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wynnyfryd · 2 months

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Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #reefer rick #my writing #my fic

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shadowdaddies · 13 days

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I love your work ❤️ can I request a Ruhn x fem!reader, where ruhn hasnt been a very good boyfriend, like he is working a lot, and has to put off many date, the reader is trying to be understanding. maybe there are supposed to have a date but ruhn is late, he comes into the restaurat and sees that the waiter is talking to the reader and she is laughing. Some angst and ruhn is scared he is going to be single, but a fluffy ending

Try Hard

Ruhn x Reader angst/fluff

A/N: I put a little twist on this, hope that's okay💜

Smoothing the front of your sleek black dress, you stepped out from your bedroom to the sound of a low whistle. Bryce laid back against the couch cushions, blanket draped over her legs as she looked up from her phone with a knowing smirk.

“You look hot,” she praised, golden eyes flicking down your form - hair down in loose waves, silky fabric of the dress hugging your curves - and winked. “What time is Ruhn supposed to get here?”

The small light in your eyes at her compliment dimmed at the question. “He should have been here twenty minutes ago,” you mumbled, glancing down at your phone to avoid meeting her gaze.

Bryce’s demeanor changed at that, a subtle shift in how she reclined on the sofa. Long, manicured nails flipped her own phone anxiously as her gaze bounced between you and screen of messages.

“Well, he’s probably dealing with those alphaholes in the Aux, but you know Ruhn’s never late.” Scooting in her legs closer to her body, she patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit with me while you wait. I’m just watching ‘Fangs and Bangs’.”

Eyes flicking to the couple on the TV, you slumped down on the couch, feeling lower than you ever had. Bryce was wrong - Ruhn had been late, nearly every time you’d seen him over the past several months. That is, when you saw him at all.

He blew you off more than followed through on dates, and when you were with him, it was as though his mind was elsewhere. Anytime you tried to talk to him beyond shallow conversation, his eyes would dart from yours, opting to stare down at your hands over your face.

You couldn’t stop the tears that welled in your eyes as tumultuous thoughts raced through your head. You loved this male more than you had ever thought possible, yet here he was, like he wasn’t even trying.

“Hey,” Bryce murmured, voice soft as she set her phone down. A hand came to rest on your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles there to coax you to look at her. “What’s wrong?”

Sniffling, you took a deep breath while your hands found the tassels on the pillow next to you very fascinating. “I don’t think Ruhn loves me,” you whispered, the words immediately feeling wrong once they left your lips.

“Or... It’s not that he doesn’t love me,” you continued. “Maybe just not like I love him, or he doesn’t see a future with me?” Words tumbled from you faster than you could process, pent up emotions from the last several months coming out to Bryce as you told her of Ruhn’s detached behavior.

Her face was pale, crumpled in anguish that matched your own. She took a long moment before responding, “I know he loves you... But I also know I’m not the person you need to hear that from. Why don’t you see what happens tonight? Talk things through with him?”

Amber eyes were soft with understanding as you swallowed thickly, granting her a weak nod before checking your phone once more to find no response from Ruhn. “We’ve probably already missed our reservation,” you mused, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as aggravation overtook you.

“Then go,” Bryce suggested. “They have his card on file, it’ll be charged to the Autumn King if all else fails,” she murmured behind a twisted smile. “You look beautiful, and deserve to have a nice evening regardless of how stupid Ruhn is.”

You looked down at your outfit, the effort you had put into looking and feeling beautiful tonight, and felt resolute as you nodded. Standing up from the couch, you gave Bryce a quick hug and thanks.

“I’ll go to the restaurant, and I guess if he shows up or not will give me the answer I need.” Your attempt at sounding confident in your decision was weak, voice wavering at the thought of ever giving up on Ruhn, but you followed through nonetheless and hopped into a car to the restaurant.

The shakiness of your legs as you stepped from the car caught you by surprise, leaning on the handle as you willed strength to your muscles and strode inside. After an arduous explanation to the hostess that you were late for your reservation for two, and were in fact, alone, she begrudgingly took you to your table with a firm reminder that the rest of your party had fifteen minutes to show.

With a defeated sigh, you refused to look at your phone before sliding it into your coat pocket which you draped over the back of your chair. Slumped against the soft seat, you couldn’t help but feel clownish in your overdone hair and makeup. Just as embarrassment seemed to sink its claws into you, a polite voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Welcome in,” the handsome male to your left greeted, eyes sparkling with sincerity. “Could I bring you something to drink?” he asked, and your gaze drifted downward to find a name tag and uniform, toned body veiled thinly beneath.

“You look like you could use a glass of wine - or something stronger - if you don’t mind me saying,” he joked, earning a laugh from you. Stomach tightened, your eyes found his to indeed ask for a large glass of red wine when a familiar figure showed in your peripheral.

Ruhn cleared his throat, drawing your attention from the exchange to where he stood. He was in a finer suit than you had ever seen him, all black and neatly tailored to hug his form. Onyx hair shone in the dark evening lights as those violet eyes focused on you with a fae-like intensity, possessiveness practically tangible.

“We will have a bottle of your finest red. The manager should know our order, in fact. Thank you,” Ruhn greeted the waiter stiffly, waiting until the male left to take his seat across from yours.

“I was worried you wouldn’t show,” you drawled, the effort to keep the scowl from your lips distracting from that to keep the frustration from your tone.

Ruhn’s arched brow only served to infuriate you further, knuckles tightening on the arms of your chair as you dared to look at him. “You sit there silently, staring at me as though you are surprised in my doubt. But the past several months have been a constant cycle of me waiting for you, Ruhn.”

Jaw dropped slightly, purple eyes wide at your words as Ruhn had the nerve to look surprised. A scoff escaped you, gaze flicking to the bright city lights out the windows - bustling streets ignoring the advertisements and light shows that shone across from you.

“I feel... I feel like those signs, Ruhn.” You gestured out the window. “Sending you messages, pleading for attention while you walk by like the people on the street. Do you notice me and not care, or are you trying to avoid me?”

Silver lined Ruhn’s eyes, tears threatening to spill as he reached into his pockets, hands fidgeting nervously while he thought. “I have never purposefully ignored you,” he breathed, eyes desperate as he looked to you. “To think that I might ever make you feel unseen makes me feel unworth-“

The breath stole from his chest as onyx hair whipped to the windows at your right, eyes wide. Ruhn dove in front of you, arms wide as he attempted to obstruct your view of whatever was happening. The lights changed behind him, catching several glimpses from others at the restaurant as you exasperatedly looked around his outstretched arm to look at what was outside.

‘Will you marry me?’ scrolled along the electronic billboard, bright for everyone to see. You looked down at Ruhn, the face of defeat clear as he let his arms finally drop to cover his face.

“Ruhn...” you whispered, catching his attention from the self pity in which he was consumed. “Is that...?”

You couldn’t find the words, merely gesturing to the bright lights outside while you studied your boyfriend’s face. He sighed, glanced over his shoulder with a nod before turning back to you.

“I was late because Dec had some issues getting the message up on the screen. But now it all seems ridiculous. I spent months planning to make tonight special, but all I did was make the love of my life feel like she isn’t special.”

Warm, tanned hands enveloped your own, resting in your lap. “I was too nervous that I might give something away, I did avoid you these past few months. But I would never have done any of this if I thought it would make you feel any less than the incredible female you are.”

You felt your lower lip wobbling, eyes welling with emotion at the realization. It wasn’t for lack of trying - Ruhn was planning for your future this entire time. “Ruhn...” you whispered, voice shaking as you cupped his cheek.

“It feels ridiculous now, to think of something as cheesy as night lights to ask you to spend forever with me, but-“

“YES!” you practically shouted, earning interested glances from other diners. “Ruhn, I would be honored to spend a lifetime with the male who went to such lengths to make me feel special, not only tonight, but since I have known you. I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

A broad grin stretched upon his face, crooked smile making your knees feel weak for only a moment before Ruhn’s lips crashed to yours. The echoes of those in the restaurant cheering sounded in the back of your mind as he pulled the ring from the pocket in which he’d been fumbling, slipping the band on your finger.

“I love you,” you murmured, tugging him by his chin into a deeper kiss. You glanced to the table, empty with unordered food. “Can we just go home? I only want to be with you,” you admitted.

Ruhn’s smile deepened, tongue toying with his lip ring as he considered your words. “Deal. Let’s order in,” he purred, grabbing your hand to lead you from the restaurant.

Hopping in the back of the car he’d called, you leaned into Ruhn’s warmth as he pulled out his phone to assure Bryce and Dec things had gone well. “You should have heard the call I got from Bryce after you left for the restaurant,” he grumbled, eyes wide with genuine fear.

A laugh escaped you, drawing your fiancé’s gaze to your own where he grinned with satisfaction. “What are you thinking, my love?” he asked, thumb tugging lightly on your lower lip.

“I’m thinking... how excited I am to do life with you,” you murmured, scooting closer to the warmth of his lap. His gaze grew heated, violet eyes making you shrink at the power within them for a moment before you regained your composure. “And I’m wondering,” you paused, pulling out your phone, “what you want for dinner...”

Your scrolling was interrupted when Ruhn took your phone, tucking it into his leather jacket as he pulled you fully across his hips. Hand pulled the back of your neck so your cheek brushed his.

“I know exactly what I want for dinner, tonight and every night,” his low voice growled against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Pulling back, you looked into his eyes again, peace filling you at the familiar look of love you found. “And I want you, tonight and always,” you promised, leaning in to find the soft, promising passion of his lips against yours. Something restless settled inside of you, body and soul relaxing into his as you knew this was where you were meant to be.

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lady-of-tearshed · 2 months

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Yours

Summary: Lucien is taking you on a surprise picnic date to ask you the biggest question of your life...

Word count: I don't know. 😅

Warnings: Mention of sexual arousal.

Inspired by this song: I'm Yours, by Jason Mraz

You had been there for hours, Morrigan insisting on the fact your nails were in cruciate need for a manicure. She wasn’t wrong. It had indeed been years since you last had your nails done. You had kept them short since the day you and Lucien had started to build your home, settling in the Autumn Court since Eris' coronation. Your brother-in-law had given you and Lucien this beautiful part of his lands as a mating gift a few years ago. But now that the house had been officially finished a few months ago, Morrigan took responsibility for the health and beauty of your nails. She had been filing and shaping your nails extensions for almost an hour now. You didn’t recall that this part of a manicure took so long to do. You sigh and look at the clock, Morrigan looking up at the clock too. You raise your brow at the blondie, which she only answers with a shake of her head and a wry smile, going back to doing your nails. It almost looked as if she was trying to win time. Your best friend was acting quite suspicious today… In fact, everyone looked suspicious today and acted weird around you.

You silently tried to figure out what could be the reason for everyone's sudden nervousness and excitement towards you today. It wasn’t your birthday… nor you and Lucien’s mating bond anniversary… Your bleeding wasn’t coming up soon… No. Nothing you thought of made sense about their sudden change in attitude. Morrigan, having nothing left to file anymore, risked starting to coat your nails, giving you various nail polish options, making sure to make you take your time picking up the one you wanted.

—----

“V, I swear I hid it in this cupboard.” Lucien hissed as he rummaged into his friends cupboard, Vassa looking frantically too, nervousness radiating from the two redheads as Jurian was just snickering like a coward on the pink couch. He leaned into the couch and lifted his feet to rest on the coffee table, halting at the Mortal Queen’s warning growl. He raised his hands, trying to look innocent, and pulled his feet off the table. “Y'know Lu, we did lots of things against that exact cupboard…” Vassa lifted a finger at his mate, keeping from the urge to jump at his throat and strangle him, and kept looking everywhere around the kitchen. Lucien was too nervous to process any stupidity his friend was blabbing. This couldn’t be happening… He couldn’t have possibly lost the fucking ring...

Lucien had bought this ring months ago on one of his trips to visit his father in Summer Court. He had met and talked with a jeweler there, an old, respectable man. The man had retired from his job a few years ago, but when he heard the new Heir of Summer talking about his love towards his mate, and how he was looking for the most perfect ring to ask for her hand… The man had agreed to make him something, he had asked Lucien to draw what he wanted, and take the dimensions for the ring. The results had left Lucien in utter daze, and he had paid the man triple the rings’ worth. He would’ve paid him even more if it hadn’t been for the man stopping him, insisting it was already more than enough for him.

And now he fucking regretted hiding the ring in his friends mansion, which had once been house, actually. He had made the decision to hide the ring here because he knew how curious his little flame was. His precious mate would’ve probably found the velvet bow if he had hid it in their house, and her curiosity would’ve made the rest to ruin the surprise, as usual. Jurian squirmed and tossed on the couch. It felt as if the couch had been filled in with needles. He scratched his bottom as Lucien and Vassa were still turning the kitchen upside down in search of the box containing the matching rings. Jurian sighed and lifted from the couch, scratching his bottom to rub away the pain on his buttcheek… oh. He patted the bulge on his back pocket and pulled out the velvet box… The two redheads' eyes were now staring at Jurian, Lucien's chin falling to the ground, and Vassa’s face going as red as her hair. Sweat was running down her forehead, Lucien taking the ring box out of Jurian’s hands, knowing Vassa was near ready to attack her mate.

Jurian stuttered, backing up as Vassa walked slowly, a predator tracking its prey. Jurian fell back down onto the couch, lifting his hands up, his eyes wide in fear as he tried desperately to explain. Lucien and Vassa had been searching everywhere and panicking while he was laying on that stupid couch, the rings tucked in his fucking pocket. “I-I forgot I had put it here okay?! I had wanted to walk to his house to give him today so he could have more time to prepare! I didn’t think! I forgot- VASSA!! MY LOVE!!” Jurian screamed as Vassa jumped at his throat, shaking the poor man’s shoulder, her teeth snapping at him, missing him by not much a few times. “DO NOT MARRY YOUR WOMAN LU!! THEY TURN CRAZY!” Jurian screamed from the pink couch, holding out his hand to him as if he could do anything to stop the Mortal Queen’s rage. “YOU’RE THE ONE MAKING EVERYONE GO NUTS!!” Vassa countered, her voice echoing through the halls as Lucien quickly made his way out, smirking. He would make sure to thank his friends about safely hiding the rings, later though. For now, his only plan consisted on exiting their mansion quickly before Vassa’s rage towards Jurian turned to lust, and she starts fucking her annoying mate right on that couch.

—--

Tug, tug.

You had been trying to pull onto the bond for the past hour now, as Morrigan kept adding up some details on your nails, to make sure they were perfect, she said. You were starting to get quite suspicious, your friend was clearly trying to buy sometime to cover someone… Lucien, you guessed, since your mate had tightly shut his side of the bond since he dropped you off at the River House. You looked over your best friend, grinning. She caught your glimpse and chuckled nervously, her cheeks slightly turning pink as she kept glancing towards the clock. “What?” “Do not ‘what?’ me, Morrigan. You and I both know you are hiding something from me… You know something I don’t, so does everyone else in this house. Does it have something to do with Lu-”

“Long day, huh?” You said as you crossed your arms on your chest, trying to look pissed that your mate had shut down his side of the bond all morning. He walked casually towards you, his steps slow, making your heart flutter at the sight of his rolled up sleeves, hands tucked in his trouser pockets. He grinned, huffing a silent chuckle, his eyes sparkling with mischief, stopping toe-to-toe from you. You lift your chin, crossing your arms tighter around your chest, and his eyes lowered to them, as that annoyed gesture of yours only served to lift the ladies up and tease his arousal. “I missed you too, my flame.” He purred, his lips slowly lowering to your raised jaw, brushing a soft kiss alongst it. He pulled his head back slowly, tracing your chin with his fingers, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m sorry for shutting you up this morning, I wanted to surprise you with something.”

The living room door creaked as Lucien peered inside, a charming smile on his lips. Morrigan quickly stands up and pat my hands. “Done! They’re perfect. I have somewhere to go with Az now." Morrigan quickly dismisses herself, walking towards the Shadow Singer. Your head spin towards the armchair in the far right corner of the room, surprised to notice the winged male presence. Had he been there the whole time? Who knows... Azriel was always unnoticed. “Yeah.” He quietly answers before offering his arm to Mor, as she trotted beside him towards the exit, clinging to his arm. She blew you a kiss and winked at Lucien before exiting the living room, leaving you and your mate alone.

Your mood immediately switched to a cheerful one at the word ‘surprise’. Your eyes lit up and you kissed his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck as he picked you up bridal style. “What kind of surprise?” You beamed, your nose nuzzling into his neck as he walked you out of the River House before settling the both of you up on his bay mare. “A picnic. It’s been a while, eh?” He snickered, making sure you were comfortably settled. He ties his long hair in a bun, so the wind doesn't shove them in front of his eyes, and places a hand on your hip, clicking his tongue at the mare to make her trot.

You walk through the trees, the weather getting comfortably cooler as you pass the Autumn Court frontiers, the decor changing into the most stunning shades of red, yellow, brown, and orange. You snuggle closer to your mate’s chest, and he pulls a soft gray flannel sheet out of his saddle bag, wrapping it around the two of you. The sound of a river echoes as you keep walking through the trees. When you finally reach the river band, his hips shift as he voices a command to make the horse halt. He gets down first, then picks you up into his arms, carefully placing you down on your feet. He kisses your cheek, then unpack his mare from the bags he packed for your picnic, made her drink from the river, then tied her up to the nearest tree, leaving the rope loose enough for her to eat the grass on the ground. He respectfully pats his equine friend, then walks up to you, helping you settle everything he packed for the picnic.

—

You sigh, placing a manicure hand on your full stomach, and lay your head against your mate's shoulder. He opens a jar of blueberry jam, which you hadn't noticed until now, and spreads it onto a home-baked bread. He takes a bite, then moves the slice in front of your lips, a silent offer. You chuckle, greedily taking a bite of the sweet treat, and hum in delight. “Who made it? The jam.” You ask, impressed by the delightful flavor and texture of the jam. You had never tasted something so delicious before. “Mum made it.” Lucien answers, still munching his bite of bread. He swipes his thumb on the corner of your lips, wiping away some jam. You catch his wrist, bringing his thumb back up to your mouth before he wipes it on the picnic sheet and lick it clean, no spot of jam left. Lucien blushes madly, thinking about all of the other places this tongue of yours had licked clean… “It would've been a shame to waste any of it now, wouldn't it?” You tease him, earning a grunt of annoyance vibrating from his throat.

—

The afternoon goes by quickly, Lucien had brought canvas and some brushes and paints for the two of you to create. The rule, as always, was to paint something, without the other seeing, then making the other one guess what you painted with the help of clues before the painting is revealed. Lucien had finished his a while ago, bugging you with kisses all over your left hand, arm, and shoulder, making you all flustered and annoyed, always accusing him of trying to peek at your ‘masterpiece’.

“Done!” You finally chirp through the burble of the river. You shove his face away playfully, then stand up, clearing your throat dramatically. He crosses his legs, staring up at you, then speaks up. “Alright… Did you paint… an animal?” Lucien asks, already knowing the answer. You always drew the same thing, Cameron, his loyal bay mare. Y/N bites her lip, hiding her grin, then nods. “Alright…” He sighs, rolling his eyes playfully, looking towards the mare, still munching on the grass beside the tree. “Did you paint… Cameron?” Y/N pouts, then plops back down beside his mate. She leans her head on his thick thighs, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers before complaining. “It’s not fair, you always guess.” Lucien leans down, kissing her lips gently, slowly, not wanting to argue back that it was because she always painted the same damn thing. Every. Single. Time.

When she breaks the kiss, she gently pat Lucien’s chest. “Alright now, my turn to guess, you painted me.” Lucien laughs, his head thrown back, earning a giggle from Y/N’s too. He picks up his canva, staring at it, then tilts his head to the side. “Yeah… kind of.” “Kind of?” She raises a brow, reaching her hand to the canva, trying to look at it. Lucien raises it up, out of her reach, tutting at her. She groaned and plopped her head back onto his lap, rolling her eyes. Lucien could almost hear her thinking about what he could've painted. Her cheeks turned red. “You didn’t paint me naked, did you?” Lucien’s laughter roared again, Y/N’s head bouncing slightly on his lap as his body shook from his laugh. He shook his head in denial, then spoke up once his laughter calmed down. “No… But I’m keeping this idea in mind for our next picnic date…” He winked, then smiled as she got back to her guessing. “Do you throw in the towel?”

Y/N nods, yawning and stretching up her arms, sitting up. “Yeah…” She mumbles, Lucien handing her his canva. His heart was thumping inside of his chest right now, as he slowly pulled the velvet box out of his pocket. “I painted your hands…” Lucien said slowly, discreetly getting on one knee as your back was facing him. You stared at the canva, noticing that a ring was beautifully settled onto your left ring finger. You spun around, your brows furrowed in confusion, you were about to ask about it but the sight of Lucien kneeling right in front of you, a pair of golden, stunning rings shining in a burgundy velvet box caught you off guard. You open your mouth to speak, tears of joy streaming down your cheeks already, but he puts a finger on your lips. “Wait. I… I still want to make my little speech first…” He chuckles nervously, and you nod, desperately trying to wipe the tears out of your eyes, giggling through sobs.

“Now… Miss Y/N L/N…” “Miss Vanserra.” You cut him off, making him giggle. “I didn’t even…” “I accept, I want you, all of you, Lucien Vanserra. I want the rest of my life with you, and my answer is yes, I’ll marry you!” You jump into his arms, kissing him passionately, your tongues caressing each other. His hand slowly brushes against your cheek, his eyes meeting yours as your lips part. “I was supposed to make this speech…” He teases, sitting up the both of you and bringing your hand to his soft lips, kissing it gently. “I know, I found it in your nightstand while cleaning last week…” You chuckle awkwardly, making him blush, He mentally hated himself for it… he thought about hiding the rings, but not his fucking speech… Idiot male he was… He shakes his hand but chuckles nonetheless, impressed at how sneaky his future wife was… He slid the ring onto her finger, her doing the same with the matching band he had bought. “Sneaky little flame… I love you, Y/N Vanserra, even though you always figure out my surprises.” She giggles, kissing his lips again. Oh little did he know now he was bound to never be able to make surprises again… Unless he greatly improves his skill at making surprises.

#Spotify #acotar #fiction #acosaf #fluff #x reader #lucien x y/n #lucien vanserra #lucien x reader #lucien x you #lucien acotar #lucien vandaddy

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wroteclassicaly · 9 months

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A/N: We’re blaming Joe for always acting up, and Steve for whining that I cheated on him, so he sent me mega inspiration for this one ☺️😛

Warnings: Language, overall NSFW, sub!Steve to the extreme, spit play, rough sex, leaving marks, cowgirl goes riding position, possessiveness, friends with benefits, best-friend!Steve, mentions scars, consensual smacking (m receiving), finger sucking, e.t.c. This is just no plot with some trash and love poured in ;)

You love it.. Just like this. His baby blue curtains blowing, whipped around by evening’s up and coming Autumn breeze, hints of salty summer trickling through, remaining, a few apple and cedarwood candles mingling with your perfume, Steve’s cologne, and the heavy scent of sopping wet sex. You’ve got a low lamplight to guide your two person show, in your element, unafraid, owning it, protecting him, taking for you. Some song rolls on his record player, one you often prefer over the stereo when you get into these types of moods. His body is your map and you’re the Queen explorer, pleasuring yourself with each and every treasure that he has to offer.

The black gloss of a fresh manicure stares back up at you from where you’re clawing into his hairy chest, chestnut tufts matted down by perspiration and your drying salvia. Okay, so you’d gone a little crazy when you marked him, but it’s not your fault that the little gold chain he wears looks so good laying against his golden baked skin, begging for contrasting shades of magentas and navy blues. You’d done one of Steve’s favorite things, after all: healing his scars by using your mouth to carefully taste each one, every single time. He didn’t have much time to worry about them, because there you’d be, understanding, helping. He whines loudly, a sound that causes you to clench around him, making you struggle to retain your control.

Your bouncing on his thick cock ceases, that creamy squish causing a wet ring to circle his base and smear across his navel. Holy fuck, you’re really wet tonight…

And Steve, god love him. He can’t even look. Mossy eyes blown black, his eyes have rolled up and are caught between clenching shut and closing entirely. Your hand leaves his chest and cracks across his stubble littered jaw, nails pinching in to jerk his gaze towards you. He throbs, jumps inside your walls, that sucks him in deeper.

“Wake up, Harrington! Am I boring you?”

He shakes his head so fast that you bury a snort deep within, humming out instead. “You gonna talk to her again? Look at her again?”

The start of your possessive streak being upped tonight. In the downtown costume store, Bambi Anderson had found Steve with a fascination that gagged, modeling her cat costume and practically draping herself across his arm to ask what his plans were. And he’d crossed his arms beneath that black, vee neck long sleeve, chest hair and chain on display, dark jeans tight and leaving nothing to the imagination, secured by a black belt with a thick silver buckle. He’d worn new black boots, a differing choice for his growing style. A leather jacket was tossed lazily over his shoulder, pissing you off.

When you’d left the store, Steve had taken you back to his. And well, you’d taken him. On your knees against his front door to get him hard, quick enough to have your way with him. You didn’t want fingers or mouth, you needed to show him who belonged inside of.

“No, fuck no —“ Steve stops himself, choking on spit, inhaling and exhaling sharply. “Fuck, I don’t even remember what happened, honey.”

“Walking around teasing me like you do. Wearing tight jeans, smelling like a fucking male model ad, licking your mouth when you put tapes away. And that chain? I mean… showing it with your chest hair, Steve? Jesus Christ… You really do need to be watched at all times.”

He’s nodding, agreeing, that aching heat builds to a wet crescendo, threatening to drench you both.

You lean down a little closer, one hand wrapping around the tendons in his wrist, the other still keeping you balanced on his chest so you can keep moving your hips, dragging his fat cockhead against that spot inside that he’s called his for years. Your mouth is hot when you pant the words by his lips. “You deserve to be sat on. Just pull your pants and underwear down, have a seat on you all day. Cockwarm you so these bitches know where you belong, who you belong to.”

“Baby —“ You’re lifting his own wrist, cutting off his sentence, pulling apart three of his own fingers and pressing them into his lips. “Fucking suck! I’m talking now. I’ll let you know when you can answer me, slut!”

His hips arch off the bed, giving a piston into you, before remembering his place and suckling his fingers onto that hot tongue that’s had you seeing stars and planets. He doesn’t break eye contact, not even as you start to move, holding his wrist there with a squeeze, leaving nail marks, only to release and take it with you, a thick line of spit stringing from his fingertips to his swollen mouth. You swipe down and lick it off, pushing his arms up beside his hand and interlocking fingers. You shift and he pulls, every part of him tugging on your overworked cunt, sore and throbbing. He’s way more than a damned stretch.

“Where’s your fucking lube?” Your vocal language continues to fly free as you raise your hips a little and he struggles to tap beside him on the sheets, eyes glazed over and glossy. Fuck, is his lash line wet? Is he actually crying? His hair is a tousled and damp mess. He’s never been more beautiful, more sacred to you.

You crack open the bottle and let it drizzle onto the part of his cock that’s slid out of you, spreading it around on your own cunt and discarding. You sink back down with an overly squelching echo. “You and this fucking python, Steve. It’s the true monster of Hawkins, isn’t it? This fat cock, always splitting me wide open.”

He vibrates. You’ve never felt him pulse that hard in you, nearly triggering your orgasm. Shattering it apart, fragmenting. Your eyes widen. “If you fucking come, I’ll keep riding you until you’re screaming.”

You break that briefly, raising a brow to check in with him through this, soft and compliant to his needs, because you want nothing more than to fuck him stupid and care for him forever, despite your dizzying haze. He nods, in synch with you. Good to go.

You bend yourself down, hands sliding up and through his chest hair, tugging on his chain, nipples hardening as they brush over, pressing, the fat of your tits squishing when you’re right against him, held. You finger-tap your way up his biceps, fingers unfolding and nails scratching, leaving his upturned palms to cup the sides of his face, nosing him. “Mine.”

And that he is…

// Eat me paragraph //

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lilmashae · 10 months

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* ੈ✩‧₊˚ "what are you trying to do?" — newneighbor!zoro (smut — 18+)

a lil angst w zoroxblack!reader???

you had come home for autumn-break, a small town not too far from the college you were attending. the smell of shea butter and cashmere were much homier than the "new-shoe" scent of your small, city apartment. it felt good to be back in your parents home—your home, the place you'd grown up surrounded by family and friends and everything seemed to be the same. everything except the empty house next to your own—which was now occupied once more by a new family.

it was something out of a movie: you stood in the rain crying, hair fuzzy and completely ruined as your nose bunched up. how dare he. how dare roranoa zoro leave you, and without even saying good-bye? he was supposed to be your friend—one of your bestfriends, but do "bestfriends" just up and leave the other without so much as a warning? you don't know, and you've convinced yourself that you couldn't care less. it was too long ago, too long for you to still be hung up on some stupid-childhood-crush.

"take this over to the new neighbors."

that's what your mom had told you, placing a sweet potato pie in your hand.

you stand there, looking at the tall wooden door, gently placing the dessert onto the stoop ahead before running your hands over your sweater , gently tugging at the hem. you pick up the pie and inhale deeply—you haven't stood here since high school, not since he left. bringing your balled-fist to the door you left it fall heavily onto the door, knock, knock, knock. "whatever you're selling, i ain't buyin' so you can just-" there's a tall man standing in-front of you. his shirt hugs his lean and muscular figure. you watch as his one of his arm hangs onto the door-way causing the three ear-rings he has to softly sway, his other arm coming behind his head as you notice his short green hair. he looks familiar. "i'm not selling anything." you deadpan, cutting him off, "i'm your new neighbor. so on behalf of my parents, welcome to the neighborhood, or whatever you want me to say." you place the pie that your mother gave you down onto the pavement before turning to walk away when you feel a slight tug at your top, "y/n?" awestruck you pause. "yeah, so what? do i know you?", the man scoffs, "seriously, y/n? you're actin' like you don't know who i am now? you might still be pissed... but that's too far, don't you think?" you turn back staring at the man intently, "tch...zoro?" you tightly exhale, crossing your arms. "look," he starts, "i know you're upset but c'mon—" god, the nerve of him, speaking to you so casually. c'mon, c'mon? really, was that all he had for you after damn-near six years? you stare at him blankly, not hearing a single word of what he has to say before you turn around and slowly walk back across the street. asshole. you can hear zoro still yelling from his door, "y/n! c'mon, just talk to me please! i—" thud! "y/n l/n, i don't care how grown you get. don't bring your fast-ass into my house slamming my doors!" you can hear your moms fussing from the kitchen, "yes ma'am!" pinching your nose with your manicured nails as you wander back upstairs you can hear her mumbling to herself, slamming doors in my house, the rest is incoherent.

"i know you're upset—"

zoro's words rang throughout your ears as you lay, nestled into your sheets scrolling through your phone. knock, knock, your bedroom door creaks open. it's your dad, peaking his head through as you look up at him, "your mom invited the neighbors over for dinner, you know how she is. she wants you down in a few, oh, and she says look presentable." you nod, waving him off "thanks, dad." closing your door behind him, he leaves and you hop up searching through your closet. something presentable...

"you might still be pissed—"

"how've you been, y/n?" i was doing fine, until i had to see your asshat son—is what you want to say, but you can't say that: "i'm good, mrs. roranoa." you pick up your fork (picking up a bite of food) before bringing it to meet your lips. "i'm glad you're well, how's college treating you..? you've always been a smart girl." the small talk was killing you: it was so hard to pretend that this "small dinner" wasn't awkward, that it was normal. you haven't spoken to these people in ages. "it's good." you send her a synthetic-smile before continuing to eat your food looking down. you can zoro mumble under his breath, "you've probably got some secret boyfriend right?" the nerve of him, to show up like you two were still friends, like nothing had happened—like he could just speak to you so normally. "so what if i do, hm 'that bother you?" you scoff. "y/n." your mom clears her throat before reaching out her hand. "pass me that."

if you were being honest with yourself, you knew it was best to let it go and that you couldn't hate him forever. but, god, he made it so easy to hold a grudge.

you'd never been more happy for something to be over. finally, you could go back to enjoying your little "vacation". lighting a candle before letting the shower's hot water wash away any thoughts of the awkward dinner beforehand. you found yourself lying snuggly back in bed, hair neatly wrapped as you tapped on your phone texting your friends. thunk. thunk! you could hear light clicks on your window. "what the hell..." you murmur, slipping from under the sheets and turning on your lamp. thunk! oh hell no... you begin walking up to your window before squinting, oh hell, no. you open the window before peaking your head out, "what the fuck are you doing? throwing rocks and my window!" you whisper-yell seeing the green-haired-man standing below you. "can we talk?" this boy just doesn't quit... "talk 'bout what?" zoro sighs throwing another small rock, his other hand now resting on his hip. "my windows open, dumbass! and i'll be real mad if you hit me."

"all the more reason to come down and talk."

out of all the things he said, you can't believe that was what got you to come down—and somehow up into his bedroom. "so, what is it? what are you trying to do?" you look down at him: he's sitting on his bed, hands combing through his hair, "you're being unreasonable, y/n." is he serious? you, unreasonable, when? "me?" you question him in disbelief. " i'm not the one who left without saying anything. if i'm unreasonable, then you're fucking crazy."

"crazy? really, is that the best you got?"

"yeah, zoro!"

"you won't even listen—"

"i don't want to!"

you were livid, ready to tell him off. but zoro didn't hear anything you said after that. he was entranced by the way you motioned your hands at him, clearly upset. something about the way you raised your voice at him and paced back and forth in his bedroom made him remember exactly why he didn't tell you why he was leaving. he gets up from his bed and that's when you feel it: his lips crashing onto your own.

you don't fight it, in fact you grab his face deepening the kiss before pulling him away: yanking at his hair, "you got some nerve." you scoff. he looks at you, before whispering against your lips, "i know." zoro smashes your lips together once more, the two of you melting into each other. he pulls away breathless, ripping his shirt from over his head. he comes back to you, hovering over you. he leans into—so close to your lips before you splay your hand on his chest pushing him away. "what makes you think you deserve it?" you look him up and down. "i'm sorry, y/n." his eyes pleading as he stares down at you. "really?" you remark, "than prove it."

it didn't take long for him to sink onto his knees in front on you. kitten-licking at your thighs, prodding and biting at the skin: leaving trails of dark purple-red marks leading close to your core. zoro was finally face to face with your heat, he looks up at you with somewhat-glassy eyes before pulling your sleep shorts to the side—plunging his tongue into your tight, wet, cunt. he continued to make-out with your pussy: sucking at your clit and shoving his tongue inside of your hole, prodding at searching for that spongy spot. you latch onto his hair as he works you, shoving him further into your heat. you figure he must have some experience from living away, because it doesn't take long before you feel a knot forming in your abdomen, you're close and the way his nose brushed against your clit was only bringing you closer to the brink.

"get up." you demanded, he hummed in response quirking his brow. "c'mon, get up..." you didn't want to come on his tongue, "shit... 'wanta come on your dick—ah... get up." he does what you tell him to, after all this is his "apology". "are you sure, y/n?" he asks and you cant help but roll your eyes. "c'mon 'for i change my mind." zoro chuckles a bit feeling like maybe you had forgiven him now—even just a little.

the sheets felt heavy on top of you both, zoro slamming his hips into you. "you feel so good, i..." he could feel you clenching around him as he kept pounding into your gummy walls. it was more than what he'd ever imagined. all those nights after he moved away or sitting in his college dorms where he'd jerk off thinking about you, looking you up on instagram or any other social platform just to see your face. "s-so beautiful..." he'd breathe heavily. his words muffled by the way his teeth clasped onto the hem of his shirt as he held his phone in one hand and his dick in the other. so he was beyond supportive when his parents told him they would be moving back into his childhood home. he wasn't planning on telling you or letting you know, obviously considering the fact that he did just leave without a word: not even trying to keep contact or answer your calls. however, he wasn't totally opposed when you showed up at his front door in that cute little sweater. and he definitely wasn't opposed to plunging his long, fat cock into your tight, squelching hole when you demanded.

"i'm close, zoro... mhh, fuck! right there, baby—" you were close again, and the pet name only encouraged him to continue abusing your cunt: snapping his hips to hit that spot that makes you clench so good and eventually come all over his dick.

im back from my lil "break"... i aint get shit tg, i was tb organizing but tbh im js lazy as hell n all i did was sleep. but it was well needed so i hope u enjoy ts bby, i got more comin soon!! •ᴗ•

#smut #black!reader #lil-ma-shae #fem!reader #fanfiction #one piece #one piece smut #one piece x reader #anime #zoro smut #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #one piece zoro #zoro x black reader #black!fem!reader #black!y/n #poc!reader

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autisticjellybean · 10 months

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Only Girl In Hellfire

Pairing: Gareth x Reader

Tags: fem!reader, (idiot)friends to lovers, background HellCheer, basically Gareth and Reader trying to help Eddie romance Chrissy and vice versa, inexperienced!Gareth x experienced!reader, additional tags to be added.

Disclaimer: This is a ~400ish word blurb introducing a small series I’m working on rn. I’m not finished with the fic but I love this intro and couldn’t wait any longer to post it! I hope you enjoy

Gareth Emerson is in love with you. It’s been a long time building up, since the first day you met. He can still remember being a quiet, pimple-faced freshman that Eddie—on his first try at senior year—had singled out in the cafeteria and immediately taken under his wing. He remembers Eddie bringing him to their table, going around and introducing him to the friends he’d remain with for years. And at the end, he remembers Eddie introducing him to you.

You were the only girl in Hellfire—still are. You were just his type, wild hair and dark eyes and the lettering of your club shirt stretching deliciously over your chest. You’d shaken his hand, red manicured nails matching the blood bold color of your lips that day, and he’d almost turned to jelly on the spot. He’d tried, really tried, to play it cool, but apparently he had not succeeded, because after lunch, Eddie had pulled him aside again to explain what exactly your ‘deal’ was. See, being the only girl in a group rumored to be plagued with sin and debauchery had led to some less than savory opinions of you forming amongst the student body. Mainly, of course, the basketball team, who had taken to dubbing you the “Hellfire Whore”. And while, yes, it was true you did fool around with a boy or two from time to time, you’d explicitly staved off any school boys so as not to give in to the rumor mill. Essentially, Gareth could look, but never touch.

Which would have been fine if you were just pretty. Gareth could have gotten past his little crush on you if you’d turned out to be preppy or boring or something, something that could have turned him off from you. But no, you were perfect. You were kind and funny and witty and cool and it felt like with everything he learned about you, you became more and more perfect for him.

So, two years later and that crush is still plaguing him, begging him to take you and kiss you and tell you how beautiful and wonderful you were. But he couldn’t. And besides, your friendship was perfect, and he wasn’t about to risk it all. No, unfortunately, the more you hung out and the deeper he fell, the more he was also assuring himself that ever confessing would ruin absolutely everything.

Until one autumn, a run-in with a familiar cheerleader would cause the nature of your relationship to change forever!

#stranger things x reader #gareth emerson x reader #my writing #the only girl in hellfire #fem!reader #alt!reader #gareth emerson x you #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things

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delopsia · 2 years

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A Sight For Sore Eyes | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 4200 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, hand jobs involving a mirror, car sex, unprotected sex, and a hint of jealousy.

Rodeos this time of year always tend to be jam-packed; the closer the end of the rodeo season nears, the more people there will be. Flooding the usually quiet grounds with an incohesive blur of faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, all hoping to catch the best moments of the season, to say "I was there every step of the way" when the winner is announced in the end.

It happens every year; come the end of the season, they'll filter out and forget about Wabang until next Autumn. So why are you feeling so uneasy about Maria Olivares cheering Rhett on from the bleachers?

Even the heaviness of this beat-up old jacket isn't enough to calm your anxious frettings; the boldened letters scrawled across your shoulders, 'R. Abbott', standing proud and reflecting in the stadium lights, is nothing but a suggestion to some. You trust Rhett, but you don't trust the girl screaming his name; can't trust that those giggling church girls next to you will keep to themselves when he comes walking over here.

No amount of Godliness will stop some women.

The dull brim of a felt cowboy hat bumps into the back of your head, arms snaking around your waist and coiling firmly around you. Gently, they pull, drawing you into a firm chest, heaving, still recovering from his ride. You don't need to tilt your head to know who it is.

"I'm starting to suspect you're intentionally knocking your hat into me," you tease, feeling his chin hook over your shoulder.

Rhett just hums, rubbing his scruffy cheek against your soft one, just to get a rise of you, "just lettin' you know 'm here, doll."

Fingertips press into your side, urging you to turn around to face him; meeting his request rewards you with a pair of lips against your own, chaste and lingering in their typical Rhett fashion. You can taste the beer on his lips, can feel how they tremble against yours, veins still quivering with adrenaline and anxiety.

"I thought you had one more ride?" The announcer is still rambling, and you're...well, you're pretty sure you just watched him finish his second ride of the night.

He hums, "I do," then kisses you again, "just wanted to love on my baby before I have to go back out there."

There's giggling off to your left, pretty girls running manicured nails through long locks of blonde and brunette as they not-so-subtly vie for Rhett's attention. A part of you wants to spare them a glance, but the wiser half of your brain reminds you that they'll only feed off your attention.

You find yourself spun back around, watching the next rider through the iron bars of the fence, all the while, Rhett's all tucked up in your shoulder; scruffy cheek against your ear, body pressed as close to you as he can get whilst he hugs you from behind. His jacket may not have been heavy enough of a reminder, but there's nothing quite like having him all cozied up to you like this.

He's talking, mostly to himself, murmurings under his breath what the next guy scored, hypothesizing his new score on the charts. You can't understand half of it, but you find yourself wrapped up in it, hypnotized by the deep grumble of his voice.

A heavy gust of wind blows past, sending goose bumps traveling across your exposed skin; it's barely November, and yet it already feels as if it could snow at any minute. Shivering, you squirm back into Rhett's chest, chasing the warmth that radiates off him so effortlessly.

He sucks in a breath, large hands stilling your squirming hips, "can't tell if you're wanting me to keep you warm or if you're trying to get me to bend you right over this here fence."

Your ass brushing against him through his jeans certainly hadn't been intentional, but when he puts it that way...

"Shit, baby," Rhett's gripping your hips as tightly as he can, fingertips threatening to leave bruises, but it's futile; you've already heard the soft grunt under his breath, already felt the unmistakable twitch of something hard against your ass.

The group of church girls has ambled closer to you at some point, close enough for you to smell the myriad of perfumes each time the wind blows. One of the girls you recognize, she'd been standing next to Maria on the bleachers just a little bit ago.

"How long before your next ride?" You ask, nuzzling your cold nose into his dirty cheek.

"Few minutes, give or take," there's a waver to his voice; whether that's nerves or what you're doing to him, you can't quite tell yet, "why? Tryin' to get me all riled up before my last ride?"

Rocking yourself back into him, "maybe I am," teasing, as if you haven't done this countless times before, of varying degrees of success, "got a problem with it?"

He sighs, loud and dramatic, burying his face in your shoulder, "you're gonna ruin me."

Just as those words fall off his lips, a bright white cowboy hat waves from the chutes; you know what that means, and judging by the soul-crushing whine that ripples out of Rhett's throat, you know he's seen it. He's up next.

"You're so mean to me," practically peeling himself off you, "out here making me ride hard as hell."

It doesn't stop either of you from stealing a kiss; nothing can ever put an end to your pre-ride kisses, "do good, and I'll take care of you after."

Rhett's cheeks redden, and with another stolen peck, he's stumbling off from whence he came. Walking a little stiffer than he normally does, and you know damn well those jeans have never been particularly forgiving.

It's easier to ignore the shrill voices this time.

As soon as the most recent rider has gotten out of dodge, you can see Rhett settling down on top of that absolute monster of a bull. You're only vaguely aware of the shrill voices crying his name, cheering him on as everything goes still.

"This is not how I expected things to go."

The crutch clicks against the concrete with the softest sound as Rhett hobbles over to you, too stubborn to properly mind his now swollen ankle. You don't even know what to say; you want to scold him for putting all that weight on his ankle, but he's already reaching out for you with his free hand and drawing you in.

"Not what I expected either," he grumbles into your scalp; there's still a light shake under his skin, muscles quivering with something you haven't yet been able to identify.

Rhett's cold nose brushes against the hollow of your cheek, too shy to ask you for a kiss when his buddies are still within earshot but too stubborn not to at least try for one. You suppose you'll entertain him just this once.

"That looked like a nasty fall."

That's not your voice, and it's certainly not his. There's a grumble against your cheek, and then he's drawing away to focus on whoever it is that's just joined you.

Is that a pout, you spy?

"Well, it sure felt like one," he says, stiff.

It was Maria's voice, you realize. You're not quite sure how long she's been idling behind you, but there she is. Her friends amble along behind her, there but not actively interested in the conversation she's sparked.

You blink.

One moment you're standing just behind the chutes with Rhett, and the next, you're sitting in front of a blazing bonfire just a few paces behind the stadium. You don't quite recall ever seeing one of these after a rodeo, but then again, it's hard to stick around for the afterparty when Rhett always seems to come off those bulls ready to jump your bones.

There are more people than you thought; most of the benches have been taken up by blurry faces that you don't care to pay much mind. The bench Maria's posse has chosen is a small one, barely enough room for all of you to fit on it. Sitting in Rhett's lap would usually be your solution to the lack of space, but that swollen ankle offers a strong argument.

"You sure it's okay for my leg to be on yours?" Ever the gentleman, Rhett's already fussing about his predicament. You've solved the seating predicament by letting Rhett settle his thigh atop yours, invading each other's space in a way that really shouldn't be comfortable.

Wandering fingers squeeze his jean-clad thigh. "I don't mind," you insist. It's hard to be bothered when you've been given the perfect opportunity to touch those thick thighs, feel the hard muscle quiver underneath your palm.

Maria's talking, and as much as you'd like to listen, it's hard to hear her over all the other distractions. Distractions that include Rhett's rodeo buddies making a drinking game out of whoever can tear the biggest piece off this wooden pallet, a girl arguing with her boyfriend about his choice of alcohol and this absolutely meaty thigh that's in your hand.

"Spacin' out?" It's clear Rhett's not paying attention either, with the way he's whispering in your ear.

Tilting your head to his buddies, "just waiting on one of them to get a hell of a splinter." If his ankle wasn't so busted, you're sure he'd be right over there with them.

Tentatively, your hand starts to migrate, crawling at a snail's pace from just above his knee to the warm, sensitive area of his inner thigh. If he feels it, he doesn't say anything. There should be a hickey somewhere around this spot. You still remember leaving it on him, some soft red mark that grew into a vibrant purple the morning after.

You know you've found it when his eye twitches, chest rising with a deep, heavy breath. Still, he remains fixated on the conversation he's been wrapped into.

More fun for you.

Disguised as a loving, subconscious movement, your hand keeps going. Massaging shapes into the soft give of his thigh. Spirals right along that bruise that stands out so prettily from his pale skin. The most he offers you is a wayward glance and an exaggerated huff.

So you have no choice but to hook your fingers up into the thin skin of where his thigh meets; you're rewarded with a shiver that visibly ripples its way up his spine.

"You alright?" You hear Maria ask, and oh, if she only knew.

Just as Rhett brushes it off as a meaningless shiver, you excuse yourself to the restroom.

The truth is, you really did have to go, but did you know Rhett would follow you like a lost puppy? Did you intentionally step into the small, single-room bathroom on the far end of the stadium just to have that added privacy when he inevitably came knocking?

Mayhaps.

It's just as you're drying your hands that you hear the telltale sound of knuckles against the metal door. Damn, and here you'd thought there would be enough time to fix your clothes in the reflection of this big mirror they've recently installed.

"You're tryna kill me." Rhett gets it out before the door is even fully open. Even with his crutch, he's already stepping into the bathroom before you can process his admittedly swift arrival.

"So you'll finally admit you have sensitive thighs?" Taunting, even as he crowds you back up against the cold wall.

His eyes just about roll into the back of his head," they're not sensitive."

Whatever you say, Rhett.

And then he's leaning down to kiss you, one peck, two, three until he can't find it in himself to pry himself away anymore. Sharp teeth nip at your bottom lip, gently pulling on it until your mouth properly opens with a surprised gasp.

He tastes like cheap beer; you don't remember seeing him drink tonight, but there isn't a doubt in your mind that he downed an entire can the moment they popped his ankle back into place. It explains the sloppiness of how his tongue wrangles with yours, easily coaxed down from aggressiveness and into soft, tickling licks that has him grumbling against your lips.

Your lips wrap around his tongue, sucking softly as he retreats to kiss you proper. One hand caresses your cheek, the other crawling down to seize your hip in a firm grip that draws you up against him.

Maybe it's the injury, or maybe it's the alcohol, but it's so easy to push yourself forward, and in one swift motion, his back is hitting the wall instead.

"Unfortunately," kissing the tip of his red nose, "I had other plans for how this might go."

"Other plans?" Yet, despite the uncertainty in his voice, he melts into your hand, all the same, nuzzling against your warm palm as it cradles his bruised cheek.

There's no subtlety in the way you cup him through his jeans, rewarding him with a little pressure on his half-hard cock. His head hits the wall with a soft thunk.

"I can get behind this."

It's cute how willingly he lets you guide him up in front of that shiny new mirror; the poor guy hasn't realized what schemes you've come up with the moment you saw it. At least, he's willing until you sidle up behind him.

"What're you doin'?" Again, he doesn't protest the hand that slides up under his flannel, nails raking against his gently defined stomach.

You hum, "just admiring my cowboy."

Another shiver.

Hm.

A wayward thumb slips over a dusky pink nipple; hadn't exactly meant to touch him there, but the way his body jolts under your touch has you reconsidering your agenda.

"Fuckin' quit that," a shallow warning, laced with a venom you've become insusceptible to.

You're careful to throw him off your scent, opting instead to busy yourself with unbuttoning this blue flannel, revealing his chiseled frame more with each and every button. Those pretty muscles are still swollen from his rides tonight, more prominent than they are typically, and you can't resist touching them again.

Tentatively, one hand settles on the side of his neck, and when his eyes briefly flutter shut, you know you've found your chance.

Wetting the pad of your thumb with your tongue, you repeat your offense from before. And oh, does he damn near jump again.

"Sensitive?" A part of you is curious about which he'll admit to first; sensitive thighs or sensitive nipples?

Rhett huffs at that, tearing his eyes away from the mirror in opt for staring at the empty trashcan. That doesn't stop him from squirming as you tug at the little bud, rolling it back and forth until it's hardened and red. And then you're letting it go in favor of fumbling with that god-forsaken belt buckle and popping open the button of his jeans.

A little hesitation gets him looking back at you again, barely fiddling with the edge of his waistband. As soon as his eyes meet yours in the mirror, your hand slips under the waistband of his boxers.

"Oh," his eyes flutter as you take him into your hand, heavy and already leaking into your half-open palm.

You're amazed at just how wet he's gotten, just from your light teasing. The glide of your hand is slick, so, so easy that it's as if you've lubed him up. Absolutely glistens in the light when you pull him from his boxers.

"And here I'd thought it would be difficult to get you this worked up," kissing at his neck as you speak, and he just melts right into you. Stumbling as he unintentionally puts weight on that ankle, crutch flailing for better purchase on the ground.

"You've had me hard for the past forty minutes," he fusses, but even his attempt to sound annoyed cannot hide the sudden pitchiness to his voice; putty in your hands as your hand works him up and down in tight strokes.

He looks away from the mirror again. You stop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," in his surprise, Rhett just about thrashes against you, and you're sure he would if he weren't relying on that crutch, "why'd you stop?"

"Look at yourself in the mirror," you tell him, "and I'll keep going."

In no place to argue with you, Rhett forces his gaze back onto that sparkling new mirror, just barely able to look you in the eye through the reflection. The hand on his neck migrates up, cradling his stubbled jaw; the other starts stroking him again. Slow and tentative, anticipating for him to get nervous and break away once more.

He doesn't.

His hips squirm with each and every slick stroke; it's so quiet that you can hear the soft squelch of your palm along his dripping tip. You don't recall a time when you were able to draw this sort of reaction out of him, and you're quite sure you could never forget something like this.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a sudden warmth around two of your fingers. "Rhett?"

He hums around your fingers, hot tongue swirling around the digits, softly sucking on them as he does so. Fuck, isn't he a sight for sore eyes.

The felt hat on his head damn near falls off when your hand quickens, wrist twisting at the end of each stroke in the same fashion you've seen him do to himself. With nothing but an iron grip on his crutch to hold himself up, he's powerless to do nothing more than whine around your fingers and take it.

"Not here," he gasps, loud and breathy, "fuck, please—don't wanna cum here."

Even though it was his call, he still squirms when your hand comes to a halt at his base, squeezing firmly but not enough to hurt him. "Then where?"

"Don't care," teeth scrape your fingers as they slide past his swollen lips, "you've had me wanting to fuck you all night."

And who are you to argue over such a suggestion?

"We're really going to fuck here?" For a man with a history like his, Rhett sure can be fussy about location, "what if someone sees us?"

You're not quite sure what he was expecting; who wants to wait thirty minutes to get to your bedroom when you have this perfectly good bench seat, just begging to be used instead?

"Maybe I want someone to," teasing; in reality, you'd likely find yourself mortified that someone was witness to such an intimate act between you and your cowboy, but it's nice just to earn that eye-roll out of him.

Despite his protesting, Rhett settles himself into the middle passenger seat, eagerly welcoming you into his lap the moment you've finished shucking your pants off. As soon as you've settled atop him, he's seizing you by the jaw and kissing you so suddenly that your teeth clack together.

Vaguely, you're aware of his hat falling off his head, falling onto the driver's seat without a sound. Curious hands run through those tangled locks, scraping against his scalp in a fashion that has him keening against your lips. Such a simple act rewards you with the delicious sensation of calloused fingers running up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, tickling up, up, up until they meet the tiny band of your underwear.

They slip right underneath.

"Fuck," murmuring right against your lips, index finger delving into your dripping heat, his thumb finding your clit. It's so sudden that you can't stop the noise that leaves you, squirming away from the finger that's vigorously working you open for him.

Rhett chuckles against your lips, holding you in place with a firm hand on your hip, "don't run from me, baby," his finger curls inside of you, catching against that spongey little spot inside of you that has you jolting in his grasp, "there? Is that your little sweet spot, doll?"

You're kissing him again just to shut his filthy mouth up, fumbling with the buttons of his jeans as quickly as you can. Can't stop him from licking into your mouth like a man starved, overwhelms you so much that you almost forget to pull him out of his boxers.

"That's an awful lot of talk for a man who's leaking like a faucet," and you save yourself from the consequences of your words by gliding your palm around his sensitive head.

Rhett's head hits the back of the seat, eyelashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. Adam's apple bobbing, unable to produce anything but a strangled moan.

You're reaching for your underwear, thumbs hitching under the waistband to pull them off when you're stopped by a shaky hand.

"Keep 'em on," you're not sure if that's a request or an order, but he's already taken the initiative to tug them off to the side, cock brushing against your wet folds.

Slowly, you take a second to drag him up, head rubbing against your clit, and then back down until he catches on your entrance. Even with the dripping wetness between the two of you, there's still a dull ache that blossoms as his thick head slips past your rim, disappearing the second he twitches inside of you.

"Mm, what a pretty sight you are," grunting, Rhett's thumb finds your clit again, rubbing loose circles into the swollen bud, "ridin' a cowboy in the cab of his own fuckin' truck."

"Consider it your reward for not breaking your neck," your voice is strained, wound tight by the sudden thickness splitting you open. Finally, finally, your hips meet flush against each other, and you need a minute just to catch your breath.

The pace you set is almost painfully slow, your hips rising and falling languidly, absolutely savoring the drag of his head inside your quivering cunt. Rhett's finding his footing, lazily thrusting up to meet you halfway, making this absolutely wet sound each and every time. It's hard to keep up this pace, but you fear how the truck may rock if you go much faster.

"Come on, darlin'," frustration in his voice, laced tightly from his inability to do nothing but take what you chose to give him," show this cowboy how to—oh."

Clenching as tightly as you can around him, you pick up your speed, thighs burning with the effort it takes to ride him in such a small space. And here you were, trying to keep people from turning their heads.

"Is this what you want, hm?" Lacing your fingers through his hair and pulling, "to get ridden so hard that people notice the truck moving with it?"

That's enough to shut him up; mouthy comments reduced to nothing but guttural moans and gasps as you give him the very thing he asked for. Baby blue eyes glazed over, thumb still sloppily working your swollen clit like it's the only thing he knows how to do.

"'m already close," Rhett warns, and his voice sounds so loud in this quiet little cab, "gonna cum."

You're not there yet, but you just keep going, hips rising and falling with that same damn pace that you can feel rocking the truck. Rhett's squirming under you, hips twitching up in futile little motions as you work him closer and closer to his peak.

"Darlin—" his eyes roll into the back of his head, body going taut as he cums deep inside of your cunt. Thick, hot spurts coating your walls, filling you with everything he has to offer.

You ride him through it, still chasing the high you can feel starting to build up, spurred on by the needy gasps falling off his swollen lips and the obscene squelch of his cock pushing his own cum out of you.

Sure hope Sherrif Joy isn't still around because you don't think you can stop.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he babbles, "baby—shit, fuckin' sensitive." He's damn near about to squirm right out from underneath you, keening so loud you fear someone may hear you.

Shoving two fingers into his agape mouth, "hold on for me, cowboy."

Those eyes go wide, and his thumb presses down a little harder, giving you those tight little circles you didn't know you were needing until now. And isn't this something you've been needing to see all your life; Rhett Abbott sucking on and crying out around your fingers as you ride his oversensitive cock with everything you've got.

"Please, please cum," he begs, "please, please, please."

That's all it takes. Seizing up as your orgasm hits you like a freight train, thighs clamping down on his hips as your body spasms and flutters around him with a soft cry. His thumb keeps working you through it, spiraling over and over until you're coming down from it with a shudder.

Rhett's staring up at you with this absolutely dopey look, chest heaving up and down like he's just run a marathon, "I didn't know I could cum again that fast."

You can't stop the laugh that ripples through you, only to his oversensitive expense, "suppose that means I'm not getting another round out of you when we get home?"

"Absolutely fuckin' insatiable."

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #self insert #reader self insert #x reader #outer range amazon #outer range fic #outer range #oneshot

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imaslutforwritingshit · 9 months

Text

SCREAM FOR ME- A smut slow burn of Ghostface the killer.

PART ONE

This is my Wattpad story about Laura Watson being stalked by Ghostface. Go to my pfp to see characters+ more info about the story :>

Chapter One:

August 29th.

The beginning.

I yelped, and swung my hand up, arching my back with ecstasy.

Excitement rose in the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes and rocked back, the moment filling me with satisfaction. "Yes, that's it! God, I'm so close-"

The buzzer on the video game trilled, and the two dreaded words flashed on my screen:

GAME OVER.

A shrill laugh came from the corner of my room, and I groaned, tossing my ps4 controller on the a plaid blanket.

Camille, my best friend, cackled, holding her stomach with her manicured nails. "You really thought-" she heaved for breath. "You thought you could beat my high score?"

I fished for a pillow on my bed, and hurled it in her face. The pillow bounced on the carpet in front of her, and she tossed it back, this time managing to hit my chest.

"See? Your aim is shit!" She rolled on the floor, tucking her knees in with laughter.

I stared at her blankly until her cackles died down.

Good. That shit was not funny. And I totally could have had beaten her high score.

The day felt crisp, clear. My life felt like a bite of an apple at a harvest, a bitterness staying on my tongue.

After exiting out of the infuriatingly difficult game, I stretched my legs. The auburn landscape outside warmed my heart. Fall was here.

I blinked out the twinge of stress from my mind, reminding myself why I had asked Camille to sleepover- so I could have some fun, instead of stressing over every test or exam known to man.

Leaves of violent red and cool orange danced on the old trees of my neighborhood.

The small slit of my open window blew in a warm breeze, which smelled of crisp cider and cold wind.

Though I know it's bad, I can't help but keep my window open as much as possible. Yeah, people can kidnap, or kill you with a rookie mistake, but I didn't expect anyone to have stalking eyes on me.

I shut my thick curtains, and clicked on a string of fairy lights surrounding my room.

With a goofy expression, Camille raised her eyes, twinkling with the light, and opened her mouth. "Wow. This is some Tumblr shit. We should make a hot chocolate or something. That would make us the ultimate "it" girls."

I snorted, and slid into the large comforter near my desk. Turning on a smaller light, I repositioned my calculus study guide, and clicked a pen open.

"You have fun with that, T. I'm procrastinating on studying for this test."

She giggled at the nickname. When I was in first grade, I began teasing Camille by calling her "Cami." She never liked the name, and I asked her to give me a reason why. If she did, I would stop calling her Cami.

Camille ended up reaching me during recess the next day, explaining that her dad called t-shirts "cami's," short for camisoles, and from that day on, I pestered her with the nickname "T-shirt." But saying T-shirt was a little too long, and we eventually came to the consensus that "T," was best.

Needless to say, she wasn't that fond of that one either. But with time comes acceptance, right?

Camille swung her body on my doorframe, clacking her long acrylics on the side. "I don't understand why you have the nerve to study on a Saturday."

I shrugged. "Always be prepared, I suppose."

She swung her body again, furrowing her brows. "Suppose? Nerd alert!" She pointed her index at me, the autumn colors of her nails shining in my peripheral.

I stifled a laugh. "Y'know, saying "nerd alert" is scientifically proven to be equally as cringy as saying suppose."

She tilted her head down, squeezing her lips together. When I processed the fact I just said "scientifically proven," I sighed. "Fine, you win."

She pranced out of my room quickly, her laughed echoing in my hallway.

I smiled at the sight. Me and Camille were practically living in opposite worlds. I spent my time volunteering for college hours, studying my ass off, and majority of Camille's time was spent on wardrobe changes and rolling joints.

Despite our evident opposition, the changes in our personalities never stopped us from being friends.

And no matter what, I'm forever grateful I have a friend who told me how to smoke marijuana the right way- not a friend that could get better grades than me.

My eyes swirled over the swarm of calculus prep in my study book. I sighed, and slammed it closed again. Maybe Camille is right- I need a break.

I opened my laptop, and clicked on the familiar online chat site I spend most of my free time on.

Mi2.com blew up in 2013, and similar to apps like Instagram or YouTube, the platform still flourishes today. I have a theory that Mi2 is so popular because it never turned into an overpriced, ad-infected app, meaning every country or laptop device can access it.

A green star popped up on the side of my screen. I have multiple friends on Mi2, and each of my mutual's texts show up in green asterisks.

I could already tell who it was, and I grinned at the message.

✸ camillluvsdilfs278: get tfo this lame ass website lol

I rolled my eyes at the message. Camille was quite literally downstairs.

✸ angelaura999: y r u texting me ur literally downstairs + is the hot chocolate done

✸ camillluvsdilfs278: fatass the waters boiling

I snorted, twirling my feet under the desk as I responded.

✸ angelaura999: i thought u hated this website why dont you just text me lmao

✸ camilluvsdilfs278: cuz i knew ur degenerate ass would be on the computer already.

✸ angelaura999: hope the water burns u

✸ camilluvsdilfs278: :) <3

I chuckled, and as my finger hovered over the power off button, a red star dinged on the side of my computer.

Weird. I hardly ever got messages from people on the website that weren't my friends.

I clicked on the unknown user's text, and my throat dried. Fear sank into the bottom of my stomach.

‽ user182909493: I can't wait to taste you

I knit my eyebrows, disgust churning in the bottom of my stomach. I don't have my personal information, or even a profile picture on Mi2.

This was probably some jack-off trolling my page. I clicked on the user.

Joined 7 hours ago.

Maybe they got banned on previous accounts.

My mouse hovered on the red "BLOCK ACCOUNT," button, but before I could click go,

one more red asterisk popped up on the tab of my computer.

Curiosity pushed me to click on it.

A soft gasp slipped from my lips.

‽ user182909493: I can't wait to taste your blood

My fingers shook over the curser, but as my door creaked open, I slammed the laptop down with trembling hands.

Camille carefully walked into the room, holding a tray of hot chocolate and sugar cookies.

I grinned a little too wide. "Wow. What a culinary masterpiece."

She dropped her chin, an expression that reminded me that in her hand, she had the life of my cookies on the line.

I rubbed the emptiness of my stomach, and sighed in the scent of the warm sugar.

"Thank youuu." I dragged, grabbing a warm red cup, and placing it on my desk. My body was still pumping with fear, but I attempted to put it aside.

They can't hurt me. It's an online chat.

Camille nodded dismissively, and plopped on my bed, tapping her fingers on her stomach.

It didn't take a genius to find out that there was something on her mind.

I scooted my chair closer to the frame of my bed. "What is it, T?"

She looked up at my ceiling fan, and said nothing for longer than normal. I set my drink down.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm always gonna be alone. I know it sounds cliche, but we're seniors now. I've never got the high school sweetheart experience, you know?"

I nodded, staring out the window as sunset faded into a warm blue of the night. "I know what you mean." I bit my lip, forcing the words to come out, words that I hadn't even admitted to myself. "I sort of feel like I'm just watching time go by, faster and faster. It's hard to think their are good men out there anymore." The text message flashed in my mind as proof.

She nods, and stares at me with a sadness that hardly ever washes over her happy face. "At least I have you."

I jump up from my chair, and hurl my body to the blanket. "You'll have someone else soon, I promise. Some girl or guy will pick you up, and you'll find love better than the movies!" I made a big gesture with my hands to prove my point. "Also, I'm a pretty awesome friend to have."

She smiled mischievously, and looked down, picking at her nails. "Well, you are a little bit of a nerd. It's kinda off-putting."

A laugh escaped my mouth, and I hit her playfully. "You should be off pudding."

She sighed, and plopped back down. "Love Jennifer Lawrence."

I nodded, pursing my lips. "Love her."

I take a couple strands of her hair and idly braid the dark brown waves- a habit I picked up from the many nap-times we avoided during elementary.

"We'll find someone. Someone that won't suck."

She smiled warmly, and relaxed head on the bed again. "Yeah. At least somebody that won't murder girls or something."

I chuckled. "The bare minimum."

She snickered, and pulled my shirt towards her, forcing me to fall on the bed as well.

We watched the ceiling fan rotate over and over again, a peaceful silence hanging in the room.

I looked at her- her slightly upturned nose, dark skin, red hair. The way her brown eyes light up at the world as if everything were a gift.

She was forever a part of my heart- a sister from another life.

I grabbed her hand, and squeezed it tightly. She didn't look at me, but she smiled, bright teeth in an even brighter smile.

"I love you, T."

"I love you too, nerd."

I looked back up at the fan, the white noise of the blades filling the room.

And then the fear resurfaced, paralyzing my heart into glass.

"I can't wait to taste your blood."

Chapter Two

I tugged on the straps of my backpack, fastening them for the seventh time this morning.

Today was the fated day of school fall exams.

I chose to look perfect for the occasion. My hair was combed to curled ringlets, and my makeup coated my skin in a light, pretty way.

I chose a cream colored crop top, tight around my medium bust, and a black skirt, which had shorts and pockets in the interior.

I sort of looked like a whore.

A classy whore.

And that worked for me.

The morning sunlight was rising through the cracks of my blinds, and I opened the window wide to feel the fresh air. Large leaves were dropping like rain from the sky, and except for the warm sun behind the white clouds, the sky was a gloomy shade of darkening grey.

After opening my laptop for the fifth time this morning, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw that Mi2 had updated their company logo- to fit a Halloween style.

I clicked through numerous online group chats I've accumulated throughout the years, laughing at a stupid meme my friend had sent me.

A sudden tingle of fear jolted me, when one of the group-chats had added a "user93827267," but I quickly realized it wasn't the same person from last night.

The moment Camille had left my house, I had opened the laptop, and blocked the unknown user.

I had no idea why people wrote such vulgar things for the search of fear. It's disgusting. And what's worse, there are people out there that would actually be sexually attracted to the idea of blood. I shuddered, stretching my fingers and moving my curser to the X on the top of the screen.

And then, like a nightmare of yesterday, deja vu washed over me, as a red asterisk popped up in my inbox.

Ice-cold anxiety sunk into my nerves.

There's no way it's that creep again, right? I had blocked their account, and gone to the extent of reporting them too.

You can do this. Stop acting pathetic.

It's just a random person.

I clicked on the red star.

‽ user373737373737: are you trying to run from me?

My heart stung, and I gasped sour air, pushing the chair from my laptop.

The user made another account.

To torment me.

I clicked on the anonymous profile again, my teeth clenched together.

"Joined 36 minutes ago."

Will this creep keep making accounts, each one with more vile threats? Would I never be able to stop this?

Unless... I put an end to it myself.

My auburn nails clacked on the keyboard- a slow, cautious message.

✸ angelaura999: please don't contact this profile anymore.

The moment I clicked send, the unknown user began typing. I sucked in a breath. And too fast, the familiar ding showed on my screen.

‽ user373737373737: you scared of me?

I hesitated, the ball of nerves in my stomach unraveling at the words.

✸ angelaura999: i don't know you, and you don't know me. that's it.

I folded my arms to stop the shaking of my body, and concentrated on the three moving dots near the user's name.

‽ user373737373737: and what makes you think I don't know you, Laura?

Amusement hit me for a second, urging me to play along with his horrible, sexual game. But using the faint rationality inside my brain, I decided against it.

✸ angelaura999: because you're probably an old freak on the other side of the world trying to get a rise out of me. And it won't happen. So stop contacting me, please and thank you.

The words "typing," slowly tapped on the screen in painful build up. I drummed my fingers on my arm, waiting impatiently for the reply.

‽ user373737373737: Laura Watson. The good girl of Elk River, right? You probably get off to the thought of being better than everyone else...Having a grade point average higher than your druggie friend. And trust me, I know you, little dove. And you know me. I think about that tight body of yours all the time. And the tiny skirts you wear drive me crazy, the way they ride up those pretty thighs. You're probably wearing one right now, aren't you?

‽ user373737373737: slut.

A sound that was a mixture of a whimper and scream came from my scratchy throat. My fingers were trembling so much, it took me more than a couple seconds to move the cursor to the BLOCK button.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

They know my school.

They know me.

Someone is stalking me.

And I have no fucking idea why, or who, or even where, they are.

And my heart is beating now, a rapid pump of blood threatening to make me dizzy.

But it isn't beating from fear anymore.

A deep, dark exhilaration is sinking into my core.

I have a stalker.

I’ll post more soon, and feedback or requests are welcome <3

#ghostface x oc #ghostface x y/n #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #slasher smut #slash fanfiction #cw noncon #tw noncon #slasher fucker #smut #dark smut #horror #horror smut #slasher fanfiction #fanfic #x y/n #y/n

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zellink · 8 months

Text

to caress a thunderstorm

a post-botw zelink fic. [ one-shot // 13k words // E-rated for sexual content ]

>> Read on AO3

Summary: Zelda realizes that it doesn’t matter if they’re underneath the roof of the house, at a clothing boutique, in the secluded Sheikah village, or by the bay. It is the air that he carries around him that is warm and electric, emanating from the skin that wraps around his life force, his soul. So long as she stays by his side, it will always be that way. Two weeks before their journey to see the kingdom, a thunderstorm brews in their home.

Notes: I've been working on this for three weeks now and I'm so glad it's finally finished! Special thanks to @aquaticpal for beta'ing and helping me bring this piece to fruition. <3

to caress a thunderstorm

“Could you pass me the shears?”

They are kneeling in the dirt, by the bushes in front of the house that they now try to manicure into a neat hedgerow. Zelda’s hands are dirtied from planting seedlings of hydrangeas earlier, but it’s nothing compared to the soil that covers Link’s fingers, finding its way into the crevices underneath his nails.

She grabs the tool that lies not too far from her, and hands it to him. He grips it by the handles, mutters a thank you, and begins to trim off the leaves at the top.

“I never knew so much goes into shearing the perfect hedge,” Zelda says. She thinks of the hedges that once decorated the sprawling gardens of her now-destroyed castle. There was that one metal bench that she loved so well, cocooned in a hedgerow that formed a square, each shrub shaped like a cone and as tall as herself. She used to read a lot there, usually to avoid the man that she now shares a house with. She really took things for granted, back then. She took him for granted, too.

“Honestly, I didn’t know either. I usually just let them overgrow.” She watches the muscles in his arm flexing, the veins underneath his skin shifting as he cuts and cuts. “But I think it’s pretty straightforward. It’s just tedious.”

“Oh, well.” She purses her lips. “If you like it overgrown then we can leave it be. It’s your house, after all.”

Zelda has said this a few times before. The first one was born of a real worry that she was imposing on him. He was quick to assure her that she was not. The second and third and the next ones—well. They were still coming from a place in her mind that wouldn't stop whispering all sorts of doubt, but she also just wanted to hear him say it again, that’s all.

“It’s your house, too,” Link corrects her. His eyes do not leave the greenery in front of him, but there’s a slight smile on his lips. “And no, I don’t mind. Trimmed or not—either way looks good, I think.”

“Maybe we can let them grow out after this and see if that would look better?” she asks.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

The shears are making their way to the end of the row, now—and she notices his brows furrowing in concentration as he attempts to shear a corner into a more rounded shape.

Three weeks ago, the sky turned crimson red for the last time before it made way for light and endless blue. Three weeks ago, she dropped to her knees, century-old exhaustion finally catching up to her. Three weeks ago, he caught her before she fully fell to the ground and cradled her in his arms—her tears absorbed by his blood-stained tunic.

Three weeks ago, she finally heard his voice after a hundred years of being robbed of hearing it, saying I may not remember enough, but I’m here, Zelda, I’m here.

Today, they are kneeling in the dirt, tending to their garden, the early autumn sun beating down their backs.

The breeze feels cool against her cheeks, where tears start to roll down. ********

In the evening, they cook prime meat roulade with pesto. She has always insisted on learning new recipes, eager to remedy her lack of cooking skills, so Link assigns her the task of crushing Hyrule herbs, chickaloo tree nuts, garlic, and salt in a mortar with a pestle. He prepares the meat with practiced ease—carefully slicing it into a long thin slab with a kitchen knife.

Zelda, meanwhile, is less graceful in the kitchen; she has to lean her entire body weight onto the pestle as she grinds the ingredients into a near-fine paste. It takes a bit of time to do so, and in her periphery she sees him finish slicing the meat, so she picks up the pace and grinds and grinds, feeling the muscles in her arm burn.

Link laughs—a beautiful sound, albeit still a little foreign to her. “Take your time. This meat isn’t going anywhere.”

She'll have to get used to that, Link laughing freely. Just like she'll have to get used to watching the swell and fall of his chest underneath his tunic.

Once she’s done, she slides the mortar to him, and he begins to spread the green paste onto the meat.

It’s strange, she thinks, as she watches him meticulously slather the sauce onto the surface, careful not to miss a spot. Those hands, those fingers. Calloused and crisscrossed with scars. Capable of cooking the best dishes she’s ever tasted. Capable of pulling the holiest sword known to man out of its pedestal.

Capable of divine wrath.

“After you’ve spread the paste evenly, you can start laying down the bacon like so,” he says, taking a strip and laying it down, one by one. Once finished, he takes the bottom corners of the sliced meat and begins rolling. “You want to roll it tightly like you would a carpet.”

“But will it not unfurl when we roast it in the cookpot?” she asks.

“That’s where the string I got from Uma earlier today comes in handy,” he says, eyeing a small spool of cotton string on the other end of the counter. Zelda retrieves it and places it next to the cutting board. “You can cut the string into roughly six-inch bits. Use my hunting knife.” He nods at the leather sheath attached to his belt. She reaches for it, pulls the knife from its holder, and when her fingers barely brush the fabric of his pants, for the thousandth time since she moved into his house, she swears she could feel a jolt of electricity.

Her breath becomes ragged all of a sudden. She ignores it, chalks it off to the humid room.

Once the strings are cut, equal in length, Link begins to tie the string around the roulade, tying the ends off at the top, each tied string about an inch apart, keeping the meat from unfurling. Zelda gazes at his fingers as he knots the last string, lost in the simplicity of his movements, the way the metacarpals shift underneath the scarred skin of his hand. They’re dirty again, she’s noticed—this time with herb paste and grease, and in her mind she sees blood instead. Cupping her cheeks, wiping her tears away. Gentle despite his undeniable strength. Zelda, we have to get moving. Please. Please—

It’s his voice that catapults her back to the present.

“All right. Now it’s time to fry it.”

They bring the cutting board and a pair of tongs outside to the cookpot. Link hands the board to her so he can start the fire. Flint against steel beside dry grass atop a bundle of wood. Then, a spark, caught by tinder, which he blows a lungful at until the little specks of orange grow into flames. Firelight licks his features, his golden hair, turning him into a sculpture akin to those that used to reside in the gallery at the castle. There’s a hint of a satisfied smile on his lips.

It has only been twenty-two days since they reunited, but in moments like this, she couldn’t help but notice the faint contrast between the Link from a hundred years ago and the Link now—in the way he cooks, the way he builds a fire, the way he shears a hedge, the way he talks. Something much, much wilder resides within him, now. Or perhaps, it had always been there, but was tamped down by years of masterful stoicism born out of a need to avoid watchful eyes and whispering mouths. But after his long slumber, it bleeds through the cracks and makes itself known.

He grabs the roulade from the board and lays it gently in the pot, unflinching even as burning flecks of oil start to fly. He presses the roulade down with his bare fingers, getting a good sear across the surface. Any other person would recoil from the heat, afraid of the burn, but Link—

Well, Link is no other person.

Eventually, he retrieves the tongs from her side and tosses the roulade around with them, making sure it cooks through evenly. Once done, they bring the food and cooking tools back inside, and she prepares the dining table while he serves the roulade with mashed potatoes that they made earlier on.

They eat in comfortable silence, and without the sounds of the outdoors to fill her mind, Zelda studies his hands again—a fork in his left, a knife in his right, slicing and slicing and spearing before bringing the piece of food into his mouth.

Two thoughts bloom unbidden in her mind, though she knows they have lurked beneath the surface of her consciousness since long ago—since before she had painfully achieved her godhood, before she had even pulled her head out of the sand and realized just how wrong she was about him.

Two thoughts.

First, everything he does is wildly beautiful.

And second—

Her soul loves his soul. ********

Zelda slips into her only nightgown and crawls underneath the blanket draped on Link’s bed. For the past three weeks, she has lied in it alone while he sleeps on the makeshift pallet downstairs. ’I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor,’ he said, voice soft yet stern, during their first night together in Hateno. She wondered then, and she wonders now, how long he’ll sleep on that pallet before they finally throw caution to the wind.

There was that late night in Kakariko, following the final battle in the fields. Still in her dirty prayer dress after her long and tearful conversation with Impa. Link, patiently waiting for her behind the Chief’s house, by the waterfall. Dread settling in her throat.

They talked and talked. Feeling the mist from the waterfall on her face, her hair. Pondering aloud about the future. Swallowing that dread and trying with all her might to keep her voice steady even as her insides were unraveling.

’Your work is done, Link. I can’t ask you to do more. Nobody can.’ Tears in her eyes. Keeping them at bay. ’So I understand if you would just rather leave and live your life. Goddess knows you have earned it.’

Link shaking his head. ‘But I wish to stay. By your side. If you’ll let me.’

The dam breaking inside her.

’I want that,’ she whispered brokenly into the crook of his shoulder. ’That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

A kiss on his neck before she pulled away. A thunderclap of a noise, his small gasp. She didn’t mean to do it, but there was a phantom magnet in her lips and underneath his skin. Simply hard to resist.

In return, a kiss on her temple.

“Zelda?”

Link is standing at the foot of the bed, a questioning look in his gaze. She pinches the bridge of her nose, clears the thoughts away.

“Sorry—what did you say?”

“We should go to Ventest tomorrow, get you fitted for some winter clothes.” He says. He’s wearing his sleep clothes, now—shaggy blonde locks all loose on his shoulders. “Rito Village can be unbearably cold even in the autumn.”

Rito Village, Zelda thinks wistfully. So much for stretching out this private bliss. In the end, duty calls her; reminds her of who she truly is.

When they left Kakariko, Impa quickly sent letters to the various chiefs spread throughout the kingdom, officially announcing the long-awaited victory over the Calamity, and the Princess’ wish to meet the people who had helped the Hero throughout his journey. The Rito was the first among the four races to respond; expressing that they would be more than happy to welcome Zelda and Link two weeks after the fall equinox. After that, they must journey to Lanayru to Zora’s Domain, then Goron City, and lastly, Gerudo Town.

“Right.” She frowns a little—the reality of having to leave this sanctuary of a house starting to settle in. “Can’t ever escape the royal in me, huh?”

Link takes a few steps to stand by her bedside.

“You know you can always say no, right?” His eyes are steely, and the earnestness she sees in them sends gooseflesh down her neck. “You’ve earned the right to do whatever you want now.”

“I know. But I want to do this. Visit each of the races. See the kingdom with my own two eyes. I just…” she sighs, shoulders slumping. “I just wish we had more time.”

Link’s voice turns unbearably soft. “More time for what?”

Heat rises in her cheeks. Oh, I don’t know.

Perhaps more time for her to gather her courage—while they tend to their front yard, while they pick berries in the forest behind the house, while she learns more recipes from him. To take those battle-worn hands in hers and pull him into her space, pull him into her. To tell him that terribly simple truth; that she loves him and wants nothing more but to have him completely, selfishly.

Zelda calculates each of these answers in her mind. All of them seem too dangerous to even be pondered upon, let alone uttered aloud to him, so she decides to say none of these. She opts for something safer.

“To do nothing. With you.”

She finally looks up to meet his eyes, and oh she’s stupid for thinking that it’s safer.

Because there it is again—the jolt of electricity, the air turning warm and heavy. It’s not unlike the air that they shared when they first embraced each other behind Impa’s house. Not unlike the spark against her fingertips as she retrieved the knife from his belt. Not unlike the million other times when they touched, whether it be intentionally or by accident, in this new century or the previous one—when the charge of two energies becomes too strong.

She sees it in his eyes, too; a wolf in its perch in the thick snow, staying still as it awaits its prey’s next move.

“Well,” Link starts as she watches his throat bob, “we still have two weeks.” A tongue wets his lower lip. “To do nothing.”

“Two weeks,” she echoes him. The air continues to turn warmer—lightning on its way to form. She tries to mull it over in the span of a millisecond. Release it or let it dissipate? “Though I guess I wouldn’t call our artful hedge maintenance ‘doing nothing’.” She grins.

Let it dissipate, it is.

Link lets out a soft laugh. Dimples on his cheeks—he’s smiling. Zelda hates him for it. Hates those lips, pink like spun sugar—for how they make her heart somersault.

He turns to the nightstand next to the bed and extinguishes the fire in the oil lantern. The loft turns darker, but his eyes stay impossibly blue even without ample lighting.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take the bed?” She asks. Or perhaps join me?

He shakes his head, something fond about his expression.

“Good night, Zelda.”

Beneath a sheet of blanket, her fingers curl and uncurl.

“Good night, Link.”

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#i never know how to tag fics but uh I'll try #fanfic #zelink #botw zelink #zelink fic #zelink fanfiction #ao3 #my fic #botw fic

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