#big chunky wood
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Jackalope, January 2020
#big chunky paws 💛#quite literally there was nothing better than meandering through the woods with him
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Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶
This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!
Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3
WC: 6.5K
Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs.
It’s a nice view.
Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor.
Well.
She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest.
The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man.
He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely.
But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.
He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought.
“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence.
When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry, sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon.
When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—
“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge.
“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly.
He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply.
“Let’s give this another go.”
When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again.
So.
That was a failure.
The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch.
“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless.
For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts.
His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?”
Seren stares him down.
“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”
The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child.
“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?”
Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage.
“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?”
When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head.
“I’d just like a chat.”
Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts.
“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.”
Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence.
“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech.
Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips.
“Third time’s the charm.”
Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment.
And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed.
“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.
He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically.
“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?”
He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny.
She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute.
“This is a pretty piece.”
Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph.
That’s a pretty sound.
“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story.
So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin.
“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.”
Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth.
It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little.
It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs.
The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes.
“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead.
He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down.
“Y’gonna get loud?”
Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs.
Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress.
“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.”
He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip.
“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth.
This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances.
Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers.
And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face.
And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day.
He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she’s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over.
And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly.
Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?”
Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth.
“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.
Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision.
Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.”
Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks.
Almost.
“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.”
The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed.
There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority.
“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.”
His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift.
“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?”
If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait.
“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this.
He doesn’t.
He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest.
“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.”
“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone.
The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.”
There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself.
“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.”
It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds.
“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated.
The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?”
“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”
He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”
He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t.
“How dare you?” the young woman says instead.
Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips.
“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.”
And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process.
The silence is wonderful.
By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight.
The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold.
“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls.
Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall.
That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud.
Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift.
“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass.
He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn.
The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”
The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—
His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again.
Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall.
For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles.
His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away.
From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all.
“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before.
The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far.
“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.”
And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it.
And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.”
“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.”
“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“
“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.”
Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves.
“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”
“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t.
And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut.
“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh.
“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.”
Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag.
“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!”
He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”
Seren blinks up at him.
“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.”
His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language.
“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.”
Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously.
It’s a victory.
And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship.
“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.”
The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.
#pirate!harry#pirate au#piraterry#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles writing#harry styles x oc#dom harry styles#harry styles#harry styles dirty fanfiction#enemies to lovers#harry styles enemies to lovers
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cw: pregnancy, kids (you guys have a daughter together), fwb’s, angst with a bit of a hopeful ending, refers to you as ‘girl’ once
Friends with benefits Bakugou who never really got over his ego to fully commit to you. You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but when you fell pregnant, you thought that things would change. That the whole “no feelings” aspect would’ve been dropped, that he would’ve embraced you fully.
But he just…didn’t? If anything, he distanced himself away from you, became so formal like you were another coworker he would address. It was heartbreaking, going through your first pregnancy feeling so, so alone, but having to grin and bear it the whole way through.
He supported you though in every way that he could. He never missed an appointment, would trek to your house during late nights whenever you craved something. He even moved you in to his own apartment during your last trimester, but a couple months after your baby was born, you went back home. You never felt unwelcome, but you couldn’t pretend to be a happy family when he slept in the guest room every night.
So now, you coparent quite easily. At least, it seems easy to Bakugou, but really, it’s all a facade.
In all honesty? He thinks he’s a fuck up. An idiot. The stupidest, shittiest person who’s ever existed.
He thought what he was doing was enough, that the words he didn’t say carried across oceans, formulated into titles that he never verbalized. So when you told him you would be happy to coparent, his world felt upended suddenly, as he holds his tiny little baby girl in his arms.
Coparent? How could a couple coparent? Where did he go wrong? (He only slept in the guest room to give you and baby space, only moved you in late because you lived so far away and you were getting so big. He never said I love you because he was too embarrassed to say it out loud. He didn’t know he had to say it out loud to solidify it. He thought you just knew.)
So it’s why his heart breaks when he catches a glimpse of curly blond hair and red eyes in the grocery store. He tries to duck behind an aisle, but his baby would recognize him anywhere. (It’s true; you’ve sent many videos of her recognizing him on billboards and tv commercials and magazines.)
“Bakugou?” You call, ducking around the corner to catch a glimpse of him. He tries to act nonchalant like he’s looking at cans of soup, tries not to cringe at your formal name. He turns when you come into view, eyes drinking in your attire. His heart breaks a little when he recognizes the shirt you took in your second trimester, still has the pic you sent him of you grinning as you show off what you stole.
“Hey.” Bakugou greets gruffly, mouth pulled tight, but it cracks into a grin when his daughter starts squealing. She’s in the front part of the shopping cart, twisting her little chunky body to get out and get to him. She damn near screams when he sets his basket down to pick her up, rubbing his nose to hers.
“How ya doing, squirt?” He asks quietly, pecking at her chubby cheeks as she instantly starts babbling to him. He holds her close to his chest, eyes full of pure love for his baby girl, and it makes your heart squeeze so tight you think it might burst.
“This isn’t your neck of the woods.” You mutter, head tilting to the side as you take in your daughters excited face to see her father. Bakugou’s eyes snap to your own, letting his daughter play with his fingers in the meanwhile. He looks embarrassed, cheeks a dusty pink as he grumbles and looks away.
“I was just picking up some stuff to drop off for her. Was gonna text you and see if you were home,” he replies, and something tells you that it’s a lie. But you don’t pester him about it, just nod a few times, taking in the sight.
He looks so good like that, in his compression shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from your daughters incessant pulling. He’s grinning at her, but looks so bashful when he turns to you, like he’s thinking about things he knows he shouldn’t, like he has a boatload to say but can’t cough up.
And if you were a mind reader, you’d be so fucking right. He can’t help but reminisce on before you got pregnant, the nights spent with you. The day you told him you were having a girl, the tears you cried when you delivered her. He thinks, filled with so much guilt the entire time, that he wants another one. With you.
“‘S it okay if I walk my favorite girls home?” He asks you gruffly, nibbling on your daughters cheeks to hear her giggle again, uncaring of the drool she leaves on his hand. You feel your eyes widen at his term for you, face suddenly flushing. Favorite? You, his favorite?
Something tells you that you shouldn’t fall down the rabbit hole that is Bakugou Katsuki and his suppressed emotions and shitty ego. But there’s another something that tells you to trust it this time, to let things happen organically and without expectation. So you do.
“I’m sure she would love to show her daddy the new toy her grandma just brought her.” You tell him, giggling when he rolls his eyes at the mention of his mother. But he walks with you the entire time you finish up your grocery order, holding your daughter the whole time and pays for your groceries despite repeatedly telling him that he doesn’t have to.
He pushes her in the stroller stored underneath the shopping cart on the way home, making small conversation. And when you’re halfway home, does he reach for your hand. Only to cross the cross walk though, he tells himself, only for your protection. But he doesn’t let go until you’re in your own place, and even then, he’s close by the entire time. He helps you put away groceries, remembers where everything is like he lives here.
And for some reason, the familiarity makes your heart ache a little more than you would like it to.
#full of sadness tonight srry#but I’m obsessed with this idea actually#I wanna expand on it even more in a fic#I don’t like to write angst for him but this idea is just :(#he’s so shitty at communicating his feelings and you hate assuming things#so many things are just left unsaid for so long that you just force yourself to get over it and move on#and he’s so confused and so angry that you could leave him like that#but he never had you in the first place now did he?#ohh it makes me wanna sob#obviously in the end you get back together and have 98 more kids 🙄#but the journey along the way is RUFF#okay I’m done writing my wrist hurts lol#bakugou treats! 🍬#—new treat in the streets! 🍫#dad bkg
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tolerate it [javi peña x gn!reader]
“I made you my temple, my mural, my sky…”
Warnings: this is not nice, I'm sorry. This is pure, unadulterated angst. Based on the song tolerate it and You’re Losing Me by Miss Swift herself.
Word count: 2000approx.
Author’s note: one thing about me is I come back every 6 months, drop a one-shot, and then leave again. Was feeling a bit of seasonal depression today. I don’t enjoy fall as much as the rest of the world, it seems, but here is an autumnal fic to get your spirits going.
Masterlist
Ko-fi
Fall.
Two take-out cups of piping hot Colombian ground coffee warming up your bare hands, because you thought it was too early for gloves, and the trees standing naked and tall with crusty red leaves blanketing the damp ground beneath your chunky boots. Holding the newspaper in the crook of your elbow, you sigh as you feel rain begin to fall from the grey clouds above. You pick up the pace, striding through the swarms of busy people doing their seasonal shopping, just wanting to get back home dry.
Your wishes weren’t commanded and you stumbled through the front door of your townhouse sopping wet, hair stuck to your face and mascara now three inches down your cheeks. You put the coffee cups on the dining room table along with the newspaper and took off your coat. At some point, Javier came in and sat down at the table. His fingers pinched at the corners of the paper. The pages were ripped and wet and the ink was bleeding into an incoherent smudge on the front page. Javier opened the lid of his coffee and took a sip before immediately scrunching up his face and putting it back on the table. You turned to face your partner, only to be met with his lips curled into a frown and his brows furrowed together in disdain. You looked at him, helpless and apologetic.
“What’s wrong now?” You huffed, searching for answers in his empty brown eyes. You were tired of asking the question.
“It’s cold,” He muttered, his eyes not leaving yours as he awaited an explanation like he was owed it. His words are blunt and sharp but you have no choice other than to take his indiscretions on your shoulder.
But instead, you offered him nothing short of a scoff as you emptied the pools of water from your boots. The storm outside was loud and persisted with long wails and cries. In silence, you sat next to Javier at the table, and in spite, drank your cold coffee.
After a few moments, you smiled to yourself, wanting to lighten the mood and remembering something that you had seen on television a few days ago. “You know, in California, iced coffee is a thing? Yeah, that’s how they prefer to drink it over there.”
Javier grunted in acknowledgement, leaning back on his chair and folding his arms over his chest.
Your eyes flicked between the oak wood dining table, and the way you had set it so beautifully with your fancy China and centrepiece. The empty vase waiting for a fresh bunch of flowers stood tall and was gleaming after you’d spent a good chunk of your day cleaning and polishing it. A single, pumpkin-scented candle flickered in between you and Javier, your gaze fixated on the dancing ember. Finally, you looked back at Javier, who was taking shallow breaths as he awaited you to pay him attention.
When you fail to do so, it causes a problem. “I have to get to the office,” he announced after a few minutes of silence.
“But it’s a Saturday,” you replied. Ever since Javier got his big promotion, it meant he could do fewer hours and stop working weekends. He hadn’t gone to the office on a Saturday in nearly two years. Javier stood up and put on his leather jacket, the same one he’d kept from the 70s. He still rocked it, of course, but in this climate, it just wasn’t smart. “You’re going to need something warmer than that jacket, you’ll freeze to death.”
You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor, and went to walk to the bedroom, finding a coat for Javier to wear. You picked one out that you knew he hated. It was long and plaid and not his style at all, too ‘modern’, he called it, but it was the only thing that would stop him from catching a cold. You grabbed a pair of gloves and a scarf and walked back out, following him into the hallway. He waited for you and stood leaning against the door frame, looking at the outside world ahead of him.
Sure enough, the storm had cleared up in a matter of minutes and golden rays of sunlight peeked through the now white clouds. Your heart fell, deflated when Javier refused to wear the coat and the scarf you’d picked out for him.
“The gloves, at least,” you begged him, your eyes wide and glazed with unshed tears that you didn’t realise you were holding back. The air was thick with flaws and indecisions. Javier felt a pang of guilt in his heart when he read your expression and took the gloves from you, shoving them in his jacket pocket, a silent promise that he might just put them on later if he remembered.
“Will you be home for dinner?” You asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” you nodded. Javier placed a chaste kiss atop your head. “I love you.” You promised him, but the words were lost on him.
“See you later,” he replied, before pulling away and walking over to his truck.
You’d normally watch him get in and drive away but this time, you shut the door before he even stepped off the patio and sauntered into the living room where you slouched onto the couch, hung your head low and closed your eyes. Darkness. You wondered how long you could keep fighting this. You were so tired of giving your all, only to be met with so little appreciation back. What was once the richest of love had turned cold and empty. You gave him endless empathy and he was killing you.
Javier pulled up outside of Luna Azul, his favourite bar. He hated this. He didn’t like lying to you, but he just needed to get away. He pulled out a cigarette and rested it between his lips, pushing the front door open and immediately taking a seat at the bar. Lighting the cigarette, he took a deep inhale of the nicotine, letting it sting his throat before exhaling. He loved you, he really did. He didn’t remember a point in time when things shifted, he didn’t understand why things had changed so much. You were still his person, his soulmate, he knew he’d never find anyone else like you, but there was just something missing.
“Hey Javi, why the sad face?” Elza, the barmaid asked, already pouring him a whiskey on the rocks, his usual order. “Did someone die?”
Javier feigned a smile before downing his drink. “Rough day.”
“Ah,” Elza said softly. “Trouble in paradise?”
The words made Javier wince. He gestured for another drink, of which Elza promptly poured him. “I guess.”
“I’m sorry to hear that Javi,” Elza frowned. “You deserve better.”
Javi’s frown deepened. He swirled the whiskey as he processed Elza’s words. He really didn’t believe that he deserved better, Hell, he barely believed that he deserved you, and you were more than good enough. You were perfect.
And suddenly, for Javier, it all made sense. He was damaged goods. All those years in the DEA, fighting in a war… that’s what had changed Javier. The years of trauma that he’d never confronted… never got help for. He had hidden his feelings, fought his nightmares and pretended like they didn’t bother him. He’d come this far, he wasn’t scared… he couldn’t be scared, he wasn’t allowed to be scared. He had to be strong, brave, get over it. Javier downed his second whiskey, his skin getting white hot as realization gushed over him. Elza filled his glass up with a third, watching the agent intently.
You weren’t the one who changed, he was, and it took him this long to realise. It was all becoming so clear now, how hard you had been trying and how he hadn’t even said ‘I love you’ in six months. Javier’s stomach was in knots, he didn’t know how or why you’d stayed this long when he had given you nothing in return for your efforts. Impulsively, Javier downed the third whiskey.
Something had to change. He had to change—get better. He knew now that was the only thing that would fix the relationship he’d been taking for granted. He had to go home and apologise. He had to make things right before it was too late. Javier stubbed out the butt of the cigarette and stood up abruptly, only to be met with ruby-red lips crashing down on his hard. Teeth biting down on Javier’s lower lip, Javier let out a small groan. He hadn’t been kissed in so long. But these weren’t your soft, sweet lips. Javier pulled away, eyes widening when he saw Elza standing in front of him with a smirk.
Javier rubbed at his lips in an attempt to wipe away any traces of infidelity. This is not what he wanted or needed right now. He had to get home and fast. Without sparing a single word to Elza, Javier dived out the door and jumped into his pickup truck.
Grey clouds gathered outside as Javier jogged up the driveway, an indication of another storm. You were cooking when Javier arrived home. You were so surprised to hear the front door open as he’d only been gone for half an hour or so. You’d been thinking hard and decided that if tonight wasn’t any different than previous nights then that would be it. You'd be out the door. The thought of it was soul-crushing because you wanted to marry this man. But you couldn’t take it anymore. Fighting with all your strength and might only to be ignored.
“Hermosa,” Javier greeted, exasperated and breathless. If your eyes weren’t immediately drawn to the remnants of red lipstick on his lips, you might have noticed his tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. He’d been crying all the way home, crying for being so stupid and reckless for all these months, for not taking care of himself, but most importantly, not taking care of you.
Your heart plummeted in your chest and you dropped the wooden spoon that was in your hands. It clattered on the floor, the noise making Javier jump, but you stood there, still and unwavering. Silent tears began to stream down your cheeks and you couldn’t strain your gaze away from your boyfriend who was smelling thick of alcohol and had another woman’s lipstick on his face. That was it.
He had dealt his final blow.
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its been years since I've redone my masterlist so im starting again from scratch. if you see this and want to be added, let me know.
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#javier peña#javi peña#javier peña x reader#narcos#jose pedro balmaceda pascal
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You know those kandi bracelets? Slashers being gifted these bracelets. I saw someone write about this once and it hasn’t left my brain since
rat chat: dude i love those bracelets!! if they didn’t distract me so much i’d wear them more often.
Slashers Receiving Kandi Bracelets from GN!Reader
featured slashers: billy lenz, jason vorhees, micheal myers
Billy Lenz :
i think this would be one of billy’s favourite gifts ever!!
you’d give him something chunky, with blue and green beads and little kitty charms, and maybe some squishy rubber bobbles thrown on too. for awhile, he’d just roll it around in his palms and not even wear it. he’d just feel up the textures and listen to the way it jingled in his hands. it’s really a stim thing for him, i think he’d really enjoy using it to fidget with.
he’s feral, he’d chew on it too. you’d catch him wearing the bracelet, gnawing on it without even thinking about it. whenever he’s focused on something, or you aren’t in the mood to be his chew toy, he’d use the bracelet instead.
he’d never take it off. it’s his now, why would he? plus YOU gave it to him. that makes it even more special. no, he’d always wear it, and when he doesn’t have it on, it would be tucked away into a pocket. he keeps it as close to him as possible.
billy would wanna make new ones too. it would become a little activity for you both to bond over. you’d buy cool beads and pieces, and bring them home, and watch him sort through them all and find the stuff he likes. and then you would make a bracelet for him, and he’d make a matching one for you.
he’d want you two to match. you’d have the same bracelet except in your favourite colours, or maybe with your initials on them. if you managed to get him out of the house, he’d make you wear it, so people knew you were all his.
Jason Vorhees :
jason would definitely see it as a craft for you two to do together. you’d bring up one day that you missed making friendship bracelets at summer camp, and that you’d bought all the stuff to make some. you two would sit for a bit, and once you’ve finished the one you made for him, he’d wear it everywhere.
jason loves seeing you happy he’s wearing it. that’s his favourite part. whenever he’s outside, cutting wood for your fire pit, and you see the big shiny beading sparkling in the sun, you get so excited. and he sees it. he’ll be watching from the corner of his eye, smiling underneath his mask, all proud that he’s making you so smily.
jason would tie it to his belt loop if he couldn’t wear it. maybe he’s working with power tools or the like, and can’t have loose things hanging off of his arms, so he’d connect it to his pants. he wants to keep it on him, since it’s a nice little reminder of you.
you catch him playing with it a lot. his bracelet has red and black beads, and charms that look like little hearts. you’d have put his initials on it too, and it took you awhile to make it fit his thick wrist right. you’d only make him one or two, since bracelets weren’t really his thing, but he’d appreciate them nevertheless.
he has more fun making them for you, actually. you’d have dozens from him. while you were out doing errands or work, he’d be at home making you little bracelets in his free time. you’d come home and they’d be lined up, all decorated in your favourite colours and charms. he just likes making you things, i think.
Micheal Myers :
very confused by the concept at first. micheal isn’t the biggest on jewellery, obviously, and tends to keep pretty plain in what he wears. when you suddenly give him something so chunky and bright, he’s a little off put.
at first, he doesn’t wear it. he’s not trying to insult you at all. you can see it in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit, and he always makes sure to take it out and put it on the nightstand beside the bed before he takes his things off for the night. he cherishes it, since it’s from you, but it’s harder for him to get used to.
once you make a matching bracelet, and start wearing it around so that he notices, he starts wearing it much more often. he never mentions it either. you just see him one day wearing it with you, and when you try to say something, he just covers your mouth and continues whatever he’s doing. he gets flustered when he’s called out on his sweeter actions.
the one you make for you both is navy blue and white, and has little skulls and knives hanging off of it. the beads spell out “y/n + micheal” in sparkly bubble letters. that’s his favourite part. he never really got that sweet teenage romance phase, so getting to do silly little things like this make his heart flutter.
i think he’d also use it as a fidget thing. i think when he’s anxious, maybe out running errands without his mask, he’d be rubbing at the charms in his pocket to keep himself calm. he’d like having a little reminder of you close to him, since you make him feel safe.
#slasher x reader#billy lenz#billy lenz x reader#ask#jason vorhees x reader#jason vorhees#micheal myers#micheal myers x reader#slashers
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Everybody Hurts
Chapter 2
Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader
Summary: You needed to escape, escape from your life, your messy divorce, and all the pitying looks. Looks you couldn't ignore when everyone in town had known you and Cam, had known your shame and failure. So, you took the first job you could get, teaching third grade in a town called Hawkins. Little did you know, you were walking right into another messy situation, a messy situation with big brown eyes and long dark waves. But he's resistant, at times unbearable and you start getting curious about the town's past, his past, especially when things don't start adding up.
18+ Only for eventual smut
Next chapter: 09/06
Word Count: 5K
Masterlist
1
A loud, frustrated sigh rose from your throat as you looked over the mess of clothes you'd flung across your bed in an attempt to find something to wear tonight. You wanted to make a good first impression on these people who had never met you before but you didn’t want to look like you were trying too hard either. It was a bonfire at a lake so anything dressy was out. You flung the sky blue top and long black skirt to the side. That was definitely too much. It was also an early May evening so it would still be slightly chilly once the sun went down. That eliminated the shorts and short sleeve tops unless you wanted to wear a jacket and you really didn’t.
You finally settled on a pair of black, ripped jeans with an oversized beige sweater. It was stylish but casual, cute but comfortable, and it would keep you warm as the sun set later, taking the last of the day’s warmth with it. You grabbed your black Converse, pulling them on and lacing them up. Trekking through the woods was going to require sensible footwear, definitely no chunky heels for this party. That was just asking for you to trip over a branch, fall on your face, and humiliate yourself. Not exactly the kind of first impression you were going for. This was your chance to reinvent yourself and you wanted to do it right.
Heading into the bathroom, you ran your fingers through your hair that was cut off just above your shoulders. It had been an impulsive decision after your life had imploded. You had been desperate for a change. You didn’t want to be the person you used to be anymore. You wanted to look different, to be different. No longer the stupid girl who’d walked around for months unaware of what was going on right under your nose. You'd wanted to wipe the slate clean and begin again, to be someone fresh and new. So, you'd walked into the salon and had them chop off eight inches.
It was supposed to be this catalyst, this decision that launched you forward into your new life, invigorated with energy to go out and seize the day. Take away the hair and take away all your problems with it. But when the stylist had turned your chair, your reflection staring back at you in the mirror, all you could see was the same sad, pathetic idiot who’d been cheated on by your husband for a year and had no idea until you caught him in the act.
You had paid and thanked the girl for the fresh cut, smiling and lying through your teeth when the girl asked if you felt like a whole new woman. But then you'd stumbled into your mom’s house, ignoring your mother’s offer of food, gone straight to your old bedroom, tumbled into the bed and laid there all night, feeling like nothing was ever going to change the failure you had become. Thirty and divorced and living with your parents. It was deplorable and you were worthless.
You shook off the memory, refusing to go back to being that girl. As you walked down the hall of your new home, your eyes flashed over to your bedroom doorway, glaring at your bed as if it was the bed’s fault that you'd laid there or on the couch wasting away for months. As if it hadn’t been your own decision to let life pass you by, to let the world keep turning while you chose not to participate in it. As if you hadn’t willingly moved to a new town and then hid inside your house, allowing yourself to sulk in the sad state your life had become. No, you definitely weren’t going back to being that girl. That girl was pathetic. She let the two people she trusted the most in the world betray her for a year without realizing what was happening right under her nose. She let that one moment, the simple act of opening a door, beat her down, stop her from living, and she wasn’t going to do that anymore.
You had a new house and a new job in a new town and you had some new people to meet. People who had no idea about your past. People who wouldn’t look at you like you were some fragile thing that was about to break, laying their hand on your arm and asking how you were doing like you were a child who couldn’t handle tough things. You shuddered at the thought. The worst part had been people acting like you were some kind of shameful thing, like you should be branded with a scarlet letter, like you were the one who had betrayed your marriage. The dumb girl who couldn’t keep her husband happy enough not to stray. The poor idiot who’d had patches over her eyes, blind to what was happening. That was why you'd moved. You couldn’t take it anymore. In a small town, everyone knew. Everyone had known the two of you, the high school sweethearts that went to college together and then got married, the couple that was supposed to stay together forever. You needed to go somewhere where no one would look at you like you should be pitied because they wouldn’t even know there was a reason to. You were not going to divulge that particular information to these potential new friends because you didn’t have to.
Hawkins hadn’t been well thought out. You had simply been looking for open teaching jobs that weren’t so far away from your hometown that you couldn’t still visit your family but far enough away to never have to worry about running into people you knew. Tracy, a teacher you worked with in your old town, had a cousin who worked at Hawkins Elementary. She told you they were looking for a new third grade teacher, the last one having retired. You'd made a call to the principal and been offered the job right on the spot, right over the phone, sight unseen. They hadn’t even asked for a portfolio or references. You had considered that to be fate trying to tell you something. You were meant to be in Hawkins, Indiana for some reason. Or maybe it was simply desperation to get the hell out of the town that judged you and start over somewhere that had you agreeing to the first job that came your way. Either way, you had taken it as a sign and immediately began looking at house listings.
Your house wasn’t much. It was a small two bedroom bungalow on a corner lot, but you had a little front porch that you were planning on getting some planters for. You had empty flower beds along the front just waiting for color and you couldn’t wait to start planting things, watching them bloom, new life sprouting in a riot of hues. The white porch swing was one of the things that had caused you to fall in love with this place on sight, imagining sitting on the swing, a cool glass of lemonade in the summer or a hot cup of coffee and a blanket on a crisp, fall morning, a good book in your hands. Maybe it wasn’t much and maybe it needed some work. Okay, maybe it needed quite a bit of work but it was yours and that was what mattered most to you right now as Cam hadn’t left you with much of anything to call your own once the papers were signed.
You stepped out, locking the door behind you. Your bike was propped against the front porch, just the way you'd left it after returning from the diner, knowing you would be using it again in a couple hours. You didn’t have a car right now, something you would have to remedy soon. You hadn’t had much left over after the down payment on the house and you'd had to save up some cash for a car. You finally had it now. You just hadn’t gotten around to looking for one yet. But for now, with summer around the corner, the bike worked and you figured it was excellent exercise. And wasn’t that supposed to fill you with endorphins and make you happy or something?
You pedaled back toward the lake, a flurry of excitement and nerves creating a storm in your stomach. It felt like tenth grade all over again, being the new kid, hoping you could fit in somewhere but fearing you wouldn’t. Friendships were already established, cliques formed, and you feared that you would be the oddball, always on the outside looking in, never having the door opened or even cracked in invitation. Then Cam had spotted you, decided you were worthy of his time, worthy to join his group, and all of that had changed. You were the shiny new toy that he wanted displayed on his arm for everyone to see.
You tamped that thought process down quickly. No, you would not even think of his name tonight. He had no place in your thoughts. He didn’t deserve an ounce more of your time. Tonight was the start of the new beginning you'd been wishing for, for far too long. You turned into the woods, following the same path you'd taken this morning toward the lake. Catching sight of a bunch of cars pulled off to the side, you were relieved to see you'd found the right place.
“Hey!” Max yelled, waving with a welcome smile as you rode up, hopping off and propping your bike against a tree.
You noticed Max was still wearing her sunglasses even though the sun was already beginning to set. You idly wondered if perhaps she had some kind of vision problem but it felt like a rude question to ask someone you barely knew. You filed it away for a later date, perhaps once you had gotten to know each other better.
You made your way over to the waiting group of people, teeth pulling nervously on the inside of your cheek. You really wanted these people to like you. You didn’t even know them yet but you wanted it desperately. To have a group you could hang out with, a reason to get out of your house and out of your head for a while. You offered them a tight-lipped smile, raising your hand in greeting.
“So, you’re the new girl,” said a guy with caramel colored hair. It was great hair, like ridiculously amazing hair for a guy, full and lush and falling over his head perfectly. He stepped forward, extending his hand out to you. “I’m Steve.”
“Hey, nice to meet you. I’m Y/N,” you replied, his hand warm and soft wrapping around yours, shockingly large. His hand swallowed yours completely as he brought the other up to cover it as well, surprising you when he simply held your hand between both of his instead of the customary shaking.
One by one you were introduced to everyone in the group. There was Nancy, a beautiful, curly haired brunette who greeted you with a hug like you were old friends. There was Jonathan, her husband, shaggy haired and soft spoken, offering you a shy smile and a quiet hello. Argyle, a guy with truly epic raven black hair that fell all the way down to his ass and loud clothes in brilliant colors who asked you if you'd ever partaken in Purple Palm Tree Delight. You had smiled in confusion, having no idea what he was talking about. Lucas, Max’s boyfriend, had a kind smile that took up his entire face and a warm demeanor. El and Mike, another couple; El had greeted you warmly but Mike had seemed a little standoffish, like he wasn’t sure about a newbie being invited to their group. Will, who was Jonathan’s brother, was just as soft spoken as him but a bit more shy, nodding and mumbling a soft hello. Dustin, a curly mop of blond curls and one of the most amazing smiles you'd ever seen, absolutely warmed you from the inside out when he welcomed you loudly, genuinely seeming happy you were there. Robin had taken you aback a bit when she lunged at you excitedly, asking you six questions before you had even had the opportunity to introduce yourself.
“Alright, how about we all take a step back and let her breathe before interrogating her?” Max suggested, spreading her arms out wide as if to shield you. “I think we might be overwhelming her just a bit. Damn guys. She just got here. I told you to be cool.” She ducked her head close to you, bringing a hand over her mouth as she whispered, “Good people but a little much. You’ll get used to it.”
One side of your mouth curved up into a crooked grin, already feeling at ease with this group of people. You'd been so nervous about just showing up at their party, being the uninvited crasher. Okay, technically you had been invited but only by Max. You hadn’t been sure if the others would be as eager for you to just show up but they all seemed pretty okay with it. Maybe not Mike, but you got the feeling he was just reading you, holding back judgment until he knew you a bit better and you could understand that. Trusting people wasn’t always the best idea. You knew that better than anyone.
“Alright, let’s get this fire going before the sun goes down completely,” Steve announced, rubbing his hands together. “Come on boys. Make yourselves useful.”
Lucas, Mike, Dustin, and Will began gathering wood from the edge of the treeline, bringing it to Steve and Jonathan who were arranging it for the fire. Argyle stood at the edge, observing…maybe? You weren't quite sure what he was doing. You had a sneaking suspicion that he might be stoned. It had been a while but you still remembered what it looked like.
Robin grabbed onto your hand, leading you over to the same tree trunk you'd used as a bench to read on earlier. The other girls followed, El and Max plopping down in the sand, Nancy hopping up on your other side. They all looked at you eagerly like you were some freaky sideshow they couldn’t wait to get a closer look at. Oh goody. You were going to be the center of attention. What else did you expect? Once again you were the shiny new toy.
“Alright, so tell us absolutely everything there is to know about you,” Nancy instructed eagerly.
“Everything?” you asked cautiously, thinking there was nothing you would rather do less. You wanted these people to think highly of you and they definitely wouldn’t if you told them everything. “I mean, that’s kind of a tall order. I thought we’d probably just start with the basics. You know, surface level stuff? Like my favorite color is red.”
Robin snorted, her hand waving so close to your face, you felt the breeze of it pass over your skin, “Surface level is boring. We want to deep dive, get all the juicy bits. What brought you to Hawkins? Where did you come from? Are there any guys…or girls in your life? Do you have brothers and sisters? How was your childhood? Happy or full of trauma and angst? Have you ever been arrested?”
“Whoa,” you laughed, holding your hands in front of you and cringing when you noticed how shaky it sounded, sure they had as well. You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, trying to process the onslaught of questions the overeager girl had just sent your way. “That’s a lot.”
“Yeah, well, Robin’s a lot,” Max teased, her hand grabbing onto Robin’s knee. “We love her in spite of it but she’s a lot. She knows she’s a lot. You’ll learn to tune her out or shut her down.”
“Yeah, you do not have to answer all of that if you don’t want to,” Nancy assured you, her eyes widening pointedly at Robin, clearly gesturing for her to back off. Robin just shrugged. “But we would like to get to know the newcomer to our little group and our town.”
“Okay. Well, I moved here from Galena,” you began, feeling like that was fairly safe information to share. “It’s this small town in Illinois, only around three thousand people total live there. It’s the kind of place where everybody knows everybody’s business.”
Robin snorted, “Well, then you’ll definitely feel right at home in Hawkins.”
“I’ve noticed,” you chuckled. “I think I already made friends with the lady who runs the coffee shop downtown this morning.”
“You mean Millie?” asked El, eyes wide. “I love Millie.”
“Everybody loves Millie,” Max pointed out. “She makes the best cinnamon rolls in town. Maybe the best ever.”
“Yeah, I have to agree. I had one this morning and it was definitely the best I’ve ever had. I think Millie and I are going to see a lot of each other,” you replied, grateful that perhaps they were moving onto other topics that weren’t you. You decided to take full advantage and turn the spotlight around. “So, I know Max works at the diner, obviously. What do all the rest of you do?”
“Oh, well, my husband and I work for the Hawkins Post,” Nancy answered with a proud smile, her hands coming to rest on her chest. “I’m a reporter and he’s a photographer. It’s been a bit of a long road to say the least. I started off as the glorified coffee and lunch girl, basically their secretary. It was awful at first. I did just an internship to start and I hated the guys who worked there. But new blood took over after…uh…well, a couple of the employees died. I mean, one of them was the owner.”
“Oh my god…” you gasped in shock. “Multiple people from the same place died? How? Was there a car accident or something?”
“A mall fire,” El answered quickly. “Nineteen people died.”
“Nineteen? Wow…that’s awful,” you murmured softly, noticing how Max’s head turned, her focus off in the trees suddenly, her throat moving hard as she swallowed.
“Yeah, it was like this freak thing,” Robin blurted loudly, a shaky laugh following. She cleared her throat. “Not that it’s anything to laugh about. It wasn’t funny, like at all. It was tragic. I mean, horribly tragic. All those people burning to death and all their families and then we lost the mall so Steve and I lost our jobs. I had to help him get a job at Family Video with me because Keith hated him and I had to convince him…”
“Yeah, it was really awful,” Nancy said pointedly, teeth clenched. “Anyway, after that the Hawkins Post got a new owner and that guy wasn’t quite as bad. He still treated me differently from the guys but I proved myself in the end and now I have my own desk.”
“Nice,” you commented with an uncertain grin. That conversation had taken a weird turn. Robin seemed pretty nervous and Nancy acted like she shouldn’t be talking about it. Maybe it was just a really awful memory. Maybe one of them lost someone. “It’s tough getting your foot in the door in a male dominated industry. Good for you.”
“Thanks,” Nancy replied with a slightly smug smile that was clearly well-earned.
“I am a pet groomer,” Robin told her, smiling and shrugging. “I opened up my own shop a few years ago right along Main Street.”
“Wow! I love animals,” you told her. “I had a dog but I…” You stopped, chewing on your bottom lip again. Nope. Those were the things you were not going to focus on today. Thoughts of your sweet Marley would only bring on the waterworks. “Anyway, that sounds like such a fun job.”
“It is. It’s the best job because it doesn’t even feel like a job. I get to play with dogs and cats all day who I prefer to people anyway. I mean, I think they prefer me too. I’m not always the best with people,” chuckled Robin, holding her hands out to the side and shrugging.
You snorted, “Animals are definitely better than people. What about you, El? What do you do?”
El shrugged, “I work with Mike. He’s a sales manager at the car dealership and I answer the phones and stuff. I didn’t really have a normal school experience so he helped me out a bit and got me the job.”
“Oh…why…”
“Alright ladies, while you all sat there just chatting away and relaxing, us men did the heavy lifting and got the fire roaring for you,” Steve called from the beach. He held his arms up, waving everyone over. “Come on. Come over here and appreciate our hard work. Your men have made fire!”
Robin snickered, “What does he want us to do? Applaud?”
Steve stuck his tongue out at her as you followed the other girls over to the flames. You had to admit, it was a fairly impressive fire already. The flames rose high, reflected across the lake’s surface, ripples of light dancing and twirling as the surface of the water rippled in the breeze. You held your hands out in front of you, allowing the heat to seep into your fingertips, already tingling with the chill. You'd always run cold, one of the things that Cam found endlessly annoying about you, complaining about their heat bill every winter, insisting you just needed to bundle up more in the house. You'd already be layered in a long-sleeved tee, a sweatshirt, leggings, and sweatpants. What were you supposed to do? Walk around in the house in your puffy winter coat?
“Well, I actually would applaud this fire,” you told Steve with a warm smile. “It’s pretty epic.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, his head tilting forward as he came around to stand next to you. “Well, thanks. I always work really hard and nobody around here appreciates me, you know.”
“That must be really hard for you,” you teased.
“It really is.” Those soft brown eyes widened, likening him to a puppy dog who desperately wanted their belly rubbed. It should have been ridiculous but it was actually kind of sweet. “So, did you survive your interrogation? Did Robin at least keep the amount of questions to under fifty?”
You laughed lightheartedly, “I survived but she did throw them at me rapidfire style. I only answered one and then they were telling me what they all do for a living.” You leaned over, bumping him in the side with your elbow. “So, Steve, what do you do for a living?”
“Me? Well, let’s see. I was too stupid to get into college so my dad refused to help me. He said I needed to earn minimum wage to see what it was like being down there with all the other peons who couldn’t get a college education so I worked at an ice cream place for a while until the mall burned down.”
“Yeah, the others were telling me about that. How awful. How long ago did that happen?”
“Let’s see. Back in…” He paused, squinting one eye as he did the math. “...the summer of ‘85. It was horrible. Lots of people…they, uh…died…” Something flickered across his face, something haunting, something painful but then he shook his head, tongue running over his upper lip and it was gone just that quickly. The mall fire was clearly a sensitive subject for all of them. “Anyway, then Robin and I worked at Family Video for a while. Then she abandoned me and worked at the bookstore for a bit while I worked at the arcade.” He grimaced. “Yeah, not the most grown up job for the adult I was but man, I had no idea what I wanted to do. It definitely wasn’t that though. All those kids running around, getting their sticky nasty fingers all over the screens and spilling drinks all over the floor. Ugh. I bounced around for a little bit. Anyway, I finally made a decision and now I am a cop.”
“A cop?” you asked, eyebrows raising as you tried to picture this pretty boy in front of you in a cop’s uniform. The two images just didn’t quite mesh. You'd expected him to be in a tailored suit in some office somewhere or doing the weather report on the evening news, not passing out speeding tickets and arresting drunks.
“Yeah,” Steve shrugged. “I mean, I kind of have this thing about taking care of people. Keeping people safe, you know? I didn’t realize it at first. I just thought I was doing what I needed to do. Our police chief, Hopper, was the one who gave me the idea, actually. He said he thought I’d be good at it. So, here we are.”
“Wow. Well, I guess I should feel safe knowing one of the first friends I made in Hawkins is a cop.”
One side of Steve’s mouth curved appreciatively at your comment, “Yeah, well, you know.” He shrugged and then appearing a bit embarrassed, he cleared his throat, pointing across the fire to Dustin. “Henderson over there is some kind of computer wizard or something. He has his own IT shop. He fixes people’s computers and builds them and shit. I don’t really understand what he does but he’s damn good at it. Always been a genius, bit of a know it all but he’s smart as hell so I guess he’s earned the right to be. Will’s actually an artist. His work is displayed in the shops downtown and he just had an exhibit in the Indianapolis Art Museum not too long ago. His stuff has caught on lately. Lucas was in the military for a bit and now he’s an accountant. Quite a drastic change for him but, you know, if you need your taxes done next year, he’s your man.” He smirked. “Argyle is a chef. He’s originally from California but he moved here a while back and he opened his own pizza place about five years ago. It’s pretty good pizza. I wasn’t really sold on pineapple on my pizza but it’s damn good. Argyle insists everyone try before they deny. And Eddie’s a mechanic.”
“Eddie?” you asked, looking around the group. You were almost positive you'd been introduced to everyone and you didn’t remember the name Eddie. Your eyes landed on each face, placing a name to it. No. You definitely hadn’t met him. “Where is he?”
“He’s right here.”
Your eyes followed the sound of the unknown voice, landing on a tall, lean silhouette striding out from the treeline. As he approached the fire, the light caught him and you could make out long, wild chestnut waves flowing down over the shoulders of a leather jacket. Heavy work boots crunched over the long dead leaves, left to decay from the winter, bringing him to stand right in front of the flames, across from you. His arms folded over his chest, hands clad in chunky silver rings covering the front of his plain black tee. Cast in the light, you could make out more of his features and he was striking. His jaw was firm and sharp like it had been chiseled out of the most durable material. His lips were plush like two pillows you wanted to melt into. His eyes were the deep brown of the Earth, deep and expressive. It was the type of face you wanted to look at, the type of face that made it hard to look away but you finally managed, your eyes investigating the rest of him.
Rough, jagged lines, pale white in the light of the fire were visible under his jaw and along the side of his neck, leaving you to wonder what had happened. You were almost certain those were scars but the low light and distance made it hard to tell. The tendon along his neck was taught, hard, as if he were tense and angry. His shoulders were broad, narrowing down to a slim waist. You found yourself frozen as you drank in every little detail of him through the flames.
His eyes found yours across the flickering light, those deep brown orbs gazing into yours, feeling as if they were piercing your very soul. Feeling as if they were trying to read everything about you, as if you were a book he could open at leisure, discovering all the secrets within. And those eyes made you want to let him, to unlock the doors, throw open the windows, and let him shine light into all the dark spaces.
It was as if time itself had stopped the instant his eyes locked onto yours. Your breath caught in your throat and you were struck with a sudden, intense longing to leap over the flames, to taste those full lips, to feel those disheveled waves between your fingers, to find out exactly what he smelled like.
What in the hell was happening right now? You couldn’t get your brain to cooperate with you. You were coming off the rails, completely out of control of your body and the way it was responding to this man you didn’t even know. You told yourself it was just your hormones taking over, like a swarm of wild bees buzzing and flying around with no regard for the consequences of their actions. You hadn’t gotten laid in months. It had been the longest dry spell since you'd lost your virginity and your body was reacting to the ridiculously good looking man in front of you. That was all it was, the most rational explanation.
As you became unsteady on your feet, your hand grabbed onto the closest thing it could find, Steve’s arm, to steady yourself. You feared that if you didn’t grab something tangible, you were going to fall into those chocolate pools and drown. That wasn’t what scared you. What scared you was that you weren't sure you'd even want to be saved. Eddie’s eyes flicked over to where your hand had landed on Steve and then back up at you.
“And uh…just who the hell are you?” asked Eddie.
Chapter 3
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@tlclick73 @bebe07011 @eddiesguitarskills @witchwolflea
#eddie munson#eddie the banished#stranger things eddie#eddie munson fic#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x femreader#eddie munson smut#eddie the freak munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson angst#eddie munson series#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson lives#max mayfield#hawkins#ongoing#fluff#angst#smut and fluff#fluff and angst#enemies to friends to lovers#post divorce#falling in love#second chances
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Can you write a fanfic about Elvis having sex in front of the mirror with an employer? 🤩
••••••••• 𝕊𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕊𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ••••••••
Summary: Your boss, Mr. Presley, gets fed up with your attitude, bringing you into his office to teach you a lesson. 18+
author’s note: thank you so so much for your request! I haven’t had a spicy one in a while…so this is definitely the first in a long time for many to come! I’m tryna pick up my speed for writing stuff now, but like, nothing can help my slow ass 😭. I’m surprised no one has timed me and ticked off every time I post a request from centuries ago.
author won’t let y’all read bc she’s got a big mouth: jamming to this whole typing, I hope you enjoy. And like I always say, please, if you’re not pleased with it, tell me and I’ll be more than willing to write you another!
warnings: brief insecurity, mirror sex, spitting, light spanking (f receiving), cumming on mirror (m doing), licking cum off mirror, pet names “good girl” and “pretty girl”, tasting one’s juices, public sex (in office but within store with customers present), swearing umm…yup. You may be wondering how the hell I’m able to listen to a smooth tune like this, and write filthy snit…I dunno.
••••••••••••
“And I said, that it’s out of stock.” You scoff and huff at the prissy customer. This whole argument has been on going since the damned lady came up to you with a bitchy attitude about how out of stock of her favorite lipstick.
Her wrinkled, lipstick-stained lips curl and her nose scrunches, pissed off, “Well then why don’t you get fuckin more?” She barks back, jabbing her chunky fingers into a fist on her hips. You glare back at her and open your lips to snap, until you feel a whoosh of air behind you, as if someone has walked up behind you suddenly.
You feel a stiff hand that curls and molds perfectly onto your shoulder, and there’s immediately silence. The customer only scoffs, rolling her eyes and walking away unamused and pissed off. You turn around when the hand loosely slides off of you, so you turn to whoever was behind you.
Mr. Presley. Your eyes widen but you immediately stay composed when you see the frown on those precious lips, and a sigh escape from your boss. “This is the 6th time you’ve upset a customer.” His buttery, honeyed accent speaks out to you, and you just cross your arms over your chest. Ruthlessly, carelessly.
He takes a step closer to you, and you can almost inhale his tangy, spicy cologne that lingers on his suit that he wears. A dark violet v-neck, with a dangling chain that rests against the nestles of chest hair that peaks out. You bite your lip, now he’s definitely got your attention. “I said, this is the 6th time you’ve upset a customer.” He speaks out, more firmly and stern.
You finally raise your chin and glance up at him, with a shrug of your shoulders. “I don’t know what to tell you, they’re all here and gettin’ at me as if it’s my fault the items are out of stock.” You say, standing your ground. He inhales deeply and breathes out, clearly bothered and sick of your attitude. “But the least ya could do, is tell ‘em nicely. Do you not care?” He sighs, and your eyes meet his blue, dashing gaze.
There’s a silence that grows, before he smirks softly and steps a little closer. Your plump breasts nearly touching his broad chest. “Unless, it’s for a different reason?” There’s teasing in his voice. And you purse your lips, “No Mr. Presley, I do care…and besides what other reading could there be?”
A smirk widens on his lips, chuckling lightly, “you could be wanting my attention, huh?” His voice drops to a sultry low. Your cheeks immediately run warm, burning pink. You then decide to cock your hip out slightly with a little “humph”, grazing his hip with yours. “Maybe I am?” You play his game a little further.
You’re suddenly pressed against the wood of his office door, his arms surrounding around your head. He’s dangerously close to your face, breathing hotly against your cheek. “Hun, m’gonna ask ya this okay? Do you wanna go further?” He whispers for consent, finally glancing up into your eyes. With a plead in those blue orbs. You smile and nod slowly, “yes, I do”
You dare, and he gently presses his plump, soft lips to yours. His fine, perfect nose smooshes against yours and he softly groans again the kiss.
He pulls away, breathing heavily through his nose and he smiles. With pink, hot cheeks and a toothy grin, he grabs your hand and guides you to his office chair that’s planted across a large mirror. Plopping down onto the cushion, he pulls you in to snugly sit on his lap.
Lowering your round, tight ass onto his lap. You both glance over at your reflection across, and his eyes fixated on your clothed asscheeks pressing to his growing hard, prominent bulge. He bites his lip and he bucks his hips into your ass, gasping softly at the sweet sensation.
It’s in no time that you both are half naked down, his pants are hung at his calves while you still keep your seat at his lap. He smirks and hooks his smooth, freshly shaven chin to your shoulder. He delicately peels off your panties, and his eyes widen. He stares at the reflection of your beautiful body, while you flutter your eyes closed. insecure.
Your flushed lips that glisten under his office lamp, shadow beneath the locks of curls from maturity. Your dark, wiry, curls of pubic hair. He chomps down onto his lower lip with a mute whine at the back of his throat, as his eyes bore into the delicious sight.
With your eyes still closed, the cool air onto your sensitive parts make you shiver slightly. You stammer out with quick embarrassment, “l-look, I-I uh know, it’s not what uh you like maybe have thought- I-I just d-don’t shave down th-“ with not even the time to explain yourself, you feel his fingers dig into your cheek. “Open your eyes,” he says in a deep, aroused voice. You feel his clothed cock twitch heavily beneath your thigh.
You flicker your eyes open just to have your chin forced to drop down and glance into the mirror. You gasp softly at how wide your legs are open and exposed, your vagina pratically on display for him. “This is what beauty is, ya hear? Dontcha doubt it.” He speaks out firmly, before pressing his lips to your shoulder. “Okay, hunny?” He whispers warmly, his tone a little softer that moment. You nod slowly and he smirks. “That’s better, pretty girl.”
It’s not long til his tip prods at your sticky, wet and warm entrance. Your pubic hair curls and tickles at the shaft of his cock, and the sight alone makes him whimper softly. “Okay pretty girl, wantcha eyes open and on the mirror. Watch me fuck you nice and how a man should, ya hear?” You nod weakly, flickering your eyes up to the cloudy mirror across. The jaw dropping sight ahead.
His hairy, thick and jiggly thighs all spread and between yours to secure your place atop of him. His red tip pressing against the delicate skin of your shiny, wet womanhood. Both glistening from the evident arousal of yours and his. You gulp and swallow before you drool an even messier lake on him.
His fat, red and tender tip slowly enters, and his eyes already roll to the back of his skull from just the feel of your walls engulfing his length into you. “F-fuckkk,” he heaves out and bites his lip toughly. Grabbing your hips to stabilize you, “taste your delicious self, pretty. Taste yourself.” He sneaks a tan hand to your thigh, dipping his fingers between your joined bodies. Your sticky juices gather on his fingers before he finally picks up his head and glares into your eyes through the mirror, ignoring for now the burning and sweet sensation of your pussy.
“give ya self a nice good lick, ain’tcha sweet?” You both watch as your pink, wide tongue drags against his fingers. Lapping up your own tangy, yet honey savored arousal. You swear you feel him twitch inside of you, milking out more precum to join your sticky walls. He quickly lingers a hand down, and gathers more arousal to his fingers and brings them to his own lips. He makes sure to create fine contact as he puts them into his lips and sucks them eagerly, moaning at the taste.
“Fucking hell, is this why you wanted my damn attention? To taste this delicious pussy of yours?” He groans out, popping his fingers outta his mouth and wander his wet digits to press directly to your sensitive hooded clit. You nod lazily and he eases his cock into you with a smirk.
His balls press to your pussy lips when he bottoms out and you both string out guttural, throaty moans out of you. His jaw dropped and breathy pants escape his lips as he watches himself fucking into you through the reflection.You can’t help but stare with half-lidded eyes as you slightly jump with every thrust of his.
And he only picks up his pace.
”this why ya being bitchy to them goddamned customers? Ya wanted mah attention didn’tcha?” He gasps out, his fingers hooked onto your meaty hip and he moans. The sticky sounds of his pounding fill the air. He feel one hand release your hip to smack a firm palm to your fine ass.
“answer me! Ya wanted this didntcha? Tell the fucking truth.” He growls through gritted teeth, you both still watching the mirror and panting in sync. You nod vigorously and grip the armrest to the creaky seater. “Yes! Oh gosh, y-yes! I wanted this!” You scream and blurt out, not giving a rat’s ass if customers were just outside his office door. Especially that bitchy old lady.
He smiles and kneads your stinging ass cheek into the palm of his hand, then mapping his hands to the mound of your pubic hair and lightly tap on your sensitive clit. “Pretty good girl, aren’t ya?” He smiles and hums out, rubbing then tight circles on your nub and you immediately throw your head back. He lets you, wanting not to bother you while to watch this mesmerizing image.
His cock sinking in and out in a rhythmic pace, his cock glistening between your spread pussy lips as he quickly stuffs himself back into you. You feel a sweet bubbly sensation in the pit of your stomach, and your vagina wall’s immediately squeeze his cock. He moves his fingers faster against your hood, and you whine out, “oh, s-shit, shit, shit!” Your head rolls back and forth, glancing at the mirror heavily with ragged breaths. And he only goes on.
“Now ya as tight as a Virgin? Gon’ come on my cock like a good girl now right?” Is all he says, before you see stars flooding your vision. Sex has never felt this good, and you don’t know if it’ll ever be again. He rides you through your orgasm, chasing his high.
A loud groan echoes through the room, popping his cock out of your sweet pussy to release spurts on spurts of white, creamy, strings of sperm. There’s a moment, to catch your breath, and your eyes flutter open to meet the sight. The mirror now messy with his seed that drips down slowly. Feeling brave and teasing, you wobbly crawl off his lap to kneel on the floor and lap up his cum on your tongue. You pull away, to swallow and his eyes widen.
He smiles a big one on his handsome face, his blue, now navy blue eyes speak only lust. Clicking his tongue and shaking his head, “now you’re a real good girl, not wasting a drop of my cum now? All’s forgiven. Hell.” He sighs out, his shiny cock soften against the light bush of his dark curls and you only hum softly.
“Sounds good”
••••••••••
Author’s note: How was that folks? Anywho, I feel like the most hard/tiring part of writing is the tags. You gotta make sure it’s in just the right catergory and all that. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, mwah!
#elvis#spotify#elvis presley#elvisaaronpresley#elvis imagine#elvis fanfic#elvis x y/n#enjoy!#elvis fanfiction#Elvis smut#elvis smut request#elvis x reader smut#e
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Lump
{Sam Drake x F!Reader}
This is a lil love letter to those of you who feel like you’re not worthy of being loved in the same way as those in smaller bodies. Not expecting much traction on this, but it's self-indulgent and I'm just happy I wrote something. Though primarily written with chunky gals (me) in mind, I still hope this can soothe anyone who feels uncomfortable in their own skin. CW: There’s a subtle discussion of fat fetish subculture here (it is absolutely NOT glorified- Quite the opposite, in fact. No shame to those who dig that kind of thing, but it’s not my vibe which I’m sure you’ll be able to tell), so if that’s something you feel uncomfortable thinking about, pls move on. Of course, I wrote this with Sam in mind because I’m a whore, but honestly, this could just be anyone. I’m struggling big time, but this was a nice spoonful of medicine and a necessary moment of reflection. Not for everyone, but regardless, I hope you enjoy :) x
Masterlist
Sam’s hands are used to ‘rough’. To unforgiving iron bars. Crumbling stone. Splintered wood. The stippled rubber of weaponry grip. He’s got the callouses to prove it.
For a long time, it was all he knew. It was him. Rough. There was never a need for contrast.
He thought that it would demand caution. To have to sacrifice everything he’d started to reclaim and do for himself. He doesn’t want to be careful. So for a long time, he avoided anything ‘soft’.
But with her, he realised that not only did he want it, but he needed it. With her, he can indulge. With her, he’s able to grab and squeeze and tug with abandon. To soothe the soreness of his fingertips within her smooth, yielding ‘soft’.
To him, she is everything, even when she saw herself as nothing.
She’s not a reflection of glossy front covers. Nor the proportionately sculpted forms that stand sentinel in the halls of museums or the centre of fountains. She doesn’t believe it, but to him, she has always been a masterpiece unto herself.
‘A lump’, she used to call herself. A playground insult. Not harmless, but on the surface, tame. “I’m a lump compared to all these girls.”
He was cooking— the first time he heard her say it. She was perched on the counter, traipsing from one online clothing store to the next, paying more attention to the models than the outfits. He laughed. “Ridiculous,” he replied, shaking his head as the wooden spoon in his hand cut through bubbling ragu- a specialty. A comfort. Reminiscent of his mother’s existence. He held the spoon up to her lips, prying her face away from blue light with a hand stretched over her thigh.
To him, the word ‘lump’ meant discomfort. An anomaly. A flaw. A slab of something undesirable that took up space much to the disdain of others in its proximity. In his eyes she was the furthest away from any of those things he thought possible.
“Here. It’s missing somethin’.”
He lied.
He knew it was perfect. He just wanted to watch her eat. To pass his mother’s affection to her.
She hesitated, then shook her head.
He frowned, hand moving from thigh to soft jaw. “Open up f’me”, he urged, eyes narrowed.
A warm flush tinted her cheeks and eye contact broke.
For a fleeting moment, she considered whether or not there there was a deep-rooted fetish involved in his attraction to her. So she asked him if that was the case.
When he realised what she was implying, for the first time, he saw the cracks ran deeper than just a childish nickname. She was so worn down that she truly believed the only way someone could find her attractive was if they reduced her to some sort of Machiavellian fixation.
He realised that the thought had crossed his mind once before. And he hated himself for it.
He’d read about it years ago- it was featured in some dirty contraband magazine whilst he was inside. He found himself reflecting on it again after he’d gotten hard from her licking cake batter off the spoon when he’d visited her apartment for the first time. But he had come to the conclusion the whole kink thing wasn’t him. This wasn’t objectification. Control. Coercion. He’d feel the same regardless of her size.
It wasn't about the superficial aspects of her appearance or some strange fetishisation of consumption and weight, but rather about nourishing her in every sense of the word. Mind, body, soul.
She’d called herself a lump. This was merely his way of telling her that she was wrong. That she’s just as deserving of food and love and sex as anyone else.
And with that realisation, the fear that had momentarily gripped him slipped away as he swore there was nothing untoward about the way he felt about her.
He understood the depth of his feelings. For once, his words didn’t fail him, and he explained it plainly: he loved her. All of her. He’d found a sense of purpose and belonging he had never known before. He wanted her to feel cherished. Cared for. To make up for everyone who had ever done her wrong, and equally, showing that he was capable of nurturing in a way that he’d not been shown since his childhood. This was therapeutic for him.
Months later, he’d caught her crying in front of the mirror. An outfit not looking the way she wanted it to. And she did it again. Called herself a ‘lump’. This time, he didn’t laugh. She argued back at him when he told her not to call herself shit like that. That she was gorgeous just as she was. She called him a liar. Spat venom. But he kept on repeating it. That she’s beautiful. That she’s everything. Again and again, even as he fucked her against the mirror, kissing away tears and revering in every inch of her beauty that she despised.
She cried again that night. But this time it was because he had finally begun to turn her self perception on its sorry head.
He needs the soft, yes, but here she realised she needs the rough. The persistent reminders and the tough love.
Sam’s insomnia is a blessing now. He listens to her breathe and watches her eyelids twitch, smiling to himself as he wonders what she’s dreaming about, legs tangled, skin on skin. She hugs his arm into her chest as his other traverses over the curves and bumps and dimples she’s trying so hard to fall in love with the same way he has.
He whispers words of adoration, hoping they'll seep into those dreams, mending the cracks in her fragile self-esteem. And more. Kintsugi.
Sam sighs into her skin. Once upon a time the things he whispers to her would’ve been a front. Cheap flattery. Dive bar bait. Generic honey that drips off of the tongue and down into strangers’ ears so they get lured in just long enough for a moment of selfish pleasure.
But now the honey comes from his heart. The pit of his stomach. The deepest recesses of his mind. Genuine and raw. Just for her.
It’s frightening. One day you’re single and proud of it, swearing never to shackle yourself down with commitment and societal expectations, and the next, you’re ready to lay down your entire life for the sake of helping someone realise their self-worth.
He knows that loving her isn't just about declaring shallow affection— it's about showing her, in every tender touch and lingering gaze, that she is worthy of worship, exactly as she is. And as he holds her close, thumb smoothing over her cheek as she sleeps, he vows to spend a lifetime proving it.
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A lightee ask than usual but do you have any food or eating habit thoughts?
Ooohooohh, I did a whole ass seminar on the history of food. Failed it because I almost bled to death but I got to keep all the material! I've got.... a lot of thoughts and feelings about food culture. Too goddamn many, tbh. This got really long so I'll have to do a part two for other characters if wanted but lol enjoy.
Alfred:
—Actually pretty gourmet little shit when he's got time and effort. He's made food Maria loves so often she has to give up on pretending she didn't enjoy it because fucking hell, he makes good chilaquiles after they've been drinking and fucking. There is, however, a non-zero chance he hasn't eaten a vegetable since the Nixon administration.
—With that combustion engine metabolism, he's also perpetually hungry, so he eats whatever is around him. His guts do not like this, especially when it's a lot of dairy.
—He has that kind of lactose intolerance that's tied to his health and stress, so if he's been particularly freaked out lately, he'll remind the world of his nuclear arsenal when he's got to use the toilet after that triple cheeseburger with a side of deep-fried cheese curds.
—He's a stress eater too. He eats every negative emotion he's ever had especially when he's trying not to binge drink or do drugs.
—He’s exceptionally food-motivated. They didn’t call one of his first major historical eras ‘the starving time’ without reason. He has preferences, but food is also food, and he’ll genuinely enjoy it in most forms as long as it's not rotten or otherwise godawful. Cowboy coffee and beans for ten days straight, and he will genuinely be the only man on that cow trail not sick of it by the end.
—This also goes into why he’s so generous with food. He’s big on homemade food. He’ll make a whole big ass batch of like some sort of mac and cheese, and all the neighbours will get a big ol’ bowl of it with an ‘oh just return the Tupperware whenever,’ and it will genuinely be one of the best things they’ve ever eaten in their lives. Europeans recoil in horror, but our portion sizes are almost never single servings. It’s a generosity and hospitality practice except drinks. He really will down like a 2 liter of Slurpee in a single sitting.
—He doesn’t mind eating alone. Actually prefers it sometimes. He loves eating in his car. American frontier culture, especially mountain men, had an often hyper-individualized, almost mythic culture of spending long periods alone in the woods and not being very sociable; thus a lot of situations where single servings were a thing, eating alone in quiet without something to do can be a real goddamn luxury.
—He’s a really big protein guy with his metabolism. Sometimes exists on protein shakes but is more often a beef or barbeque or ham or alligator jerky. And a somewhat chunky Alfred is a healthy Alfred. A perfectly cut no flab Alfred is an Alfred who might be severely dehydrated and on several kinds of uppers.
—He has better tastes than Arthur who didn't really realize food was supposed to taste good until like ten years ago but his combinations can be equally wild and unappetizing as they are batshit tasty.
—He loves spicy food. He's got so many opinions about hot sauces.
—He’s always hungry. If he isn’t hungry or turns down food, its genuinely a bad sign. If he turns down anything or just is just picking at it his food alarm bells should be sounding. He’s either about to declare war or puke all over the table or keel over dead. Peckish or food coma is his default state. Like if he was a smaller guy someone would say he’s got a binge disorder but he’s tall and beefy so he’s pretty okay.
—Incredibly adventurous eater too. People will assume since there’s that old school culture of Anglo-American who eats the same 7 meals every week and might keel over dead if the meatloaf is slightly different he’ll be a bit hard to please but then he’s absolutely charmed by everything from Korean kimchi to Lithuanian Lašiniai.
—He loves anyone who feeds him, just got to be a bit careful because he’s got surprisingly delicate stomach for the world superpower.
—That American obsession with authencity means he’s surprisingly good at remembering people’s food culture or eating norms. He figured out chopsticks in ten seconds and quickly picked up the cues and manners of eating in any given culture. Still struggles with modulating his voice and personality, so he can often come across as rude, but he's so excited to do so. It's almost frustrating how happy he is to try and adapt to people around him and how happy he can be to fit in.
Matt:
—He's a very good cook when he's putting in effort for other people, but he's not really like Alfred, who he'll make a whole ass meal for one just to relax on a Sunday.
—He does tend to eat more vegetables than Alfred, but only because his northern vitamin deficiency has him binging them when he can afford them or they're available during the summer.
—He can be weirdly picky on his own, but no one ever really needs to ask about his favourite food or how he likes anything because he always just goes with the flow around other people. “Just get me whatever you’re getting.” comes out of his mouth often.
—There's a lot of sour cream/crema and yoghurt/coconut milk involved when he eats Mexican or Indian food for as much as he loves it.
—Katya was singlehandedly responsible for his ability to maintain a normal weight during the 20th century by adding rye bread and perogies/vyrenki to his diet. He craves mushroom-umami flavours when he misses her, which is most of the time.
—When he’s normal and eating the Anglo-North American diet, but he isn’t always eating it, he gets some strong sugar cravings, especially when he’s west of Manitoba. He’s as fond of birch syrup as a flavour as he is maple; there’s just less production. But the kind of deprivation he got and his own tendencies to not eat sometimes cause white sugar to just straight-up burns.
—There's very much something of François to Matt's dietary habits, but less in his personal tastes and more in that he might be more sensitive to flavours. He has that kind of discerning and slightly oversensitive palate, but he’s a shitty perpetually broke frontier settler colony. He knows better/feels too guilty/is too embarrassed of himself to really indulge it.
—He kept too much of his peasant communalism in his eating habits. Where Anglo-American communities did have a lot of cooperation, communal eating was a special occasion. The norm was based on the individual household. In contrast, French Canadian habitants still technically lived on medieval land plots and owed labour to a lord while also having a culture of seasonal male work, so Matt grew up used to communal ovens and eating most of his meals around others. Later, in Arthur’s jurisdiction, it was usually the same. He got a plate of whatever he was given, and it wasn’t something he had ever had to initiate himself.
—Partially, he's sometimes exceptionally bad at eating when he has to choose to do it himself. Especially since the Americanization of the food culture took hold in the '80s and '90s. Whereas Alfred is food motivated from going without when he was little, Matt learned how to block out physical sensation until he collapsed because it was rare that someone, including himself, cared about what kind of state he was in. He just doesn’t eat at all when he’s stressed or anxious. And now it's his sole responsibility to do so as there aren’t the same community structures. He has a lot of Alfred’s abundance now, all the brunch and BBQ places anyone could ask for, but it hasn’t meshed with his eating habits. His people gave up so much of their communal eating in exchange for various choices and then wondered why they were so lonely. So he’ll just microwave a potato or a packet of Kraft dinner a day for a week straight and wonder why he feels dead because, technically, he did eat something. It’s seriously a miracle he got as tall as he did.
—Feed him nothing but hardtack for three years, and he won't complain until he's dropped dead of scurvy. If Arthur puts some sort of godforsaken mixture of plum sauce or gin-infused spag bol in front of him, he’ll compliment it before he disassociates to get at least some of it down.
#the ask box || probis pateo#hws canada#hws america#meatsack mechanics || the sociology and biology of nations#matthew || my country is winter#alfred || o beautiful for spacious skies
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LA!Buggy the Clown x Fem!Reader Enchanted meeting Part 2
Clown fuckers of the world unite!
Part 1
Chapter 2 my loves! I forgot to mention this in my last post but please comment your thoughts! I want to see what you all found humorous and what you’d like to see more of. If there are any tags I missed feel free to comment on them! :3 <3 Btw, the reader almost kisses the clown. ON WITH THE SHOW!
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“I can’t fucking believe you convinced us to do this.”
Zoro was being a drama mama in the corner of the massive tent you built. Who knew that a 120-berry tent would come in handy? After a little bit of sweet talking you managed to convince some of the entertainers to sell you a tent the Russian circus could be proud of.
Everyone was able to fit inside and even used the piles of salvageable goods for makeshift walls. Zoro had gotten ready in a black fitted vest and some casual grey slacks. You were applying some smoky black eyeliner and purple eye shadow with a light hand. “Sanji finally got Usopp to stop crying. I don’t think it’s healthy for him to be here right now. I mean he finally put down that piece of wood.” This ship was more than a vessel, it was your home. Where Sanji cooked meals, and everyone took their place beside each other.
“Yeah, well, it would boost morale. Let’s try to put on a brave face for the others tonight." Your offer of reason just made him sigh, "Fine. But then back to reality." You roll your eyes and shoot him a smile. You knew Zoro was just being a butthead. Exiting your “room” together allowed you to bump into Robin and Chopper. “Looking cuter than usual, papa.” Chopper basked in the compliments and gave you a twirl. He found a big red bowtie and some matching blue shorts.
Robin was wearing a royal blue jacket that resembled a ringmaster's coat. She offered a warm but tired smile. “Where’s Usopp?” “Right here my sweets!~” Sanji emerged with a red-eyed Pinocchio. Sanji was dressed in simple black and blue attire while Usopp managed to find something of a forest green. You yourself decided on a vampy look. A black dress with red mesh for sleeves and a pair of deep red chunky heels. Who gives a shit about practically when you look sexy?
Luffy emerged scratching his rear with Nami swatting his hand away. He was in his usual chances but was convinced to put on a normal T-shirt with a star design. Nami looked like a magician's assistant with a similar smoky black vest and plum skirt combo that complimented her figure nicely. Brooks looked as though he was auditioning for the part of a lion with how voluminous his fro was looking.
You nodded at each other and he spoke, “I’d say we clean up rather nicely for having just been shipwrecked.” It was good to see him returning to his elegant self. “Of course, we can’t just parade around as is. So.. I brought masks!” You gleamed while holding up a shopping bag. A mix of groans and snickering.
Everyone took a mask that hid their face completely or partly. To be fair, it would be easy to spot the Straw Hat crew even without the literal skeleton following around. Seeing the sun begin to dip you all decided to get going before night. On the way everyone soon fell into pleasant conversation while following you and Zoro.
“Okay, first we eat! Then, we can play games.” Luffy cheered while running to the outdoor food court. Zoro (finally smiling) rolled his eyes and chuckled,” I’ll go with him and make sure he doesn’t eat the stall itself.” Robin took Chopper to the bounce house while Sanji’s interest was captured by a woman in a red leotard. Usopp was looking around some of the merchant stalls and you were happy to trail behind Brooks as he began to try his bones at ring toss.
The night was a serene affair with warm, salty air, and a gentle breeze that stirred the surrounding foliage. Sitting on a bench overlooking the vast expanse of the ocean, you felt a sense of happiness and contentment. As you looked around, you noticed that the darkness of the area was a bit creepy, but the beauty of the surroundings made up for it. Your friends had survived a shipwreck and were now enjoying the town's festival, but you had no idea what it was about.
Looking over the crowd, you saw many people, including children, wearing masks of all shapes and sizes. As the newest member of the group, you didn't even have a wanted poster yet. Since you always hid your face, there was no point in wearing a mask, right?
Just as you were about to remove your sweaty mask, you heard deep chuckling, sounds of thunder, and children screaming. The mixture of sounds was strange and unnerving, and you felt a sense of curiosity rising within you. Turning away from the ocean, you followed the sounds and found yourself making your way towards the fun house.
Children began to pour through the back doors of the fun house as you did your best not to bump into anyone. Coincidentally, Brooks and Usopp had the same idea. “AHH Y/N DON’T DO THAT!” Usopp shrieked, jumping into Brooks' bony arms and immediately falling. The surrounding children found this amusing. “It’s not MY fault if you’re so jumpy.” You dusted off your heels and looked around. Things seem to be calmer now but something about the house seemed…. Off.
Brooks seemed to sense your discomfort. “Maybe the lady would prefer if we left this area? We could still catch up to the captain and grab some tea before the show.” You shook your head, ”Nah, I’ll be okay. Let’s go in together though. There’s something strange about this house.”
Taking one last look at the outside the three of you stumble into the “fun” house. ‘Fun house my ass,’ you thought while trying to regain your footing. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness you realized it was indeed an old house. However, it was decorated more to the liking of some 1860s vampires. There was the faint smell of mothballs.
“This looks more like a horror house,” Usopp quipped and began touching the walls. Brooks was silent looking at a skeletal dummy in the corner. You placed a hand on his scapula,” Yeah buddy, try not to think about it too much.” Slowly you all made your way into a corridor that split into different hallways. “Do we split or stay together?” You wondered out loud.
“Ya don’t get a choice, sweetheart.” A gruff voice answered.
Suddenly the floor gave out from under your doormat, “Y/N!!” the unusual duo screamed with hands outstretched. You slide under the floor, barely missing their fingertips. A metal slide was delivering you somewhere but there could only be a basement under the house, right? Seeing a neon light at the end of the circular tunnel you stopped yourself before falling out completely. You placed a hand out to feel some surface before slipping and dropping onto a concrete floor.
“Fuck,” this was harder than the sandy landing you were blessed with earlier. After regaining your breathing and sitting up your eye finally adjusted and noticed that the neon light was actually multiple lights. Surrounding you was a maze of silly mirrors that distorted your image completely. “No wonder those kids got out. But NOOO I just had to bring Scooby and the gang in here!” You rubbed your sore ass before dusting off. Thankfully, your heels weren’t broken and you didn’t feel any bumps on your head.
But, getting outta this one was going to take some skill. You notice that the wood surface you felt was another trapdoor that spits you out. However, it was already closed, and no telling when it would open again. Your only option would be to try the maze and do your best. Sighing you pulled out a little tube of red lipstick from your cleavage. Better to Hansel and Gretel your way out than be lost the whole night. That was if you made it out at all. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. The staff has to do a sweep and my friends wouldn’t leave without me anyway.’
The thoughts you offered yourself held comfort. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel scared. Particularly, it felt as if someone was watching you. Looking around the room and doing a little head shake you strolled up to one of the mirrors and fixed yourself before uncapping the deep red lipstick and touching up your lips.
However, your gaze wandered and you could see something watching you from behind another mirror. “Ah!” you turned around suddenly with your back against the cold glass. Nothing, of course, was there. Simply a figure of your imagination.
But, you knew something was there. And you began to mark each mirror with an angry red slash. Looking over your shoulder gave you little security.
Wait….
Great, now you were hearing things. Because you could’ve sworn you heard a faint,” Yo ho,” and the sound of men's boots following you. “I need to get the fuck outta here.” Step, step, step, step, silence. What was the voice you heard before you fell? It was too deep to be Usopp but also not mature enough to be Brooks. Maybe someone over a monitor was watching you guys? Finally, with mercy, you reached a door that led to a staircase. Taking small quiet steps you held your breath and felt relief when you heard no sounds behind you.
Just as you were about to reach the door it was flung open and strong cold hands grabbed you. “Y/N!!!” You felt a familiar long nose and afro in your face crushing you into a tight hug. Your sweet goofballs have found you! Returning the hug with much vigor you breathed a sigh of relief. “Now don’t you ever disappear through the floor again!” Brooks scolded, waving his arms widely. You let out a soft giggle and he couldn’t help but let the anger melt away. “I can’t promise anything. But what happened to you guys?” Usopp began to spin a wild tale about fighting off monsters and being the one to locate you. “There is Pinocchio ass goes again,” mumbled Brooks rolling his sockets. You could see why those kids were scared. But something deep down inside told you that it wasn’t because of the mirrors. “Let’s get outta here already. I’m sure the others are looking for us.”
The trio made their way to the food court where Luffy was arguing the advertised size of a Jumbo Philly cheesesteak hotdog with an embarrassed Nami and Zoro patting his stomach. Robin was enjoying some warm tea in a travel mug and Chopper had gotten you a big soft pretzel. “Nice job papas,” you mused and rubbed his head affectionately. Sanji strolled up (having just been banned from the kissing booth) and handed Nami a cake plushie. “Something sweet for someone sweet~” She rolled her eyes but accepted the plush peace offering. You tried to shake off the past events but could see Brooks whispering to Luffy and Zoro.
They looked at each other and continued to talk in hushed whispers.
Looking around you realized the booths seemed to be… Deserted. There was no life in them anymore. “I think it’s time for the show. Let’s get going.” Zoro took the lead and everyone gathered their goods. He bumped his hip with yours slightly and you looked up from your pretzel. The green bean haired male raised a single eyebrow at you and you shrugged looking ahead. It’s not like you actually got trapped down there. It was just.. nothing. “It was nothing,” your explanation is accepted, for now, as the Green giant hummed in response. You decided to hang back a little and joined hands with Robin and Nami. Chopper got to ride on Usopp's shoulders for the sake of time.
Arriving at the big top you all paid 4 bounty a ticket. It was a little dark when you first stepped in. Looking around you decided to take hold of Zoro's arm for a little help walking. Luffy whipped out a wad of cotton candy and you traded half your pretzel for it. A hum of excited children and families surrounded you all as everyone took their seats in the middle of the stands.
Suddenly, the spotlight came on and a huge puff of smoke developed inside the ring. Whipping your eyes, you found yourself staring at all the performers. You even saw the lion from earlier! Searching for the man that gave you the flier your eyes tried capturing everyone from the sea of entertainers. Acrobats, jugglers, contortionists, and… a single clown?
His eyes were closed but he stood in the center of all the chaos. Around you, children and parents lost their minds cheering, clapping, and waving to all the performers.
Finally, the clown opened his eyes. He wore a ringmaster's coat, nothing like Robins, and sported a blood-orange pirate hat. Two blue ‘ribbons’ (you guessed) hung from either side of his hat. The boots he wore didn’t look like performance shoes either. And the makeup he wore didn’t look like a typical clown. He had painted his mouth into a permanent blood-red smile. And then you noticed his nose. It looked as though he tapped a rather large orange to his face.
Wait. Did you just see the nostrils twitch as he breathed?
“Huh, that’s pretty strange-” “BINKY?!” Luffy shouted prompting Nami to immediately slap her hand over his loud mouth. “SHHHH!” she hissed into his ear. But she herself looked slightly worried.
The clown man immediately seemed to shift his focus on the group ahead of him. Zoro was now sitting tensely and at attention. “Psst, whose Binky?” you whispered. “Tell you later. Right now, we all need to leave this circus.” Your brow furrowed. Leave? Over a pirate clown?
“There’s no way we could get up without him seeing us,” said Usopp, putting a hand on your shoulder. You could tell his energy was off. “I knew I remembered that voice from somewhere.” Luffy’s smile deepened into a frown. Everyone was acting so fucking weird. You were about to voice your concerns when a familiar voice cut you off-
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, children of all ages, thank you, truly. It will be my personal pleasure to entertain you all this evening.~”
The clown had now stepped closer to your group. Zoro tugged your sleave but you couldn't help take your eyes off the flashy clown before you.
“Oh…”
You caught yourself about to speak but quickly bit your lips together. Not to be dramatic, but his eyes were a really fucking pretty shade of green. The blue tones around his eyes complimented them so well. You didn’t hear much of what he said, only noticing when he waved his hands at the other performers who either disappeared or got into place.
Zoro couldn’t help but spare you a glance. “Y/n, are you seriously checking out the clown?!” He grunted through closed teeth. Quickly, you shook your head no and looked around that stadium. Luffy was still frowning. Nami was holding onto his arm and you could see Robin pull Chopper into her lap with Sanji putting a protective face on. “Damn, clown,” was all you heard from the seats next to you.
Placing your hand over Usopps, you try to offer him some comfort by running your thumb over his hand. The first act was a simple trapeze act with the performers mixing it up at the end by juggling and riding a unicycle out. Then there was the lion and sheep man but the routine wasn’t comedic. However, you couldn’t stop sweeping over the crowd looking for that green-eyed clown.
And from the looks of things he had no problem finding you.
“Mmm,” you let go of your ruby lips to see him transfixed on your face, head tilted. Almost like he was studying you. You quickly looked away from the act and touched your cheek. Wait, Fuck. You must have dropped your mask in the funhouse when you fell. Looking out the corner of your side, you could still see him staring at you curiously. You decided to close your eyes and try to land back on earth.
‘Everything is going to be okay. I’m safe right here and Zoro will tell me what happened when we get back to the ship.’ The reasoning was stopped when you heard loud screams.
“OH MY GOD!”
A mother (presumably) had cried out along with many other children.
Opening your eyes, you saw the clown's body standing perfectly still as the lion’s face made a puffy expression.
“HE ATE HIS HEAD! HE ATE HIS HEAD!”
Regrettably, you couldn’t stop the, “Oh Shit!” that came out of your mouth causing you to gain a few harsh glares from the parents around. Unconsciously rising to your feet, you leaned in closer to see the damage done. “Where’s his blood?” A few children began to cry a disembodied voice could be heard from the lion.
The sheepman ran over, opened the lion's jaws, and the clown's body walked over and plopped his head back on like nothing happened. The stands fell silent once more before more cheering and screams EXPLODED from the people around you.
“Y/n sit down.”
Oops, forgot you were still standing.
The clown seemed to be drinking in all the attention and flashed an admittedly sexy smile. He raised his arms over his head and a hush fell over the people. “Thank you all for your attention. Now for this next act, I need a volunteer please.” If you weren’t interested before you sure were now, even if you didn’t raise your hand. Zoro, clearly annoyed began to tug at your hand, “Y/n sit-”
“Would the young lady with the cherry red lips please step forward?”
You were blinded once more by the other spotlight as you held your hands up to protect your vision. The light dimmed a bit and you could see everyone, staring at you expectantly, excluding your crew mates.
They were busy staring at the clown in front of you with an outstretched hand. Taking his cue, he shot you a wink and urged you forward. If only your feet would cooperate.
“Don’t be shy now. I don’t bite~” he teased while flashing his teeth. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t do something for you. Not to mention there was this little heartbeat down there that started-
“Aww, maybe she’s shy. Everyone! Let’s give this young lady a round of applause!”
He raised his arms once again and began to clap along with everyone. A single gloved hand shot out towards you urging you to take its hold. Softly pressing your smaller hand into it you were then gently tugged forward towards the ring.
However, you couldn’t feel your legs and as you stepped forward your heels betrayed you again, leading you to tumble down the stands into the arms of the clown before you with your lips-”
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And that wraps up chapter two, my loves!!
Part 3 Here!
Please remember to follow and like! Also don't be shy in the comment section! Requests are also open. See you all soon! <3
#opla buggy x reader#buggy x reader#Buggy (One Piece)#YouBuggy/Reader#Buggy/F!Reader#Buggy/Younger Reader#LA Buggy#ReaderBuggy/Y/n#One Piece (Live Action TV 2023)#One Piece (Anime & Manga)#slow burn#friends to lovers#mutual pining#pining#reader insert#self insert#buggy the clown#one piece#monkey d. luffy#one piece luffy#one piece zoro#one piece nami#nico robin#tony tony chopper#usopp#brooks#flirting#sexypirates#captain buggy#eventual smut
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oh god what about when tomura’s baby wakes up from their nap
they’re laid out on his bed while he’s on his pc taking some time to play some video game as a bit of a reward for putting his baby to sleep. the babe is no more than 2 years old — chunky limbs shuffling around on the bed, muffled whimpers coming from the little thing when he notices that papa isn’t laying on the bed with him.
ohh :(( and just imagine his baby’s little pout when he sits up — the chub of his belly poking through his outfit all round and looking like a stuffed bear. rubbing his eyes trying to wipe the sleep away in search of his daddy. n then when he climbs down off the bed he sees the lights of his father’s computer screen painting his skin different shades of colors — a shadow cast upon his back. he gets so excited n happy that daddy’s still there — smiling big with not many but few teeth in his mouth. drool spilling the corner of his lips gurgling out a high–pitched laugh that makes tomura slip off his headset and turn towards the noise.
oh. the way he’d stumble his way over to his daddy’s gaming chair in his cute little lion onesie you dressed him in before you left to run errands. small feet pattering on the wood of the floor till he reaches his father — eyeing him with red eyes that are a carbon copy of his big round ones. huffing and babbling while pulling the sleeves of his father’s shirt so that daddy can pick him up because he wants to game too :(((
tomura picks him up with no problem, safety gloves on and everything saying something along the lines of ‘my little brat’s awake, yeah? comin sit with papa?’ a breathless laugh leaves him when his son lets out a big yawn. the babe settles in his father’s lap — head leaning against his stomach, while tomura rests his hand along his baby’s back — breath eventually evening out and falling asleep. and a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips at the sight of his sleeping son.
#tomura <3#tomura with a baby man :((#just so cute i can’t#his son is so sweet a little pouty and shy likes being held and loves hugs my goodness 🥺🥺#tomura soft#tomura drabble#tomura fluff#tomura imagine#shigaraki soft#shigaraki drabble#shigaraki x black reader#shigaraki fluff#shigaraki x reader#shigaraki imagine#bnha shigaraki#mha shigaraki#bnha tomura#mha tomura#league of villains
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Oh Crow, may I humbly submit a ficlet request? Please, please, please could I please have a ficlet about Mountain shedding his antlers. -Ghoulette Anon
@ghouletteanon it has become apparent to me that every time im sad, i write about creechur mountain being sad. hmmm, will i ever unpack that?
Every year, without fail. He should know what to expect by now, but every time it’s like pulling teeth. Shedding almost adds insult to injury, always immediately following the earth ghoul’s seasonal (usually taxing) rut. It starts with a dull ache that radiates from the base of his horns all the way through to his temples. Much like a headache that refuses to ebb, it’s a steady pressure that blooms at any time of day and doesn’t stop until the shed is over. After a few days, the itching starts—sharp and insistent, a need barely satiated even by the deepest reach of quintessence. The sensation nearly drove him insane the very first time and had him pressing his horns to the stone abbey walls until the sound of cracking marrow filled his ears. He was inconsolable the moment he saw himself in the reflection of the nearby window panes, eyes wild and red-rimmed, hair knotted around the bases of two freshly-shorn off horns. He looked bald, for lack of a better term. Juvenile. Wrong.
Mountain’s used to it now, after many years. Even with the playful teasing from his packmates. He admits he does look a little funny until the regrowth starts. It’s all worth it when he gets their undivided attention when the velvet forms, the soft and addicting texture keeping them coming back to pet and caress him, rubbing their cheeks against his horns like kittens.
This shed though? This shed has him wanting to flee to the woods and never come back. Immediately within the first forty-eight hours, his right horn dropped. Which would be a relief if the pain hadn’t migrated to the left and lingered, the damned thing refusing to drop for three days. It’s the fourth day now, and Mountain sits slumped over at the kitchen counter, throbbing head buried in his arms. The cool of the granite helps some, but the itching sensation makes his ears twitch and his claws dig into his own arms.
“Are we still a unicorn today, big guy?” Dew’s voice is surprisingly quiet, but grating nonetheless.
“Leave me alone,” Mountain groans, tightening the grip of his arms around his ears. Thankfully, there’s no retort from the fire ghoul. Mountain grumbles through another wave of itchiness, fighting the urge to grind his forehead into the edge of the counter.
“Do you want coffee or tea or anything?” Dew asks softly somewhere in front of his head. He hears the little ghoul rummage around in the cabinets, followed by the clink of two mugs being set on the counter.
Mountain shifts his head slightly to peek at him over his arm. Dew looks at him expectantly, but not impatiently. If he squints hard enough, he can see the concern start to furrow his brow. “Tea,” he rasps. Dew doesn’t have to ask what kind, he knows.
“‘Kay,” he says easily. He fills one of the mugs with water, a chunky beige one that Mountain frequently uses. Dew plucks a teabag from the tin, the scent of orange peel and chai already wafting over.
Mountain hums approvingly, but the sound quickly becomes another groan as the itching sensation grows. His ears pin back low and he grabs frustratingly at his scalp.
“Can I help?” Dew asks in a small voice.
“Don’t touch me,” Mountain snaps. He immediately regrets it, seeing the way the fire ghoul flinches. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” Dew reassures him. “You’re hurting.” He reaches out his hands across the counter, palms up, beckoning Mountain to inch forward. The earth ghoul lifts his head with great difficulty and shuffles close enough for Dew to take his head in his hands. Mountain winces when his fingers roam his face and move towards the base of his horns.
Dew traces the outline of the one already shorn. “Does this one hurt?” Mountain makes a noise in the back of his throat, not daring to shake his head no. “Just this one then,” Dew answers for him.
“Yeah. Kinda want to just yank it off at this point,” Mountain says sadly. The fire ghoul frames the base of the still-attached horn with both of his hands, pressing feather-light. A slow bloom of warmth begins to radiate from his fingertips, seeping right into his skull beneath the pedicle.
“Oh,” Mountain chokes out; the heat relieves the gnawing itch almost immediately, leaving only hints of a dull irritation. He has to catch his head in his own hands, the weight of it increasing ten-fold as his eyelids droop with the sudden onslaught of relief. “That is . . . so much better,” the earth ghoul practically purrs, tipping his head further into Dew’s hands.
“I’m glad,” Dew smiles. He removes one of his hands briefly to slide the mug in front of Mountain, dropping the tea bag in and wrapping his hands around the pottery. The earth ghoul trills happily when the smell of simmering spices fill his nostrils, Dew’s fire quickly bringing the brew to life. Steam soon caresses his face, bringing with it its relaxing aroma.
Dew shifts the mug slightly closer and removes his hand. “Don’t faceplant into it,” he teases. He moves to take his other hand from Mountain’s head, but the taller ghoul lets out a low growl in protest. “Okay, okay,” Dew laughs, “a little longer.”
#some soft mountaindew for this evening#ask#ghouletteanon#mountain ghoul#mountain my love#mountain monday#dewdrop ghoul#ficlet#fanfic#the band ghost#the band ghost fanfic#ghost fanfic
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I saw your post about Pamela and I was wondering if you could write some smut for Pamela with a female reader
Warm cinnamon nights
summary: you and Pam take a break in a cozy cabin
Pamela Anderson x f!Reader
words: 1516
warnings: wlw, lesbian smut; fingering, oral nicknames
this one is for all the Pamela lovers :)
Yours and Pamelas relationship was still pretty fresh and as much as you two enjoyed each other's company you wanted to keep things on the low, away from all the media, magazine headliners and radios.
Therefore you two decided to spend a week in a snowy cozy cabin up the mountain, away from the press, away from the world.
You have just entered through the door of your tiny wooden cabin. Stepping inside, the snow from your boots flaked to the ground as you two were greeted by the warmth of the small space.
You watched Pam in her pretty fluffy sweater trying to remove her chunky boots. As she was untying her bootlaces you couldn't help but notice how her cheeks and nose were tinted a slightly pinkish color from the cold breeze, that was nipping at her milky skin just a few minutes ago.
When Pamela finished removing her winter layers she took a hold of her messy hair and placed it a somewhat messy bun, letting a few strands of her blond hair to fall down and frame her face.
She caught you staring and a small smile formed on her lips. She placed her cold hands on both sides of your cheeks and pressed a sweet wet kiss to your lips.
Her lips, cold from the winter wonderland outside felt perfectly against yours. Pamela felt like a warm hug despite her cold hands and lips.
"do you want some hot cocoa dear"
"I would love that"
you answered all smitten because you couldn't believe this woman was yours. You couldn't help the smile that creeped onto your face at the thought. Pamela fucking Anderson was yours.
You watched as Pam moved to the tiny stove in your cabin and put on the kettle of milk. The way she moved around in those leggings of hers with that big sweater made your heart ache. Pamela was so so sweet and good. You just wanted to embrace her, snuggle up to her and never let go.
She mixed in the cocoa powder while leaning against the kitchen counter. Her gaze was focused on the cup in front of her so you could take your time admiring your girl.
Pam finally placed the cup of the warm beverage in your hands and settled beside you on the couch. She leaned into your frame as she held her own cup with both of her hands and brought it close to her face, so she could warm herself up.
You two sipped the cocoa for a while just enjoying each other's presence in the tiny room filled with the smell of delicious cinnamon and fireplace wood. You could see the snow pick up outside the window but you couldn't care less as you were cuddled up to Pamela with fuzzy socks and blankets.
When you two finished the drink you placed the empty cups on the table, now fully warmed up. You placed your elbow on the top of the couch and leaned your head in the palm of your hand, while looking up at Pammy.
Pamela immediately noticed your gaze and turned towards you, a smile decorating her beautiful face. The dreamy eyes you looked at her with, were full of emotion and adoration and Pamela was so greatfull
she got the chance to call you hers.
So she pulled you closer and placed a slow kiss to your lips, hoping she could convey her emotions clearly. You could feel the warmth radiating off of her body as you pulled her closer.
The innocent kiss full of love quickly turned into a kiss of passion and lust. Pam lightly tugged at your bottom lip as she pulled you on her lap. Her hand slowly caressed your thigh while yours were lost in her hair, messing up her bun even more.
The kiss deppened as you two couldn't keep your hands to each other. Pamela was leaving kisses all over. All over your lips, cheeks, face, and eventually moved down towards your neck. Each kiss was more aggressive until the kisses turned into light nipping and bitting.
She sucked the skin on your neck and kissed it after, causing a soothing sensation, while her hands were tracing your breasts.
You were trying your best to hold back the moans that were on the brink of escaping but some soft , rather loud breaths were still released.
You held onto Pamela, with your needyness increseasing as seconds went by. You could feel your skin prickle at her touch, causing you to released a needy moan.
She pulled away for a second to look at the state you were in and smirked lightly.
“Wait don't pull away...not yet" you hurriedly said, needing her right now but she just chuckled.
"Don't worry sweetheart you'll get what you want"
Pamela placed a light short kiss to your forehead before sneaking her hands underneath your sweater and pulling it over your head.
Pamela backed up a little so she could admire her gorgeous girlfriend. Her hands started tracing up from your stomach, slowly with her fingers barely touching your skin, all the way up to your breasts.
Pam caught your eyes for a second and smiled
"You are beautiful sweetheart"
At that comment you couldn't help but look away from embarrassment. Sure you were used to it at this point but something about this moment just felt so intimate.
"Don't hide baby" Pamela whispered as she traced her fingers across your nipples. You whimpered at her touch but looked at her figure regardless.
Pamela was breathtaking, her hair was a mess her blond strands flowing everywhere, no longer secured with a hair tie. The big sweater slipped off her shoulders exposing a bit of her skin.
If that wasn't an invitation for you to remove the piece of clothing you don't know what is. So you pulled the sweater off to reveal the curve of her breast. But Before you could reach out pamela gently pushed you down towards the couch and hovered over you.
She nestled herself between your legs before kissing her way down toward the hem of your sweat pants. She gently tugged the pants down along with your panties dropping them somewhere on the floor before focusing back on the meal in front of her.
She placed your legs over her shoulders and then lightly kissed the top of your clit before giving it a cat like lick. You shuddered at the feeling as your hands found their way to her hair once again. You were so impatient you couldn't help yourself but tug her face closer to you cunt.
Pamela immediately understood and dived in, gaining a loud moan out of you. Your legs closed around her head, locking her in place but your sweet Pammy continued the heavenly work down there.
She licked and sucked on your clit while her fingers started teasing your dripping entrance. You on the other hand were a shaking moaning mess with your fingers tangled in her blond locks.
"Pammy baby please, you know what i want…don't make me spell it out for you"
you whined hoping she will understand and stick those teasing fingers in already.
You could feel her smile again your cunt as she finally slid in two of her fingers. Your body pushed forward, immersed in pure pleasure. Her fingers started pumping in and out, hitting the perfect spot every time.
You hands were still buried in her hair tugging and pulling as you were chasing your high.
Pamelas other hand found her way to your belly where she pushed down to keep you in place. Her tongue sped up the constant sucking and licking while her fingers arched just the right way.
Your body leaned into the pleasure and orgasm you knew was coming. It seemed like Pamela could feel it as well.
“Cum for me sweetheart”
Her voice came out as a bare mumble since she was so preoccupied with you. With the last few licks the overwhelming feeling finally snapped as you came all over Pammy face.
She let you use her face as you went through your high.
Pam finally peeled herself away, her mouth glistening with the remains of your cum. Pamela looked up at you and smiled sweetly.
The scene before you was so arousing, with Pamelas breasts pressed against the couch and her gorgeous gorgeous face covered in your juices. It got you aching for her all over again.
You pulled her upwards and kissed her hard. The taste of your cum was still lingering in her mouth as you pressed your lips together.
You pulled away after the short kiss with your forehead still against hers.
“I love you Pam” you whispered, still holding her close.
“I love you y/n”
You couldn’t help the bubbly feeling you felt whenever she said those words and as much as you would like to reminisce in the feeling you had other feelings at the moment that seemed more important.
“now it’s my turn” you smirked as you kissed her hard.
☆彡⁂𐬺✩★𐬿
#pamela anderson x reader#pamela anderson#pamela anderson fanfiction#pam#pammy#x reader#wlw#wlw ns/fw#x fem!reader#rockstars#90s#fanfiction#imagine
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Hands 🫦🐍🐺
Marvolos hands:
I envision Marvolos' hands being big, and he has slender and long fingers (perfect to curl up and hit "those spots" with ease) but in NO way "creepy" looking. His hands suit his proportions and are actually very graceful to look at. He keeps his fingernails nice too, and has those prominent veins on his hands.
Rowans hands:
Rowan has shovel hands. They're LARGE and thick, he got those big chunky fingers (So when he's playing around down there, youre definitely gonna feel his fingers stretching you out a little.) Rowan's (in human form) fingernails grow more quickly than the average person, so he's a nail biter, his nails aren't as sleek as Marvolos, but he tries to keep them smoothed down as much as he can using his teeth or scratching them against wood.
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An introduction to VR locomotives, part 6/7: the Sr3
So we come to our newest class of electric locomotives: the Sr3, a version of the Siemens Vectron adapted for the needs of the Finnish railway system. Aka the Vector, or as I like to call them, the Chunky Beauty.
A total of 80 hot chubbies were ordered in 2013 for delivery in 2016-26, with an option for 97 further units. And as you can see, we decided to paint them in a sexy livery of green with white highlights, rather than the other way around.
The Sr3 is, in fact, slightly slower than the older Sr2 class, with a top speed of "only" 200 km/h – but it's also more powerful, with an output of 6 400 kW (compared to 6 100 kW on the Sr2). Additionally, the Sr3's are equipped with diesel generators, which will allow them to perform shunting duties on non-electrified tracks, such as around wood terminals, doing away with the need for a separate diesel shunter. Truly a machine that is as versatile as it is attractive.
Alas, things with the chonksters didn't quite work perfectly in the beginning: the automatic train control systems of the trains, which were made to the new ETCS European standards, didn't properly communicate with the existing Finnish JKV system. This resulted in the locomotives doing emergency braking without reason at random times.
With the teething problems fixed, the Sr3 has proven a reliable workhorse – so reliable in fact, that our privately-owned competitor Fenniarail (boo! hiss!) have taken delivery of one Sr3 of their own.
We of course have 58 big... not really sure what their gender is... and counting. But I admit it does look good in Fer's blue too.
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My 2024 Trend Predictions
Disclaimer! Trends are bullshit!!! What’s “in” and “out” is totally subjective and fashion is an art form, public opinion and new crazes have no impact on the real art and following trends is your choice. Trend cycles are sped up so violently by capitalism and fast fashion as a beast, fashion is supposed to be fun.
This list is my opinions as a 19 year old boy who spends too much time online and read too much vogue as a kid. I am not an expert, I just like to talk.
Indie Sleaze
I’m already seeing this one happening, the colored tights under shorts, the fur vests, I think especially with the popularity of saltburn and it’s aesthetics we’ll see a lot more of this in the beginning of this new year. Graphic t-shirts with ironic phrases were already big in 2023, glitter and silver makeup especially is on the rise, this is already happening and I am excited. I fucking love indie sleaze. Nostalgia is a huge impact on trend cycles, I think we’ll see a lot of 2000 and 2010s trends seeing as the generations looking up to teens following those trends in their childhoods and longing to live those lifestyles are now old enough to embrace that dream. I think for people more into alternative fashion this will translate into a emo and scene resurgence that I’ve already been seeing.
Twee
This is based off the nostalgia again, I think a lot of folks who gravitate more towards cottage core-esque fashions and aesthetics are going to start embracing twee. 2024 is going to be a year of embracing cringe and quirky “individualism”, it is the year of the manic pixie dream girl, is is the year of pissing off boring men with “annoying” femininity. I think cutesy patterns, lace, buttons, diy big jewelry and hair accessories are gonna be on the rise. I can see girls making videos about their craft nights on tiktok already. Skater skirts, Peter Pan collars, bangs, Jess from new girl eat your heart out.
“Humble” Classy/reverse flexing
People are getting tired of the insistence on being “classy”, I think in 2024 we’re going to see a lot of celebrities trying to seem humble and average and down to earth. I think we’ll see a lot of brand mixing, super expensive designer paired with cheap every day brands, I think we’ll see this in clothes and especially in food. I think we’ll see a lot of branding for fast food popping up alongside that “classy” aesthetic. I think that this will also show up more with thrifting becoming popular again amongst influencers but specifically thrifting for designer/up cycling designer (badly). They’ll sell it under a veil of sustainability, it’ll be infuriatingly shallow.
Lightning Round
Pom poms
Feathers (especially hair feathers)
Fur in mens fashion
Metallic makeup
Grungy makeup looks
Full coverage foundations/matte foundations
Peplums (somehow)
Skinny jeans
Jewel toned nails
Short nails
Dainty chokers
Statement earrings
Wood/leather jewelry
Flats
Vintage anime merch
2000s/2010s brand mascots
Mod style
70s resurgence moments throughout (this is wistful thinking I just love the fashion of the 70s)
My Trend Timeline
End of winter into spring- indie sleazing our way into the new year, I think it’s a versatile enough fashion that can be easily executed with what people already have from previous trends in 2023. Everything is set up rolling out into the warmer months.
Summer- I think this is going to be prime time “trashy” early 2000s party girl kind of time. We got a little of it last summer but I think it’s going to really hit this year. Whale tails, chunky low lights, messy makeup, bedazzled jeans. I think we’ll also see some keywest kitten esque looks from the preppier side of things, lots of bright colors and fun jewelry. I think we’ll also get a lot of vintage Americana moments, once again we got a bit of it last year and I think it’ll be brought back.
Fall- peak twee season, especially nearing the holidays. I think we’re gonna see a lot of rich color this fall too, jewel tones, beautiful deep greens and reds, not a lot in clothing but I think definitely in makeup and accessories. Around this time I think the preppier leaning folks will get back into skinny jeans. I think vintage graphic Ts will also get popular around this time, something easy but still interesting. Men’s fashion doesn’t cycle through as quickly so I think the kind of 70s aesthetics I’ve seen a lot of dudes into will continue (but I think they’ll also get in on the indie sleaze, I think for mens fashion it will stick around for fall). I think we’ll see more textures, lace, fur, leather, etc.
Winter- this is right around when I think the forced “casually classy” down to earth bs will start. Twee will continue amongst a smaller group and we’ll see a lot of cute diy gifts and stuff for the holidays, this will also impact the up cycling I think we’ll see from influencers and celebrities. I think hyper-feminine aesthetics will really kick back up, Pom poms, whites and pinks, skirts and big sweaters, Ralph Lauren teddy bears everywhere. It’ll be contrasted by a new interest in grungy/intense makeup looks, thin brows and dark lips, messy eyes, glitter.
I’m very excited for these all to turn out totally wrong and for me to make a fool of myself! But who gives a shit, I’m just saying this all for fun. Happy new year everyone!
- Valentine <3
#masccel#coquette#coquette aesthetic#dollette#dollette aesthetic#boy blogger#faunlet#dollette core#faunlet aesthetic#trends#trend prediction#fashion#style#gaslight gatekeep girlboss#lana del ray aka lizzy grant#vintage americana#twee#indie sleaze#early 2000s#2000s fashion#2000s nostalgia#2010s nostalgia
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