#I know it's supposed to be a beard and the pinkish part is his mouth but my brain always defaults to weird brown smiley face

[ok-dingo]

me using every ounce of concentration to see the brown part on minecraft steve's face as a beard for like 0.2 milliseconds before it immediately turns back into a smiley face in my mind's eye

#minecraft #I know it's supposed to be a beard and the pinkish part is his mouth but my brain always defaults to weird brown smiley face

[author-morgan]

Could I request a sub!Halfdan please? Its such an underused trope in this fandom

of courseeee. ♥ hope you enjoy this little fluffy-filth ficlet with Halfdan. :) Halfdan x fem!Reader

HARALD FINEHAIR LEANS against one of the dock posts, his arms crossed, though a kindly smile graces his countenance upon hearing the good news. Soon Tamdrup would have another young child running about, causing trouble for the townsfolk —just as he and his brother had when they were younger and wilder. He can’t help his eyes from darting to your middle. It is still too soon for the signs to show, but there is already something different —a new spark in your eyes, Freyja’s soft glow surrounding you. “You’ll have to tell him sooner or later,” Harald muses, rubbing the dark whiskers on his chin.

“I know” —you look up from the knotted fishnet laid across your lap, smiling sheepishly— “I know, Harald.” You’d been searching for the right moment for almost a fortnight now. If not for Harald catching you leaving the medicine woman’s hut with a pouch of herbs for morning sickness, he wouldn’t know either.

“He’s going be happy,” he assures you, recalling the warm spring evening you wed his brother —a crown of wildflowers upon your brow. That must have been some six years ago, in the weeks before sailing to join Ragnar Lothbrok in his raids on Frankia and Paris. Harald doesn’t think he’s ever seen Halfdan so happy as when he first called you his wife, but he suspects his brother will be just as ecstatic when you share the good news.

“We’ve waited years for this day to come,” you almost whisper, still disbelieving at times. Over the years, you had begun to fear the worse —even before your marriage to Halfdan. All the times you lay together, there was never a child, never any signs life would take root, and it certainly was not for lack of trying. He swore it did not make a difference to him. Halfdan loved you, child or no —but as the years crept by, you couldn’t deny your desire for a family, especially seeing him play at swords with the children of Tamdrup. Alas, the gods finally heeded your prayers. Harald moves from the post to the small sandy shore, sitting next to you, helping unknot and repair the fishnet. You nudge his ribs with your elbow. “You’re going to be an uncle.” Harald smiles again.

THE WOOD PLANKS creak underfoot just outside your chambers, iron hinges creak and groan when the heavy door is pushed ajar, you lift your gaze from the heddles of the loom, glimpsing your husband’s reflection in a cloudy silver looking glass as he nears you. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you away from your work and into him. He’s been on a hunt the last three days —the scent of moss and fresh soil still linger in his clothes and beard. It’s always a good feeling being held like this, but you cannot forget your resolve. You were supposed to be upset with him, and the soft kiss on your shoulder and neck won’t be enough to get him out of this. “I’m not speaking to you, Halfdan,” you remind him, wiggling from his embrace.

He lets you go, laughing under his breath. “You just did,” he remarks, lips kinked into a playful smile, half-hidden beneath the golden whiskers on his upper lip and chin. Halfdan knows this bout will pass —quick as a summer storm— neither of you can stay angry at each other over trivial things. “Still mad?” It’s a teasing question and one he already knows the answer to when you glare at him, arms crossed.

“Yes,” you lament, “you ate the last honey cake.” You saved the last little honey cake from supper, knowing how much you’d begun craving them of late, but when you woke the next morning, Halfdan was already off to help his brother, and the plate on the table tucked away in the corner of the room was empty save for crumbs.

Halfdan grips onto your arms, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your biceps through the wool sleeves of your dress. You know when he’s trying to be charming —his smiles are wider, he flicks the hair falling over his right eye to the side, and his eyes, dark and warm, take on a glint of mischief. “And I regret it, deeply,” he confesses, embellishing his apology. His hands slide down your arms, fingers interlocking with yours. Halfdan lifts your hands —placing a quick yet lingering kiss on your knuckles, drawing you closer. “What can I do to make it up to you?” He asks.

“Trying to seduce me?” You ask, brow raised —feigning annoyance. But it’s close to impossible when he cranes down, lips hovering over yours. He’s so close you can almost feel the tickle of his beard.

“Maybe,” he muses, letting your hands go and seizing you by the hips, fingers twisting into the green wool of your dress, “it’s worked in the past, hasn’t it?” You shake your head, smiling, unable to resist his charms or your desire to fall into his arms after he’s left you in a cold and lonely bed.

At first, he tenses when your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, then relaxes when your tilt your chin up, pulling the two of you closer. “Kiss me, husband,” you whisper —it’s a command and one he is happy to oblige. His lips brush against yours, teasing when he pulls back a little before surging forward again. You sigh into his kiss, hands moving to rest on his neck and jaw. His tongue parts your lips, and you welcome him with a soft moan, pushing your hand through his hair.

He draws back, just long enough to take a deep breath and move his hands from your hips and to your face, cupping your cheeks as he kisses you again —this time with more fervor, and it sends heat rushing to the pits of your belly. Frantically, you pull at his tunic, hands sliding beneath the hem to feel his warm skin and the muscles of his abdomen ripple under your touch. Halfdan groans when he breaks away, pulling his tunic overhead and tossing it aside without care —eyes dark with lust when you run your hands across his pectorals.

“I want you, Halfdan,” you tell him, pushing his shoulders back toward the bed, “now.” He falls onto the mattress when the back of his knees hit —the wooden frame creaking at the sudden impact of his weight— and watches as you slide your dress off your shoulders, letting it pool around your ankles. Halfdan groans at the sight of your newly naked skin as your stride to him, a playful and teasing glint in your eyes.

Leaning over him, your hands go the laces of his britches —quickly untying them— and fingers hook underneath the waistband, tugging them off. Halfdan helps you, lifting his hips, hurriedly shimmying them off for you to toss to the side. You sit back, really taking in the sight of him. Half his face shrouded behind his wild blond hair, his eyes are glassy and half-lidded, pupils blown wide with want. You smile, enjoying having him like this —with a dusting of a pinkish-blush all over, from his cheeks to his ears and even down his neck. His lips are wet and bitten pink from your kisses, mouth hanging open slightly as his chest —a smooth plane of taut muscle— rises and falls with his labored breathing. Then your gaze darts to his cock, painfully hard and resting against his stomach.

Halfdan isn’t one to give up control easily, but he’ll let you have your fun for now —he owes you this at the very least for eating the last honey cake. His gaze is like burning embers when you straddle him. His hands drag down the arch of your back, thumbs catching in the creases of your hips and thighs to push you back towards his cock, but you won’t let him win so easily. You reach for his hands, pulling them away from your hips, and press them into the mattress on either side of his head. Straightening, you let his hands go but give him a look of warning —one that tells him not to move. The defiance flares in his eyes, but you smile, bending down to lick a stripe across his chest and are rewarded with his low groan.

Moving back up, you press your lips firmly against his, offering him little control —nibbling light on his bottom lip— enjoying playing with him for as long as you can. Opening your mouth to his, Halfdan attempts to push forward with a moan and deepen the kiss, but you pull away, hands resting on his chest. “I see why you like this so much,” you tease, lightly raking your nails down his ribs, watching him shiver. “Do I make you beg too?” You ask, looking down at him with a raised brow.

“Kjære min,” he warns, voice a low rasp, but whatever he means to say next dies on the tip of his tongue as a strangled groan. His hips press up off the bed when your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking him from base to tip, thumb following along one of the throbbing veins on the underside. You shuffle back, eagerly, guiding the weeping head of his cock between your slick folds until it catches on the entrance of your aching cunt, and you press back further until the slight resistance gives way, sinking onto him with a lurid moan —echoed by his own strangled groan and a string of curses.

You fall still, not moving —torture for you both— but seeing Halfdan’s hands twist into the patchwork of pelts below is worth it. Alas, you end the torment, slowly rocking and twisting your hips, building a pleasant rhythm, working yourself on top of him. His lips are parted, breathing heavily as he watches you use him —watches how your cunt takes him in over and over again, a sight that drives him to oblivion and paired with how you whimper and moan, hands fondling your breasts, he thinks he could finish then and there.

But then you lift yourself, pulling off him just far enough that only the tip of his cock is left inside you before sinking back down, hips meeting his again. He digs his heels into the bed, attempting to aid you as you bounced and twisted atop him. “Halfdan,” you whimper, knowing you need more than this —you need his touch. He’s quick to answer the soft pleading, hands squeezing against your hips, arms flexing to lift and drag you across his cock himself as his hips roll upwards, pressing deeper it feels than ever before.

Leaning down, you press your lips to his —panting against his mouth as your chests move against one another, hips rolling and filling the room with the unceremonious sound of flesh slapping against flesh and a chorus of low moans and breathy praises. You rest your forehead on his, hand tanging into his hair as the knot in your belly tightens, a familiar warmth starting to take old at your extremities. Halfdan hears the subtle hitch in your breathing, feels your walls flutter around him, gripping onto his cock —a greedy vise, but he won’t relent until you’re both spent.

It doesn’t take much longer for Halfdan to let go, his hips stuttering, cock twitching deep inside you —filling you with warmth. The way you move, rolling against him, causes your clit to catch on his pubic bone, just right, giving you the friction you need to fall too, calling out his name like a prayer. You don’t have the strength to keep going. All your energy sapped away —shoulders shaking, elbows ready to give. Halfdan urges you down to rest on his chest, and you tuck your face into the underside of his jaw, breathing heavily, smiling against his neck when you feel the tickle of his beard against your cheek. His arms come around you, heavy and secure, holding you close and tight. Other than the sound of your breathing mixing with his, there is only the drumming of your own heartbeat in your ears and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.

For a handful of precious moments, you stay like that —too sluggish to move— the pads of his rough fingertips tracing a crooked path up and down your spine. It isn’t until you feel his softened cock slip from your warmth and his seed trickling down your thighs that you clench and sit up again —knees still jelly. Then you look over Halfdan. He’s ruined —hair in a mess, clinging to his sweat-slick forehead, cheeks flushed red with exertion. But his eyes are closed, and his breathing relaxed. “Still mad?” He asks, one warm-brown eye popping open to look up at you —skin glowing in the mix of daylight and firelight.

“No,” you laugh, leaning back down —nose just barely brushing against his, your breaths mingling. Halfdan’s hands follow the curve of your hips, along your waist, and across your shoulders before taking your face in both his hands. You smile, balancing your weight on one forearm, reaching to brush back the strands of yellow hair clinging to his face, pausing for a moment to trace the lines and twists of his tattoo. He tilts his chin up, surprising you with his kiss, and rolls both of you onto your sides.

“Halfdan,” you breathe, reaching for his hand resting on your hip and twining your fingers with his. His gaze is focused —intent— he’s close to asking if something is wrong or if he’s done something else besides eating your last precious honey cake when you smile, squeezing his hand before bringing it to rest on your stomach. There’s a spark in his dark eyes like he knows but is still unsure if this means what he thinks. “I am with child,” you tell him, watching his dark eyes widen with the announcement.

Halfdan falls silent; his lips parted, brow furrowed —wrinkling the blue-black ink on his forehead— almost disbelieving that after so many years, he would be a father, that you would have a family together. “Mine?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper and filled with wonder.

Your smile widens. “Of course, it’s yours, silly man,” you laugh, scooting closer to him —pressing your forehead against his, resting a hand on his neck, and letting your thumb stroke over the raised silver scar there. “You’re my husband.” Even after the years gone by, it still feels good to call Halfdan your husband.

He smiles, eyes crinkling, wrinkling the dark tattoos on his cheeks and brows as he leans into you, closing the small space between your lips. It’s soft, exceptionally so, and sweet —far sweeter than most of his kisses. Halfdan kisses a line across your cheek, pulling you close, his hand still resting against your stomach, wondering how long it will be until your belly begins to grow and if he would make for a good father. “I won’t eat your honey cakes anymore,” he breathes, earning a huff of laughter from you as you nuzzle your face into his chest, feeling your heart swell, falling further in love with him.

[ taglist: @elizabethroestone @ahotmesswithprivilege @naaladareia @charming-merlin @certifiedlittleshit @pat-talks @gossamarnie ] if you want to be added to my Vikings (Harad, Halfdan, and Ragnar) taglist, just let me know! if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you.

#Halfdan #Halfdan the Black #Halfdan x Reader #Halfdan the Black x Reader #Halfdan Imagine #Halfdan Fanfiction #Vikings Imagine #Vikings Fanfiction #my writing #requested #anonymous #that's 'my dear' in norse btw

[sserpente]

A/N: Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Loki, Happy Birthday to you! Let’s wish our favourite Trickster all the best! ♥ Requests from @hanzimmer and anon.

Words: 2422 Warnings: so much fluff, Asgardian!Reader

Midgard wasn’t so bad after all. You hadn’t been so sure—after all, you had heard the stories. Pollution of all kind, wars over silly things like religion and food drenched in unsaturated fats. You wrinkled your nose, hoping that Thor had organised some proper snacks for his Yule… no, you corrected yourself, his Christmas party.

He had invited his closest friends from Asgard—Heimdall, Sif, Volstagg, Hogun, Fandral and you. Heimdall was the only one who, for obvious reasons, had been unable to attend. So here you were now, walking towards this huge building they called Stark Tower. You were familiar. Loki had used it to open a portal to lead an alien army to New York City.

You smiled at the thought of meeting Loki again despite of what he had done. Odin had sentenced him to remain among the mortals for a few centuries to come, serving and aiding them if need be, as an “Avenger”. You had not seen him since the day he had let himself fall into the void beneath the Bifrost, believed him dead and mourned and cried your oldest and most dearest childhood friend… and had rejoiced and hurt all at the same time when he returned and wreaked havoc on Earth.

He must have changed so much—but not enough for you to stop loving him. He had no idea, of course. You had been friends for as long as you could remember and Thor had always been around too. He had loved occupying your attention by bragging with his berserker skills wielding his hammer and creating thunder and lightning.

You suppressed a giggle. Loki and you had often sneaked off together after supper, stealing some fancy dessert and hiding somewhere in the castle so you could chat in peace. How often had you wished Loki would dare a chaste kiss then?

Looking back at it today, it made you wonder if Thor had purposely tried to keep you away from his adoptive brother. Come to think of it, he had always attempted to find a way to embarrass Loki one way or another, and often with the help of his friends who were currently walking right next to you, a little confused about the elevator technology in this realm.

When the metal doors opened again with a pling, you were not disappointed. Thor had decorated the spacious living area with all the Christmas decorations Earth had to offer. There were tinsel and baubles and other ornaments, nutcrackers and fake icicles and snow, sparkling Christmas trees, countless holiday lights blinking away, candy canes, gingerbreads and a massive Santa Clause statue.

“My friends! I’m so glad you could make it!”

The other people in the room you knew from Thor’s stories whenever he returned to Asgard to see if everything is alright. You recognised Captain America instantly due to the muscles and Hawkeye and Black Widow. The two men remaining must have been Tony Stark and the scientist who turned green when he was angry. The person you were interested in the most, however, was the god dressed in green and black next to Thor.

Your face lit up when you spotted Loki and his lips parted barely noticeably in response. You greeted Thor with a brief hug but never took your eyes off of him. Then, for a second, you took in his appearance, admiring how much more grown he looked… how much more mature and experienced. His innocence, so you realised, had vanished from his aura like damp fog in a forest.

You shivered when he spoke your name. “Good to see you.” You weren’t quite sure what he had expected from you but apparently not that you would throw yourself into his arms, pressing yourself against him as if he were a piece of wood in midst of a roaring sea.

“How are you doing, you silly Trickster?” You muttered once you managed to let go of him again, almost complaining when his hands left your body.

His smile was faint but honest, albeit there was still confusion sparkling in his eyes.

“I didn’t think you would be glad to see me.” He admitted instead of responding.

“W-why wouldn’t I be? Loki, I haven’t seen you in years. I thought I had lost you. Did Thor not tell you how the guards almost threw me in prison because they wouldn’t let me see you after New York?”

He frowned. “Not a word.”

“I almost stabbed them… I missed you.”

Loki had no chance to reply this time. Volstagg scattered forth towards the buffet, forcing you to step aside and indicating Thor must have finally started the festivities. You had barely risked a look at the buffet yourself yet but the selection of cookies, cakes and sandwiches looked indeed very promising.

The Warriors Three and Sif made sure to ignore Loki as best as they could—they had nothing to say to him anymore, after all and just like back in the old days, Thor made no move to change that. So while he was introducing them to some Midgardian Christmas traditions, you stepped aside with the fizzy drink he had handed you, quietly talking to Loki.

“Loki!” Volstagg suddenly called out, followed by a chuckle by Fandral. “You need a refill.”

You covered your own glass when they poured the same pinkish liquid (Thor had said it was ‘cotton candy liqueur’) into Loki’s who watched the scene with utter dismay. You could see Thor grinning from the corners of your eye and even Hogun was cracking a smile—Sif only rolled her eyes and one of the mortal men you did not know and had not yet made any effort to get introduced to, pressed his lips together so he would not burst out laughing. Idiots. Just leave him alone for once, will you?

“Who is who?” You asked once they had turned away again. “I recognise the redhead and the archer, and Captain America, what about the others?”

“Stark is the man to the left.” Loki said, downing almost the entire drink at once. Alcohol was supposed to numb unease, after all.

“The one with the beard?” The one who had failed to show his amusement when Volstagg clearly made Loki uncomfortable, you added mutely.

“Yes. The other is Bruce Banner.”

“The Hulk.” He nodded.

“How are they… treating you here?”

Loki snorted. “After what I have done? They seem to have forgotten I was the reason they assembled in the first place, not, however, that it was I who attempted to subjugate the planet.”

You glanced at him for a moment. “What happened, Loki? You were never like that. You never wanted a throne, you merely wanted your father to treat you and Thor as equals. Why Midgard?” Loki’s expression was pained, yet at the same time, relief flooded him. No, you were right—he had never been like that. Thor had still not realised that but here you were, his oldest friend whom he had secretly been in love with for decades, realising in a mere second that there was going on with him.

“Not here.” He shook his head slightly, making you frown. Something was up, you could tell. Something weighed heavy on his mind, tearing him down. You sighed. It was nothing new that besides Frigga before her death, no one but you ever truly bothered to listen to what Loki had to say. It had never been as important as what Thor had had to say.

Not here, he had said. Well then for now, all you could do was cheer him up a little. “What cake is that?”

Loki raised his eyebrows, irritated by the sudden change of topic. “Thor said something about marshmallows.”

“What are marshmallows?” He shrugged. “It looks really good though…” You said, a devilish grin forming on your lips. “What do you think? Let us grab that cake and get out of here?” Just like in the old times?

Loki smiled—it suited him, being this blithe. You wondered when he had last had the chance to be like that. Sneakily, you reached for some white forks (they were very light, a very cheap material, apparently) all the while Loki yoinked the cake. You made sure no one would notice before you followed him out of the vast room and took the elevator to another level where it was so quiet one could have heard a needle drop.

“Where exactly are we going?”

“My room,” he answered. “I am quite surprised they gave me one to be truly honest.”

But very apparently, their generosity had been kept within limits. Compared to his chambers back on Asgard, Loki’s room here on Midgard was pathetically small. A single bed and a desk along with a wardrobe and a tiny bedside table were the only items of furniture and to be quite frank, the room resembled a prison cell more than a proper accommodation. Unlike the rest of the Tower, there was not a single piece of Christmas decoration in here. You were almost disappointed. Surely, Loki would adore some green and gold tinsel as well. You wondered if Thor had even bothered to ask if he wanted any.

You didn’t need his permission to sit on his bed, you had never needed it back on Asgard either. Loki and you were so close you sometimes wondered why he had never tried to take you with him on his conquest. You wouldn’t have minded to be the queen of evil if only that meant you could be with him…

Loki sat down next to you, setting both your glasses aside. You grinned when you handed him a fork and you both dug into the marshmallow cake as if it was going to be your last meal.

“Oh…” You mused. “It really is good.”

“Hmm…” He confirmed.

You giggled. “I’m glad you didn’t lose your sweet tooth.”

Your heart jumped when Loki winked at you, his mouth still full of cake. You had already transformed the pretty and edible creation into an utter crumbly mess but then again, who needed those paper plates these mortals used as dishes, regardless of the cute snowmen and snowflakes on them?

“It was not the same without you, you know.” You said then.

“I bet Thor kept you occupied.”

You shook your head, the both of you still munching away.

“We barely spoke after your death, I mean… after we thought you had died… to be truly honest, I think I only tolerated Thor because he is your brother.”

Loki tilted his head. “One might think it was the other way around.”

“Yeah… that’s probably what he is telling his mortal friends right now. I meant it, Loki. I really missed you. I was heartbroken when they told me you had flung yourself down the Bifrost…”

“And then?” He interrupted. “Were you repulsed when you learned about what I did here on Midgard?”

You shook your head. “I was worried for you. You were always on my mind. Did you… Did you ever think about me?”

“Well, of course I have, I love you.” He blurted out, only to close his mouth in utter shock the fraction of a second after.

You nearly choked on the cake. “W-what did you just say?”

“N-nothing, I… I said I have been in love with you unconditionally for centuries.” Loki bit his tongue, his eyes widening. You had positively never heard him stutter before. What he was saying was true, there was no mischievous sparkle in his blue eyes, but even though your heart leaped at the thought of him reciprocating your romantic feelings, your first instinct was to figure out what had made him spill the truth like that.

Unceremoniously, you reached for his pinkish drink and gave it a smell. Yours smelled different, without a doubt.

“Oh, Loki… they’ve spiked your drink with a truth potion I believe.”

“They did what?”

“That… that must be why they snickered so much upon refilling your glass, my love. I’m glad we left, I bet they were waiting for you to make a fool of yourself.”

Loki scoffed. “Well… I did that now anyway, did I not? Perhaps you should leave, I—”

You only smiled. “I love you too, Loki.” You said, making him look up in utter surprise. The cake between you on the bed was now entirely forgotten. You brushed it aside, not caring whether the icing would stain his bed sheets.

“What?” He breathed as you crawled towards him and made yourself comfortable on his lap, feeling confident now that he had admitted his feelings for you.

And as you wrapped your hands around his neck, you smiled, touching his forehead with yours.

“Nothing you do could ever stop me from loving you, Loki. If Thor had not thrown this stupid Midgardian Yule party… I might have never seen you again.”

Loki took a deep breath. “I think I understand now what Thor meant by ‘Christmas miracles’…” He uttered in response, his lips only inches from yours. Laughing quietly, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips against his. It was a chaste kiss—to test the waters, get used to how it would feel and, much like you had anticipated, it stole your breath away.

“Let us leave together.” Loki suggested hoarsely when you broke apart again, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“How? Odin sentenced you to be here, with Thor. He would know—and Thor and his Avengers would come after you.”

“Oh, they will not.” He retorted, a mischievous smirk growing on his lips.

“Loki? What have you been up to again?”

“I have the Tesseract.” He revealed smugly.

“You… what? How?!”

“Shhh… keep your voice down, sweetling.”

“I’m sorry… how? It’s supposed to be on Asgard, locked in the king’s treasure chamber.”

“Well, it was. Until I took it. We could go anywhere. They will never be able to trace us.”

You bit your lower lip, excitement rushing through you. Life on Asgard was dull without Loki and you certainly did not desire to stay here on Midgard with those mortals and their strange traditions and customs. Loki’s proposal was a dream come true, at long last.

“Then let us do it.” You beamed, making him smile. “But first… we finish that cake. Leave them a goodbye present.”

Loki laughed—and you did not move off his lap again until the very last crumb of the marshmallow cake was gone.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

#loki #loki imagine #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x gender neutral reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson fluff #loki odinson #loki odinson imagine #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson fluff #thor #thor imagine #the avengers #the avengers imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #tom hiddleston

[stachmousworld]

P*$$y fairy (Hot Smut) P.1

Pairing: Steve rogers x WOC original character

Tag: Daddy kink, vaginal fingering, virginity loss (blood), oral sex, consensual all the way through.

Part 2 

“No,” she said categorically.

“Please…pretty please…” Julie begged her best friend.

“No. You are out of your mind. I won’t do it.”

Julie took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to invoke this, but…do you remember the life or death experience from march?”

Her bestfriend sent her a death glare.

“On all the shit you could use this, you chose this one?”

Julie nodded vehemently. She plumped her lower lip and opened her big blue eyes. She knew that her bestfriend wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Argh! Ok! Stop looking at me like that!” She said, throwing her hands in the air. “What I wouldn’t do for my so-called friend.”

Juliet jumped into her arms and thanked her.

“I let you prepare yourself. My stepdad is a little bit nervous. So be prepared.”

She rolled her eyes and gave her best smile. Julie grimaced.

“You won’t fuck it up on purpose, right? Because he really likes you and he loves talking to you about these boring things.”

Her best friend plopped on the couch. She reveled in the compliments. She, also, loved to discuss with Steve. He was as smart as handsome and could debate for hours. If he wasn’t Julie’s stepdad, she’d totally go for him.

“Why would I do that, Julie?” She asked, her voice laying thick on sarcasm.

Julie glared at her.

“I know I should have never asked you to do that,” she muttered, leaving the room

“After tonight, we’re even!” She screamed, cackling like a hyena. “Finally, even,” she repeated in a mutter.

 It took her a few minutes to get prepared. She chose a regular outfit. Tight little red dress with short heels. Julie’s stepdad was quite tall, but she didn’t want to have sore feet before the end of the night. She shook her head and patted her wig. She had chosen a burgundy one and had curled the long hair. She looked gorgeous if she did say so herself. She shook her head enjoying the feeling of the silky hair on her back.

It didn’t take long before Julie’s stepdad rang at the door. She took her jacket, her bag and opened the door. Mister Rogers looked…too handsome to be real. He had trimmed his full beard, she remarked, out loud. His entire face relaxed. He let out a chuckle.

“What else have I changed, miss?”

She smiled recognizing the competition.

“Your hair is longer, and you didn’t dye them. You don’t where your contacts today.” He looked briefly shocked. A small smile appeared on his face. “You normally don’t wear anything that “posh” so that’s a win for me. It looks good on you. Dark blue makes your eyes pop more.”

Mister Rogers licked his lip slowly, then smiled again. It’s weird how she could notice more details from him because she was attracted to him. She didn’t want to freak him out, so she’d just focus on the more obvious.

“Can we stay in your apartment just one second?” he asked out of the blue.

She opened her mouth to question him but thought otherwise. She pushed herself out of the way and let him in.

 He was standing there, in the middle of her living room, looking out of place. The blue of his suit clashed with the warm colors in her apartment, but he didn’t care. No. He seemed perfectly at in his element.

“Do you need to go to the toil –”

“Shhh” he ordered her softly. “Do you remember Julie’s 21st birthday?”

She unconsciously took a step back as memories flooded her mind. Some parts were hazy and others more like a living fantasy. She didn’t remember taking anything, no alcohol nor drugs, that’s for sure. So, there was no way what happened was real. It had been a vivid, extremely vivid dream.

“Yeah?”

Mister Rogers unbuttoned his vest and laid it on the armchair. He sat down and crossed his leg. He was gazing at her, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“Do you remember what happened between us?”

“Between us?” She repeatedly dumbly.

He nodded patiently. Slowly drumming on his ankle.

“I don’t…what happened?” She preferred asking. It had been a vivid dream. Nothing had been real she reassured herself.

“Julie was having a party downstairs, and everyone was partying, drinking and enjoying their night, right?”

“Hm.” Her breathing grew shallower.

“Yep. I was upstairs in my bedroom, minding my own business when you can in my room. Your face was as red as a beetroot. I thought you were having an allergic reaction.”

She frowned. She had no memories of that.

“I came to you, helped you out. You were stuttering something about an important issue,” he chuckled. “I asked you what that had to do with me…”

 Memories came as he talked.

 “But you don’t understand, Mister Rogers! I’m going to die a virgin,” she pouted, unashamed. She was high on adrenaline and felt braver than she’d ever think.

Mister Rogers – Steve smiled and shook his head, amused.

“Isn’t that a tad dramatic? Even for you?”

“And what I’m supposed to do?”

Steve moved around the room, tidying as he walked through.  

“Finding a boy who’ll love you and make love to you.”

She grimaced and grunted.

“That’s going to take forever. Plus, boys my age don’t know shit about sex. It’s ‘oh a vagina, let me put my dick in it.’ and a few seconds later they cum and you’re still dry as fuck and they don’t care about that because, ‘women should be wet all the time’ or my favorite response ‘It’s not my problem’.” She flopped on his bed and laid there, sighing deeply. “I’m going to die a virgin.”

Steve started laughing surprising her. She raised her head and smiled softly.

“That’s not funny…” She grumbled.

Steve took a look at her and laughed some more.

“Mister Rogers! This is a really serious matter.”

“Ok, ok I stop.” He raised his hands in mock defense. “But you have to understand that for me, a man of the wrong side of 30, it’s kind of hilarious that your main worry in life is losing your virginity.” He made his way toward her and sat next to her. “You have your entire life to get it figured it out. I don’t want you to rush things up. Like you said, boys your age don’t really think about giving.”

She frowned not liking at all the paternal tone. She didn’t want to wait many more years. She wanted to have sex right now. Her eyes grew wide. Right now. Parties were a good way to have sex so Julie said.

“Why do I know you didn’t listen jack shit of what I just said?” He sighed.

“Thank you, mister Rogers! But I gotta go.” She jumped off the bed and quickly made her way to the door.

“Wait!” She stopped. “What are you going to do, exactly?”

She spun around. “Have sex. Parties are known to have horny people. I’m sure I’d find someone to sleep with me. Easy peasy.”

Steve who had been laughing a few minutes ago was dead serious. He looked reprobative and the frown on his face wasn’t reassuring.

“That’s exactly the opposite of what I told you to do.”

“Yeah, and?” She kept glancing behind her as if the horny people would disappear in a minute.

“You will regret it.”

“And?” She pressed him.

“It’s supposed to be –.”

“I’m going to cut you right there, Mister Rogers. I don’t care at this point. I want an orgasm or two. That’s it.”

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is unbelievable. Are you drunk?” She shook her head. “Baked?” Another shook.

Steve stood up. He raised his eyes to the ceiling. “God forgive me.” He looked at his feet, then at her. “I can’t in all fairness let you have some maybe unprotected sex with a knucklehead, who’s going to cum in a few seconds and leave you dry.”

She blushed at his crudity.

“You shouldn’t blush. Those are the words you used.”

She tried to explain herself but failed miserably.

“I’m going to propose something. Instead of sleeping with someone you don’t know, I’ll do it.”

She choked on her saliva. Her nostrils burned as her saliva went through them. She wiped her nose hastily.

“What do you mean by I’ll do it?” She had to make sure she heard it right.

“I’ll fuck you” The blush intensified. Steve smirked mischievously. “I’ll put my erection in your wet vagina. I’ll put my dick in your greedy hole and fill you up quite nicely.”

She shuffled her feet trying to not cross her legs and be obvious. There was an aching between her legs. It was both familiar and yet unfamiliar. She was used to being horny but the emptiness inside of her had never felt so awful.

“You don’t have to be this crude,” she repeated weakly.

Steve walked slowly toward her. His eyes never left hers.

“Why? Do you think those frat boys would be more polite?” He stood a few feet from her. “No. They’d treat you like a whore, manhandle you. And if you find the wrong one, he’ll make sure to tell his friends about your little pussy.” His voice grew deeper. “And I’d have to beat the hell out of these boys.” He approached until her face collided with his broad chest. “But we don’t want that right?”

“N-no.”

“Good. Have you ever seen a dick before?”

The change of subject gave her whiplash.

“No.” He took a few steps backward and sat on the bed legs open.

“Come and work for it, then.”

She walked a little unsure of what to do. Did he want her to suck him or jerk him off?

She kneeled in front of him and unbuttoned his jeans. First surprise was that he was soft but long. The tip was a pretty pinkish. She rolled her fingers around the shaft and slowly moved. Steve hissed. Her head snapped up.

“Keep going, baby girl. Take your time and do whatever you think could feel good. But no teeth.”

“Oh, and I thought I could bite it off,” she joked.

Before Steve could reply she sucked the tip. Her tongue rolled around the bulbous head, tasting a drop of precum. She hummed, finally relaxing. She swallowed more of his dick, making sure to hide her teeth. 

The tip hit the back of the throat. She moaned and kept going past her gag reflex, until she was nuzzled on his pubic. She cleared her throat, making him moaned loudly. 

He gripped the sheets next to him. She slowly bobbed her throat enjoying his growing thickness in her mouth. Her eyes rolled back as he was fully erected. She couldn’t deepthroat him anymore and mourned the feeling of his hair on her face.

His carnal scent made her dizzy.

With one hand she rolled and squeezed his balls and with the other she jerked him off. She bobbed her head faster, as his groans grew louder.

“God, what a mouth…” he hissed. He placed a hand on her head and fucked her mouth. She closed her eyes, mouth agape, barely breathing. He forced his length inside her throat making her gag. Her eyes watered.

He finally let go of her when she was on the verge to faint. He slapped his wet dick onto her cheeks, avoiding her stretched tongue.

“That’ll be for later. I guess.” He pushed grabbed her and laid her on the bed. She let him do, still not believing she had sucked her bff stepdad. When she came back to herself, Steve had already taken care of his clothes and hers. He was between her legs, caressing the apex of her thighs. She moaned, pushing her hip onto his face.

“I thought you would never come back to yourself.”

“First time sucking a dick, so…” she said, voice a little hoarse.

Steve smiled. “And you did amazing. I would have cum in your mouth, but the night is young.”

She keened at the praise.

“But now you got your fill, I’ll need to prepare you,” he said, before diving in. She almost jerked away when she felt his tongue around her clit. The sensation felt unfamiliar yet so tantalizing.

She dropped back and rolled her hip on his face. Steve pressed her hips on the mattress and ravaged her. His tongue was lapping, circling her clit with extreme precision. He sucked on her clit like a popsicle. Pleasure washed over her rendering her boneless.

Steve moaned around her clit.

“Mister Rogers!” She screamed, as her orgasm approached.

Steve stopped. She whined and tried to push his head back. He laughed patting her hands out. He used his fingers to rub her clit. Briefly. So brief, she wasn’t even sure he did it.

One long finger slid in. She gaped, back arching. He was so deep. Deeper than her fingers could have been.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” He muttered, on the skin of her thigh. He pressed a few kisses. A second finger got in quite easily. Her body went laxed, before tensing. He had crooked his fingers and hit…God…it was so good. She fucked herself on his fingers enjoying their callosity and thickness.

Steve chuckled. “If I had known you were that greedy, I would have started earlier.”

“Tol’ ya,” she gasped.

A third one came in. She tensed feeling a bit too stretched.

“I’m bigger than that baby girl.” He groaned. “I can’t wait to see my dick stretching you out. Just for me.”

He went back to sucking her clit. The sudden onslaught and pleasure rushing through her veins relaxed her. She could hear the watery noise from her pussy. She pressed her legs around his head and pushed him into her. Steve didn’t push her this time and accepted.

Out of the sudden, Steve crooked is fingers making a wince. She was about to tell him when she felt a spark of pleasure erupting from her pussy. She grabbed her chest, dazed. Steve pressed into her sweet spot, hitting it every time.

She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t stay focus.

Her orgasm uncoiled suddenly after a particular brutal thrust. Her entire body spasmed on the bed. She couldn’t help herself but moan, whine and call his name. 

It took a few minutes hour or days for she knew to come back to reality. Her body was sensitive and yet, she wasn’t really satiated.

“Here,” he said, bringing a straw to her mouth. She raised her head and sipped. The first one was at least as orgasmic as what had happened. Between sucking Steve’s dick and being fingerfucked within an inch of her life, her throat felt like sandpaper.

“Delicious.” She smacked her lips a few times enjoying the cold water. She sipped some more finishing the glass.

“I know. There is nothing orgasmic than water when you are thirsty.”

She hummed, eyes closed, enjoying being naked on satin sheets.

 The bed dipped. Steve opened her legs and laid on her. He pressed some kisses on her face before kissing her mouth. He bit her lower tongue and plunge his tongue inside. He grinded his erection on her slit. Sweet wet noises resonated in the room. She caressed his biceps to his back. She brought her legs around his, pressing them together.

Steve bit her tongue. She groaned.

“Sweet girl,” he complimented her. He rocked his hips against hers. “Saw you a few days ago, in that small shirt with nothing under.” He pinched her right nipple. “All I dreamt of was bending you and fuck you till you call me daddy.” He grazed her jaw with his teeth. “I dream everyday about my sweet baby girl, calling me daddy. And me, you know what I do?” She shook her head completely dazed. “I have your legs on my shoulders, while I pound MY sweet pussy until you try to push me away because it is too much. I make you come every time and you always end up bursting with my cum.”

He licked her lips, thrusting his tongue in. He played with hers in a sloppy kiss. She didn’t even try to fight with him and let him take what he wanted. In a short conscious moment, she realized that she also dreamt of him. And maybe she had tried to attract his intention, but who cared right now.

 Steve sat on his haunches. He gripped his flushing erection slapping it on her clit and hole. He pretended to slip it in making her angry. She tried to push him in herself, but he slapped her hand away.

“Patience. I don’t want to rush it.” His tip got caught on the hole. “I wonder if you’ll put some red on my ledger?”

What? She didn’t have the time to ask that he pressed in. She immediately tensed. Steve tsked.

“My tip is barely in, baby girl.” He thrusted out then in. He got a little more in, but she was still tensed. “I thought you said you were ready? If you don’t want, we can still stop. Actually, we can stop even in the middle of it, it’s your choice.”

She blushed with embarrassment. She was ridiculous. It wasn’t supposed to go like that.

“Hey, don’t hide from me. It’s totally normal, that’s your first time. I’d be totally surprised if you’d be wide open, ready to take it like that. Do you want to continue?”

“Yes, please,” she asked, vulnerable. He smiled softly and kissed her forehead. He leaned forward, caging her with his arms.

“Focus on me,” he whispered, diving for kiss. As his tongue played with hers, she felt a pinch inside of her. She unconsciously tensed up. Steve placed a hand on her clit and rubbed it fast. His tongue battled with hers as pleasure and pain overwhelmed her.

She wanted to cry. She felt so full, so good, so stretched. Her eyes rolled back. His dick was so large and hard. She surely could feel him in her heart. God!

“That’s Steve or Daddy for you babe.” He groaned in her ear as pleasure took them both to new heights. “You are so good to me. So tight…I won’t be able to get enough of this.” He kept sliding deeper inside her. Tears ran down her face. How could he go that far inside of her.

“That’s okay, baby girl, I know it is overwhelming. Daddy’s dick fill you up quite nicely, isn’t?”

She cried some more. “So good.”

Steve kissed her nose. “I know. Now, it’s time to see something.” He slid out in a slow motion. He moaned her name and squeezed her hips hard. The emptiness disturbed her. She wanted him back in.

“Oh,” he said.

She raised her head and saw a hint of red around the crown of his dick. She frowned not understanding what was the problem. Steve raised an eyebrow and looked at her with awe. Oh. Realization dawned upon her. Her hymen had broken. Steve surged forward kissing her with renewed passion.

“God, you are mine now. All mine, baby girl.”

He pressed his erection onto her hole and slid right in. She felt a slight discomfort, but the overwhelming pleasure took over. He started thrusting.

“So tight…” He kept murmuring inside her ear. “Will fuck you all night, don’t worry. ‘be so sore tomorrow.”

She barely could breath anymore. His dick hit her sweet spot no matter what. The more she tried to make him slowdown a bit, the less he did.

She finally let go. He stood there above her, beard glistening with sweat and her juice, dark blue eyes peering on her. He slowed for a bit. 

She sighed in relief.

“Are you ready, for the grand final?” He whispered huskily.

She raised an eyebrow. The what now?

He chuckled darkly. His thrusts grew faster. She gripped the sheets around her to stay grounded.

“Fuck!” She screamed when his tip hit home. He grabbed her legs, bend them until they hit her chest. She was constricted and could barely move.

“Better like that…” he groaned to himself. “Deeper…hungry hole…”

He pressed harder her legs and started pounding her. It instantly knocked the breath out of her. His dick speared her to the limit and the bulbous head was now slamming against her spot.

She started seeing white spot. She blinked rapidly to stay conscious, but Steve wouldn’t fucking let go.

“Fuck, that pussy so good!” He screamed. His thrusts were now wilder.

She screwed her eyes and grimaced as her orgasm knocked her out. Steve kept thrusting inside her, not even slowing down. He bent to her ears and grunted. “Gonna come…fuck…so tight…”

A few thrusts later and he suddenly stilled inside her. She gasped as his semen coated her walls and automatically rolled her hips, milking him for some more.

She closed her eyes…

“So, do you remember, now?” Steve asked, still on the armchair.

Part 2

#steve rogers x woc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x black!reader #black female characters #virginity #daddy!steve #stepdad!Steve #steve rogers x poc!reader

[nattikay]

Do you miss it?

Based on a prompt by @nb-demon in which Jim is “fixed” via a stone that allows him to shift forms like a changeling....except uh probably not exactly what you had in mind because hoo boy do I stand by the idea that troll!Jim does not need to be “fixed” whoop ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

Ao3 link

--

Jim turned the smooth stone over in his hand. It shimmered lightly in a way not unlike the sheen of the blue stone in his amulet. The amulet that had changed his life forever when it called out his name nearly forty years ago.

“I’ve been…researching transformation magic,” Douxie the wizard had told him when he presented the stone. “Because of the way Merlin’s potion worked, it can never be truly reversed…but this should allow you to take a human appearance at your leisure. Like a changeling without the need for a familiar. In case…in case you miss it.”

“O-oh,” Jim had stammered as he accepted the gift, pocketing it gently. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t this. “T…thanks. That’s…really thoughtful of you.”

Douxie nodded. “I thought it was only fair. It took a long time to develop, but…I figured you should have the chance to choose the form in which you live without the threat of evil breathing down you neck. Let me know if you have any problems.”

And with that he simply left, off to take care of whatever business wizards do. Jim, too, had duties to tend to, and for the next few hours left the stone in the back of his pocket and mind.

That had been this morning. Now Jim was sitting alone in his home, perched on the lip of his bathtub as he carefully examined the magical stone.

Did he miss being human? He wasn’t sure. Sure, there were days—the particularly tough days that trollhunting lent itself to—when he yearned for the nostalgic days of his human childhood, racing bikes with Toby and eating dinner with his mom. But those days were so far behind him. So much had changed. He had changed—and not just in the obvious ‘I’m partially a different species’ way. He’d grown up, made new memories and experiences. 

Jim glanced up into the mirror across the floor, studying his face. His features were a bit more mature—jaw stronger, shoulders broader, scruff thicker—but despite fast-approaching his 53rd birthday, he looked remarkably similar to how he had the day he defeated Gunmar. He supposed his troll half was responsible for that. Trolls, after all, generally lived for many centuries. He hadn’t asked many ages, but he knew that Blinky, at least, was over 600. Whether he would make it as long as a full-fledged troll, only time would tell—but it certainly seemed he’d outlive most humans. 

Claire, too, no longer looked her age. When she began officially training in sorcery she had gained a wizard’s longevity. Though she certainly appeared more mature than the teenager she’d been when she first began to dabble in the magical world, no one would guess just by looking at her that she was really in her early 50s. In fact, when they were alone together, a part of Jim almost genuinely forgot their true ages. 

Of the original trio, only Toby showed the true passage of time. He’d kept remarkably upbeat and positive as his ginger-brown hair grayed and his face wrinkled, but while their friendship remained true, Jim knew that this gap would continue to widen until one day it would reach a length he could not cross.

Jim’s brows furrowed. His heart ached to think of loosing his lifelong best friend to human age when he, as a half-troll, still had so much life left to live. 

He glanced back down at the smooth stone in his hands. Did he miss being human?  

Had he been presented with this opportunity before, he would have leaped at it. He had made the choice to go half-troll—with the imminent threat of Gunmar and Morgana, it had felt necessary. And, indeed, the improved strength, speed, and stamina he gained from it certainly helped win the battle. 

But once the battle had been won? Well, there had been a lot to get used to. After a lifetime of barely even noticing whether or not the sun was out, suddenly needing to avoid it was a jarring adjustment. His entire palate and nutritional needs changed and his body both felt and looked so strange, so foreign. With the need for trollish strength and speed over, it would have been so much easier, so much more comfortable and familiar to revert to a human form, had it been possible. 

But…

It had actually been years since Jim had to worry about the sun. As the Trollhunter he had access to a variety of stones he could add to his amulet to grant special abilities, including one that immunized him to the trollish sunlight weakness. It was still wise to be careful, and limit his time in the sun if and when possible, but nonetheless the workaround had been effective.

While he was no longer found enjoyment in some of his old favorite foods, he’s found new favorites. It had taken a fair while of experimenting to find the balance of his new palate, and now he couldn’t imagine not being able to eat his spiced metal-mouse stew that had taken Trollmarket by storm. 

And his body…well, it had taken adjustments, but after a while he had come to accept it as it was. Claire had helped a lot with that.

Claire. Her love for him had not wavered for an instant, no matter what he looked like. In fact, he recalled her bashfully admitting not long after beginning their exodus to New Jersey, she rather liked his new appearance. Yes, she’d insisted, even the horns and the teeth and the blue skin. 

This year would be their 35th wedding anniversary. 

They’d even had children together, all four of whom had now grown and left the nest, but still visited frequently. They had been fully bracing themselves for the thought that this would not be possible—would a half-troll still be able to have a baby with a human, or would he be like a mule, unable to breed?

Finding out Claire was pregnant for the first time was one of the most exciting moments of his life…though even that could not compare to the day their daughter was born nine months later, looking surprisingly normal save for unusual pinkish coloration that never quite went away and the two tiny bumps on her little head that would later grow into stubby horns. 

Jim turned the stone over in his hands again and again. His life had turned out pretty well, all things considered. Would it have been better if he were human?

This should allow you to take a human appearance at your leisure, Douxie had said. Like a changeling without the need for a familiar.

Like a changeling…so nothing permanent. He’d be able to switch back if he changed his mind. So what could be the harm in…trying?

Jim closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he focused on the magic in the stone. He felt himself shifting…

…and opened his eyes to see an older, startlingly human man staring back at him in the mirror.

Jim examined the appearance in shock. He hadn’t seen himself as a human since he was sixteen years old. Of course this form would look different now. Even still, seeing it for real…

He was about half a foot shorter than he’d been before, his dark hair grayed. He’d lost his scruff but kept his sideburns, as well a shadow of hair around his mouth and chin that suggested he ought to shave (unless he wanted to start growing the beard). His skin, though wrinkled, was soft and decidedly not blue.

He was surprised how strange and fragile he felt in this body. In fact, it almost felt as strange as that day he’d woken up on his mother’s couch as a half-troll for the first time…

With a start, Jim suddenly realized that at this point in his life, he’d spent more time as a half-troll than he had as a human. Being half-troll was more normal to him than being human.

“Jim!” a familiar call came from the front door as Claire walked into the underground house. “Are you home? Laura’s here to visit!”

Jim grinned, shaking his head lightly as he reached out to the magic in the stone, re-assuming his half-troll appearance.

“In here, I’ll be out in a minute,” he called back, leaving the stone on the sink as he left to greet his wife and youngest daughter.

No, his life had not been perfect. He’d gone through more than his share of hardships, both before and after finding the amulet, before and after turning half-troll. But it wasn’t without the happy times, either. Throughout all his challenges, he’d been surrounded by friends and family, love and support. Each obstacle he’d faced and overcome helped shape him into who he was today.

Despite the hardships, in the end, he was happy. His life didn’t need fixing. It merely needed living.

And if he could go back, he would’t change a thing.

#trollhunters #tales of arcadia #jim lake jr #troll jim #fanfic #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #gotta go to aikido now so I don't have time to edit and therefore apologize in advance for typos and the like

[zarcake-writes]

OkCryptid: Jacob

I started this so long ago, and I just finished this part. I do want to do a second part, but I’m not sure when I’ll get to it. Anyways, please enjoy!

Tagging: @thetravelerwrites

Sitting in the nearly empty coffee shop, you check your phone for probably the millionth time within the last ten minutes. There are no recent messages, and the time shows it is still early. Why do you have to get everywhere so damn early? Why are you so nervous?

In hopes of passing the time, you look around the shop. There is an assortment of paintings from local artists on several walls. A small bookshelf stands out next to the counter. Differently shaped tables are placed around the shop. A long bar faces out the front window. The smell of coffee and food makes you feel warm inside. The smells and the soft music slightly calm your nerves.

You notice one of the other patrons, a male Tiefling, is sitting alone in the furthest end of the shop. His entire attention was on the book in front of him. He mouths the words he is reading. He frowns in concentration, quickly writes something in a notebook, then goes back to the book.

Behind the counter is a plump, rose-colored naga. You forget her name, but she is the barista you usually see here. She always greets you with a friendly smile and has your coffee ready in an instant. You watch as she wipes down the counter, a small smile on her face, and a slight sway in her movements.

Checking the time again, you see only a few minutes have passed. Going to your messages, you click the name Jacob and scroll up a bit. The image of a handsome man, with a nicely trimmed beard and dark brown eyes, pops up.

You met Jacob on the app OkCryptid. After two years of being single, and not meeting anyone, you decided to try the app out. Course, a couple of your friends insisted you try it. One friend even went into great detail about the male Orcs she’s dated and the great thing about them.

There were so many different monsters on the app. Orcs, werewolves, vampires, nagas, minotaur’s, and so many demons. There were even a few Tieflings, some mer people, a few faes, and even a half dragon. None of them though really interested you. You chatted with an orc, who was only interested in fucking, and a vampire who stopped messaging you back.

The only one who seemed to be interested in you was a werewolf named Jacob. He had messaged you first, saying hi and asking how you were doing. You were shocked that such a handsome man had messaged you. He was tall, just over six feet, with dark brown hair that he slicked back. His beard was nicely trimmed and his eyes were a warm honey brown. The pictures he posted of his werewolf form, he was beautiful.

He liked the basic things you enjoyed: coffee, food, animals, scary movies, a good book, and even the same Netflix shows as yourself. Scrolling through the questions part of his profile, you found everything was almost a perfect match. He seemed to be a little more outgoing than you and he enjoyed working out, but that didn’t matter. What really made you blush, was when you saw a 90% match on the sex questions.

Your phone vibrating in your hand made you jump. Looking down, you read the message.

Hey, be there in a few. Parking now.

Taking a deep breath, you replied: Cool! I’m sitting inside.

Your nails drum against the table anxiously. It’s been several weeks since you both began talking, and today would be your first date. He let you chose the place and agreed to meet you here. You were so lost in thought; you didn’t even realize he had walked in and was approaching you. When your name was said, you jump and look up to see Jacob.

His hair was loosely brushed back and he wore a denim jacket. He has a soft smile on his face and he seems amused with whatever look is on your face. He clears his throat and sticks his hand out, you stand and take it. His hands are so warm and rough, but it wasn’t unpleasant.  

“Hi, Jacob,” you said.

“Hi. I’m glad I can finally meet you.”

“Same. Um, want to get anything to drink?”

“Sure. What’s good here?”

“Oh, everything.”

He lets out a soft laugh and nods his head in understanding. “I’ll take your word for that.”

You order your usual while he gets a simple black coffee. The naga behind the counter gives you a smile and winks, but she goes about making your drinks. Once you both are back at the table with your drinks, you realize how bad you are at dating.

What are you supposed to ask? Where do you look? His face? Ah, those eyes! His hands? Oh, gods! His hands are massive. Why are the veins popping out like that? As you’re panicking about what to ask, or where to look, Jacob speaks first.

“I take it you come here often?”

“Oh, yes. Usually two or three days a week. It’s quiet and the coffee is good.”

“That it is. Better than the crap I drink. Is it usually this quiet here?”

“During this time, it is. But early in the mornings, it’s busy, same for the weekends.”

He nods his head in understanding and takes a sip of coffee. His eyes shut and a small, happy smile spreads across his face. The smile looks good on him, and you can feel yourself grow warm. When he opens his eyes, you look back down at your cup.

For a moment, neither of you speak. Your mind is racing to ask Jacob a question, any question. But for the life of you, you couldn’t think of anything to ask. Jacob clears his throat, catching your attention. He’s giving you a soft smile.

“You’re nervous,” he said.

“Yeah, very. I was worried you weren’t going to show up.”

He leans forward on his forearms, a soft smile on his face. “And leave a cutie like you to drink coffee alone? No, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Cutie? Me?”

“Yeah, you. If you don’t mind me saying, you’re absolutely adorable.”

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes. The smirk on his face and the look in his eyes is almost too much. Your face grows warm and you look away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you more nervous than you already are.”

You glance up at him. He looks sincere, his hand is rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s alright. I’m not used to people complimenting me, especially someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

You glance up at him and see the confusion in his face. “Yeah, someone who’s handsome.”

“Handsome? Well, that’s sweet of you.” Jacob’s face grows red, but his eyes continue to sparkle. His smile never falters, it only seems to grow.

The rest of the date goes by quick. Jacob tells you about himself. He comes from a large family and is working in his grandfather’s mechanic shop. He makes a point to say that he isn’t working on the cars, he does all the scheduling and computer stuff.

“People expect me to be the one under the car or something, but that’s my twin sisters. They work with our grandfather and dad. Those two can put a car together with a paperclip and some tape, and I’m the one that struggles to remember what side my gas tank is on.” Jacob laughs. You laugh with him and nod in understanding.

“So, what is it you can do that your sisters struggle with?”

“I know how to use computers and modern technology, just like our mom. My dad, grandpa, and sisters barely know how to turn the tv on. My mom even wrote up instructions on how to get into their emails. It’s still next to the family computer at their house.”

The date comes to an end about an hour later. By then the coffee shop is busy and getting loud. Jacob offers to walk you to your car, which you happily accept.

Jacob looks nervous when you arrive at your car. He’s rubbing the back of his neck and his cheeks have a pinkish tint to them. You can’t help but think how cute he looks.

“I had a good time with you today,” he said.

“I did as well. Thank you.”

He blinks in surprise, then gives you a wide smile. “Oh, no need to thank me. Would you want to go out again?”

“Yes, I would like that very much. Are you free this weekend?”

“In the evenings I am. Is that alright with you?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you later, ok?”

“Yeah, that sounds great. Drive safe.”

Jacob opens the car door for you. You move to get into your car but stop and turn back to Jacob. He gives you a confused look and opens his mouth to speak. Before you lose your nerve, you step towards him, stand on your tip toes, and press a small kiss to his cheek. Pulling away, his face has visibly darkened, but there’s a smile on his face. You give him a shy smile and get into your car. Jacob closes the door and steps away.

As you drive away, you see Jacob in your rear-view mirror standing where you left him. His hand is on his cheek and a goofy smile is on his face. Behind him, you see what appears to be tail, wagging back and forth.  

#exophilia #werewolf boyfriend #monster boyfriend #okcryptid

[royal-writer]

But I love you

A bunch of ideas I stitched together into the fabric of one story. There ya go.

-

It was a different world. Larger, colder; it left her feeling small. Prey to the predators. Insignificant. Everyone standing around here was dripping with dignity and class; with enough esteem and reputation to line museums with stature. There was not enough of her to fill even the corner of the room. She was not enough.

In these halls, blood was power. Although Essätha’s held a different kind of power; simmering with the old dark magic of Shadowfell, it was not the same thing. The elite in these chambers were bred from blood of the wealthiest, the wisest, the most powerful and influential individuals in history. They were people who were born and raised to carry their voice, to weld a sword, to stand tall and firm. Their authority was without doubt. Most of them knew and accepted their place in history, and in the world.

This was no place for her kind. Not for her. Her posture was not quite right, her tongue not trained for these conversation. She came from nothing. She was nothing.

In the heavy blanket of her smothering unease, others tried to start the fire beneath her broken confidence, with little success.

“They’re just people like us,” Abernathy reminded her. “Their status doesn’t make them better.”

“Come have a glass of wine,” Adela offered. “It’ll help ease your worries.”

“I can stay with you,” Sul had offered.

“Don’t hold yourself back because of how you look,” Penimra scoffed, waving a gloved hand as he sighed, “No one here will openly mock you. They’re raised to hold their gossip to private parlors with friends, so you’re safe from public ridicule.”

Essie turned them away, one by one. The more they hovered, the more she could feel the wandering curious eyes draw towards a crowd. The very last place she wanted was to be in the center of anyone’s attention.

As her eyes trailed upon Ravamora fawning over someone’s gemstone-embed attire with a star-struck Pri’cha, the Yuan-Ti woman nibbled anxiously on her lip. She was the only one who looked out place here. Everyone else transitioned smoothly into the crowd, but not her. No matter how much makeup and expensive jewels and fine clothes you put her in, you couldn’t cover up the dirty, frightened, inadequate woman inside.

Relief would be the wrong word to use, when she caught sight of the dark eyes covering her. It was a dark shroud, and for only half a second, she’d all but forgotten the crowd. The charming, regal smile that went along with it made her produce a half-hearted reply. Her lips stretched into a shaky, thin returned smile as he approached, two flute glasses filled with bubbly liquid inside.

She dipped her head respectfully as he approached, murmuring, “M’lord.”

Amon’s grin grew almost giddy. “I thought you could use a refreshment.”

Offering a less than convincing ghostly smile, she accepted the beverage. Adela had been easy to turn down the few times she’d insisted on bringing over something. Although Essie could tell herself she was only accepting the nobleman’s out of respect for his stature and not wanting to draw him humiliation, her heart knew it was certainly more to do with disappointing him. It would be a shame to put a damper on such a soft, heavenly smile.

“It’s a fruity blended medley,” he explained. “Pomegranates, blackberries, apples, and pears. I thought you might prefer this, over the brandy they’re serving. Unless you’d rather-”

She placed a hand lightly upon Amon’s forearm to pause his strangely nervous rambling. He came to an abrupt halt, his gaze passing from where she touched him to her face with an impassive expression, as though he was hiding something.

“The mead is fine M’lord Amon, thank you,” Essätha whispered; adding on teasingly, “You know what I like.”

To her surprise, his face glowed pinkish as he relaxed his posture. He seemed to mull for a hesitant few seconds on what to say next, before finally exhaling brightly, “If you’re willing, Essie, there’s some people I’d like to introduce you too.”

Her grasp tightened upon the intoxicating sweet drink while she took a sip to buy time.

“Okay.”

Beaming from ear to ear, the nobleman offered out his arm to her. Not light could compare to how radiant he appeared; how picturesque and softly haloed his face was. Each strand of hair seemed to be highlighted from behind, and the angles of his face tilted enough to show the hills and valleys that peaked and rose around his cheeks that met the twinkle of his eyes.

Her hopes however, were dashed. She’d prayed he would bring this guest to her, but it seemed she would have to traverse the field of mines.

Delicately, Essätha rested her hand against Amon’s arm to allow him to lead her through the throng. She cursed her anxious grip, which tightened as the heat of bodies pressed close and smell of alcohol on lingering breathy laughter surrounded her. The intelligent part of her knew better, but a small part of her brain couldn’t help but feel they were laughing at her.

She turned her eyes up to the Illiad, and noticed the lingering way his gaze fell upon her, and then to the crowd in intervals to make sure they weren’t going to run into anyone.

Her heart stalled. How was it he always seemed to know what she needed, even when she didn’t voice it? Even when she didn’t know she needed it.

The reassurance of his eyes continued a looping path, back and forth a few times, until they were approaching two ladies and a gentleman chatting only a few degrees from the center of the room. The chandelier hanging overhead made this area particularly bright and unwelcoming. Essie had to resist squirming or latching further on to Amon like a leech for support and guidance.

“Lady Yaereena, Lady Sasha, Master Khrono,” Amon warmly interjected, offering a grand bow of his head. “My apologies for the interruption. This is the woman I wanted you all to meet.”

The trio turned their attention upon them.

“Oh, i’s no problem Master Ay’mon,” one of the women purred in a foreign accent. Her eyes flickered to Essie; a deep brown that countered her pale complexion. To contrast just how fair her skintone actually was, she wore a startling shade of raspberry red, with a lip stain to match, and allowed her dark hair to fall down her back.

She offered out a hand politely. “I am madam Sasha. Oi must be the misses Essätha Meduza the Bearmas’ah keeps going on about, no?”

Dizzily trying to hold her breath, Essie cast a sideways glance towards Amon. He’d been talking about her?

“That I am,” she awkwardly responded, taking the lady’s hand.

“Pleasure to meet ya, young lady,” the man piped up, extending his hand next. He had eyes so light blue they were nearly silver. His age was clearly beginning to catch up to him; as both the shadow of his thin beard and hair were beginning to have the same edges of silver and there was crepe areas and rough textures to his pale skin. He wore a sharp, pressed outfit of black and red attire, and had tiny points on his protruding ears.

Taking his hand, and then finally, the last Lady’s, Essie tried not to stare too hard at the woman. Lady Yaereena was enchanting; hair blonde and golden as the sun and dark hazel green eyes. Splashed across her face was a birthmark; varying in hues of a deep reddish-orange to brown. She had tired shadows beneath her eyes. She was physically more built than the other two, with very obvious elvish ears standing erect, and wore deep burgundy gown with a hint of brown to stand out against her olive skin.

“Lady Yaereena is quite shy, you’ll have to excuse her,” Khrono chuckled as the bashful woman’s cheeks flamed red.

Essätha offered a supportive smile, the best she could despite her own timidness. “It’s nice to meet you all,” she offered, automatically drawn to the timorous one. “I like your dress.”

“Thank you. Yours is n-nice too.”

Yaereena grew more flush from her stuttering. Essätha pitied the poor woman; edges of her own fear sanded down by her compulsive desire to bring an eased atmosphere to the area to calm her. Dipping her head respectfully, she murmured, “Thank you; the emerald color would look splendid on you too.”

“Oh, t-thank you,” Yaereena shyly replied. “I do have a j-jade at home I’m rather fond of…” She tried to self-consciously turn her face away, although no amount of concealment was going to add enough shadows to hide her birthmark.

“Oh! She is just dah’lin Ay’mon, oi were not lying! I could just devour her like a cupcake!”

Amon chuckled softly. “Careful who you mention sweets around.”

Swallowing nervously, Essie took an initiative to sip her mead.

“So, where are you from lass?” Khrono trailed on conversationally. “Not from Etheron, I’d surmised that much.”

“Vramahd, actually.”

The man let out a low, impressed whistle. “Quite the travel all the way across the continent here o’ yonder. Lots o’ wild out there still, I hear.”

“I… I suppose.”

“Oi like Etheron, no?”

She smiled faintly. “It’s been good to me.”

Sash raised her eyebrows slightly, glancing between her and Amon. “Yes, it seems it has.”

Ignoring the strange glance, Essie let out a nervous cough. “Do you three help rule a territory of Etheron?”

“Moi? Heavens no!”

Khrono simply laughed, shaking his head. “No, miss, ‘fraid I ain’t. Lady Yaereena here though, she’s late in line to uphold the mantle in her family, should anything happen to any of ‘em.”

The elf shivered nervously at the half-elf man’s words. “I am not fit to be a ruler. I’m f-far more content with my life, how it is.”

“There’s nothing wrong with either,” Essätha offered gently. “Not everyone has to be a leader. Just because you were born to the possible responsibility, doesn’t mean it owns you. You just have to lead your own life the best way possible. You carve your own path, my Lady. If you should ever change your mind, there is always open positions and ways you could grow your experience from.”

The blonde woman blinked with astonishment, looking at her full on. Her mouth opened a few times, and a rush of red coloring flushed her features. She dipped her head, offering a humble, squeaky mumble of thanks.

Sasha grabbed at Khrono’s arm. “Fan me, Khrono, I may swoon!”

The elderly man snorted his laughter. “You and your theatrics ‘nd drama, Sasha. ‘though I must say,” he turned his gaze to Essie, “You got a very valid word there, miss. You got a promisin’ future ahead of ya with that sorta level head.”

“I- it’s nothing,” Essätha muttered, fanning off their gushing. “There’s nothing wrong with choosing your own path. Just because you’re a leader doesn’t make you a follower, either. You can still tutor and guide through other means. The world doesn’t just need Lords and Ladies; it needs the farmers that plow the fields, the doctors that heal, blacksmiths, fishermen, cooks, undertakers, barkeeps…” she trailed off, offering a hand to Yaereena as she fidgeted. “The point is to be the very best you possible. If you’re happy with where you are, I’m happy for you; and I support your choice.”

With a look of absolute awe on her angelic face, Yaereena fiercely gripped her hand in return.

“You are truly as unique and artful as Master Amon said,” she thickly remarked; her stuttering disappearing in her whispering tone. “Thank you for your kind words, miss Essätha.”

Blushing herself, Essie stood a fraction taller beneath the praise. “M’lord exaggerates.”

“Oh dah’lin I ever don’t so,” Sasha snorted. “Oi are a fine specimen. Upholding others is a beautiful and honorable task. Keep women strong. The men will beg for your attention.”

“I don’t think she’s doin’ it for the young lads, lassy.”

“Perhaps not young men,” Sasha agreed with knowing.

Offering a vaguely amused half-grin, Essie took a drink from her glass, wrapping a self-conscious arm around herself. It felt a little easier to breathe, at least, for the moment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Letting out a heavy sigh, Essätha stared vacantly at all the extravagant décor and finely dressed individual as they blindly passed her by. A face among faces; lost in the sea of glances as she watched others depart the party. Her own companions were still spread among those chatting; not yet willing to let the dream die. Sasha and Yaereena had left a short while ago, and Khrono had since gotten tangled in other conversation, leaving her feeling stranded.

A warm hand touched her own; fingers splayed against her digits.

She turned her face up to Amon, smiling painfully. “Thank you for introducing me to your acquaintances.”

He nodded. “They’re good friends.”

“… You thought Lady Yaereena could benefit, meeting me.”

The nobleman arched a single brow. “Anyone could benefit from knowing you, Essie; that is simply the warmth you bring forth to others,” he gently offered, “I… I just wanted to…”

“Pull me from my shell?” she offered, studying his expression. “Yank me from the staircase?”

His eyes were troubled. He frowned slightly, searching her face.

Exhaling deeply once more, she turned her eyes over the emptying room. It looked as she felt.

“… You are very thoughtful to think of me,” she said quietly, pulling her hand away. “But I do not belong here.”

As soon as her flats scuffed the floor in a single step, Amon’s hand took hold of hers, careful but firm.

“That’s not true, Essätha,” he rasped, holding her hand close. “You belong right here.”

Her gaze skirted from his hand, up the length of his arm, to the open invitation of his side. Up further, the pleading of his eyes stared longingly back at her. His pupils were blown out, and his breathing was shallow. Each breath was ragged; rough, struggling against an unexplained force.

She could feel the tightness constructing her throat. The tension in the air that was magic and yet was not. No matter how much she wanted to turn away, her eyes were held. She was stuck in the pull and it was taking her in, deeper and deeper, answering her questions, whispering to her the universes very secrets in a strange language she knew yet did not. Amon’s body language an open invitation; the doors to refuge and sanctuary wide open.

What was he fighting for? Why did it matter so much to him that she stay? Why was her comfort so important to him? Her happiness?

What am I to you?

She sucked in a breath. The words echoing in her head there were not her own. It was his words, and it was as fresh as the day he spoke them to her.

She knew the answer, but could not explain it. She could not identify it. She held back from admitting it, from letting the feeling flow freely. But she could not seem to hold it all back. How she unconsciously leaned in towards him; how her heartbeat picked up, the way she smiled when she truly smiled around him. Or even how, like now, she found it impossible to remove her eyes from him because looking at Amon made her chest light, made the world feel safe, and everything else in comparison just seemed so lackluster and uninteresting.

He was, in every way, her heart. Her sanctuary. Her fondest thought. Her Lord Amon.

But she could not give him the things he was warranted, what he deserved, what he wanted.

Essie smiled, even though it hurt, and mouthed softly, “There are… better women who should have that position.”

A quivering breath, shaky and uneasy as a boat on choppy waters, escaped him. His voice rose in the most broken whisper; soft, longing, and hopeless.

“… But I love you.”

She swallowed. “You…”

He turned so red she wondered if he’d forgotten how to breathe. A short, frightful nod, and he clutched to her hand with enough strength to make her fingers ache a little. He brought her hand closer, holding it against his chest. For comfort, for her to feel perhaps the sound of his heart trying to claw out of his ribcage desperately.

“There’s few things I’ve ever done right in my life,” Amon rasped; voice cracking in a rush. “Raising Marie. Joining the party. Keeping my word to you that I would stay.” He swallowed. “… Loving you, with all of my broken pieces.”

“Essie, I wanted you to meet them because I wanted them to meet you. You make a difference in others lives. I wanted them to see this beautiful, smart woman I can’t stop talking about and can’t get off my thoughts because I knew they couldn’t believe me and would never understand until they met you, just how wonderful you are. You are… extraordinary.”

She could hardly hear anything else past the exclamation. She didn’t need to hear anymore.

Maybe she wasn’t fit for this lifestyle. But she fit comfortably against Amon’s side.

“You’re not broken. You’ve been wounded, but you’re still one very solid, one very kind, one very reassuring and lovely man, m’lord Amon;” she retorted, smoothing her palm out against his chest. “… One man I admire, very deeply.”

Worry crept in. He began to falter; his joy deflating beneath defeat. “You make me feel alive and whole again,” the nobleman declared softly.

She scoffed, reaching to hold his cheek in her other hand. “If that’s true, why do you appear so blue right now, m’lord?”

He reached out to cup her cheek in his palm in response. She leaned into his touch, and the anxious smile grew more genuine as he stroked a line of warmth with the pad of his thumb along her cheek.

“I’m scared that I have made a very foolish decision in telling you, and that it will change how you are with me. That you will never be comfortable. That I will lose your trust.”

“You can not lose that which has always been yours,” Essie murmured, turning her head to kiss his palm. “My trust is as true as my heart, which loves you unconditionally.”

Amon gasped loudly. “You do?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “I do.”

Grinning wildly, he stepped closer, leaning down to rest his forehead against her own.

“That’s a relief,” he murmured, “I… I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you as a friend.”

She snickered faintly. “Sorry to say, you’re stuck with that title for life, M’lord.”

“It is one of my best titles,” he clarified. Releasing her other hand, he tentatively reached around her waist.

She stepped into his embrace without hesitation, allowing the warmth of his arms to steady her and wrap her in safety. A sigh parted her lips as she nuzzled against his shoulder. Amon rested his chin atop her head in turn, humming gratefully.

All the world was brighter, more colorful, and beautiful for it. Simply because he existed, because she was lucky to know him, and it made her world better for it. And as far as she was concerned, they held each other gently in this moment that she hoped could last a lifetime.

#royal writes #essamon ship #Essie rw #amon illiad #warning there be floof ahead