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kneelingshadowsalome · 4 months

Note

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place.

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts.

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay.

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle...

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages.

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue.

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox.

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots.

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom.

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger.

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious.

Why would you say that?

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion.

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass.

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you.

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile.

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur?

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you.

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts.

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly.

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you.

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.”

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears?

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat.

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to…

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels.

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats.

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use.

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want.

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man.

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone.

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out.

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand.

He wants you to guide him to his father.

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years.

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens.

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you.

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is.

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh.

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out.

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely.

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory.

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand.

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission.

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm.

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be.

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.”

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick.

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.”

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #könig #könig cod #konig x you #cod konig

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shadowdaddies · 10 days

Text

Distraction

Azriel x Reader

A/N: I keep thinking about how this scene from Captain America: the Winter Soldier would fit so well for Azriel x reader on a spy mission

warnings: none

A knock on your door shook you from your daze, wide eyes alert in a prepared defense until you heard the familiar voice rumble lowly through the wooden doorway.

“Are you ready?” Azriel questioned, rough voice sending an unrecognizable thrill through you as you strode towards the door. Turning the handle, you looked up to see hazel eyes darkening as the striking Illyrian swallowed, gaze raking over your form in the fitted dress you’d donned for the evening.

“Ready, Az,” you nodded, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of admiring your friend’s appearance. He was dressed in a fitted all-black ensemble, tailored to show his impressive physique and highlight his features. He looked like a Prince of Darkness as he stepped to the side, holding out an arm for you to take.

“You look very nice, Azriel,” you smiled, playfully nudging him with your shoulder as he led you down the hall to the grand ballroom.

He stiffened slightly at your words, as though shocked by the compliment, before he turned to face you. “You look...” he paused, taking a deep breath when he stepped back to look at you. Something sparked in your chest when he spoke again. “You look beautiful.”

Nodding, you looked away in an attempt to hide your blush as well as Azriel had hidden his shadows for the evening. You were both undercover from the Night Court, attending this ball in Hybern to find information on potential traitors.

Since the war was won, Prythian had absorbed the kingdom of Hybern, but many were still resistant to the ideals of the Continent. You were sent with Azriel to the new ruler of Hybern’s birthday celebration to gather intel, searching for those who might pose a threat to the High Lord and Lady’s restructured kingdom.

With Azriel’s shadows, he would be quickly identified as the infamous shadowsinger of the Night Court, but with his shadows hidden and you by his side, you could blend in with the other fae relatively easily.

Which is why you now carried your shimmering skirts, shoes clicking down the marble floored halls with Azriel on your arm. You had expected to be more nervous going into the event, but something about Azriel’s touch kept you grounded, feeling calmer than ever.

Approaching the double doors that led to the grand ballroom, you nodded your appreciation to the guards who opened the doors for you both. Words escaped you at the beauty of the room before you, murals of fairies from old lining the walls along with gilded chandeliers and twinkling faelight. It was beautiful and romantic, a far cry from what you had imagined Hybern to be.

Feeling a tug on your arm, you looked up to see Azriel flashing you a knowing grin as he guided you towards a servant. Picking up two drinks from their tray, he murmured appreciation to them before handing you a glass. You half-expected him to say something about the beauty of the evening, but surprise didn’t find you with his words.

“Remember our story. Keep it vague and learn what you can tonight,” Azriel murmured, his warm hand rubbing affectionately on your waist at odds with his words. You nodded, remembering your role new mates as your role for the night, and that his touch meant nothing more.

Twining your fingers with his, you led Azriel to a couple who stood by the hearth, smiling as they both listened to the band play its lively tune. You chatted with them, learning the gossip about several royal families who did not approve of the new structure in Hybern.

“Well done,” Azriel murmured, his lips warm against your knuckles as he pulled them, twirling you in a playful move across the dance floor closer to the next target for intel.

You wished the giggle that escaped you was more effort than it was, but something about you was truly drawn to Azriel. He was gentle with you, but fiercely defensive of those he cared for. A skilled warrior and good friend.

Swallowing, you willed your emotions beneath the surface to plaster on your face of grace. Swiping another glass of faerie wine, you focused on the faux feelings you’d manufactured for the evening, ignoring those you really felt towards Azriel as best you could.

You were deep in conversation, laughing and joking with the female visiting from Vallahan when Azriel’s fingers tensed around your waist. Feigning ignorance, you smiled lazily at your “mate.”

“Is everything alright, my love?” You asked - the question you’d planned beforehand if anything unplanned were to arise.

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you, more wild than you had ever seen his bright hazel eyes. “I am just aching for a dance with my mate, is all,” he purred, teasing voice betraying the shaking fingertips that hovered your hips.

With audible “awws” and cooing at two new mates who couldn’t resist to be apart, the other fae ushered you towards the busy dance floor, where Azriel took your hand and waist, back held in surprisingly impressive form.

“I know the male in the opposite corner from where I face,” Azriel whispered in your ear, soft as if he were telling you sweet nothings. You ignored the hitch in your breath, gaze flicking briefly to a tall, burly male in the corner whose own eyes flicked to Azriel with curiosity.

“Come with me,” you whispered back, not missing how Azriel shivered at your lips on his ear. He followed you, hands loosely intertwined while you wove through the crowd towards the dark corner of the room opposite from the suspecting male.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the male moved through the ballroom, gaze scanning the crowd including yourselves as though he were looking for someone.

“Kiss me,” you whispered, pulling Azriel’s body tight against your own, which was pressed to the cold wall.

“W-what?” he choked out, and you had to bite back your grin at the uncharacteristically flustered spymaster.

“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. Kiss me,” you demanded, willing yourself not to look to the presence you could sense nearing you.

Azriel’s eyes practically glowed as he searched your face, searching for affirmation before one hand found your waist, the other wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a deep kiss.

An electric energy shot through you, the spark hitting your chest hard enough to steal your breath at the feeling of his soft lips on your own. You melted into the kiss with ease, both of your bodies interlacing like two halves of a whole.

You were dizzy for air, completely forgetting everyone else around you when Azriel pulled away, his eyes wide with something that looked like shock.

Pushing back, you scanned the area for potential threats before deciding you couldn’t find anything. “Azriel, what happened? Are you okay?” You whispered, thumb stroking his cheek to keep up the charade of new mates.

“I- you’re my...” Azriel stuttered, just as you caught sight of the suspicious male slipping out onto the balcony.

“Come on, Az. Let’s see what they’re up to,” you whispered, keeping a note in your mind to ask him what he was distracted by at a later time.

Part 2

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atinylittlepain · 11 months

Note

i need joel x f! reader friends to lovers 😩🫶🏻

i took this and ran with it

Birds of a Feather

joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist

joel has met his match, and though he's trying to keep things platonic, his brother has other plans for him.

warnings | 18+ smut, drunk tommy miller requires his own warning, angst, and a little fluff

wordcount: 4.1K

................................

Joel Miller has finally met his match, and he knows it. He had balked at it initially, when Tommy assigned him to patrol with some woman. But it wasn’t just some woman. Folks around town call her Sunshine, a running joke since she’s anything but. He didn’t know anyone could be more standoffish than him, but that first shift together, the steel in her stare and the tick of her jaw had thrown any of his ideas about her right out the window. Is it any wonder they became friends so fast?

He doesn’t like to talk much, she doesn’t either.

He has a dry sense of humor, but hers has to be even drier.

She refuses to suffer fools, and he enjoys watching her put men in their place.

He’s slow to thaw toward people, and so is she, both of them melting in each other’s presence.

Where he’s from Texas, she’s from Tennessee, the remnants of their drawls twining up in easy conversation.

He likes a stiff glass of whiskey at the end of the day, and she’s always game to join him.

But maybe one of the things he likes best is that while he’s good at pool, she’s fucking great at it, and he doesn’t mind getting his ass handed to him on Friday nights at the bar, not when it’s her doing the handing.

“Are you asleep, Miller? Or are you really just that bad at pool?” Her grin flickers under the dim lights of the Tipsy Bison, and he knows that it’s a sight not many people get to see. She cocks her head to the side, spinning her cue stick lightly in her hand as she smirks at him.

“Easy, darlin, gonna make you eat those words one of these days.” She’s not Sunshine, not to him, he refuses to call her what everybody else does. She had confessed to him once, on a long patrol shift, that she hated the nickname, but was too proud to ever say anything about it. In turn, Joel had told her about how growing up, Tommy managed to get everyone at their highschool to start calling him “Skip,” something he hadn’t told anyone in close to thirty years. His residual embarrassment had been worth it to see her smile in that moment, and it was about then that Joel realized he had made a certified friend. Though everyone else seems convinced that something a little more is going on.

“Shit.” He completely scratches his next turn, sending the cue ball right into one of the pockets as she snickers.

“What was that about me eating my words?” He’s distracted, just a little, but who could blame him when she’s wearing a pair of cut-offs that should be illegal and a tank top that turns downright obscene when she leans over the table for her own turn. So maybe there is something a little more going on, but it’s one sided, he reckons, and he’s not about to fuck up the first friendship he’s cared about in years just because he’s thinking with his dick. But, apparently, that’s not the only thing he has to worry about.

“Well, howdy, if it ain’t Jackson’s favorite tag team, frick and frack.” Joel hasn’t seen Tommy this drunk in decades. The town council had been celebrating that night, though he’s not quite sure what. Regardless, Tommy is sloshed as he loops and arm over Joel’s shoulders, a lazy grin on his face as he looks between him and her.

“Joel, Sunshine. How are we this fine evening?” While she snorts at his slurred-out question, Joel is less than amused, shrugging his brother off of him with a huff.

“Touchy, touchy, big brother. What’s got your panties in a twist? Did you break his heart already, Sunshine?” Joel can feel his face blanch at Tommy’s drawling words, glancing between him and her. While she’s still smiling, the crease between her brows suggests she’s as thrown off as Joel is.

“What’re you on about, little Miller?” Tommy lets out a hoot of a laugh at her question, leaning up against the pool table and grinning at her.

“What I’m on about is the sweet little crush this big guy right here has on you. It ain’t healthy, really, Joel’s got it bad for you.” If they weren’t related by blood, Tommy wouldn’t have teeth in his head by now, but instead, Joel settles for letting his jaw all but drop to the floor as he looks between his giggling brother and her. She doesn’t look so amused anymore.

“It’s true! Ain’t seen his eyes get like that in a long time, those big ol’ puppy dogs of his are for you and you only, Sunshine.” Before the horror of it all can really settle in, Tommy sighs, slapping Joel on his shoulder and shuffling off with a low murmured “where’s Maria?”

Her eyes are wide when he finally looks at her, lips parted, complete bewilderment splashed across her face. And before she can say anything, Joel is turning heel and booking it out of there before everything comes crumbling down around him.

…

She’s stunned. By the whole thing really. Tommy’s ridiculous musings, the way that Joel didn’t deny any of it, and then the way he booked it out of the bar like he wanted nothing to do with her. She wouldn’t have guessed in a million years that her night was going to turn out like this. Not that she would tell anyone, but she loves Friday nights, pool nights, when she gets to spend just a little more time with Joel than usual. So for it to turn so sour so fast, she finds herself at a loss, clutching her cue stick in her hands, stuck standing where Joel left her.

There’s no two ways about it, she likes him. Things feel easy around him. She hadn’t met anyone else in town who she could talk to like she can him. He gets it, being on the road, not always having a warm place to sleep, what it means to kill. They’ve both seen a far different life than the one they’re living now, and talking to him makes her feel a little less crazy. And yes, maybe she also likes the strong cut of his jaw, the way his deep brown eyes crinkle up when she talks to him, the broad span of his shoulders, and how he squares them up when she challenges him. You could call it a crush, but she’d call it stupid, something that would only ruin the friendship, the one big good in her life, that she has with him.

But now all bets are off. She’s got nothing to lose, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get the truth from him.

She knows him well enough by now to have a pretty good idea of where he stomped off to, and she doesn’t waste any more time standing around with a dumb look on her face, heading out of the bar and into the hazy light of the summer evening.

There’s a bench tucked away behind the stables, partially hidden by a small thicket of trees. A while ago, they had set it as their meeting place before patrol shifts, always getting there a few minutes early to set a plan for the day, or just to talk quietly before they had to head out. She had caught him there a few times on their days off too, an easy slump in his posture, his arms stretched out over the back of the bench. He told her he liked the quiet of it, and when she attempted to apologize for intruding, he had said that she couldn’t bother him if she even tried. It’s where she finds him now, his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands, though his eyes jerk up when she clears her throat.

“We gonna talk about what just happened?” He lets out a long sigh, sitting back on the bench and squinting up at her.

“I’d rather not.”

“Oh, c’mon, Joel. You know I’m not gonna let this go, not until you talk to me.” With that, he gets up from the bench with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t have anything to say, except I’m sorry that my brother is such a fucking idiot.” She calls after him as he trudges away, but it’s no use, he doesn’t so much as look back over his shoulder at her. Knowing him as well as she does, she can easily tell when it’s time to stop prodding, when he’s shutting down and she won’t be able to get anything out of him, so she drops it, at least for now.

She knows that they’re going to have to face whatever this is eventually, most likely the next morning when they’re set for a patrol shift together. With the hope of a clearer conversation on the horizon, she goes home, her mind still spinning from the strange evening. She lays awake in bed with her thoughts, the only conclusion she reaches being that she just wants the truth now, knowing that there will be no going back to the way things were, regardless of what he has to say.

When she gets to the bench the next morning, eyes bleary from a night without sleep, it becomes clear that Joel is going to make this more difficult than it has to be, as he is nowhere to be found. And he doesn’t show up either, not even when it’s time for their shift and she’s mounting up at the stables. She lets out a bitter laugh, though, when she sees who does show up.

“Did he send you down here?” Tommy huffs, leaning up against the door to the stables with a sheepish grin.

“Would you be less pissed at him if I said he didn’t?”

“What? He ask for a new patrol partner already?” She knows it sounds harsh, but she doesn’t care, anger starting to feel like the appropriate response for how childish Joel seems to be acting. Tommy just sighs.

“Look, Sunshine, I feel awful for what I said last night. I was so fucking drunk I didn’t know up from down. But it’s true what I said. Reckon he thinks you hung the moon in the sky or some shit.” That makes her pause, but she stifles the kick of her heart with another scoff.

“What’s your point, Tommy? I have a shift to cover.”

“No you don’t.”

“Huh?” Tommy lets out a breathy laugh at her furrowed look.

“I’m covering your shift– figure I owe you both for messing shit up so bad. I got a buddy of mine coming down in a few to patrol with me, but you’re off the hook. And I think you oughta go talk to him.”

“Joel made it pretty clear last night that he didn’t have anything else to say.” Tommy’s frown deepens at her clipped words, and he takes a few steps into the stables, leveling a surprisingly serious look at her.

“My brother is a stubborn ass, I won’t deny that. He doesn’t really like people, or feelings for that matter. But I know him well enough to see that he’s different around you. And maybe it’s selfish of me to say this, but you’re good for him, and I’ll be damned if the only reason you two don’t wind up together is my big fucking mouth.” His words stun her silent long enough for him to step forward and place a hand on her shoulder.

“Just go talk to him, please? If anyone can get through to him it’s you.”

…

He has to admit to himself that he was hoping, just a little bit, that it’d be her knocking on his front door, his chest tightening when he sees that it is. Though she doesn’t seem all too pleased to be looking at him, her arms crossed over her chest and an edgy arch to her brow.

“We gonna talk like adults now? Or are you gonna keep sending little Miller to do your bidding?” He knows this tone of voice. It’s the way she speaks to people, usually men, that she’d rather not give the time of day to. He’s always been amused by it, the stiff jerk of her chin, the eerie calm of her words. But it’s never been directed at him before, and suddenly there’s nothing amusing about it.

“I– yeah, yes. Let’s talk.” Real smooth, dumbass. She doesn’t wait for him to open the door any wider, brushing right past him and into his living room before turning on her heel to look at him.

“Well, there’s no real way around this, is there?” Her question hangs between them, a drooping thread threatening to snap, though even now, they still move comfortably around each other, sitting down on opposite ends of the couch and mirroring each other’s posture, elbows on thighs, heads tilted toward the other.

“Where do you wanna start, darlin?” She huffs out a laugh, more like an exasperated sigh as she looks at him, the steel gone, only a quirked worry left in its place.

“The truth– I want you to tell me the truth, Joel– about what Tommy said last night.” He figures he’s got nothing to lose at this point. That either way, whether he’s straight with her or not, their friendship isn’t ever going to be the same, so he takes a deep breath, and lets the words come rushing out.

“He wasn’t wrong– I mean, what he said? It’s true, I feel– I, uh– I like the way I feel? When I’m around you? And, um– Jesus christ, what I’m trying to say is– I feel very– fondly toward you.” He’d like to disappear now, to dissolve and slip down beneath the floorboards so she’ll stop smiling at him like he just made a complete fool of himself, because he did.

“You feel fondly toward me, huh?” And now she’s making fun of him, a light laugh on her lips as he grumbles at her question. But she’s quick to catch his despairing spiral, scooting over and placing a hand on his knee.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I don’t mean to tease. But for the record, the feeling’s mutual.” Oh. He can feel his eyebrows shoot up at her words, and her grin broadens at his reaction.

“You mean– you– what’s that word? You mean platoni–” She’s kissing him. She’s kissing him and his brain is going blank but he doesn’t need to think, not really, moving like he knows, like he’s been waiting for this. She’s as stubborn as he is, and it shows in the way they struggle against each other, pulling on clothes to get closer, teeth clashing just a bit as she slips into his lap, pushing him back against the couch as he drags her as close as he can. When she does pull away, he doesn’t let her go far, his hand holding her steady by the hilt of her neck, breathless and smiling.

“No, I don’t mean platonically. Not at all.” And then she’s kissing him again, and it’s quickly becoming his favorite feeling, though the way her hips are pressed up against his is a close second. Joel is starting to realize that they share a few other things in common as well.

They both have a hard time keeping quiet, his low groans mixing and mingling with the pitchy sighs she looses in between kisses.

And they both seem to want to get impossibly closer, his nose mashing up against the slope of her cheek as she winds her arms over his shoulder blades, holding him chest to chest.

Where he tries to get the upper hand, licking into her mouth, squeezing at the swell of her thighs, she just does the same, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck to hold him just how she wants him as she ducks down to mouth at the arc of his neck.

Where he demands more, she’s happy to give, and to take in turn.

How they make it up the stairs and into his bedroom is beyond him, greedy hands peeling away clothes on the way up, leaving a trail of desire that they’ll have to trace later.

She’s strong, just as strong as him, and she likes control, just as much as him, handily flipping them around on the bed so that she’s straddling him once again, leaving him wide-eyed and breathless at the sight of her. He’s got scars, and she does too, their hands running over the silvery marks, prayers that there won’t have to be anymore. Her bare cunt is a hot drag over his pelvis, and he’d like more than anything for her to shift her hips just a little lower, a little closer. But instead she ducks her head down, eyes flickering up to his as she lays a smear of kisses over his chest that begin to trail lower until she’s kneeling between his spread thighs. Joel thinks he just might die as he watches her spit into her hand before wrapping her palm around his throbbing cock, a hiss spilling between his teeth as she deftly sweeps her wrist up, her thumb swiping over his slit to smear the pooling pre-come there down his length.

“S’pretty, Joel. Prettier than I imagined.” He can’t help but groan at her words, scrunching his eyes shut and pressing his head back into the sheets.

“You– fuck– you thought about this, darlin? About me?” She smiles at his question, her lips just grazing the underside of him.

“Mmhmm, thought about you a lot. About this. We’re so alike, you and I. I couldn’t help but think that if anyone would be able to handle me, it’d be you.” And with that, she licks a salacious stripe up his length before taking him into the heat of her mouth.

“Christ– I can– can handle you, darlin. Handle you however you want me to– fuck, that mouth of yours is a dream.” She hums at his praise, the vibration shooting straight down his cock as she bobs her head. It’s messy as hell, the slick sound of spit, her palm pressed flat against his stomach to hold him still, the drag of her tongue along his length, and the way her eyes stay on him, hooded and hazy under her lashes.

“Thought about you too, y’know, like-like this.” His words make her stop for a moment, pulling off of him with a sigh, her hand picking up where she left off.

“And? Am I living up to your expectations?” Her words are lilted by her grin, and the sight of her lazily stroking his cock, her head tilted as she looks at him is nearly too obscene to be real.

“S’better– you’re so much better– fucking perfect.” It’s like he realizes all of a sudden how bad he wants to touch her, and then it’s all he wants, all he needs, coaxing her back up to meet in a kiss before rolling them over, swallowing the peel of laughter she lets out as he hovers over her.

He wants to be the only one who gets her like this, the only one to hear her sighs, soft and melty in his sheets, sweet only for him as he swipes his fingers through her folds, dragging her pooling slick up to draw circles over her clit.

“So wet for me, darlin. S’just for me, huh?” Her chin jerks in a nod, whatever control she had now held in his hands, her hips canting up into his palm.

“Just for you, Joel. All for you– please.” She doesn’t have to say anymore, he knows what she wants because it’s what he wants too. More. He presses two fingers inside of her, unable to stifle the groan he lets out at the feel of her cunt clenching around him, muffling the sound with a drag of kisses across her chest. She keens up into his touch, back arching when he takes one of her nipples into his mouth, tongue laving over the peak before letting his teeth just barely graze the delicate skin. And he learns her, all of her, the dips and swells of her body, the spot he can press against inside her that makes her brow crumple, the scrape of her nails down his back, the little whimpers she tries to silence, biting down on her lip, the way she tightens around his fingers when she’s close, and the broken sound of his name on her lips when she finally unravels for him, panting and twisting in pleasure.

“That’s it, darlin. Feels good, huh? I did good for you?” Maybe it’s a little selfish, what he asks, but she’s happy to answer anyways.

“So good– did so good for me, Joel. Fuck, I really want you, baby.” He can feel the heat flushing up his face at her words, his mind going dizzy with the praise, and all he can do is give her what she wants, slotting his hips against hers and notching his leaking tip at her entrance.

It’s unreal, it’s gotta be, the way she spreads open around him, close and pliant, her knee hitched up along his waist as he presses into her, both of them sighing at the stretch. For a moment, they’re still, just feeling each other, pressed so close, sweat-damp skin sticking from the contact, choppy exhales cooling down their shared heat. And then, Joel learns that they have something else in common. They both like their pleasure with just a tinge of pain.

It starts slow, the rock of his hips into hers, but she makes it clear with the press of her heel into his low back and her hand tugging in his hair that slow is the last thing she wants, and Joel is more than happy to oblige. The thump of the headboard against the wall, the slap of skin, harsh grunts and crackling moans twine around them, wrapping them up in a desperate symphony with each harsh grind of his hips against hers.

He wants to leave marks, wants her to remember this when she runs her hands over the bruises he leaves, a purple and blue mosaic of where he touched her, where he wanted her most. And she seems intent on the same goal, nails scratching down his shuddering back, pulling him closer so she can mouth at his neck, her teeth nipping just a touch unkindly, making his eyes roll back from the sharp suggestion of pain.

“Fuck, darlin– made just for me, huh? So good like this– wanna feel you like this– want you to gimme another one. Be so good for me, honey, c’mon.”

…

All she wants is him. The hot drag of his cock inside her, his hips mashing up against hers, the heavy grip of his hand cupping her ass, pulling her hips up to meet his. His scruff, scraping against her chest, lips a smudge against her skin, each grunt a vibration that runs through her bones. The way he keeps her head from hitting the headboard with his forearm protectively curled there, holding himself up just enough to move his hips against hers, to look at her when she comes for a second time, spasming around him.

She feels like liquid beneath him, undone by pleasure, only vaguely aware of the breathy chant of please, please leaving her lips with each exhale. But he knows what she’s asking for, and Joel gives it to her, pulling out with a groan, his spend smearing across her heaving stomach as he pants over her. He flops down onto his stomach next to her with a sigh, one arm slung heavy over her waist, turned on his cheek to look at her.

“Get you cleaned up in a minute– just need to not move right now– shit.” She has to laugh at his breathless exclamation, catching the crook of his grin out of the corner of her eye before turning onto her side to get a better look at him. Hair wild, sticking up all which ways, and cheeks flushed under his altogether boyish smile, she can’t help but lean in for a kiss that he gives up willingly to her.

“Remind me again why we waited so long to do that?” That makes him laugh, squeezing her hip to pull her closer as he turns onto his side

“Because I was an idiot.” She hums at his answer, brushing his hair back out of his face before letting her palm settle along his scruff.

“It takes two, we were both idiots.”

“Some pair we make, huh, darlin?”

Some pair indeed.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #tlou #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot

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koisuko · 5 months

Text

Pov: You are a cat (pt3)

how the mk1 characters react to you as a stray cat, one with an oddly familiar/fitting name

part 1, part 2, part 4, bonus

ft: Kuai Liang, Bi-han, Tomas, Johnny, Kenshi

TW: none, cute kitty stuff, fluffy, gn, this took way longer than the others

Kuai Liang

Kuai Liang often took leisurely strolls around the tranquil grounds of the Lin Kuei Temple during his moments of respite. The temple's surroundings were often blanketed in a soft, soothing layer of snow, but for the pyromancer, the icy chill of winter held no sway over him. His very essence exuded an inner warmth that countered the cold embrace of the environment.

On this particular day, as the delicate snowflakes gracefully descended from the heavens to blanket the earth, Kuai Liang found himself taking a deep breath, observing the intricate dance of the snowflakes as they twirled and twined their way to the ground. It was a serene sight, the aftermath of a recent snowstorm that had bestowed its wintry bounty upon the landscape. However, amidst this serene vista, something unexpected caught his eye. A small, light brown figure, in stark contrast to the snowy surroundings, lay curled in a vulnerable ball. Kuai's curiosity piqued, he approached cautiously, his steps leaving deep impressions in the pristine snow.

As he drew near, he realized the figure was not what he initially thought. It wasn't a person but a small, shivering cat, its fur glistening with frost, the cold wind nipping at its exposed form. You were too weak to flee, your fragile body barely holding onto the last vestiges of warmth.

Without hesitation, Kuai Liang swiftly but gently scooped the trembling feline into his arms. His inherent pyromantic abilities were brought into play, the heat radiating from his body increasing to provide solace to the freezing creature. He cradled you tenderly against his chest, his protective embrace serving as a barrier against the frigid elements. Quickly, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the warmth and safety of his quarters. The small cat, now in the care of the compassionate Lin Kuei warrior, was wrapped in a cozy blanket, offering a respite from the merciless cold that had threatened your life.

Kuai Liang settled onto the edge of his bed, you still nestled in his arms. His deep brown eyes reflected a mixture of relief and concern as he gazed down at your small form. "Feeling better, little one?" he asked softly, his voice a gentle whisper. In response, you emitted a delicate meow, your purrs growing in intensity as you basked in the newfound warmth and safety. With a fond smile, Kuai adjusted the blanket to ensure your comfort. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your head as he noticed a collar, the word 'Flame' etched onto it. It was a fitting name, considering the circumstances of you and his meeting. He held you a bit closer, and with a sense of contentment washing over you both, you drifted into a peaceful slumber within Kuai Liang's reassuring embrace.

Bi-han

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, its rays beating down on the earth in relentless waves. This summer was a scorching anomaly around the Lin Kuei temple, typically shrouded in snow or rain. Yet today, the weather was unforgiving, the heat making the air thick and uncomfortable. Bi-han, the cryomancer, remained unfazed, his naturally colder body shielding him from the oppressive warmth.

Returning from a brief mission, he noticed an odd mass slightly off the path, its black color stark against the dusty road. It might have gone unnoticed, but something about it drew his attention. As he drew near, the figure became clearer—a small feline, lying almost motionless and panting. Though Bi-han's expression remained stoic, a flicker of concern crossed his features. Kneeling down, he observed you, barely clinging to life as the heat threatened to consume you.

Uncertain how to handle the situation, he extended an ice-covered hand, hovering it near your limp body. The cooling sensation permeated your fur, offering brief relief from the oppressive heat. After a moment's hesitation, he scooped you into his arms, a determination in his gaze as he decided not to walk away from this. He navigated through the temple, giving a cold stare to anyone inquiring about the cat in his arms.

Reaching his quarters, he gently placed you on his bed, quickly fetching water in a small dish. Your weakened state required assistance, and he patiently helped you drink. Fearful of accidentally harming you, he handled you with care, holding you against his cold chest. A rare smile adorned his face as he stroked your back with a frigid hand. Your panting ceased, replaced by a soft purr. A collar around your neck bore the name 'Snow,' a subtle amusement crossing his expression, a chuckle leaving his lips at the contrast between your name and your black fur. "A brave little warrior, welcome to the Lin Kuei."

Tomas Vrbada

Tomas often found solace in Madam Bo's tea house, sharing his troubles with her during tough times. Today, however, a different kind of task awaited him and his brothers. Lord Liu Kang had assigned them the responsibility of testing two new recruits. The plan involved a staged "thug attack" on Madam Bo, with Tomas taking the lead to set the scene for his brothers, Bi-han and Kuai Liang. He stood at a distance, karambit twirling between his fingers, awaiting the orchestrated chaos.

As he stared up at the night sky, Tomas couldn't shake off the unease that Bi-han's recent behavior had planted in his mind. The Grandmaster had become colder, distant, and more callous since his promotion, leaving Tomas worried about the clan's future. The unknown intentions of Bi-han lingered in his thoughts like an unspoken threat.

His contemplation was interrupted by a sudden pressure on his lower leg. Looking down, he was met with the amber eyes of a small grey feline. A soft 'brrr' escaped your lips as you gazed at him, offering a momentary distraction from his concerns. Tomas' masked face softened into a smile, and he cooed, "Well, hello there, little one. Are you lost?" Kneeling down, he gently caressed the fur on your back, occasionally reaching up to scratch behind your ears. You purred, rubbing your body against his leg with your tail held high.

Tomas chuckled at the affectionate display, lifting you into his arms. As he petted your head, you playfully swatted at his mask. "You're so cute," he chuckled, noticing a shiny piece of metal around your neck with the name 'Smokey' engraved on it. "Seems like it was meant to be, mini smoke!" Tomas nuzzled his masked face against you before gently setting you back on the ground. With a loving tone, he said, "I must go. I'll see you after, little Smokey." Walking towards the tea house, he left behind the furry distraction and headed into the impending test.

Johnny Cage

The cold marble floor beneath your padded paws echoed your every step as you navigated the expansive mansion. Your tail swayed low, the anticipation evident as you sought out your human companion. The distant murmur of a familiar voice led you to the main living room, where Johnny, engrossed in a phone call with a client, occupied the elegant white couch. With a soft meow, you made your presence known, gracefully leaping into his lap. Johnny, unfazed by the interruption, allowed a warm smile to grace his lips, his hand gently stroking the top of your head. The white fluffy fur responded, obediently flattening against your small frame.

"Alright, yea, yea, I'll talk to you soon, bye," Johnny concluded his conversation, placing the phone down. He pulled you closer to his chest, addressing you with affection, "Princess, my sweet baby, what do you say we watch one of daddy's movies, hm?" Your enthusiastic, raspy meow signaled your approval, earning a chuckle from Johnny.

The two of you found yourselves engrossed in the second movie, your petite form peacefully curled up in his lap. Johnny continued to caress your fur, eliciting soft purrs that harmonized with the ambient soundtrack of the film. As a tender moment unfolded, Johnny couldn't help but gaze down at you, a genuine smile playing on his lips. An idea sparked in his mind.

A subtle 'psspss' sound reached your ears, causing them to twitch before lifting your head inquisitively, "brr?" The next instant, a pair of oversized human sunglasses adorned your feline face, prompting a slight recoil in surprise. Johnny, undeterred, exclaimed, "Look at you, Princess, now you're just like me!" You playfully wiggled your head, the sunglasses perched on your nose, gazing up at Johnny with a mix of curiosity and kitty confusion.

A vision of a perfect photo opportunity struck Johnny, and he swiftly retrieved his phone. "They will love you, Princess, say cheese for the fans!" he enthused. Clicking away, he captured the moment, immortalizing your adorable feline fashion statement. "So cute! Okay, one more," he declared, adjusting you on his shoulder for a different perspective. Setting up his phone again, he turned on the recording feature, transforming your lazy demeanor into an amusing cat dance routine. Your unamused expression didn't escape Johnny's notice, but the love between you two prevailed.

As he maneuvered your limbs in a playful imitation of a human dance, you yawned, the epitome of relaxed indifference. The entire scene painted a heartwarming picture of companionship and the quirky antics that made your bond with Johnny truly special.

Kenshi Takahashi

Restless, Kenshi tossed and turned in his sheets, his mind burdened with worries for his family and the constant pressure to break free from the clutches of the Yakuza. Blind, but keenly attuned to his surroundings, every other sense heightened to compensate for the absence of sight, Kenshi found himself unable to find solace in sleep. With a deep sigh of defeat, he kicked the blankets off, acknowledging that tonight, sleep was not his ally.

Deciding to channel his restless energy, he ventured outside into the cool night air. A thin sheen of sweat coated his skin, offering a stark contrast to the refreshing breeze that greeted him. A smile tugged at his lips as the temperature shift cleared his mind. Sento, his faithful sword, in hand, he stood on the grass, adopting a steady stance. Fluid movements followed, the dance of a man determined to regain control over his life. Each breath he took seemed to ground him, the rhythmic motions of his sword a manifestation of both skill and frustration.

Blindness had taken away his ability to see the world in all its vibrancy. Now, dependent on Sento and those around him, Kenshi grappled with the loss of independence. The dance with his sword was not just a physical exercise; it was a defiance against the constraints that bound him.

His movements grew more vigorous, muscles flexing, as Sento seemingly came alive, mirroring his every move. The dance reached its zenith, Sento flowing out of the blade, a spectral swordsman beside him. To an onlooker, it would be a mesmerizing spectacle, a testament to the bond between man and sword. Abruptly, the dance ceased, Sento returning to its sheath in a stream of ethereal blue.

Sensing eyes upon him, Kenshi pointed his sword in the direction of the unseen observer. "Who's there?" his voice, usually calm, now carried a commanding tone. "Show yourself!" Silence greeted him, the stillness almost convincing him that his heightened senses were playing tricks on him. Frustration etched across his face as he cursed the loss of his sight.

As he stood there, a small calico cat emerged from the shadows. Your presence surprised him, and he scowled, trying to discern if it was a figment of his imagination. You, undeterred, approached Kenshi, a silent companion in the night. His scowl softened into a smile as he bent down to pet you, his sword now sheathed on his back.

Unexpectedly, he felt something on your collar. Using his fingers, he traced the lines, realizing it spelled out "Sento." Kenshi's fingers lingered on the collar, feeling the cold metal inscribed with the name of his sword. "Sento," he whispered, more to himself than to you, a note of disbelief in his voice. You, seemingly unperturbed, purred under his touch, rubbing your head against his hand.

A soft chuckle escaped Kenshi as he continued to stroke your calico fur. "Well, Sento, it seems we have a namesake here. What brings you to my midnight training session?" he mused, as if expecting you to respond. You, of course, remained silent, but your presence was oddly comforting.

The night air carried a hint of mystery, and Kenshi, guided by instincts honed through years of combat, couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter held significance beyond the surface. "Perhaps you're a guardian spirit, watching over me," he mused, half-jokingly, yet a flicker of curiosity danced in his sightless sockets.

As if in response, you nudged his hand affectionately, a silent reassurance. Kenshi's lips curved into a genuine smile, a rare expression that spoke of a connection forged in the quietude of the night.

"Maybe I'm not as alone as I thought," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 78

Part 1 Part 77

Eddie always thought he’d be in jail before all this hard labor bullshit starts. Still, here he is, chipping away at the cold earth with a shovel Mama Byers stole from Merill’s shed. And it’s all to save the same man who’s busted his balls more times than he can count.

But Steve had pointed, and Eddie’d started digging.

He’s sitting now, criss-cross as he stares down at the ground like he can see through it, feet crossed, and t-shirt on backwards. Eddie had thrown it over his head as Steve walked out of the house, while While stuffed his sockless feet into his tennis shoes as best as he could. It’s not right. He’s not right.

Eddie can still feel the thread tying them together, but it’s brittle now, obvious next to the nylon still twined between Eddie and Will.

Steve’s barely there at all.

He’s always lived in an empty house, been an empty house. The thing inside him is just the first to take up residence – to fill the vacancy.

Eddie wants his empty house back.

He’d spent a year watching Steve blossom, filling that emptiness with laughter and cooking and someone to come home to. Eddie’d helped Steve move in, rearrange the furniture in his mind and feng shui that shit until the sun was always shining. He’d seen the curtains begin to open.

It’s jarring, now, to look into his eyes and see the glassy windows of an abandoned home.

So Eddie does all he can; he digs. The hole grows bigger and bigger, growing at the same rate as the blister on the side of his right thumb. He takes turns with Mama Byers, her lithe frame hiding surprising strength.

She’s the one at the mantle when the shovel strikes air. She pushes it down hard, gasping as it falls straight through, clattering somewhere below with the dull thud of metal on packed earth.

“Well, shit,” she says, staring down at the far-too small hole in the earth, just big enough to lose a shovel in.

Eddie peers down with her, eyeing the loosened sides and the distance of the drop. “Think we can stomp the rest out?”

“I don’t think that’s–” Mama Byers starts, but Eddie’s already stomped down.

The dirt crumbles easier than he expects, like all it wants is to tumble down into the unknown with the shovel. Eddie’s whole foot goes through, and he tumbles down with it.

It’s not far, but he lands on the handle of the shovel, feels it reverberate up his spine. He closes his eyes against the pain, groaning as he rolls away from the impact site.

“Eddie?” Will and Mama Byers both call down to him. He opens his eyes to look up at their worried faces, haloed by the dim gray of the November sky. Steve doesn’t make an appearance, but he can still dimly feel him up there.

“I’m fine!” he calls, hoisting himself onto knees and hands and hoping it’s true.

His ankle twinges as he gets it under him but it holds his weight as he levers himself upright. He barely even notices the pain because then he sees him: Hopper. He’s on the ground, and he’s not moving, as the vines writhe around him.

“Shit!” Eddie cries, rushing over and dropping down next to the man. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He says it like a mantra, barely noticing Mama Byers calling down at him, demanding he tell her what’s happening.

Eddie yanks at the vine, trying to wrench it from the man’s throat with little success. He sobs when Hopper croaks out a quiet, “knife.” It’s the first sign of life the man’s shown and Eddie will take it with both hands.

“Where?” Eddie cries. “Where is it?”

“It’s there!” Mama Byers calls. She’s collapsed on the ground, winded from her own fall into the tunnel. Eddie follows her pointing finger to his right.

He lurches for it as Mama Byers crawls up to take his place holding the vines away from Hopper’s windpipe.

Eddie saws at the vine around his neck, around his torso, around his wrists. He loses time to hacking away, barely noticing the viscous black blood that oozes out of it and splatters his clothes, hands, face.

All he knows is Steve’s barely there at all anymore, and this is the same fucking thing that had slithered down his throat

and made its home inside him in the first place.

He can hear Hopper coughing, Mama Byers calling his name, but it’s all muffled, like he’s under water. Like he’s still in the Harrington pool, drowning. Like he never made it to the other side.

Maybe he didn’t.

Maybe he’s still down there, sucking down chlorine like it’ll quench his thirst. At least down there, he’d had a hold on Steve. But, now, he can feel the tether turning to ash in his mouth. He’s so thirsty. He wants to swallow the world.

“Munson”

He keeps hacking away at the vines, like they’ll stop strangling Stevie. Like this will be the thing that saves them.

“Eddie.”

Like they’re what’s strangling him, smoke and helplessness clogging Steve’s esophagus and making a home within him.

“Kid!”

There are warm hands gripping his wrist, hard. Warmer than Steve’s been. Eddie looks up, and Hopper’’s staring at him, ragged and dirty and panting, but alive. Eddie looks down at the wrist he’s holding. Hopper’s knife is clutched hard enough that it hurts.

“You got them,” Hopper says, voice that soothing, gruff timber he uses on little kids, and victims. “You can let go.” He squeezes Eddie’s wrist before loosening his hold and running his thumb up the veins of his inner wrist. “You saved me, kid. You did good.”

It hurts when he drops the knife, tendons protesting the change of position after he knows how long clenching down. Hopper drops his wrist, clasping his shoulder and squeezing that instead. “You did good,” he says again, and then again, like that’ll stop Eddie’s shaking. It doesn’t.

Eddie nods, still looking down at the knife. His hand clenches on air. He feels bereft, so he pulls on the threads that bind. One made of titanium, and one made of dust he can barely feel at all.

He jerks his head up at the ceiling, straining his neck to see Steve and Will’s faces. He needs to know that they’re both still there, waiting for him to come back. That Steve’s still Steve, waiting for Eddie to save him.

Steve’s always dying. Eddie’s always trying to save him.

But Steve’s not there at all.

There’s just dirt, only a shovel as proof of the morning spent digging a hole. Digging a grave for them to disappear in.

“No, no, no!” Eddie cries, scrambling up.

“Munson, what–”

“He’s gone!” He lurches forward, grabbing for the shovel, like he can somehow dig his way back. He hears Mama Byers gasp as he pushes the shovel up into the dirt. It doesn’t give. He pushes harder.

“Eddie, sweetie.” Mama Byers says, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “Will’s got him.”

Will’s got him. Will, who’s bright light he can feel at Steve’s side, just above. Will’s got him.

Eddie drops the shovel on a sob, still looking, up, up, up.

“But how are we going to get out of her?” Eddie asks. No one answers because no one knows.

Digging a hole and escaping a grave are two very different things.

Like the answer to a prayer Eddie would never send up, there’s a shout behind him. “Go!”

Eddie spins, and there’s a man in a Hvac suit, with a gun pointed straight at him. He stumbles back, feels Mama Byers’ steadying hands on his lower back.

“Get out of here!” the man calls, voice muffled through his helmet. He gestures with the butt of his gun behind him. “Go! Go!”

Eddie flits by him, keeping as much distance as the small tunnel will allow just as something inhuman begins shrieking behind him.

He doesn’t hesitate anymore. He bolts, Mama Byers and Hop hot on his heels, visions of Demogon’s on his heels pushing him faster.

He passes more suits and more guns, and keeps going. The ground begins sloping upward toward the light of an open tunnel. He stops for a second, shocked by an end to the darkness.

The safety of right-side-up is steps away. The warmth of light and air and his people are so close, he can almost taste it.

That’s when the screaming starts, from a voice he would know anywhere. Even like this. Even loud and wretched with pain.

Eddie runs toward the sounds of his angel screaming.

Part 79

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #will byers #sorry this is late!!! my power went out on thursday and came back on today and my phone died!#thank god for restored heating <3<3<3

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iamnotshazam · 4 months

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acidentally plunged myself into the idea that Arwen, daughter of First Age survivor Elrond and poor sweet Celebrían, granddaughter of Middle-earth's OG elvish battle-queen Artanis "I Possibly Took Part in All Three Kinslayings and All I Got Was a Loving Husband" Galadriel, and a long-time seasoned traveler between Rivendell and Lothlórien, has all the exact same incredible wilderness survival and combat skills as Aragorn

but nobody in Minas Tirith realizes this until, one afternoon when the Queen is inexplicably late to some court function, a vaguely familiar mud-splattered walking clod of earth dances up to Elessar Telcontar I, King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, and he sighs and lets the apparition kiss him on the cheek.

"I thought I saw one of the mearas and grew distracted," the Thing says to him, sheepishly. It scrapes a bit more mess off of its face and reveals grey eyes that are still not-quite mortal.

"You should have known, then, that you wouldn't be able to catch it," the King says back, clearly teasing.

The eldritch ball of dirt that grew legs and walked into court giggles and twines a curl of something that might have once resembled long shining dark hair around its finger. It now resembles nothing so much as seaweed that somehow took on the quality of Ithilien topsoil. "I am back in time to clean up before dinner, at least."

"Well, at least your priorities are in the correct order, dear," the King says. And with that the amalgam of woman and wilderness gathered from at least half the length of the Pelennor Fields turns and goes to Queen Arwen's chambers to order a bath.

the military leader the King was just speaking with: "hey sir what the Fuck"

"oh that's Strider's wife, don't mind her"

#arwen #aragorn #aragorn elessar #tolkien #lotr #elrond #celebrian #galadriel #aragorn and arwen both smiling fondly: get you a spouse who can do Both

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topperscumslut · 2 years

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⚠️TUA S3 SPOILERS!!!!!⚠️

I love that everyone on this godforsaken app was like “klaus is going to drag a reluctant five to see the ball of twine” but it turned out to LITERALLY be the other way around where klaus actually has a goal he’s trying to achieve for once and five is the impulsive one who just wants to have fun dragging klaus like “BALL OF TWINE, BITCH”

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #the umbrella academy season 3

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

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A continuation of Sweet On You (part three Hard Candy here)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.9k] prompts: Say you want me and I'm yours" and "I don't know what to do. I could teach you." Best friends to lovers, sofa sex, who doesn't have a praise kink?

The walk home to Steve’s house was less awkward than you thought it would be, considering your drunken admission.

But the cool night air had sobered you up and there was something nostalgic about walking down the empty road with your best friend, the night sky inky and endless above you.

Hawkins was quiet, the dull thud of the party left behind and Steve was next to you, one foot in front of the other as he balanced himself on the white lines of the tarmac. You wondered if he could hear your heartbeat in the quiet of it all, if he would hear the way it was rattling off of your rib cage, if his was doing the same.

He stole glances at you, not so subtle gazes from under his lashes when he thought you weren’t looking, as if he wondered where this night was going, where those white lines were leading you both. You turned the corner into his street, the houses growing bigger as you went, the cars on the drive more expensive and the smell of chlorine filled the air, the soft trickle of backyard pools and front lawn fountains filling up the silence.

“You staying?”

It was an almost rhetorical question. Steve knew you would, you always did. There was one of his old basketball shirts balled up under the pillow he knew you liked best, waiting for you since you wore it last weekend, vodka drunk and clutching Robin as Steve steered you home to his.

And besides, you were there with him, on the sidewalk in front of his empty house, breath stuck in your chest ‘cause, oh my god, you told your best friend you were jealous of a girl he was with.

You didn’t know what to say. You knew the boy was simply checking, wondering if the fresh air had changed your mind, had woken you up and made you regret what you’d said when your head had been filled with smoke and bass, tequila on your tongue and a little green monster on your back.

It’s probably why he looked nervous, eyes low, lips a little twisted at the side as if he was preparing for rejection.

But you nodded, leaning lazy against the frame of his porch as he fumbled with the front lock. The night had become warmer, or maybe it was just you, but tension fizzed in the soft breeze and heat gathered on your skin, like the entire town was warning you of a storm brewing.

It felt like something big was about to happen. Something astronomic, something dangerous.

You walked into the dark house when the lock finally clicked, Steve holding the door open for you as he always did, taking his time to put the deadbolt back on, a habit over the years.

Your legs took you to the kitchen, normal routine after a party. You’d normally raid the Harrington’s fridge, scalding yourself on the oven door as you fished out almost burnt pizzas and sharing slices with Steve.

But you stood at the countertop, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and waited for Steve to follow. You heard his shoes hit the floor, one by one before the shuffle of his jacket sliding off his shoulders. When he finally emerged into the room, he flicked the light that hung over the dining table, soft and low, and far away enough from you that it didn’t hurt your eyes.

The entire room was cast in a glow, Mrs Harrington’s love for anything crystal making the lightshade throw reflections across the kitchen, the tiles, Steve’s face.

You swallowed, hard.

His hand found yours, pulling at it from where it was twisted in your shirt sleeve until he could twine his fingers with yours. The boy used it to guide you into him a little, your back still pressed against the counter top and although you’d been wrapped around him not even an hour ago at the party, this felt different.

Intimate, altering.

His other hand caught your chin, lips parting at the sudden touch of him and you obeyed easily when he tilted it up, silently asking you to look at him. Everything about Steve oozed confidence, it always had, and despite the way he put his hands on you, gentle but a little domineering, there was a softness in his eyes that told you he was holding onto some doubt. It flickered there, buried in the warm brown, honey and golden, and it made you soften against him.

His fingers spanned the length of your jaw, reaching to the highest point of your cheekbone and his thumb bumped at the corner of your lips, a touch that sent a shock through you, and briefly, you wondered if that storm you thought you felt outside had arrived.

Steve’s voice was hoarse when he spoke, rough with nerves and the leftover silence you had both walked home in but he murmured to you, eyes trained on your own.

“Did you mean what you said?”

An exhale, an inhale, yours or his you didn’t know. You were close, so much closer now. You didn’t know when your other hand had reached up to clutch at him, his shirt fisted in your hand as if he was the only thing grounding you, as if you had to make sure this was real.

It didn’t feel like a game, like flirting gone too far. You’d toed the line with Steve many times, usually when one or both of you were tipsy, a little high and seeking affection. Sometimes it was a battle, quick words and smart ass comebacks on sharp tongues that eventually turned to teasing, raised brows, tongues pressed against teeth and eyes that gave away too much.

‘Cause this was Steve Harrington. Best friend of ten years, professional piggyback giver, part time babysitter and the only person in this godforsaken town that could call you ‘sweetheart’ and not receive a kick to the shins.

You didn’t wanna ruin that. You couldn’t handle that being taken away.

He saw your doubt too, the nerves. He saw right through you, always had. The boy could read you like a book and it was as infuriating as it was helpful. He gave you the nudge that you needed, his knees bending a little so he could bring his face level with your own, noses so close to brushing together. His gaze was liquid gold, buried treasure under sand, full of promise.

“Cause if you did, just say it. Say you want me,” Steve let out a huff of breath, as if even saying the words out loud affected him more than they should, like he wasn’t supposed to admit to it. “And I’m yours.”

His admission hit you in the chest like a good old fashion sucker punch, flooding you with heat and something else you didn’t quite understand yet. You weren’t sure what he meant, not fully, but with the way your best friend was looking at you, you didn’t think this was the time for a talk about labels and what ifs.

You thought about the girl, the one with the pink lips and permed hair, perky and pretty and all over Steve. You thought about the way it made your chest hurt, like it cracked you down the middle and made your heart ache. You wondered if you could make it feel better, if you could fix it.

You didn’t answer, not really, not properly. You just used what was left of your liquid courage to push yourself up onto your toes, hand still curled into the neck of Steve’s shirt as you pulled him to you.

You kissed him with more authority than you thought you owned, more than you should’ve considering your lack of experience with boys but the answering moan from Steve filled you with confidence, lips moving over his, chasing the taste of red vines and cheap beer.

And as his hand pushed at the material of your shirt, tucking it up and out of his way so his palm could slide against your bare waist, you wondered how any decision that felt so good could possibly be bad.

The push and pull of it made your body fizz, a buzz in your chest that felt better than any high and a sigh escaped you, soft and a little desperate. You felt the boy's thumb at the corner of your mouth again, bossy as it tugged on your bottom lip, asking you to open.

Honestly, it was everything you expected from him. .

Hands rough, touch soft, lips impatient and greedy, like you were the last spoonful of ice cream. He chased your kiss, groaning when you parted your lips for him, pushing up and into him a little more. You took what he gave you, handed it right back, hot and heavy. Despite this being your first kiss with Steve, you were used to this dynamic, his touch, the way you felt safe beside him. Your heart still hammered, but there was a comfort in the rhythmic beat of it, your own personal soundtrack to the way he kissed the breath from you.

You weren’t sure who moved first, you just know it was a little clumsy, bodies swaying, legs tangled, dancing across the tiles and lit by low lamps and the moon. Steve was still bending down for you, lips still joined, hands roaming but he gave up when you both bumped into a bar stool, the harsh squeak the only other sound next to your harsh pants.

He gathered you to him then, closer than before, hands around your waist so he could pull you up against him, walking you backwards on the tips of your toes as you leant into him, arms looped around his neck.

You made a stop against the doorframe, your back against it as he crowded you, kiss deepening and hands getting bolder. Steve snuck the flat of his palm higher up your shirt, warm and smooth along the side of your ribs until his fingers grazed at the band of your bra, lace under his touch.

He groaned when you gasped, lips stuttering over yours as he pulled away just enough to mumble against your mouth, “god, you make the prettiest sounds.”

And then you were tumbling through the hallway again, tripping over the shoes you had both abandoned and Steve paused at the stairs before deciding the climb to his bedroom didn’t allow him to keep kissing you and fuck, well, that just wouldn’t do.

So you both headed for the lounge, a room that was showcased by a large archway, and it held a huge fireplace and squishy sofas, everything surrounded by marble and wood panelling. You had never been in that room, had only ever seen it used at Christmas time, but when Steve led you to the forest green sofa, you happily let him pull you down onto it, and suddenly it was your favourite place in the whole damn house.

“Steve,” you whispered his name into the kiss, voice husky and you felt the boy shift underneath you at the sound. “Fuck, please I-”

“Tell me,” his voice was throaty, like sex and excitement, and he pulled you further into his lap, legs splayed on either of his and his chest heaved at the sight of your dress pushed up your thighs. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give you it sweetheart, I swear.”

His words were too much for you and you moaned, noses bumping as you surged back into him, a little messy, the kiss hot and deep. Your hands found his hair, fingers scraping into it from the nape of his neck and you gripped the ends, tugging a little.

The response you got was overwhelming, a roll of his hips under yours, the thud of his head as it fell back and hit the wall behind him. The dirty groan that broke your kiss, chest vibrating beneath you. You pulled back, staring, lips parted. His eyes were wild as he gazed up at you from under thick lashes, jaw slack and lips rosy from your lip balm.

His hands had found your hips, dipping into the curve there before running over your thighs, toying with the hem of your pretty, green dress.

“Did you like that?” You whispered and you wished you could say you were teasing, taunting him but god, you were so genuine, so in awe of having that sort of effect on the boy.

Steve nodded, swallowing hard and he sucked in a breath, eyes still dark on you.

“Do it again.“

You shivered but ran your hands deeper into his hair, pulling a little more than you did before and you were rewarded with another low groan, the sweetest sound falling from his lips.

You couldn’t help the way your hips rocked, forehead touching Steve’s, barely kissing but lips brushing over his and you were both losing it a little, panting hot air into each other’s mouths.

He whispered your name and you swore you’d never heard it sound so good. Steve made it sound like sin.

“Please babe, shit, what do you want, huh?” His mouth was back on yours, kisses longer, more drawn out the messier they got, as if he couldn’t bear not to taste you. “Tell me what you want.”

You knew he’d do anything for you, give you anything what you wanted, what you asked for. Steve Harrington had spent a decade proving that he would, from late night car rides, your favourite cherry slurpees and walks home from dates that never worked out. If he told you he wanted to give you the world, you would’ve believed him. If you asked him to stop, mid kiss, dress messy and rucked up your thighs, he would.

But he didn’t expect you to say what you did. A request that left him breathless, his jeans tighter than he thought possible, mouth dry.

“I wanna touch you,” you told him, voice quiet and shy ‘cause there was a flush of warmth there, embarrassment lingering where excitement should’ve been.

“Holy shit,” his reply was a rush of breath, a strangled moan and he looked up at you as if you’d answered all his prayers, like you were a dream come true.

“You do?” Steve asked. You nodded and his hands tightened their grasp on your thighs. “Oh fuck.”

You leaned in sweet, kisses turning a little shy and you pressed them to his lips, the corners of his mouth, his jaw, until you reached his ear. You paused, worrying your lip between your teeth before you gathered the courage to speak. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, voice small and you were already mentally scolding yourself because you were hardly a blushing virgin and of course you knew what to do. Logistically, anyway.

Steve pulled back to look at you, brow furrowed in confusion - because hell, he knew enough about your sexual exploits, whispered between groans and laughter over the counter of Family Video, his and Robin’s eyes equally wide. He just didn’t happen to know how much of a failure they truly were, and at the sight of you worrying your lip, he shifted his expression to neutral.

He cleared his throat and the awkwardness that had settled between you, one hand running soothing up and down your leg as the other one tapped at your chin, silently asking you to look at him. You did, gazes meeting but you couldn’t help but twist your lips, wondering if you could take back the words, if you could distract him with a kiss instead.

“What d’you mean?” the boy asked, and his voice was soft and genuine, his eyes searching.

You shrugged, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt, twisting the material in your hands so you didn’t feel so still, so open and watched as he kept his gaze on you.

“I dunno,” you mumbled, confidence slipping. You flicked your eyes to his, not at all shocked to see him still watching you. You swallowed, urged on by the hand that was running circles over the top of your knee. “Most guys I’ve hooked up with only really wanna get to the main event, y’know? They’ve never really had much patience for anything else.”

You said it matter of factly, hands soothing over the creases you’d made in Steve’s top, wondering if you had managed to completely kill the mood. Your lips were already missing his, your hands aching to wander, to pull off his shirt and map out every mole and freckle you knew he had.

“So yeah,” you said with a little finality, wondering if you’d already had your last kiss with your best friend, “I don't know what to do, not really.”

There was a beat of silence and it was filled with the crackle of a promise, the warmth of something undiscovered and exciting. Steve was still looking at you but there was a lift to his brows and he smiled, shoulders shrugging as if what he was about to say was the most casual thing in the world.

“I could teach you.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fluff #stranger things #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagine

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blueywrites · 6 months

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we bite (revamped)

vamp!eddie x vamp!reader x steve

you and eddie decide to have some fun when feeding on tonight's meal.

cw: 18+ only. blood kink, blood-drinking, imminent threat of killing/violence, humiliation kink, eddie degrades steve and steve likes it, dehumanization & use of demeaning names (slut, worm, bloodbag, slow/stupid), implied homophobia (eddie accuses steve of 'being in the closet'), allusion to anal sex, unstimulated orgasm. reader has a vagina, but no other physical characteristics are given.

in honor of spooky season, I wanted to revisit and improve this piece I wrote a while ago as part of my 1k follower celebration. I have a part two for this from Steve's perspective half-written already, so look out for that soonish! 😋🦇

3.2k

Your meals always end up undressed, splayed across the black sheets and velvet duvet of the bed you and Eddie share. Once you both discovered that humiliation adds a little fizz to the blood, an acidic tang not unlike the juice of a citrus fruit, it became part of your feeding repertoire to strip your food bare until their softest parts are exposed to your gaze and your teeth. And it doesn’t take much effort to bring that flavor out, too. Often, all you need to do is graze a fang along the thin, tender flesh of their groin— not even breaking skin, not yet— to have that tangy fizz spilling into their blood for your partner to enjoy.

Shame, humiliation, guilt: those are Eddie’s favorite flavors on his humans. You like those fine, but your personal favorite is pleasure.

Quite lucky for you to have found both in this one tonight.

Contentment curls in your chest as you listen to the sonorous sound of Eddie’s rumbling growls, the messy slurp and suck as he feeds on the young man between you. The young man’s name is Steve. You’d coaxed his name from him in that effortless way you always do: by buttering him up all sweet before dragging a sharp nail along the seam between his balls, good-cop bad-cop all in one. You like to amuse yourself by watching men’s sacks jumps up towards their bodies in an attempt to escape the danger of your touch, and this you’d done for a little while with Steve before growing bored with how quickly his shame bubbled to the surface.

You decide to drape yourself over his side instead, twining your leg around his and perching an elbow on his muscular shoulder, lounging as you wait for your turn to eat him. He’s lovely down there, but he’s just as lovely up here. Your fingers drag luxuriously through silky locks as you pet his pretty hair— chestnut-brown, thick and clean, smelling of honey and expensive vanilla. And you’re quite enjoying sucking on his earlobe now; it’s tender, soft and pliant. You like the way he stops breathing— the way his broad chest just freezes mid-gasp— each time you take the lobe lightly between your sharp teeth and let him feel just how easily you could tear it from his head. It’s almost as amusing as playing with his swollen balls.

You can tell that Eddie is still feeding because, every once in a while, the young man between you twitches and whines through his teeth, his body shifting slightly as Eddie flexes his jaw and presses more tightly to his throat. Steve is plenty afraid of you both now, enough to keep that flavor in his blood for Eddie to enjoy, so you decide to change tack: you drag your wet tongue up the shell of his ear, agonizingly slowly, then smirk when the young man shivers in response. A little whisper of anticipation fills you as Eddie hums, tasting the sudden surge of sweetness from his piqued arousal.

You’ve just grasped the side of Steve’s head and slid your wet, hot tongue into the opening of his ear— his little gasp was quite delicious— when you feel his body jostle as Eddie unlatches from his neck. You pull your tongue out hastily, dropping your food without another thought.

Your eyes only brighten for the one who truly matters to you.

Eddie always feeds so sloppily, and this time was no exception. Blood has gushed over his chin, staining the triangle of his pale chest crimson. His half-buttoned shirt is specked with flecks of viscera, and his white fangs glisten from the mess of gore coating his plush lips. With his expression loose from blood-satiation, his deep brown eyes hazy and heavy-lidded, and his hair a wild storm of soft darkness grazing his shoulders, you think your partner has never looked sexier.

“Eddie,” you purr, affectionate and sensuous as you detangle yourself from Steve and slink across his spread legs. You settle in between them, smiling as your lover shoves the other man’s leg aside to meet you halfway. “You’re always such a messy boy,” you pout at him. “Do I have to clean you up again?”

Eddie’s dark eyes glitter as you pay him all the attention, and he hums happily as you lick a thick stripe up the center of his chest to his adam’s apple, collecting the salt of his skin and a bloody appetizer in one on your path to his mouth. Ever the tease, you swipe your tongue delicately over his lips but pull back when he tries to kiss you. You’re hoping to see a glint of possessiveness in Eddie’s eye, and ever faithful, your lover obliges. He growls possessively, fisting his hand in the hair at the back of your head and hauling you up against him as his tongue plunges past your lips; his other hand grabs low at the heft of your ass, bunching up your tight dress in his long fingers. You sigh in bliss as he claims your mouth, licking across your teeth and nipping at your bottom lip, pulling until it snaps back plump and wet.

A stifled moan has you both glancing toward the headboard.

It’s your food.

Steve’s eyes widen as your dark gazes both flash to him, but he can’t conceal the flush high on his cheeks, the quickened rise and fall of his chest where blood has trickled from his neck into the thick hair over his pecs. There is a newfound dew on his golden skin, a fine sheen of sweat caused by his excitement. And he certainly can’t conceal the way his cock is so obviously, painfully hard, veiny and thick and blushed deep cherry red at the tip.

If he was still strong enough to move his arms and cover himself, you’re sure he would. Lucky for you, he isn’t.

"Aww,” Eddie chuckles darkly, bloody lips pooched in a mocking pout. “What? You want a turn, Stevie? Want me to give you a little kiss, too?" Immediately, Steve shakes his head— emphatic despite the blood loss that must be making him woozy.

But you suspect his protests are just an attempt to deny what he’s ashamed of wanting. You giggle as Steve’s face slowly flushes entirely pink when Eddie dips his head predatorily, crawling closer to him on his knees; you watch Steve’s eyes dart down to your lover’s low-slung pants and the tuft of hair revealed at the top of his pelvis, and you smirk when he swallows thickly at the sight. The young man can’t tear his eyes from the exaggerated sway of Eddie’s hips as he stalks toward him, settling at the young man’s side, the same place you’d been while Eddie fed. You slink to Steve’s other side as Eddie quirks a salacious brow and palms his own crotch, canting his hips towards Steve and rubbing slowly and sensually in a mockery of enticement. The show is meant to goad Steve, to pin him down until he admits how much he wants to look. And you’re sure he must want to, because Eddie’s cocky smirk and sizeable cock— clearly sizeable though trapped behind leather pants— are tantalizing you even from such a distance.

In an attempt to preserve his dignity, perhaps, the other man looks away.

Eddie’s hand shoots out in a pale blur and yanks Steve’s head back by his hair. Your plaything winces as his golden neck stretches taut, tendons and veins nearly bulging, but your breath quickens in eager excitement as the action makes that stiffness between his legs twitch. Eddie notices too, his chuckle husky and thick as he says to you, "Look at his little cock, sweetheart. Think he liked that."

Steve’s hazel eyes dart to you, pupils blown wide in arousal and fear. You tilt your head as he meets your eye, and you coo mockingly at your food, "You like it when Eddie plays with you, huh? It gets you hard." You smirk. "You ever been fucked by a vampire before?"

The young man whimpers, and it sparks pleasure and hunger low in your belly. "Dirty boy,” you purr, your voice a sensual hum as you lean in to ghost your breath over his taut neck. You bare a fang and slowly trace it down the quivering artery there, snickering as Steve shakes with the effort to stay perfectly still, lest you cut him open. When you reach Steve’s clavicle, you lick a path back up the wounds your lover has already made, nipping playfully underneath his jaw to make him flinch. “Mmm,” you hum eagerly, “Eddie, look, he's practically weeping now."

And it’s true— pearly beads of precum now drip from the tip of his desperate cock onto your black sheets. You meet the eyes of your lover over Steve’s head, and your heart floods with wicked affection at the mischievousness in Eddie’s wide, dark eyes and the devious smirk curling on his plush lips. "Bet we could get him to cum without even touching his dick," Eddie suggests; his smirk widens to a manic grin when your brows pinch pleadingly and your eyes go soft and wide and eager.

“Oh, Ed, can we? That sounds like such fun.”

“Sure, sweetheart,” he murmurs, holding your gaze, and you shiver with pleasure as he regards you with such palpable affection. “Anything for my girl.” His voice is a caress against your cheek, and you lean into it as if his hand were cupping your skin.

Delighted, you turn back to the golden neck your lover has considerately bared for you, taking a moment to nuzzle against the honey and vanilla of Steve’s touseled hair before trailing your nose in a featherlight line down past his ear to that vein of lifeblood thrumming under his skin. You stretch your jaw with an audible click, and Steve’s eyes dart to you. He gulps at the sight of your fangs, gleaming and white and razor sharp beside his neck. He strains against Eddie’s hold, overwhelmed by fear, but he cannot escape the inevitability of your feeding.

With a sigh of bliss, you dig your teeth neatly into that aching artery.

Steve’s blood spills into your mouth as if eager to escape him and nourish you. It still tastes of citrus from his shame, but now, the floral sweetness of his arousal is the top note. You suck lightly, swallowing one small mouthful; your prey moans as the chemicals in your saliva begin to flood his brain with endorphins. You suck another mouthful, and then another, glancing beyond Steve’s aquiline nose to see your lover’s eyes flash before he ducks to Steve’s ear.

Your food’s entire body tenses and his fists tighten on the sheets below him, as if he’s preparing for a second bite. You purse your lips against an amused smile to keep suction on his neck; you know that Eddie would never take food out of your mouth unless you’d both agreed to feed at the same time, though your prey doesn’t know that, and the little burst of spicy terror settles back to sweetness when all Eddie does is start murmuring to him quietly without even touching him.

“You be good for us, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs. “Be a good little blood bag for my girl, make her happy, and I promise, I promise I won’t rip out your throat. I’ll be so fuckin’ nice to you, Steve; I’ll only hurt you in ways that’ll heal. Eventually. How’s that sound?”

It’s quiet, but you can hear every word that slithers into his ear, hear every little hitch of breath and shift of Steve’s squirming legs against the sheets as Eddie’s words and your feeding begin to arouse him further.

Eddie huffs a little chuckle. “Tell me somethin’, big boy. You ever suck a guy’s dick before?”

Your food groans, and you feel the vibration of his mutter when he answers. "No."

Eddie chuckles delightedly. "Still in the closet, huh? Because I see the way you look at me, Steve— like you want me to wreck you. Well, I’ll tell you what,” he says, low and playful, “maybe after my baby’s done eating you, I’ll allow you to suck my dick. And maybe she’ll even be nice and suck yours at the same time. Wouldn’t that be just a dream come true, Stevie?”

The sweetness in the blood filling your mouth grows thicker, headier. You moan as you suck harder and sustenance gushes warm down your thirsty throat. “That’s it,” Eddie coaxes him, “such a good boy.”

The sweetness in Steve’s blood fades slightly, dulling so that a coppery tang becomes more prominent, and you grunt in dissatisfaction. It must communicate what you intend because Eddie hums in surprise. “Huh.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he purrs, “Praise doesn’t get your prick goin’, does it? You just want me to tell you how fuckin’ useless you are. My little toy to play with.”

That heady, dizzying sweetness surges back, and you growl eagerly, mouth pressing tighter against his trembling throat as he groans— not in pain, but in pleasure.

“I think I’m gonna need a little more from you then, Steve.” Eddie eyes Steve darkly. “Beg for my cock. Ask me nicely if you can pretty, pretty please suck my dick.”

The young man whimpers, legs tensing as his hips squirm up to pump weakly, but he doesn’t reply.

“Are you slow, Stevie?” Eddie asks, mockingly light. “You stupid or somethin’?” He chuckles mirthlessly. “Oh, I get it. You’re just a guy that thinks if he can smile pretty, dress nice, and fuck a pussy good enough, no one will find out what a useless, empty, pointless sack of shit he is. That right?” You shiver with delight as Eddie’s voice goes dark. Mean. “But I already know how worthless you are, Steve. And if you wanna keep that pathetic little cock attached to your body, then you better tell me how much you wanna suck. My. Dick.”

There’s a ragged gasp, a burst of citrus to mix with the sweet floral of his pleasure flooding your mouth. And then Steve is answering in a cracked voice. “I w-wanna suck your dick, Eddie. Please. Please let me suck your dick.”

Hearing your lover intimidate your meal in this way really fucking gets you going. You pulse hard between your legs, your pussy squeezing around nothing as the taste of flowers grows more distinct— honeysuckle and primrose, which accounts for that heavy, heady sweetness.

“Aw,” Eddie coos, sickly sweet with a razor-sharp smile. “All you had to do is ask nice, sugar. Sure, I’ll let you taste me. And guess what?” He widens his eyes, ducking in to whisper conspiratorily to Steve. “I think my girl likes the idea of me fucking your throat. Maybe, if you’re lucky, she’ll even bounce on your cock while you get me all nice and wet.”

Eddie shifts back, lounging against the headboard and raising his voice so that Steve knows you can hear everything he’s saying. “Because I’m a nice guy like that, Steve. I’m a gentleman. So I’m not gonna pound you dry. I’ll let you get me all slicked up before I fuck your ass.” He pauses for a moment before adding, “Say thank you.”

Steve whimpers, croaking out, “T-thank you.”

“Thank you for letting me get you all wet before you fuck me.” Eddie sing-songs his cadence, prompting Steve to repeat.

“T-thank you f-for…” The young man’s voice is shaking, quivering as he begins to writhe and squirm. “Thank you f-for letting me get you a-all wet before you…” He forces the words out with a squeak of effort. “…fuck me.”

Eddie throws back his head, cackling manically. “Oh, Steve,” he says, almost fondly. “You dirty little slut. You really are fuckin’ pathetic.”

Your pussy is throbbing now, tempting you to attend to it as you feed. But you refrain, knowing that what will come after your meal will be better than anything you could give yourself right now. Plus, the sweetness in Steve’s blood has begun to heat; you crack your eyes to watch his leaking cock twitch and pulse, dribbling white liquid as he humps the air with desperation, seeking friction he’ll never find.

Eddie’s voice is sinfully dark and forbidding, grit low with husk that makes both you and your food shiver as he says, “You really wanna cum, huh? That’s all you care about anymore. Mindless little worm. I bet she could drain you right now and you'd let her, so long as you get to bust before she fuckin’ kills you.”

You can feel it now— the tightening of Steve’s muscles, the frantic pumping of his heart, the constricting of his capillaries as he approaches his orgasm. You’re unbelievably turned on by the anticipation of his euphoric release, but even more so by the sound of your lover’s voice as he murmurs dark filth in the ear of your meal. You’re burning for Eddie’s touch now— your slit is puffy, clit sensitive like a raw nerve, entrance dripping slick that soaks through the thin lace of your panties, coating the insides of your thighs in sticky need.

“You’re mine now, Stevie, and you’ll always be mine. Mine to play with. Mine to eat. Mine to fuck. Mine to control,” Eddie growls. “Now fucking cum for me.”

The drag of Steve’s blood rushes suddenly thick and sticky like decadent syrup as he moans deep in his throat— a long, pitiful noise of relief as he does what his master commands. His cum shoots in long, hot spurts to paint the hair on his stomach, even jetting up to his chest before dripping down to pool in the dip of his belly button. You drink Steve’s blood down greedily, sucking and slurping almost as animalistically as Eddie typically does, ravenous for the taste of his release. You feed until you feel the beat of his heart quiver once, stuttering a halted rhythm that means you’re quickly approaching the line of no return.

You wrench yourself from Steve’s throat with a ragged gasp. Your hunger is sated for now, but your pussy is buzzing with furious, aching need that demands to be addressed. Hastily, you drop your meal; he slumps back against the headboard, spent and weak. But you pay him no mind. You’re drunk with desire as your eyes find the wild dark curls and pretty pale face of your lover. Your need is a ravenous thing, more dangerous than even Eddie’s hunger.

"We might need to keep this one," Eddie observes to you, ruffling Steve’s head of chestnut hair before slapping his golden cheek a few times; the young man stirs slightly but doesn't move. "He's gonna be fun."

"Sure, babe," you pant, eyes wild and nostrils flared, fighting against your twitching muscles, trying to keep yourself from shredding Eddie’s new plaything to ribbons to get at him. "Whatever you want. But if you don’t want me to kill him, you better bend me over his lap right now and ruin my fucking cunt."

#blueywrites #steddie x reader #steddie x reader smut #vampire!eddie munson #sub steve harrington #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanart #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #kinktober 2023 #tw: blood #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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fredwkong · 8 months

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1000: Bull

Eric picks up the Bull card, bracing for the flash of light he knows is coming. When it fades, the other two cards have turned to dust, and Eric can see the Bull face has joined the tattoos twining around his bicep. He grins, excited for this week’s transformation. Who knows how big he’ll become? He goes to bed and dreams of deadlifts, squats, and curls.

On Sunday morning, Eric’s alarm goes off at 6 AM. What the fuck? Eric turns it off, but then a notification pops up on his phone. “Legs: 7 AM.” Eric sees it with dawning horror.

It seems like his body is on autopilot once he sees the scheduled event. Eric rolls out of bed and pours himself a bowl of oatmeal, mixing in a scoop of protein powder he didn’t have yesterday. By 6:45, Eric’s out of his apartment, jogging to the gym.

Aaron, the big guy he punched last week, is waiting at the front desk, holding a folder with Eric’s name on it. “Good to see you, lil bro,” he says as Eric walks in, making Eric bristle at being called little. “Ready to start getting big?”

Over the next hour and a half, Aaron works Eric through a punishing leg workout. “See, bro, the reason you’re so skinny is just because you’ve never been consistent,” Aaron tells him, while Eric leans against the squat rack, unable to stand without his legs shaking. Eric just nods, unable to muster enough breath to speak.

After their workout, Aaron gives Eric a bro-hug at the front desk and tells him to go for a jog around campus before showering. “I’ll see you tonight for upper body, right bro?”

Eric’s legs have carried him out the door before he can do more than say “For sure!”

As he jogs, Eric spots his reflection in the windows of the buildings he passes. He definitely looks bigger than he did last night. His quads are starting to stretch the seams of his shorts, and his back might be just a bit wider in his tank top. The thought has him chubbing up, his cock starting to leak.

Blair definitely loves the new Eric when Eric knocks on his door, still chewing on a protein bar. He loves it even more when Eric pushes him up against the wall to take his ass. Was Eric always taller than Blair? It doesn’t matter, Eric has to go prep his lunches for the week. It’s a lot of food, more than Eric can imagine eating in a month, much less a week, but he follows the instructions on his phone dutifully and puts his six lunchboxes—who the hell has six lunchboxes?—into his fridge, and eats one meal prep.

Finally, whatever gym-based compulsion has come over Eric releases him for a bit. He chills in his dorm for the afternoon, playing video games and thinking about how big he’s gonna get. An hour before his upper session with Aaron at 8 PM, Eric finds himself in the bathroom, propping his phone up on the counter to record his posing routine, steel-hard and leaking in his briefs the whole time.

After their second session, Eric’s arms feel like jelly, but they're pumped and his nipples are peeking out the sides of his tank top. Aaron doesn’t have anything else booked, so he comes back to Eric’s dorm and milks a load out of Eric’s sweaty balls with his mouth before they shower together. After downing a protein shake, his fifth meal of the day, Eric goes to bed.

Monday is pretty much the same. Eric shows up at the gym right on time at 7 for legs. His lower body has gone from skinny and toned to buff, and Aaron’s talking like they’ve been lifting together since Eric started university last year. While jogging back to his dorm, a couple of fratty guys doing a walk of shame catch Eric’s eye, and he gets them back to his dorm. They don’t have any loads left in them, but they’re happy to take one of Eric’s big loads each and worship his muscles before his shower.

When the frat guys leave, they invite Eric to their house’s 4th of July party on Tuesday night. Blair, coming down the hall, overhears, and cuts in as Eric’s about to say, “I need to go to the gym.”

“We’ll be there,” Blair says, sliding past the frat guys to Eric’s side.

“But what about my—”

“See you tomorrow.” Blair closes the door behind the guys.

There’s no classes on Tuesday, so instead Eric does his second workout with Aaron early. As soon as he put the frat party into his phone calendar, it rearranged the whole rest of Tuesday and Wednesday to account for it. Instead of 6 AM, his alarm’s going off at 8 on Wednesday, plus his evening protein shake has been removed so he can drink at the party.

Partway into his second cup of mystery punch, Eric realises he’s one of the biggest guys here. Blair’s cuddled into his thick chest as they dance, his head topping out at Eric’s shoulders. When Eric picks him up just to try it, Blair’s weight doesn’t even match his warm-up sets with Aaron. By the time he’s pushing one of the frat guys against the wall to suck on his neck, Eric’s precum has leaked right through his American flag shorts.

After his shower the next morning, Eric just… doesn’t put any clothes on. As long as he’s in his own dorm, what’s the point? He can just chill, stroke himself a bit, eat, and update his pics on Grindr. Clothes are for guys who have something about their body to hide, and Eric’s more than earned his cocky attitude at this point.

Aaron congratulates Eric in the gym the next day for “improving what was already great when you got here.” The dynamic between them has shifted as Eric’s gotten even bigger than Aaron. Aaron definitely doesn’t call him “lil guy” anymore, but he’s also more deferent, a little awed, and Eric can see his mouth hanging open a bit as he watches Eric deadlift. After their evening session, Aaron’s more than happy to come over and stay the night in Eric’s dorm. He even begs Eric to keep his cock inside Aaron's ass as they fall asleep.

Eric doesn’t have an alarm on Saturday. It’s his rest day. Plus, the gym- and food-compulsions he was experiencing all week seem to have gone away, replaced by his own habits and discipline. Muscles like his take a ton of work in the gym and in the kitchen to maintain, after all. Instead, Eric finds himself spending the morning in front of his full-length mirror, which he didn’t have last week, posing for himself.

The sight of his huge, muscular body gets him hard, so much so that there’s a slick puddle of precum forming on the floor by the time he calls Blair up.

After taking his load, Blair lies in Eric’s bed, letting cum drip from his asshole while he watches Eric do a few hundred push-ups and bodyweight squats. Just because it’s his rest day doesn’t mean he has to sit around doing nothing.

“Wanna go out tonight?” Blair asks, when Eric takes a break to play some video games.

“Nah,” Eric glances at the box of cards, tucked in the back of his desk. “I’ll add it to my schedule tomorrow, though.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Blair says. “I missed seeing you with those frat guys, but we should go pick up some cuties so I can watch you hold them against the wall to fuck them.”

“I could just do that to you,” Eric rumbles. His voice has gotten a bit deeper, he’s noticed, as his chest’s expanded.

“Nah, I wanna watch this time.” By the time Blair leaves in the evening, they’ve decided which club to go to, and Eric’s watched his schedule adjust itself to the plan.

Until the box opens again, Eric kills time by portioning out his oatmeal for the week, and then doing some yoga stretches. He doesn’t want to lose mobility. He gets so distracted by trying to do the splits that he almost doesn’t notice the box open, and has to hurry to draw cards.

This time, all three of them are familiar symbols: flags. No interpretation necessary.

On the first card is a Japanese flag.

On the second card is a Mexican flag.

On the third card is a Senegalese flag.

Or vote here on strawpoll: https://strawpoll.com/jVyG8DYdYn7

See Eric's whole journey with the 1000 cards here.

Did your pick not win the vote? Send me an ask telling me what card Eric should have picked to see what could have happened.

#male transformation #mental change #muscle tf #reality change #male tf #1000 follower party #all fwkong

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luveline · 1 year

Note

can i request something from the valentine prompts with reader conforting james and the prompt "if you take care of everyone, who takes care of you?" and basically her taking care of him. Thank you so much!

luveline's valentine's mini party ♥︎

thank you for your request! tw ment anxiety attack | fem!reader

James is a ball of stress when you finally find him.

"You're very hard to track down when you want to be," you say, hand falling to his shoulder.

He covers your hand with his own, anchoring you to his shoulder as you sit. He looks to you, nods apologetically, and then stares back out over the garden. His shoulders are rigid.

"Sorry, shorts, I'm just thinking."

Shorts is an abbreviation for shortcake, but everybody who hears him say it thinks he's taking the piss. You pull your knees up and take back your hand.

You stare out at the garden with him. The grass is green, the sky blue. It's a nice summer's day, and he should be relaxing here in a lounger or out playing rugby with his friends.

"I talked to Remus. He's feeling fine, and he doesn't need you to go over if you're not feeling well."

James doesn't look betrayed, exactly, but close. "I can't not go see him, he's just had surgery."

"A week ago. And you've been to see him everyday, I'm sure he wouldn't mind some time alone."

James holds out his hand and you twine your fingers together. He pulls it to his chest, squeezes.

"I spoke to Sirius too," you admit.

He looks down at your hands with a chuckle. "'Course you did."

"He says to stop being a wuss and to cancel plans via text like a real man."

"I didn't cancel plans. You did."

You prop your head against his shoulder. He puts his cheek atop your head.

"I'm really sorry if I crossed the line, Jamie, but I… I don't think what happened this morning was okay."

James in the bathroom, his back turned away from you. He'd tried to hide it but he'd been hyperventilating, breath coming in tight and shallow, gripping the bathroom sink for dear life. He hadn't been able to explain it to you and you couldn't make sense of it, all you could do was stand with him, waiting for it to pass.

"How's your hand?" he asks.

The hand James isn't holding is a little worse for wear, but it isn't important.

"It's okay if you don't wanna talk about it, but maybe we should just not talk about anyone else, either," you say carefully. "You're worrying too much. You're stressed about everybody you know, and it's beautiful that you care so much but it's gonna make you really sick, you know?"

"I have people I need to take care of," he says gently. "That's a good thing."

"But if you take care of everyone else, who takes care of you?"

"You do." His nose kisses your temple. His breath fans out over your skin. "You take care of me."

"I'm trying to," you say.

You swing your bad hand around his chest and hug him even when it aches. You lift up from your seat on the deck to encourage his head into your neck, kiss kiss kissing across the top of his head, curls thick and fragrant under your lips. "I need you take care of yourself, too," you say. "I know that's another person on the long list, but it should be the first, yeah?"

"...It can be second," he bargains.

You rub his shoulders. "I can work with that."

#luveline valentine #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter #james potter fanfiction #james potter fanfic #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders x reader #the marauders

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angel-of-the-moons · 5 months

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Alright, alright, consider, for the Marc smut: riding that boy's dick only it's soft (the vibes, not his cock) and gentle and sweet because they're just wanting to have some tender lovin' together. Y'know?

(the vibes, not his cock) <- I'm cackling lmao

Shade And Sweet Water

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Sex, PiV sex, unprotected sex, blindfolding (sorta), cumshot(?), some sweet lovins

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: If anybody gets the reference in the title I'm gonna die lmao

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

If there was anything you understood about your relationship with your boyfriend(s), it was that Marc, when he wanted to be, could be more gentle than even Steven was aware.

Jake would poke at him, making jokes about him going "soft", but Marc would ignore him, shrugging his alter's quips off and stuffing them away to turn around and poke him with, later.

Jake was notoriously the one who liked to have heavy, hard sex. More times than you can count Jake would fuck you bent over something, sometimes even tugging on your hair, or bunching your clothes around your waist to ball in his fist, using the leverage to pull you back harder against his cock, watching as your ass bounced and jiggled with each slap of your hips.

He would take you in as many places as he could. In the kitchen, in bed, over the sofa... even in his most prized possession--his car. Not even Marc or Steven were allowed to drive it, let alone fuck you in it...

Steven was a bit more vanilla, however. He would often initiate sex in the bedroom, or in the shower. Places he considered very intimate on their own.

He would often spend his time giving a bit more than receiving, more than happy to be on his knees or on his belly between your thighs, hair mussed and falling in his face as he used his tongue and fingers until your eyes crossed and your toes ached from how hard they curled.

Ah... But Marc? Oh, Marc was certainly a wildcard. He enjoyed various kinds of sex. While he never got rough or quiet as hard as Jake did, or as soft and sweet as Steven, Marc was comfortably in the middle. He could be sweet and polite, or downright filthy while still keeping that twang of romance in.

No man's land, as you sometimes put it. It always brought a chuckle out of him when you said that.

But it was so painfully true and accurate, like right now...

Right now you were both on the sofa, the television program of the sports channel long forgotten as your naked bodies twined, your hips ever so slowly grinding down on his, driving his cock deeper into your snug, tight walls as your mouths sloppily devoured one another, hands roaming unabashedly and without restraint.

You had been at this for so long that your bodies were drenched with sweat, rolling off in heavy droplets, the smell of sin and sex permeating the air surrounding the two of you.

Your tongues fought one another for dominance, one never gaining the upper hand for long.

You gripped his curls in your fingers, panting hard when you broke apart, just to dive back in as you gyrated your hips slowly down onto him as you brought him in for another breath-robbing kiss.

"Fuck--" Marc breathed, his chest trembling as sweat rolled down the muscles of his pecs. He dropped his head back, letting out a deep groan that felt like it shot straight through you, sending a fresh throb down to your cunt as it enveloped him so tightly.

"Yeah, that is what we're doing, baby." You chuckle, grabbing his shirt from nearby to wipe your face of sweat that threatened to drip into your eyes.

His hands gripped and kneaded your hips, rolling his up to meet every downward roll of yours, slowly sinking you back down onto his cock.

"You know what I meant--hey!" Marc said, as you pulled his shirt over his face, just enough to hide his eyes.

Your hands gripped his wrists, and you slapped your hips down on his sharply, earning a deliciously loud gasp from him as he arched his back into you.

"Keep it on, please? It'll make it a bit more fun." You grin, leaning down to lick up the length of his throat, and back down again as you gave an open mouth kiss to his Adams apple as you rode him slow and hard.

For added measure, you decided to suck a hefty bruise over the lump in his throat, already adding to the collection of purple marks you'd left not too long before.

"God damn, honey..." Marc groaned, his hands starting to roam your sweaty body.

His fingers and palms trailed you in such an intimate way, almost like a blind man reading his favorite book in braille, memorizing each bump and curve, each slight imperfection in the page that he would find endearing and beautiful, reading an unwritten plot etched into your skin as your bodies melded and joined in the deepest physical level possible.

He would always recognize you, even blindfolded like he was now.

His hand moved up to your throat, cupping the slender expanse before his palm slid up your cheek, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip lovingly, almost possessively.

You weren't sure why that action in particular did it, but you curled over him, your nails scratching at his chest as you cum, a whimper coming from you as your hips stutter into his and you gush around his cock.

Marc grunted and planted his feet firmly on the floor, thrusting his hips up into yours to help you prolong your orgasm; continuing to stroke the head of his cock against that soft, gummy spot inside of you that knocked the wind out of you.

"Gh--fuck!" You hiccuped, rolling onto him almost mindlessly, his cock stroking deep inside you.

"Damn it, honey 'm gonna cum." Marc groaned deeply, breathing hard as he thrust up, his hips jolting sharply and wildly into you.

You took a deep breath and pulled your hips up enough to let his twitching cock slip out of your hole, before moving back down to grind down on it, the first spurt of his precum mixed with a bit of your slick wetting the trail of dark hairs that went up to his navel.

The friction on your overly-sensitive clit made your eyes roll back into your head as you try to grind and hump to work his orgasm out of him.

And god, was he gorgeous when you did.

His abs flexed taut, veins pulsed in his neck and in his arms as his jaw locked, rutting up against you as each volley of pearly liquid shot from the head of his cock, coating his abs and up to his chest in a slick white sheen.

You slowed your pace to a crawl until you stopped, the final spurts of his cum dripping down onto his not-quite-tanned skin and dark curls, effectively adding to the mess of heavy sweat that coated the two of you.

You leaned back a bit, enjoying how thoroughly ruined Marc looked as his hand shakily pulled his shirt off from over his eyes and looked at you, his eyes warm and foggy with the haze of his lingering orgasm.

"Okay... Remind me to use blindfolds more often." He grinned at you, flashing his teeth.

You ran your palms up his chest, purposefully avoiding the cum coating him like a lewd glaze as you grinned in return.

"I got a few ideas that Jake and I discussed, actually." You say to him, a soft hum coming from you.

"What ideas?" He asked, his hands caressing small circles on the skin of your thighs.

You tilt your head, batting your eyelashes.

"Oh... Don't worry. We'll bring it up with you later."

"Steven is gonna have a fit once he sees these bruises." He chuckles breathlessly.

"Ah, well, I know how to make it up to him~"

#🌙 answered #moon knight #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector #marc spector smut

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