbling from his parents, they were off on their bus to Delphi. It was a three hour trip, so they settled into their seats and his parents tried to get a little more rest. Alex stared eagerly out the window, watching the mountains rush past with the sea behind. As the ride went on, he found himself shifting uncomfortably in his seat, like his body was agitated and he couldn’t figure out why. He tried to focus on the beautiful scenery and the maps of their destination instead. In reality, beneath his clothes, the slow moving wave of Mediterranean skin had crossed his muscle gut and reached his groin. It swept through his crotch, seeding the growth of new hair. His existent bush was sparse, and was quickly engulfed by the torrent of dark curly hairs that erupted from the base of his cock, spreading outward. Black hairs wormed out of his skin like weeds coating the entire area, pushing up towards his navel in a triangle pattern, and out onto his thighs.

Alex tried to subtly scratch at the area as the itching grew intense, using his map to hide his meaty hands groping the area. His flaccid cock absorbed the same olive color, and a thick foreskin stretched itself back over the head. It didn’t stay soft for long, engorging and pushing six, seven, eight inches in his pants. Alex shifted again to try and keep comfortable in his seat, but the growing rod was not helping him, leaving a massive imprint on his shorts. His bush continued to thicken, hairs sprouting between others, curling together into an impenetrable forest. The hairs even started climbing the base of his cock, popping out a ways up. There was a thud on the seat when Alex’s balls suddenly inflated to the size of baseballs, his sack growing furry as the same curly black hairs engulfed them. Alex had spread his legs as much as he could, he was practically on top of the guy in the seat next to him, and he was still feeling squeezed. He was about to reach his limit when the bus came to a stop. They had made it.

Like it was instinct, Alex gathered his parents and started their exploration of the site. He took them to the Temple of Apollo, the museum, and the spring. It was another relentlessly hot day, and within minutes he had started sweating buckets. He ignored it to continue guiding his parents around, but it began to take a toll. Underneath his arms, his paltry smattering of hair was starting to soak up some color, growing thicker and darker. The more sweat dripped from his pits the more hair began to shoot out of them, catching the drops and adding to the stench that began to waft from him. Throughout the morning, more and more hairs poked out from under his arms. His beefy arms weren’t able to hide the enormous tufts of hair that were pushing out of his pits, kept nice and damp from the heat.

They stopped briefly for lunch at a spot Alex knew and recommended, taking a break from the heat before they continued walking through the town. Alex scratched at his face, his fingers pulling through a little more hair than they had the night before. The meal was a nice reprieve, showcasing some delicious local cuisine to his parents. He took the chance to explain their next destinations, and before long they were back walking up the hills. Alex was glad he’d worn shorts today, it was brutal even for June. His exposed legs had begun taking on the same tone as the rest of him, no longer standing out as pale twigs. Curly hairs brushed against his shorts as they grew en masse, traveling from his pubes downward. The hairs pushed out of his growing thighs, a burgeoning field of dark curls spreading across them. His calves experienced the same, putting on size before getting engulfed with black hair.

They’d made it to the stadium and viewpoint at the top. Alex left the couple to take in the vista and address his current problem; his shoes were way too tight. Luckily, it seemed he’d worn sandals for the day. He bent over to loosen the straps, giving some breathing room to his now size 15 feet, not noticing the coarse hairs popping out across the tops of them. Even his toes were hairy now. He stood back up and looked out over the valley, scratching his ass that had been a little itchy. The same thick curly hairs had started bursting out of his crack, creating a furry mass between his cheeks. The hairs spread out, growing like weeds over the expanse of his ass. The sweat dripping down his widening back helped the hairs take root, and they shot upward sprouting from the small of his back. His lats grew darker as black fur erupted before climbing up to his neck and blending with the thick coating on his shoulders. The coarse curly hairs grew dense and long enough to push his damp shirt nearly an inch away from his body all around. Curly black hairs poked out of the back of his shirt collar too, mirroring the front side.

The sun had begun to hang lower in the sky, signaling it time to head back to the bus station. Alex’s legs had bulked up enough to handle the constant walking up and down, as he should be used to it by now. He guided the couple back down to the town and they got on their way back to Athens, another multi-hour journey. He felt his seat was even smaller this time, his body having swelled with muscle and mass throughout the day. As the bus bumped along the mountain roads, Alex stared at his reflection in the window. His short beard was pushing out. Hairs grew longer, curling together. More hairs sprouted to fill the gaps, climbing higher on his cheeks. The beard grew incredibly dense, adding another couple years to his face. He finally gave in and scooted over, taking up both seats. The bulky man then closed his eyes for an hour until the familiar noise of Athens began leaking through the windows.

They stopped at the station, and he grabbed the couple’s bags from the rack. WIth that motion, his short sleeve shirt that had been taught against his massive chest all day gave out, bursting open. His thick chest and belly and the incredible rug that covered them were exposed, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for him, especially in the summer. He lugged the bags to the curb and handed them over. The woman was exhausted looking, but still had a beaming smile.

“Oh, thank you so much Alexios! You’ve been amazing these last two days.” He swallowed, a large adam’s apple bulging out of his throat, “You’re very welcome. Enjoy the rest of your visit to Greece,” he said with a baritone voice and accent.

The man handed him a large stack of bills as a thank you, and the two headed off towards their hotel. Alexios sighed, it had been an exhausting day. And after all that, he needed to prepare for the new tourists he was to guide the next day.

Hey y'all, I was going to start on the poll story but it's been so close I couldn't predict it! So enjoy this race change tf in the mean time. Speaking of which, if you havent yet, go vote in the poll for the next story! There's still 2 days left.

#male tf #hairy tf #bear tf #race change #greek tf #hairy #hair growth #hairy chest #hairy pits #hairy back #beard #my writing

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cheonstapes · 1 year ago

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omg plss do a miguel x bimbo reader im in love <3

miguel o'hara stars in... 'HANDY MIGGY'

(っ╹ᆺ╹)っ

a/n ~ I. LOVE. BIMBOS!!!! thank you for the request sweetie, love you💗 miguel would deffo love a cute little bimbo, i just know it

summary; you don't know how to change your tyres. why would you? that's what your boyfriend's for!

pairing; miguel o'hara x bimbo!reader

wc; 1.4k+

cw; SMUT!!!!, breeding kink (can you tell i have a breeding kink), semi-public sex, fuckin on the car, reader speaks a bit of spanish, daddy kink, meanish!dom miguel, sub!reader, reader is a bit stupid, princess treatment!, reader is a bad bitch, overstimulation, squirting, orgasm control, teensy bit of aftercare, THEY'RE IN LOVE YOUR HONOR, nawt proofread - i cannot drive, yet.

surely you weren’t that dumb? were you?

standing there in the 40° heat - wedge sandals, short skirt with your thong riding high on your hips, sweat-sheened tits spilling our of your cute little crop top. a girl always has to look her best, even when she’s about to melt into a puddle from the sun. doing things that required you to use your brain wasn’t something you did often, that’s what your boyfriend’s for!

to be fair, you were never big on cars. barely passing your drivers test, and your daddy getting you your first car shortly after - you didn’t really want to drive around everywhere yourself, the pink porsche taycan collecting dust in your garage, being a passenger princess is the lifestyle now. unfortunately for you, your boyfriend - even though he would collect all the stars in the sky for you if you asked - refuses to let you put that car to waste. so now you’re forced to resurrect the thing, cleaning it up a little bit - and…you have to change the tyre’s.

you even forgot about the punctures, after you accidentally drove over a few spikes in the road coming out of the wrong exit - sometimes you question why you ever qualified for a license. all the tyres were severely fucked up, deflated so much they look like they melted into the floor. your daddy gave you a bunch of spares in case (he knew it would) it ever happened. they were just so heavy, though. you weren’t built for lugging around fucking tyres - but your boyfriend is!!

so you called him, in the middle of the day, knowing he’s probably busy doing his big man job or whatever - but you knew he would drop everything to come and help you, this is an emergency girl! to no one’s surprise, he got there within 15 minutes of you ending the call, speeding into your driveway as he jumps out of the car. sometimes, you forget how mouthwateringly sexy your boyfriend is.

a tight black compression shirt, matching shorts that clung to his thick thighs - black rimmed sunglasses matching yours pushing his hair back. not to mention the little grimace on his face from stepping out in the heat. “what’s up, baby? you ok? need me to get anything for you?” aw, he was so worried. he’s gonna be so pissed when he finds out what you really need him for.

“hi papito, so glad you’re here.” let’s try to sweet talk him a little bit, maybe it won’t be so bad if you give him a little love - the one thing he can’t resist. you hold his face in your hands, pressing a glossy kiss on his puckered lips. his brows furrow slightly, big hands resting on your hips as he pulls you close him, a low moan escaping him as he pulls away. “good to see you too, angel.” he had an amused smirk on his face, lightly caressing your ass under your skirt. “now, tell me what you need help with.”

nodding, you shyly take his hand in yours and lead him to the garage. it was a mess, to say the least - tools scattered everywhere, tyres rolling around where they’re not supposed to be, something that looked like grease spilled on the floor. “the fuck were you tryna do here, babe?” you smiled sheepishly, looking down at the floor before looking back up at him with round eyes.

“…’m tryna change my tyres.”

he rolled his eyes, placing his hands on his hips as he stared at you - an unimpressed look on his face. “god, you’re really a-

——————————————————————————————————

- dumb, fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?” the hood of your car was covered in a mix of your shared arousal, drool dripping out of your swollen lips down your chest. “only good for taking this fat cock, hm?”

hard nipples rubbing against your windshield, body jolting violently as your boyfriend abused his cock into your cunt. he was stretching you out so deliciously, his arms under your legs to keep you stable. “m-miggy, mm- fuuuuck, ‘s too much!” he really didn’t care, not when you looked so pretty under him. secretly, he loved how much you would rely on him - seeing that look on your face when you’d ask him for help, shit if it didn’t make him so fucking hard. but, god did he love to punish you for it.

“too much for your stupid, little brain, baby? y’re so cute, you know that?” nodding dumbly, you grind your hips back onto his, flipping up your skirt to slam your ass onto his pelvis so he can watch the cheeks ripple. miguel let out a low growl, slamming a hand down by your head so he can lean against your back, the other gripping your hip. “just wanna fuck you ‘till you’re nothin’ but a senseless breeding bitch f’r me.” his breathing was heavy against your ear, sharp teeth nicking at the sensitive skin.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you muñeca? quieres que te llene de mi semen. esta linda barriga toda pesada con mis bebés. wouldn’t let you raise a finger again, ‘m gonna do everything f’r you - since you’re too fuckin’ dumb to do it yourself, gorgeous.” he had such a mouth on him, didn’t he. that didn’t sound too bad, being a stay at home mum. as long as you don’t have to do anything, then you’d happily stay plugged up with his cum all the time.

his balls were heavy, smacking against your stiff clit as he worked your hips back on him. the sensations were overwhelming. every ounce of your body was feeling the pleasure, the reflection of his strained face through the windshield making you clench tightly around him. he hissed, smacking your cunt before gripping your neck and holding you against his hard chest. “stop fuckin’ clenching. if there’s anything that small brain of yours should comprehend, it’s don’t cum till i tell you to.”

“papitooo- please, i need’ta cum - i can feel it, baby!” you, poor, poor thing. too bad he doesn’t give a fuck. he pounded into you even harder, blunt head bullying your cervix. he quickly flipped you around, pressing your back onto the car as he gripped your hips, grinding slowly into you. “hold it.”

angling his hips just right, he drove his fat cock deeper into you, coarse hairs tickling your clit. his fingers trailed up your body, ripping your shirt as he flicked your nipples, spitting on your chest to get them nice and wet. “y’re so pretty, mm, my pretty baby.” his balls tightened, cock twitching hard inside of you as his tip drooled all over your walls.

“gonna cum in your tight, fuckin’ cunt, babe - rub your clit f’r me, or is that too hard for you?” he was so cruel but so sweet. sadistically watching your shaky fingers work your aching clit as his pelvis slammed into you. “goood girl. squirt f’r me, muñeca.” he gazed deep into your eyes, big hands caressing your cheek.

it all gushed out at once, a heavy stream jetting out of your and coating his chest as he let out a deep chuckles, plugging you up with his girth. he fucked you through it, pinching at your throbbing bud as you shook in his hold. “w-wait, miggy, ‘m too sensitive!” he grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the car. he let out a low snarl, covering you completely as he rammed deep inside. “quiet. keep that pretty mouth shut.” he didn’t realise how much that would set him off, his orgasm coming before he could even process it.

his whole body tensed up, ass clenching, fingers bruising your hips, hips jutting in and out of you - filling you to the brim with his cum. he was breathing sluggishly, pulling your hips down towards him to keep all his seed inside. “you…you did so good, baby. i love you, yeah? so much.” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your face affectionately. “i love you too, papito.”

you stayed there for a few minutes, wrapped up in each other as you found each others lips, making out smoothly on the car. you pulled a way, placing a hand on his chest - staring at the new tyres that he fixed on for you. “migs?” he nodded, kissing and biting your neck.

“how do i change the oil?”

-quieres que te llene de mi semen. esta linda barriga toda pesada con mis bebés - you want to be filled with my cum. this cute tummy all heavy with my babies.

-muñeca - doll

-papito - daddy

-i wanna be a bimbo doll!

#cheonstapes #cheonstapes films!🪷#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel smut #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara x y/n #cheonslovelynonnies💕

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spinningwebsandtales · 4 months ago

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Imagine Going On A Date With Hangman

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Teasing, mentions of an abusive relationship in the past, tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 1: here

Taglist: @chaoticcassidy, @the-marshals-wife, @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

(A/N:) I have been lagging behind on my writing here lately as my artwork has been taking the majority of my time. I'm in the process of opening an Etsy store because all my creations are starting to pile up and I live in an area that people aren't interested in fandom things. So I'm taking matters in my own hands. But I am going to keep writing! Being able to write these fun imagines is something I love doing and won't give up for anything! So I'm going to try to write more and to my bestie who wanted a second part of the last Hangman imagine here is that date part you wanted! I have two more requests in store so keep an eye out! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

The setting sun and crashing waves were your only companions as you sat on a bench outside The Hard Deck. You couldn't remember what really possessed you to agree to Hangman's request, and you were really questioning what had gotten into you as he was naturally late. You tapped your foot, glancing at your phone to see what time it was. You decided to give him a moment longer, before you gave up and went home. You had just placed your phone back in your purse for the tenth time when a pickup pulled into The Hard Deck's small parking lot. You rolled your eyes, knowing it was just another bar hopper when the driver side door swung open. Boots thudded against the ground as you lost yourself in the search for your keys in the bottomless purse you lugged around.

"Hello," the familiar voice cut through your grumbling.

"You're late," you hissed

"Fashionably," Hangman retorted.

Giving him a once over," No just late."

"If I wasn't so confident in myself that would have hurt my feelings."

"Confident and inflated ego are two totally different things," you crossed your arms.

"Sure," Hangman grinned. "Sorry I'm late it won't happen again."

"So confident that there will be a next time?"

"Absolutely."

You hummed, zipping back up your bag. You came all this way and waited this long. No sense in going home now when he just got here.

"Okay flyboy," you held out your hand. "Woo me."

Without hesitation Hangman took your offered hand, kissing your knuckles before leading you towards the passenger side of his truck and opening the door. Once you were seated in the passenger side, Hangman shut the truck door. Naturally he pumped his fist and raced around the front to the driver side. You couldn't help but laugh, though you did roll your eyes. Sliding the keys into the ignition and starting the truck, letting the diesel engine rumble for a few seconds you waited until Hangman started to shift into reverse.

"So what do you have planned for me this evening?"

He shrugged looking out the back window as he steered the big truck out of the parking lot. "I thought we might go bar hopping."

"Seriously?!" Any thought of you enjoying tonight and that Hangman would actually be pleasant for a change went out the window. Maybe you were having a moment of naivety that night you said yes. Now all those what if's and worrisome thoughts started to avalanche in your mind, until Hangman started to laugh.

"I'm joking," he coughed. "Don't worry I have a fun night planned.

"Now I'm worried what your definition of fun is," you retorted cheeks flushing red in anger.

"Lighten up sweetheart I won't do anything you don't want."

Your teeth began to grind and you were really starting to question your sanity. "Has anyone ever told you that they'd like to throat punch you?"

"I'm sure but they never voiced it,"

"Well let me tell you I really want to throat punch you."

"Good to know we're off to a good start tonight! First something to eat."

Despite being a storm of rage in the passenger seat from Hangman's teasing it didn't take long before he was able to ease you into a simmer. You watched the scenery go by while Hangman told funny stories from work. Though you drove these streets for years, you never really got to enjoy the sights as you were always too focused on the road to notice little details. Hangman could tell that you weren't really paying attention but it didn't stop him from talking. You had your arm resting on the center console, finger gently tapping to the music on the radio. He smirked to himself when he got caught at another red light.

"Are you listening," he asked.

You just replied with, "Hmmmm?"

"I'll take that as a no," he scoffed before glancing once more at your digits tapping even harder against the hard plastic. The stop light still glaring red in the night that was settling in, he eased his hand over yours, stopping your fingers movements before he interlaced your fingers with his. You jumped, quickly glancing over. Instead of saying a word at your shocked face he placed gentle kisses to the back of your hand. The light turned green, but he didn't release your hand as he drove on. You paid a little more attention to the conversation though your heart was pounding loudly as you kept glancing from the vehicles passing by to your hand swallowed by Hangman's much larger and calloused hand. You breathed a sigh of relief when the restaurant came into view and Hangman parked the truck.

"Stay," he demanded before hurriedly getting out and racing to your door.

You rolled your eyes but just waited. He opened the door with a flourish before offering you a hand to help you out. With you "safely" on the ground, Hangman slammed the door shut and locked the truck up. For the third time in the evening he took your hand, walking hand in hand to the entrance.

"You know you don't have to go so far for me," you said.

"Of course I do. You agreed to go out with me and I want you to be treated the way you deserve," he retorted still gripping your hand while he opened the restaurant door for you as well.

"Oh please don't make me gag with the goody two shoes act you cocky jerk," you laughed.

The hostess waved a server over as soon as you both walked in, cutting off Hangman's reply by leading you both to a table. You noticed that it wasn't an overly stuffy restaurant. You could tell by the smells coming from the kitchen that they had good food but it was still a comfortable enough atmosphere that you didn't have to worry about snobby rich people sneering at your comfy clothing choice. Once seated and your drink orders placed you raised the menu to start browsing. Usually you could decide what you wanted pretty quickly but tonight you were shaken by the way Hangman was acting so it was going to take you a minute to concentrate. The menu was suddenly slapped down onto the table. Hangman kept his hand pressed against the laminated paper making sure you couldn't hide behind it. You felt a little guilty for what you said before you both were interrupted just a moment ago.

"It's not an act," he glared. "I'm being genuine right now, just for you. I've wanted this for awhile and I don't want to do anything to mess it up. I'm sorry I was late. I was so nervous that I didn't know what I wanted to wear or where I should take you until last minute. I've been flustered since the moment you agreed outside The Hard Deck."

At the beginning you would have chalked it up to Hangman teasing you once again, trying to get under your skin. But the sincerity in his eyes made you realize that this wasn't act. He wasn't just saying these pretty words to get you to let your guard down so he could strike. He was being real and you wanted to melt into the floor as you now felt like an absolute jerk.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled fighting back the sudden tears stinging your eyes. "I shouldn't have been such a jerk to you."

"It's okay I really gave you a reason to be so defensive but I really want to try."

"It's not you," you sighed body shaking. You were about to continue on when the waitress came back and set the drinks down on the table. You hadn't even gotten to glance at the menu but without missing a beat Hangman ordered sending the waitress back off with the orders.

"Trust me I come here a lot," he grinned. "And you don't have to tell me. The Navy guys pretty much know some guy took advantage of you. We don't know any hard details but just know, we have your back no matter what."

Once again the pilot left you speechless, "Thank you."

He nodded leaning back in the chair he was sitting in. Without a second thought Hangman moved the topic to something else and in a matter of seconds he had you laughing and joyously conversing with him until the food made it to the table. And true to his world it was absolutely delicious and now you wanted to come back as soon as possible.

With full stomachs Hangman lead you back to the truck. The night had settled in fully before he once again held open your door. He didn't shut it immediately this time.

"Can I take you to a movie?"

"Absolutely!"

After the delicious dinner and a fun movie you realized that you didn't want this date to end. You couldn't remember the last time that you had enjoyed yourself so much. And if you could tell that Hangman wasn't ready for you to get out and leave in your car just yet.

"Think we can go take a walk on the beach for just a little while," you asked.

He perked up, eyes shining brightly he nodded.

You held your shoes in one hand and Hangman's hand in the other as the cooling sand shifted between your toes. The crashing waves on the beach sent little salty sprays in the air as little crabs scuttled by.

"I can't remember the last time I had so much fun," you breathed in deeply.

"Getting to fly is pretty fun," Hangman drug the toe of his boot in the sand. "But this is a different type of fun. I wouldn't want to share with anyone but you."

You faked a gag, "Ugh so sappy!"

He laughed," You have no one but yourself to blame. You shouldn't be so pretty."

"Oh puh-lease Hangman," you laughed. "You don't have to just say that."

He cupped your cheeks, hushing you immediately. Hangman stared down at you seriousness and a little bit of anger simmering in his gaze. You swallowed loudly, unsure of what to do in such a situation.

"Stop putting yourself down," you all but snarled. "You're amazing and I wish you could see it."

You never had someone say things like that with such conviction and it had you a little emotional. Hangman pressed his forehead against yours. Taking in your presence as your soft cheeks warmed his palms.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," he whispered. Placing a tender kiss on your forehead, you shivered against the contact of his warm lips against your skin. Hangman leaned backwards taking in your face before pulling you in closer. His breath brushing against your lips. He leaned in closer, claiming your mouth with his. The beach a perfect backdrop as the waves made their crashing applause against the sandy beach that suddenly became your favorite spot. Seconds later Hangman parted from you before holding you tightly.

"Thank you," you melted in his hold.

"Can we do this again soon," he whispered afraid of the answer you'd give him.

"The dating or kissing," you teased.

"Both. Lots of both."

"I'm ready whenever you are flyboy."

Hangman squeezed tighter," So tomorrow?"

You nodded, "Definitely tomorrow."

#Hangman X Reader #Hangman / Reader #Jake Seresin X Reader #Jake Seresin / Reader #Top Gun #Hangman Imagine #Top Gun Maverick #Top Gun Imagine #Imagine #Not My Gif #My Writing

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