#both had a wild youth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sytoran · 10 months

Text

𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐄 | 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐧𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐭.𝟐

the aftermath of your mindblowingly hot sex with the goddess of lust, natasha romanoff. as it turns out, no one escapes the consequences of their actions.

pairing: goddess!natasha x dom!fem!reader (G!P)

note: once again, howdy, folks! this is the even longer-awaited part 2 to the goddess!nat fic! i am terribly sorry for the wait, hopefully this long chapter will satisfy your needs :)

word count: 3.0k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

Previously...

You, a regular law-abiding citizen, saved the gods by accident. The Goddess of Lust, Natasha, granted you one wish as a repayment. You could've had just about anything, but turns out all you need is right in front of you.

Spoiler: It ends up in mindblowingly hot sex with a certain Goddess.

Now, two months later...

"Baby…" Nataha sighs, her eyelids fluttering close as you move under her sheets.

Or, more specifically, as your tongue moves in her cunt.

There's just something about giving the Goddess of Lust the best head of a lifetime that does it for you. Maybe it's her stupidly sexy moans, or the way she twisted her delicate hands into your hair, or maybe just how sweet she tasted.

Or, maybe, it's the knowledge that you're the only one who can ever make her feel like this.

"Please, oh, fuck," Natasha whines, as you move your tongue in tight little circles against her sweet spot. Not quick enough to make her cum, slow enough to make her feel.

"Oh," she whimpers, hearing the lewd sounds of you eating out her soaked pussy on a Saturday morning. You shift under the blankets, breathing hard as it gets warm.

Worshiping the Goddess as you rightfully should was perhaps your favourite pastime, driving her wild with your fingers and your tongue and your cock.

Which is exactly what you felt throbbing in your pants when a hushed whimper of 'Daddy' falls from Natasha's sweet mouth. Your head spins at the title, just like the first time she had ever called you that.

It was half by accident, really.

On a private rented beach in Malibu, with miles and miles of space and no one else, there you laid under the shade of a palm tree, thrusting into the Goddess with a youthful vigor.

"Oh, you feel so good," Natasha cries, scratching her long nails down your bare back. She shakes with each of your thrusts, melting into your touch like your forgotten ice cream in the Malibu sun.

"Do I?" You tease dangerously, both of your orgasms dangling close to occurrence. "Mhm- Oh, yeah," Natasha responds with a lewd moan, moving her hand down to play with her clit.

That's all the extra simulation the Goddess needs before she's tumbling over the edge, clutching onto you as pound into her cunt.

"Oh, I- Oh, please, daddy!" Natasha shrieks when you harshly pinch her nipple with your free hand. It does wonders for her pleasure.

But as soon as those words fall from the Goddess' lips, she retracts like she's been scorned. You halt your movements.

"Did you just call me daddy?" You ask with a raised eyebrow, as Natasha looks away flusteredly.

"...No."

"Darling."

"No! I mean, well yes, but I didn't mean to!" She tries to move under your grasp, her cheeks turning an incarnadine pink.

You take her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand, and use the other to still her moving hips. The Goddess pouts at you, but you know better than to give in.

"Has the Goddess of Lust never called anyone 'daddy'?" You ask seriously, trying to make sense of her seemingly unorthodox shame.

"It's complicated." Natasha states, squirmimg under your inspective look. She trails her hands down to your cock again, but you deny her of that pleasure. "We're not done here, sweetheart."

"Fine," Natasha grumbles. "That's the first time I've ever called it out, like, in the heat of the moment. I'm always the one doing the seduction and the flirting, so I call my partner that if I think they'd be into it. It's never been… spontaneous, I guess."

"Oh," you say softly, tracing her rib with a ginger finger. "I think I quite like it."

"You do?"

"Mhm."

"Okay, daddy."

"Shut up, sweetheart."

"Make me."

What pulls you out of that blissful reverie is Natasha's whine. You're not in Malibu anymore, you're under Natasha's sheets.

Even then, you've never felt more fulfilled with this glorious woman by your side.

"Why'd you stop?" Natasha asks, pulling the blanket away so she can see you.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss onto her inner thigh. "Thinking."

"About?"

"You."

"Oh," the Goddess replies, evidently flustered.

"What were you thinking of?" she then says, flirtatiously. She adds on the charm of batted eyelashes, prepared for whatever you might do to her body.

What Natasha wasn't prepared for, however, was the tenderness in which you regarded her with, a serene smile and a warm glow on your face.

"What is it?" Natasha says, laughing awkwardly as you litter kisses all over her stomach. You're glowing, sickly-sweet and dumbstruck.

"I love you," you whisper. "I love you, Natasha Romanoff. I love you not because you are the Goddess of Lust but because you have the most brilliant heart I've ever had the chance to feel. I love you for everything that you are, everything that you're not. I love you for your bed hair, and your goofy jokes, and your brilliant green eyes I could melt into a thousand times. I love you boundlessly, across the worlds that divide us. And you don't have to say it back, but just know-"

You take in a deep breath, not realizing that you've spoken so much with quavering breaths like you'd die if you didn't profess your love. Like you'd die if you didn't bare your heart to Natasha. You gulp for air, stroke her face. "Just know I love you. So much. So, so, so much."

Oh.

There's silence, afterwards, like the world has stumbled on its axis and the stars have collided.

Natasha looks at you with an indescribable feeling, like her heart wants to burst out of their seams. It's only when you gently stroke her face that Natasha realizes there are tears on her face.

Why's she crying? Why do you cradle her in your arms with such a ginger tenderness? What did she ever do to deserve this kind of love?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pushed it," you mumble, almost ashamed. You press another kiss on her bare stomach as an apology. "I'm-"

"No, I- Fuck, I love you too." The Goddess voices hoarsely, her shaky tone a far cry from what should be expected of a regal Goddess. "I love you too," she says again, with more confidence, almost as if it would make the words even truer.

That stupid smile is back on your face again, even wider than before. Your cheeks hurt and Natasha's heart melts.

"You love me?" you ask earnestly, and there's such an innocence and genuineness to your question that Natasha almost cries again.

The impact of 'I love you' sinks in. Natasha feels.

She's never felt like this before. She's never loved like this before.

Finally, in the sacred silence, Natasha whispers. Scared to ruin the moment. Scared to tarnish what could be.

"To every universe and back," the Goddess answers, and your world starts orbiting again.

—

Ever since that fateful day of your love confession, the two of you were inseparable. You would look at Natasha with such wonder in your eyes, wonder what you ever did to deserve this, but the Goddess would look at you the same way, and you knew everything would be fine.

She would take you to any universe you liked, across any dimension. From earth-bound lands to intergalactic islands to space. It was as vast as her love for you.

But, you were riding that high with no heed for the consequences of your actions.

You were foolish enough to stay with Natasha, dumb enough to drown out the warning signs, blindsided by the prospect of loving a Goddess.

You should've known, from the start, that you and Natasha were a race against time.

You should've known that it would end up in flames for you.

You should've known better.

—

Since the very day she was born the Goddess of Lust, Natasha had her life laid in front of her.

To exploit that thrall she was given, to seduce men and the occasional woman, to live above and beyond because she was a Goddess.

That had been her life for over decades, sitting comfortably at the top of the chain on a gold throne; Toying with hearts like it was a daytime hobby, then shattering them like glass.

She slept around for the hell of it, just because she could. Just because she was the Goddess of Lust.

Then came along a stupidly charming attorney with a coffee stain on her suit and the most unusual request.

Just like that, her world stopped revolving around what she was supposed to do, and it started orbiting around you.

And, you, were definitely not what Natasha was supposed to do.

Despite how incredible you were in bed. Despite the plethora of orgasms you had brought her to. Despite how she felt her walls to her heart tumbling down around you.

When the two of you shared that passionate confession of love in bed on that fateful Saturday morning, the Goddess knew she was done for.

Which is exactly why she's currently under the scrutiny of Supreme Headquarters: Intervention of Extraterrestrial Liabilities Directorate, aka SHIELD, aka she's completely and utterly fucked.

SHIELD was essentially the Gods and Goddeses' version of a monarchy, that was infamous for its cruel ruling and cutthroat decisions.

"You're a smart girl, Natasha, and never would I have expected something so childishly foolish to fall from your lips."

The Goddess stood in defiance. Despite all her power and her status, she seemed so small in the wide hall, paling in comparison to the mighty Gods that surrounded her.

That previous statement had been made by none other than Wanda, the Goddess of Magic. The woman was a stature of power and composure in her throne, hand poised under her chin like it was a medieval painting.

"I'm not a girl," Natasha snapped at the Goddess, fire behind her eyes. "And I'm very capable of making my own decisions, despite how foolish they may seem in your condescending point of view."

The Goddess of Magic was irritatingly unfazed by Natasha's outburst, flicking that poised hand and in a dismissive wave. God, Natasha wanted to crush that stupid hand.

"Steve, talk some sense into her. I can't bear to hear any more of her senseless arguments." Wanda said offhandedly, looking over to the God of Justice for support.

Natasha wants to retort that she isn't just spewing senseless arguments, but a warning look from the God of Justice shut her up. Of everyone in SHIELD, he was the most likely to give her a fair hearing. Hence his name.

"Natasha, we're not saying that you're incapable of making your own decisions." The blonde man reassures, pressing his hands together in contemplation. Natasha breathes harder than she should be doing.

"We're saying that what you're doing isn't the best," Steve continues, and Natasha is grateful that the eyes are not on her anymore. The God of Justice had a presence that simply demanded respect, an impeccable aura that no one would dare deflect.

"Sleeping with someone not godly is one thing, but entering a romantic relationship with a mortal, a human being, is simply…"

"Unacceptable."

Natasha intakes a short gush of air harshly at the interruption. It's Thor, God of Thunder. For a God who had lived centuries, he was painfully traditional. Narrow-minded, even.

Thor's loud, booming voice carried throughout the hall, from his electric-blue throne at the far corner. Mjolnir, his trusty hammer, was held in his big hands with a firm grasp. Natasha forced herself not to feel threatened.

Thor continued, firm and hard and oh so unforgiving. "Do you want to end up like my brother, Goddess Natasha?"

At that, the entire hall was silenced. The only thing Natasha could hear was her own sporadic breathing.

Everyone, undoubtedly, knew the story of Thor's brother.

Loki, the God of Mischief. The fallen angel, some said. The devil's incarnate, others whispered.

He had used his power for wrong, abused his status to commit the darkest things imaginable. It wasn't before he was banished from the land of Gods, never to be seen again.

Some say he's still clawing his way out of hell. Some say he's destined for a lifetime of hurt.

"Don't you fucking dare compare me to him, Thor," Natasha growls, and the larger blonde man even seems taken aback by the ferocity behind Natasha's words.

"I- I think what Thor is trying to say," Bruce frantically cuts in, in an attempt to mediate the situation.

The God of Science was a bespectacled man with quirky mannerisms, ever the peacemaker. Logic, to him, was most important of all.

"Is that you, Nat, are a Goddess," Bruce continues. "An all-powerful being that transcends the laws of space and time. You have been blessed with such power, such strength, unfathomable to lesser beings. And Y/N L/N, this earth-bound creature who lives and breathes on the very ground we carved, couldn't possibly be who you want to run off with. I mean, we- you, you're so much more than that."

"You're going to love her, Nat? Give her your heart? You, an immortal being? She's going to die some day, inevitably, and then what will be left of you? A broken, desolate mess, grieving for the rest of eternity?"

Natasha swallows harshly. She wanted to despise Bruce, hate his reasonings and refute his logic – but she couldn't, could she? He was right. Bruce was right.

But there was a part in her heart that screamed, yelled, kicked - she couldn't give you up, now. Not when she'd finally found what she's been searching for. Not when she can feel again.

Not when she's found the love of her goddamned life.

"I'm on Nat's side," Tony says, mouth full of a pink-frosted donut, slicing through the tensed silence. He spews crumbs as he talks, but Natasha doesn't think she's ever been more grateful for the man.

Tony was the God of Heroes. Brilliant but brash, proud yet arrogant, charismatic and eccentric. He was a God no one could explain in few words, and for that Natasha was immensely grateful he understood.

"True love cannot be broken," Tony says, folding his arms. "It transcends all else, goes beyond our social status and our physical capabilities and who we are as individuals. If Nat has truly found it, then who are we to judge? It shouldn't be criticized, it should be celebrated!"

Natasha locks eyes with Tony, in silent thanks. The two of them may butt heads at times due to their self-righteous natures, but in the end they were always there for each other.

However, the rest of the Gods didn't seem to quite agree. There was quiet murmuring amongst themselves until Steve began speaking again.

"Let's settle this with a vote. If majority wins, Natasha will be able to continue her pursuit of a romantic relationship with the human and mortal Y/N L/N. If not, Natasha will be forced to cut off all ties with said mortal and they are to never see each other again."

The Goddess of Lust felt her heart clench. Of course Steve would choose the fairest way to determine Natasha’s fate. Of course this would result in a losing battle for her, based on the prior reactions.

“All those in favour of the disallowance of Natasha Romanoff’s and Y/N L/N’s romantic, physical or any other relations, please raise your hand.”

Thoughts of you swam in Natasha’s mind, of you smiling while kissing her hand, stroking her hair while she fell asleep, trailing kisses up her spine on sinful nights.

Thor’s hand went up first.

“I love you boundlessly, across the worlds that divide us.” That was what you had said that Saturday morning, with a serene smile, so gentle it caressed Natasha’s heart. She remembers the warm glow of the sun, the temptations of paradise, the falsehood of the promised land.

Wanda follows suit.

How could Natasha have let it all succumb to this? Why had she let herself grow so soft and malleable around you? The walls around her heart she had spent so long constructing was so easily taken down by you. You, who wormed your way in and made a nest in the center of her universe.

The next hand that goes up is Bruce’s, albeit with an uneasy look from the man, like he didn’t want to be there anymore.

Maybe she shouldn’t have dived headfirst into love with you, professing her feelings so vulnerably. She was the Goddess of Lust, not Romance or any of that bullshit. A long-lasting relationship had been a childish fantasy, much less for someone who was meant to constantly seduce.

Like a final seal of her demise, Steve’s hand goes up, and only then does Natasha realize the tears that have fallen from the corners of her eyes.

There is a deafening silence that follows the grounding decision, and even Tony doesn’t look so aloof anymore. He’s the only one at the table who didn’t raise his hand.

Natasha swallows harshly, in an attempt to calm the building pressure within her.

She swallows again, willing the tears in her eyes to go away - no way in hell would she openly cry in front of the Gods who put her in this situation.

This time, she wishes the ground would swallow her up instead, to whisk her away from this nightmare of a reality and wake up beside you once more.

“You have until sunset to settle things,” Steve says, a painful lack of emotion in his eyes. “If you don’t coincide by the rules, you know what consequences you will have to face.”

For the first time in an eternity, ever since unknown creatures roamed the multiverse and there was no difference between dark and light, the Goddess felt helpless.

Even then, there was only one thing on her mind.

How the fuck was she going to tell you that ‘To every universe and back’ had been a bloody lie?

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @lovebelt05 @girllcver @godsfavouritelesbiann @natashaswife4125 @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33_mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @cqllarbqne @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @wandaromanoff69 @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight @gingerninja1993 @yourfavdummy @iliketigolbitties @scarlttolsn @blackbirdv98 @mxxnligxt @riomiyawakisstuff @alex4424 @0DeadandCold0 @mr.romanoff @mandy-asimp @idontwannabehereatm @daenerys713 @xxsekhmet @marvel_simp @maowlxslay @lizbugwanda @peggycarter3 @flositaa @dooblekhay @aliherrerasz @theo-021 @hopelesslyfalleninlove @secretbackrooms @natasha10273 @justyourwritter69 @theo-221b @wandaromanoff69 @eatkobi @lovelyy-moonlight @morganismspam23 @unexpected-character @rdfgfv

ok i’m literally so tired while posting this ‘cos i just got out of a seven-hour flight like yesterday, but i reallyyy wanted to post this because i haven’t posted anything in so long. anyways I HOPE YOU LIKE THE LORE and just a recap for everyone before part 3:

anyways it’s all set up for more angst and hardcore smut (yes i promise that is in part 3)

natasha - goddess of lust

carol - goddess of galaxies

wanda - goddess of magic

steve - god of justice

thor - god of thunder

bruce - god of science

tony - god of heroes

y/n - basic bitch

#natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #bottom natasha romanoff #sub natasha romanoff #top reader #dom reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #x reader #natasha romanoff #marvel smut #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x reader angst #natasha romanoff x reader fluff #goddess natasha

2K notes · View notes

stillmonsterz · 2 months

Text

my summer girl

pairing: jay x reader

genre: smut, fluff

summary: it's 1975, jay is about to enter his last year of university, and he's still a virgin. however, he plans to change that this summer when he goes abroad to france. the only problem is finding someone good enough to be his first.

warnings: unprotected sex, swearing, voyeurism, dubcon

word count: 7.2k

It was the summer of 1975, and Jay was going to lose his virginity. He knew that he was a late-bloomer; 21 years old, three years of university under his belt, and he hadn’t so much as seen a woman in her undergarments. But contrary to the teasing remarks of his friends, it was his decision. Jay wanted it to be a perfect experience, something out of the fanciful, romantic novels he regularly read in his spare time, or like a movie. He wanted his first time to be complete with red roses on white sheets, aromatic oils dripping from their bodies, and swelling music that led to a sensuous, thrilling crescendo. Jay occupied the time not spent on work, school, and his various hobbies with these grandiose fantasies. While his friends cavorted with the women from their established university, Jay bided his time.

Then he got the best news of his life. As he packed away his clothes for summer vacation, one of his classmates who worked in the school office knocked on his door.

“Jay,” she said, “your mother called.”

Jay brightened; he liked to hear from his parents, and he was fully prepared to brag about both his grades and his prowess on the rugby field. The words that came out of his mother’s mouth, however, dashed away all thoughts of grandstanding.

“Honey,” his mother said as he clutched the phone. “We’re coming to get you shortly.”

“Today? I already booked a flight to visit you guys in a few days,” he replied. “I was just packing up.”

“Well, we’ve had a slight change of plans. We’ve decided to fly to France for a month this summer!”

Jay nearly dropped the phone, but he tried to feign nonchalance. “France? That’ll be a great opportunity to practice my French with the locals…”

His mother cooed, “Oh, aren’t you so practical? We’ll be staying at this gorgeous chateau in a town called Gordes, I’m sure you’ll love it…”

She kept speaking, but Jay was too busy imagining his summer. He wouldn’t just lose his virginity in France, he would be able to have madcap adventures with a gorgeous woman. A wild summer fling charged with youthful exuberance and set in such a romantic country…it was beyond his expectations.

When he got off of the phone, Jay was practically vibrating with excitement. He rushed to his friends’ dorm room- Heeseung and Jake’s room. His own roommate, Sunghoon, was nowhere to be seen. Probably trying to convince his on-again off-again girlfriend that they should take a break so he could “sort himself out.”

Jay burst inside of the room. “Guys,” he said, opening the door with gusto, “I have some excellent news.”

Heeseung and Jake had been sitting cross-legged on the floor and playing a game of Crazy Eights, a game that they didn’t halt despite Jay’s intrusion. “Are you finally going to get laid?” Jake asked blithely, setting down a five of spades.

“Yes, actually,” Jay said, leaning against the doorframe.

Heeseung and Jake looked at each other, then at Jay.

“Really?” Heeseung asked suspiciously, while Jake asked, “You’re not going to visit a whorehouse, are you?”

“Yes,” Jay said, pointing at Heeseung. He shifted his finger over to Jake. “And no to that.”

Heeseung chanced a smile. “You’re seriously going to do it?”

“Yes,” Jay said, crossing his arms. “My family and I are going to France for the holidays. I’m going to meet a beautiful woman, and she will be my summer girl.”

Heeseung rested his hands on his jeans, a smirk on his face. “Your what?”

“My summer girl,” Jay explained, gesticulating madly. The scenes played out in front of his very eyes like a Technicolour romance. “We’ll meet at the chateau, we’ll play tennis together, hold hands, and then I’ll fuck the everliving daylights out of her every single day. Then- stop laughing at me- then I’ll leave her behind, because she’s my summer girl.”

Jay heard footsteps behind him- it was Sunghoon, trotting down towards the room with an annoyed expression on his face. “Hey guys,” he said, walking past Jay and sitting on Heeseung’s bed.

Jake turned to Sunghoon, who was swigging on a bottle of coke. “Sunghoon,” Jake said with feigned innocence, “our friend Jay here is going to find a ‘summer girl’ and ‘fuck the everliving daylights out of her.” Sunghoon choked on his soda as he doubled over in laughter. Jay clenched his hands into fists as his friends teased him. That’s fine, Jay thought, It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character, and judgment. And he had force of character in spades. While they dabbled with whores and sluts, he would find a quality, stunning woman to be his summer girl.

–

As it turns out, not only were there no quality, stunning women milling about the chateau, there weren’t even any whores and sluts. Jay had walked all around the premises of the area in abject horror. The chateau stood by itself, nestled into a forested area with no neighbors for miles. Jay could. The nearest town was a 40 minute drive away, and not only was Jay an unconfident driver, but the town was so small he figured that any single woman was probably single for a reason. He tried to keep up his spirits so that his parents wouldn’t realize that he was disappointed- or worse, attempt to figure out why he was so disappointed. As he trudged through the opulent, spacious chateau, however, he felt a heaviness in his heart and a stiffness in his cock. There was a codgy butler milling around, a cook in the kitchen, and apparently there was a maid. Presumably, they were all related.

Jay slumped onto his bed and sighed. His room was rustic, with dark-stained floors, white-washed walls, and hand-carved wooden furniture. There was a small bookshelf in his room replete with both French and English books, so at least he would come away this summer with a decent grasp of French grammar. Jay groaned again, closing his eyes. He wished that the soft light filtering through the gauzy curtains beside his bed would turn to raucous thunder and gloomy skies, or at the very least a drizzle of rain to complement his mood.

He heard a knock on the door and sighed. “Who is it?”

“Ah, housekeeping,” the voice said quietly. Jay’s ears perked up; that voice sounded decidedly feminine. Then he came back to reality; maids were generally married women who would have little interest in sleeping with the son of the master of the home. When Jay didn’t respond, the woman continued, saying, “Mrs. Park asked to have some tea delivered to your door, in case the flight unsettled your stomach.”

He wished that it was the flight causing him this internal anguish. “Please,” he said, closing his eyes and crossing his arms behind his head, “bring it in.”

The door opened quietly, and Jay could hear the rattle of the tea tray as it was carried into the room and set on his nightstand. His nose picked up on something, a floral fragrance that wafted in a pleasant cloud.

He opened his eyes, and then he saw you.

You were wearing a dark blue maid uniform with a stained white apron, but you kept yourself well. You were groomed well, your nails were clipped short and polished, and your face was bright and sweet. And that perfume…Jay wondered how much you had had to save up to purchase it, or if it had been a gift. Maybe a boyfriend had gifted it to you.

“Did you need something else?” Your voice was so kind, and you looked at him so expectantly.

“No,” Jay whispered softly, “nothing at all.”

You nodded and pointed to a small piece of cloth hanging out of the wall above his desk. In his despondent mood, Jay hadn’t noticed it. “If you need me, you can pull that and it’ll alert me. It’s a bit old-fashioned, but this is an older house…”

Jay smiled. “Any time?”

“When you need something, sir,” you replied, smoothing your apron down.

Jay cleared his throat. “Of course.” He poured himself a cup of tea, dropping two lumps of sugar inside and mixing it languidly. As he sipped his tea, he noticed that you were still lingering nearby. His smirk was hidden by his teacup as he looked you up and down. You must want him already. “Ah…you’re still here, Miss…?”

You told him your name, then said, “I have to be dismissed.”

Jay’s face reddened. “Right. Yes, right, of course. You’re dismissed.” You bid him goodbye and left him with the tea tray. As Jay sipped his tea, his feet crossed at the ankle, his vision for the summer shifted. Instead of wild encounters in haylofts and dirty, wet hot sex in valleys and behind churches, Jay now envisioned himself ravaging you in that little maid outfit of yours. Yes, he thought as his hand slowly crept to his crotch, this was perfect.

He had found his summer girl.

–

Jay was able to quickly ascertain the problem with his plan- you were his maid. And you had to work. While he lounged outside, sunbathing shirtless, you were inside polishing the silver. He would eat lavish dinners, and you were the one who set the table, brought the food, and stood by on hand and foot. While he enjoyed being able to ogle you at his leisure, he started to feel like a brat. What could he do to prove to you that he wasn’t just a spoiled child?

When he would stew over this, he would feel indignant. Why did he care about what the wait staff thought of him? He was Jay Park, and you should be so glad that he wasn’t ordering you to hand-wash his boxers. In fact, what was stopping him from just ravishing you the second you walked inside of his room? He was a rugby player, and rich, and he could get away with it. Just as quickly as those thoughts would enter his head, however, they would be cast out. For starters, it wouldn’t be right. Moreover, it wouldn’t have been earned. He had spent years building up to the loss of his virginity, and he didn’t want it to be with a woman struggling to get away from him. He wanted to seduce her, pliant in his arms as he made passionate love to her on his bed, or on a beach, or maybe on the balcony, or by a river…

Generally, these mental deliberations always ended with him squirting lotion onto his hands and soothing his angry cock the best way he knew how. They were always fuelled by the image of you puttering around the chateau.

You had this way about you that Jay found intoxicating. He would always pretend to read, but he would take peeks at you as you cleaned up. Something about your movements, your manner of speech were all so sensual. The care with which you take care of the house, the knitting of your eyebrows as you scrubbed at a particular spot, the precision you utilized when tidying his room, it all appealed to his more epicurean sensibilities. And, of course, that scent…whenever you left the room, he would stand where you had been and he would deeply inhale its heady aroma.

After a week of this, Jay had come up with a paltry idea. He tugged on the piece of cloth, and within three minutes you arrived at the door. As usual, your expression was bright. “Hello, sir,” you said politely.

“Hi,” he said with a tenderness that would have earned him Jake’s derision. “I would like you to bring me some Earl Grey tea. And bring two teacups.”

You gave him a quizzical look, but you said, “Yes, sir,” and bustled out of the room anyway.

When you left, Jay picked up his small pocket mirror and checked his hair. He unbuttoned one of his buttons on his loose shirt, fluffed out the collar, and parted the curtains so that the light would settle on his face better. He laid on his bed with a practiced relaxation, waiting for you to return.

You came back with a tea try equipped with two cups. Setting it on the nightstand, you smiled. “Enjoy, sir…”

“No, no, you’ll join me,” Jay replied. The way your eyes widened was so cute, Jay just wanted to kiss you.

“Oh…I don’t know if I can do that, I’ve got to polish the silver…”

“I’ll come down and vouch for you,” Jay said, holding one of the cups to her. “Please? I haven’t been able to talk to anyone near my age in a week. I’m going mad.”

You laughed and warily accepted the cup, which you then set down to pour his own tea.

Jay rested a hand on yours and shook his head. “Please, allow me. Come on, sit on the bed.”

You did as he said, leaving a fair bit of space between the two of you. He carefully poured the tea for both of you, willing his hand to stay steady. “How do you take your tea?”

“Just like this,” you said.

“Really? No sugars, no milk, no cream?”

You shook your head, and Jay sighed. “Have you ever tried it with sugar?”

Once again, you shook your head, sipping your tea. “No point in wasting sugar like that.”

Jay gently took your cup and dropped a lump of sugar into your tea, mixing it. “Try it like this.”

You wrapped both of your hands around the cup and took a slow sip. He loved the way you drank. “It’s good like this,” you said. “Very good.”

“Isn’t it?” Jay looked at you closely, and he knew that the warmth bursting inside of his chest wasn’t good for his plan. You were his summer girl, and affection would only ruin that. Jay drank his tea, trying not to stare at you. He decided that engaging you in a conversation might help; reminding himself of the class difference between you two would stave off the feelings blossoming within him. “So…what do you like to do?”

“What do I like to do?” You drummed your fingers on the cup as you thought. “Well…I like to go for walks. The area is simply gorgeous, so I go for walks when I’m not working. I like to sketch, too.”

“You sketch?” Jay swallowed his tea in one painful gulp. “What do you like to draw?”

“Oh…everything, I guess. The things I see. I like to draw flowers, trees. Sometimes people.”

“Would you draw me?” Jay blurted out, setting his tea cup on the tray.

“I couldn’t do that,” you said with a slight laugh. “Imagine how embarrassed I would feel if I made you look bad.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t do that,” he said, leaning against the headboard. “You’re so careful with everything you do. I bet your drawings are lovely.”

“You’re just flattering me, sir.”

“No, no, not at all,” Jay said with a laugh.

“Or you’re trying to get a free portrait out of me.”

Jay shrugged. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes, I can. Someone like you could afford to fly Elisabeth Chaplin here and have her paint a portrait of you,” you retorted. Then you stiffened; Jay figured that you weren’t used to speaking so casually.

He kept his voice light. “What are you saying then, that I should pay you?”

“How much would you pay for a portrait I did of you?”

“For you-,” he began, but just then, you heard a bell chime in a different room. The veneer of nicety came over you, and you quietly put your tea cup on the tray and lifted it.

“Thank you for the tea-time, sir,” you said politely. “Have a lovely day.”

“Yeah,” Jay said, dejected. “You too.”

–

After that, he pulled on the cloth and asked for tea three more times. Three more times he had shared conversations of varying length with you, and something dreadful had happened to Jay. Instead of waves of raw, primal lust overtaking him and pushing him to take you on the sheets, Jay felt warm when he spoke to you.

You told him about your ambitions, about how you had become a maid, your favourite records, your favourite books, how you would walk down the dusty road winding into town and meet your friend halfway. Then you would watch movies with her. You liked movies that were thrilling, a contrast to your own life. Every time you laughed, your eyes shifted, every time your fingers wrapped around the small teaspoon as you swirled a lump of sugar into your tea, Jay felt like the sun was rising within him.

He watched you as you cleaned up. When you would go outside to tidy up the tennis courts after your parents would play a game, he would watch you, sometimes with one hand shoved inside of his pants.

Jay knew that his fantasy of using you as nothing more than a warm body and bragging rights was fading away quickly. He had to refocus his efforts…but how? As he paced around his room one night, he got an idea. A damned good one, if you asked him.

He knew that you got off work at 6 pm, so at 5:59 pm he tugged on the cloth. The scene was set; his bedsheets had been rumpled to mimic a post-coital aftermath, his shirt was sensually unbuttoned, and he had dabbed cologne behind his ears and on his wrists. The record player in the corner was playing a crooning Serge Gainsbourg song. The piece-de-resistance was the bottle of pinot noir that Jay had filched from his parents’ room while they were taking a stroll in the forest, along with two fine-stemmed wine-glasses.

As he heard your footsteps approaching his room, he adjusted his position so that he was lying on his back, one hand draped over his stomach, the other hanging over the edge of the bed.

“Mr. Park?” you asked softly, rapping on his door.“Come in,” Jay said in a low, husky voice.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Come in,’” Jay said normally. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, and Jay smirked at you. You had no clue what he had prepared for you. As usual, you were wearing your maid outfit, and your hands were clasped in front of your apron. Even from here, he could smell your sweet, floral scent; it was almost an aphrodisiac to Jay.

“Come sit.”

You sat at the end of the bed so that his feet were pointed towards you. He shifted his position so that he was sitting up slightly. He leaned over to his nightstand and grabbed the bottle of wine.

“Do you like wine?” Jay asked, uncorking the bottle.

You nodded. “I do. I don’t drink it often, though.”

Jay poured you a glass of wine, making sure not to spill a drop. “This is a nice Domaine de Montille Les Pezerolles, from Pommard.”

“Oh, really?” You swirled the wine around in the glass, and he was pleased to see that you held the wineglass’ stem at the bottom. “It sounds good.”

“Yes,” he said, pouring himself a glass. He took a slow sniff of the wine before taking a sip. “This is from 1969, so it hasn’t completely thinned. In fact, it has a full body- you smell that?”

Before you could speak, Jay continued. “It was a dry summer when they harvested these grapes in Pommard in a premier cru- do you know what a premier cru is? It’s a vineyard where high-quality grapes are harvested. Of course, these aren’t the creme de la creme. The best grapes are harvested in what are called grand crus. Do you know Romanee-Conti?”

You paused, then said, “Ah…that’s a very expensive wine, yes?”

“It’s a type of wine,” Jay said, taking another sip of his wine. “I take it you’ve never had any?”

“Well…no.”

Jay pointed his pinky at you while he held onto his wineglass. “I’ll have to get you some someday. I’ve had a glass once, I believe it was a 1956 La Tache, and you can simply taste the caliber of the grapes. The tannins weren’t strong, more on the silkier side…”

You tilted your head. “What are tannins?”

Jay’s face brightened.Somehow, without knowing it, Jay had spent two hours explaining what tannins were, how wine was harvested, the ideal temperature to enjoy wine, and how he would pair the wine they were currently drinking with a meal. After 8 o’clock had approached, you had quietly excused yourself, bidding him goodnight. Jay had waved goodbye gaily, until he looked down at his empty wine glass and realized belatedly that he had squandered his opportunity to fuck you.

Jay sighed and poured himself another glass of wine, sitting on his bed and closing his eyes. He was running out of ideas, and the third week of vacation was steadily approaching. If he went back to school without knowing what you felt like, what you tasted like, Jay thought he might die.

His dreams that night centered around you lying on his bed, naked save for a black pair of pantyhose. Jay was pouring that wine all over your body and sucking it off of your breasts, licking the sweetness from your stomach like a madman. He poured wine into your mouth, and you kissed him back so that he could drink from you. When Jay woke up, the taste of pinot noir was heavy on his tongue.

–

The next day, after breakfast, Jay knocked on the door of his parents’ room in the chateau. His father opened the door, smiling at him.

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Park said, affectionately ruffling his hair. His father was wearing the same set of pajamas that Jay wore

“Dad,” Jay said quietly, “I need to speak with you.”

His father’s eyes narrowed in confusion; Jay’s expression was earnest and his tone was pleading. “Sure.”

Once they were safely inside of Jay’s room, Jay sat on his bed. His father joined him.

“Dad…” Jay hesitated, unsure of how to word his question. Finally, he said it as plainly as he could: “How did you win Mom over? I mean…how did you approach her?”

Mr. Park’s eyes twinkled. “Has someone caught your eye?”

Jay tried to ward off his father, who was nudging him in the ribs with his elbows. “Not-not quite, Dad. Just…for the future, you know? For the future.”

Mr. Park laughed. “Sure, son.” He looked up at the ceiling as he thought, and Jay looked directly at his father. “Well, it wasn’t easy. I had to chase your mother. She was popular, beautiful, and smart, so it wasn’t an easy task. But she said that what she enjoyed was when I would send her flowers.”

“Flowers?”

His father shrugged. “She said it was such a classic gesture, it made her feel like I was more of a traditional man. Not someone who would just toy with her emotions then cast her aside like so much filth.”

“Flowers,” Jay repeated, his eyes darting around. Of course. Flowers.

“I was also honest about my intentions,” Mr. Park continued. “I knew that she was desirable, so I didn’t want to waste time. I told her how I felt and showed her my cards. That might not work for every woman, but your mother and I thought- think- similarly. And that’s what you want to find, Jay. Not someone who mirrors you, but someone who thinks just similarly enough to you that you’ll hardly argue, and differently enough that your arguments will be interesting.”

Jay smiled at his father’s joke, but he quickly became lost in thought. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ve got a lot to consider.”

Mr. Park ruffled his son’s hair again. “Glad I could help, sport. I hope things go well with this girl.”

Jay smiled at his father affectionately. “Yeah, me t-,” Jay’s face blanched. “I mean, there is no girl.”

His father laughed as he left the room, and Jay sighed. At least now a plan was forming, something concrete.

–

Jay spent his entire afternoon wandering through the forest bordering the chateau searching for flowers. He brought his thick canvas bag with him, as well as a pair of shears. Every time he saw a gorgeous flower, he snipped it carefully and placed it into the bag. Violets, white flax, buttercups, sheaths of elderberry, red and purple poppies. Jay had to work fast; he wouldn’t forgive himself if the flowers even slightly wilted before you could enjoy them. As the sun set, Jay’s fingers were caked in dirt, sweat coated his brow, but his bag was filled with various, fragrant flowers. To his delight, he realized that their scent was similar to yours, and he walked towards the grounds of the chateau with his nose buried in a handful of flowers.

You lived in the servants’ quarters, which was a smaller house located on the edge of the premises. It was past six o’clock, so you would surely be there now, washing up. Maybe you had already changed into something comfortable. Jay darted inside of his bathroom, cleaning all of the dirt off of his nails and changing into a loose shirt and linen pants. He slicked his hair back and applied cologne. Using a light blue ribbon from a package of artisanal biscuits, he tied the flowers together into a rough bouquet. Jay arranged the flowers carefully, placing the violets at the front and tucking the elderberry flowers as accents.

Jay swallowed thickly and walked over to the servants’ quarters. He knocked on the door, and as he waited for someone to come to the door he reminded himself that he was Jay Park, the son of James Park, someone to be revered, someone to be respected.

To his delight, you answered the door. You were wearing a long nightgown, and your smile was so soft and dreamy Jay could have melted.

“Hello, sir,” you said, leaning your head against the doorframe. “To what do I owe this honour?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Then he thrusted the flowers towards you. “Here. For you.”

You beamed at him, and Jay knew he would have spent a month traversing that forest if it would make you smile like that again. “Thank you.” You received the bouquet, touching the flowers delicately. You closed your eyes and took in their scent.

Jay lingered outside of your door. He felt like he was being split into pieces. He wanted to caress your hair and kiss your cheek; he wanted to barge into your house, toss you on your bed, and take what he wanted from you; he wanted to run away until he was a better man, a stronger man; he wanted to be one of the flowers you were stroking, the perfume you inhaled.

You looked up at him. “The butler and the cook won’t be back until 8,” you said quietly. “They’re still at the chateau.”

Jay’s breath caught inside of his throat. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. So if you liked, we could go inside and talk?”

Jay’s eyes glowed. “Yes, yes, of course.”

You led him inside of the small home; there was one large room that constituted the kitchen, living room, and dining room, a bathroom, and three bedrooms that were hardly more than a cot and a dresser. Yours had drawings stuck on the wall, a threadbare blanket covering the bed, and a dresser that was covered in your makeup, hairbrush, and other toiletries. Jay sat on your bed and frowned as he looked around his room.

“What is it?” you asked, setting the bouquet on the dresser. “Not to your liking?”

“That’s not it,” Jay said, his eyes fixed on your drawings. “It’s just that you deserve something better.”

You smiled at him. “Do I? Why?”

“Why? What do you mean, why? You’re…you’re too good for this,” Jay said, gesturing wildly.

“So where should I be?”

So many words sprung to his mind that they clogged in his throat. You should be in my bed, in my college, in that chateau, on a beach being ravaged next to the ocean, lying in a flower field, anything except being a maid. Instead, Jay looked down at his hands.

“I’ll just get a vase for this,” you said, gesturing at the bouquet. Jay nodded, and as you left he gripped his thighs and sighed. He could hear his heartbeat thumping madly, and the fact that he was in your room wasn’t making things any better. Your scent was everywhere, lingered on everything, and it set his heart ablaze.

With a furtive glance at the door, he leaned down to your pillow and inhaled deeply. Jay moaned slightly; he wished that you would stay away for a little longer, so that he could pleasure himself in a cocoon of your fragrance. He’d leave traces of himself everywhere, in your clothes, in that maid outfit, in your underwear. Jay was considering pawing around in your drawers to find your panties when you came back with a chipped vase. You set it on your dresser and tucked the flowers inside of it carefully, not disrupting the arrangement that Jay had made. For some reason, the way that your fingers deftly placed the flowers in the vase made him shiver from arousal.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. Three weeks now, three weeks of smelling you and seeing you and learning about you without so much as a touch. Once you stepped away from the glass vase, Jay came up behind you and grabbed your shoulders, pinning you to the bed. You seemed more curious than anything else, your arms splayed at your sides.

“I want you,” Jay whispered. “I want you so...ardently, it hurts.” With trembling fingers, he shoved your nightgown all the way up to your waist. Now, he could glimpse your panties- white, of course you wore white panties. It was like you had been designed to ruin his summer.

Jay didn’t bother taking his pants off all the way, instead only tugging them along with his underwear down slightly. His cock was hot and already leaking precum as he looked down at you, at your gorgeous pussy that was covered in a fine mat of downy hair. You stared up at him, seemingly daring him to make his next move.

Jay spit onto his hand and coated his cock in a mixture of saliva and precum. His entire body screamed for him to enter you, ruin you, to fulfill millenia of biological hardwiring. Jay trembled in anticipation as he finally pushed himself inside of you. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. You were so warm, inviting, and silky, like you had been made for him. The small gasp you had made as he had entered you was just perfect.

He thrusted inside of you, overwhelmed by the sensation of your velvety pussy. After another stroke, he realized that his orgasm was already racing through him.

“No, no,” Jay whispered, pulling out of you, but the friction of your pussy as he slid out of you caused him to spasm. Cum spurted out of him in humiliating globules, landing on your stomach and nightgown.

Jay hovered over you, his eyes widened with shock. “No. No, no, no. That-that was nothing. That only lasted for, what…”

“A minute,” you replied, your face impassive.

“A minute,” Jay repeated in horror. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry…” Jay squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. Now everything was ruined. He had come in a pathetically short amount of time. You probably didn’t feel a thing.

Then he felt warm hands stroke his cheek, and his eyes opened. A small smile had graced your lips, and despite his despair he managed a smile too.

“Was that your first time?” you asked quietly, tracing his lips with your thumb.

Jay hesitated, but there was no point in lying. “Yeah,” he whispered, “it was. You were.”

You nodded sympathetically. “It’s okay,” you said.

“It…is?” Jay stared at you in awe.

Then, to his delight, you brought his head down and kissed him softly. It wasn’t rough, not the way his friends had described it- teeth clashing, tongues choking each other, hands wildly groping. This kiss was so gentle, and Jay reciprocated, his hands cupping your face. Your scent tickled his nostrils, filled his mind with a haze.

Soon, you were licking his bottom lip, so Jay parted his lips. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, and he touched it with his, once, twice. He ran his tongue over your teeth, probed into your mouth, sucked on your tongue. He wanted to memorize every inch of you.

Jay felt one of your hands slip under his shirt, and you ran your hands over his abs. He was proud of the hardened muscle he had worked so hard to cultivate, and he could feel his pride slowly returning. Emboldened, he kissed you even more deeply, and he began to feel your breasts over your nightgown. You weren’t wearing a bra, and he could only imagine how soft they must feel properly in his hands.

“Take it off,” you whispered against his lips. Jay didn’t need to be told twice. He undressed you slowly this time, helping you push the nightgown over your head.

Jay groaned under his breath as his eyes flickered over your body. It was amazing. You were like Aphrodite, the Venus of Willendorf, a being designed to be admired. How could he have ever thought of thrusting into you like you were his right hand? “Turn the light on,” he said quietly.

“Yes, sir,” you said, flicking your standing lamp on. Your body was bathed in the soft, rosy glow, painting you in colours that rivaled the work of the pre-Raphaelites.

“Don’t call me sir,” he said pleadingly. “Call me Jay, please.” With that, he dipped his head down and kissed your neck softly. You whimpered, and the sound was like the song of an angel. He kissed you all the way down to the space between your breasts. One hand gently fondled one breast, and the other hand held your waist as he kissed the other breast.

“Lick my nipples,” you whispered. “I like that.”

Jay did as you asked, taking one nipple in his mouth and licking it. The way it hardened was fascinating to him, and he lavished both of your nipples with attention. His hands stroked your waist, up and down, and he could feel you tremble. Jay trailed wet kisses down your stomach, sticking his tongue into your navel to make you laugh. He splayed your arms out on the bed and kissed and licked them. When he got to your hand, he kissed your palm and your fingertips. Jay lifted your legs up and kissed them from your inner thigh to the backs of your calves to your ankles, all the way to your toes.

You made these darling little sighs as he kissed you and touched you. “This feels great, Jay,” you sighed out. On occasion, you would tell him to pay special attention to a certain part of yourself; your inner thighs, Jay found, were a sensitive spot. He would frequently return there on his journey around your body and bite and suck at the soft flesh there.

As Jay gripped your thighs, kissing them, you pulled at his hair so that his face was tugged upwards.

“I want to teach you something else,” you said, looking him in his eyes.

“What?” Jay whispered.

As a response, you parted your legs slightly. Jay could see pools of arousal leaking out of your pussy, and his cock stirred. You took your fingers and touched a small, pearly nub of flesh.

“Do you know what this is?”

Jay had a rough idea, based on the conversations he had had with his friends. “Your clitoris?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yes,” you said, your fingers still threaded through his hair. “I want you to lick it.”

“Lick it?”

“It’ll make me feel good,” you whispered, and you gently pushed his head down between your legs. After one tentative lick, Jay was hooked. You tasted amazing, not quite sweet, not salty, but something else. Something primal and delicious. He laved your clit with his tongue, spreading your legs apart even further.

For the first time, you moaned, a sound that made its way all the way to Jay’s gut. He kept going, lapping at that little pearl with feverish abandon. Jay pulled away after a while, worried that he was going too fast, being too rough again. “Is this okay?” he asked.

Your voice was tense and high as you said, “Yes, you’re doing amazing, Jay. It feels amazing. Keep going, keep going.”

That encouragement was all Jay needed. One hand firmly split your legs apart, and the other reached up and toyed with your nipples again. He felt you writhe and shiver as he swallowed your arousal, making circles with his tongue around your clit.

“Jay, Jay, I’m going to, I’m going to…” A series of high-pitched moans passed through your lips and your back arched off of the bed. Jay continued licking your clit until you weakly pushed his head away. Jay stared in awe at your cunt opening and closing on its own, and he inserted a finger inside of you to feel the contractions for himself. He shivered as he imagined his cock in here, but he decided to wait until you weren’t so exhausted.

Jay dragged himself up the bed so that he was lying beside you, and he affectionately rubbed your stomach. Your face was wet with sweat, lips parted, and your eyes were lidded. Still, that same smile was plastered on your face, and Jay wiped your face with his thumb.

“How was that?” he asked, just to hear you praise him.

“It was great,” you said weakly. “It was…wow. You’re a fast learner, aren’t you?”

“Top of my classes,” Jay said with a wide grin. You playfully pushed him, and he kissed your cheek. “I’m sorry I couldn’t…you know… last.”

You shook your head. “It’s okay. It was your first time. No one has a very good first time.”

“Did you?”

“That’s a story for another day,” you said with an eye roll.

Jay traced your stomach with his hand again, his eyes flickering over you. After a while, he whispered, “Teach me.”

You looked at him. “Teach you…?”

“How to please you. I want you to enjoy it, too. Please?”

You glanced at him, and your eyes were so soft Jay got the sudden urge to cry. “Okay. Come on, sit up.”

Jay sat so that his legs were spread, entrapping you between them. You sat up as well, leaning against the headboard.

“Your pants…”

“Oh, right.” Jay scrambled to take them off, and his boxers too. His cock flopped out, and he was dismayed to see that it wasn’t completely hard. He glanced at you to gauge your reaction, but your gaze was fixated on his dick.

“How have you managed to stay a virgin with that?” Your hand rested on his thigh, rubbing up and down.

Jay’s heart swelled with pride. “Oh, well, I’m picky, I suppose. I only like the best of the best.”

You smiled softly, catching the compliment, and then your head bobbed down to his cock. His eyes drank in the sight of your wet little tongue swirling around the tip, your hands massaging his balls. Jay moaned loudly, his arms falling back to hold himself upright. “Oh, will you jack me off, too? Please.”

You obliged him, letting some of your spit trickle down his shaft before massaging it loosely. Jay leaned his head back and moaned loudly. He was so glad you two were in the little servants’ quarters and not the chateau, where the sounds would have echoed. The sloppy noises of your mouth wrapped around his tip and your hands fondling his cock, and his own moans.

Soon, you were pulling away, and Jay was initially disappointed by the lack of his contact. You wiped your mouth and smiled at him, and his annoyances were forgotten. You shifted backwards so that you were sitting against the headboard again.

“Now,” you whispered, “come here.”

Jay crawled over to you, sitting upright as well. He pulled your legs over his, so that you were straddling him. As he waited for you to keep speaking, he caressed your smooth legs.

“This time, be slow. You want to feel everything, feel the way I fit around you. Take your time. There’s no rush, Jay.”

He kissed you, then, his hands around your throat. Jay pushed himself inside of you again, this time noting how delicious the stretch was, how your pussy squeezed his cock mercilessly. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your lips were still on his. You moaned into each others’ mouths as he bucked his hips against yours. Jay’s hands fell from your neck to your shoulders to your breasts, fondling them slowly. He grew accustomed to this rhythm, of becoming one with you, and it was better than what he could have ever imagined.

Jay gently pulled you on top of him, his back hitting the bed. He thrusted into you slowly, languidly, and you matched his movements. From this position, Jay could swirl his tongue around your nipples again as his hands groped at your ass. He pushed you down on his cock, forcing you to take his full length. Now that your moans were no longer muffled by his lips, they reverberated all over your small room. The air was thick with your scent percolating with Jay’s, your soft moans with his harsh grunts.

Jay could feel his orgasm approaching, but he resisted the urge to pound into you. Instead, he rolled you over so that he was on top of you again. He pulled out of you and kissed you the way you liked, slowly, tongues meeting, spit dribbling down chins, hot, wet mouths sharing breaths. While you kissed, Jay’s hand worked down your body and he tried to find your clitoris again. Your hand reached out and gently guided him towards your small nub; he rubbed it in steady circles, and he relished in your whimpers.

“Are you close?” Jay asked before pressing his lips against yours again.

You nodded, unwilling to stop kissing him.

With that, Jay thrusted inside of you again, his fingers still playing with your clitoris. He felt powerful as he felt your back arch. When he dug his knee up slightly, he could feel your legs begin to tremble. Finally, he let himself go, rutting into you the way he had wanted from the start, his free hand on your waist. Jay grunted as he approached his high, his eyes shutting in ecstasy.

You came first, whining his name and clutching him tightly. Your pussy clenched around his cock, and he came with a final, primal grunt, emptying himself in you.

Jay didn’t want to pull himself out of you. He wanted you to stay full of him, and the way you held him made him think you felt the same way.

Jay kissed your forehead and laid on top of you, stroking your cheek as you came down from your highs together. The way you nestled your head into his neck made his heart sing, and your scent was even stronger now. He knew that he could never let go of you.

You were his summer girl.

#enha smut #enhypen smut #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #jay smut #jay x reader

672 notes · View notes

savagegood · 9 months

Video

youtube

@shinjiroatae1126: To all my fans, today was a very special day for me. For years, I struggled to accept a part of myself...But now, after all I have been through, I finally have the courage to open up to you about something. I am a gay man. It has taken me a long time to be able to say I am gay. I could not even say it to myself. However, I’ve come to realize it is better, both for me, and for the people I care about, including my fans, to live life authentically than to live a life never accepting who I truly am. I hope people who are struggling with the same feeling will find courage and know they are not alone.

ps, he’s released a new song, “into the light”, which you can watch here. part of the proceeds from the single will go to lgbtq+ organisations

@shinjiroatae1126: July 26th, 2023 was a big day for me. I finally gathered the courage to come out to the public as a gay man. I am grateful to have received media coverage from multiple platforms both within Japan and overseas.

To be honest, I was extremely anxious before all of this happened. However, I've been pleasantly surprised to discover the overwhelming amount of positive feedback pouring in from both my fans and people who have come across the news about me. It's heartwarming to see that my story is being acknowledged from all around the world, and this brings me immense joy. Although they may be baby steps, I sense that this world is gradually moving into the light. Yesterday, I made an announcement about resuming my career as an artist. I also released a new song titled “Into The Light”. The music video for the song is also on YouTube now. This song is packed with the emotions and thoughts leading up to this point, including my decision to come out. Living with anxieties and struggles is not limited to just LGBTQ+ individuals. I hope this song can be a source of encouragement for anyone carrying such emotions. I've aimed for it to become a song that can uplift those with similar feelings. A portion of the proceeds will be donated to Pride House Tokyo, Japan’s first permanent LGBTQ+ center, and ReBit, an organization providing resources and support for LGBTQ+ youth. I hope this song will touch many hearts.🙏🌈

At first, there was total silence. Then, there were shrieks, wild applause, weeping and shouts of “I love you!”

Fans of Shinjiro Atae, a J-pop idol who has been on a nearly two-year performance hiatus, had come to hear him talk about “the challenge of my life.” Standing onstage in a dark auditorium in front of 2,000 fans in central Tokyo on Wednesday night, he revealed something he has kept hidden for most of his life: He is gay.

“I respect you and believe you deserve to hear this directly from me,” he said, reading from a letter he had prepared. “For years, I struggled to accept a part of myself. But now, after all I have been through, I finally have the courage to open up to you about something. I am a gay man.”

Such an announcement is extremely unusual in conservative Japan, the only G7 country that has not legalized same-sex unions. Earlier this summer, the Japanese Parliament passed an L.G.B.T.Q rights bill but it had been watered down by the political right, stating that there “should be no unfair discrimination” against gay and transgender people.

In making a public declaration, the 34-year-old Mr. Atae, who spent two decades performing with AAA, a hit Japanese pop group, before embarking on a solo career, said he wanted his fans to know his true self. He also hopes to comfort those who might be grappling with anxieties about their sexuality.

“I don’t want people to struggle like me,” he said.

AAA debuted in 2005, with Mr. Atae, the youngest member, forgoing high school. He performed mostly as a dancer, and began appearing in TV series and movies.

His sexuality perplexed him. “It was a time when on TV, comedians would say two men kissing was gross,” he said. If anyone asked if he had a girlfriend, he just said he was too busy working.

Activists said they could not recall an instance when a Japanese pop star of his stature had publicly declared they were gay, because of anxieties about losing fans or sponsors.

“I think he has decided to come out in order to change Japan,” said Gon Matsunaka, a director and adviser to Pride House Tokyo, a support center for the gay and transgender community.

The decision to open up about his sexuality, he said, evolved over seven years of living in Los Angeles, where he saw how freely gay couples could show affection in public and built an extensive support network.

“Everyone was so open,” he said. “People would talk about their vulnerabilities. In Japan, people think it’s best not to talk about those things.”

Mr. Atae’s decision, he said, was not political. All he wanted, he said, was to “normalize” being gay. Coming out, he knew, would likely draw criticism. “Whatever you do, there will be haters,” he said. “I can only focus on the people I might be helping.”

#this made my week :')#please give his new song a listen and leave him a lovely comment on instagram #shinjiro atae #aaa #japan #jpop #queer #lgbt #lgbtq #gay #long post

1K notes · View notes

swordsmans · 2 months

Text

i just really, really love the idea of zoro having no real "survival skills" because he had a much more traditional (if atypical) childhood/youth than most of the crew. bandit heritage aside, he was raised in a tight-knit and relatively peaceful community with (at best) agricultural outskirts. he doesn't leave until he's much older, at which point he becomes a bounty hunter as a way to make money (to pay for food, shelter, etc. presumably in villages, towns, and cities). we know from the non-canon johnny and yosaku backstories that he "hunted" for bounties in cities/towns, at least partially.

meanwhile luffy has been running around the wilderness since he was like seven years old, securing his own food, building fire and shelter, and just generally toughening up/learning how to live in nature. we know he had a pretty extensive knowledge of bugs and how to catch them, so with that + his childhood i don't think it's a stretch to assume he also has an understanding of edible plants and non-monstrous wildlife (even if its not all applicable outside the East Blue). he's survived on his own in the wilderness for years at a time at least twice in canon.

i think it's fun to think of them having... some sort of "zoro is lost in more ways than one" kinda vibe early on in their journey, especially since they're constantly broke pre-timeskip and we know that at least by little garden the crew has started hunting and foraging to supplement their stores. you could absolutely rope the rest of the east blue grew into this, but zoro is still sort of the outlier with his background.

i dunno. maybe i just like the image of luffy trying to teach zoro how to hunt or fish and both of them just having the dumbest time with it. luffy would be really earnest but impatient--and zoro would be stubborn about admitting he doesn't know shit but would still listen and absorb anyway.

luffy having no clue how to start small and work up to new skills, so they end up going after massive wild boars or something as a first or second lesson and zoro just rolls with it because sure, yeah, thats normal. what the hell does he know? (and also hes fucking. zoro. so.)

or luffy teaching zoro to fish normally but also like a bear fishes (standing knee-deep in the water and catching fish with his bare hands) because it looks more fun that way and he cant. and zoro just fucking up soooo bad but getting really competitive anyway, even though luffy is just, like, sitting on a nearby rock yelling (frankly terrible) directions at him or something. zoro catches nothing and luffy tells him he looks stupid getting angry at the river so of course zoro is going to master fucking. bare-handed fishing because the man's got one braincell and its 99% stubborn pride.

he fucking sucks at starting a fire, wouldnt even consider building proper shelter, and in general would not make it 0.2 seconds outside a populated environment without his captain--a guy raised by the jungle and ace, who was basically a wild animal himself.

idk. survival-competent luffy is very near and dear to my heart.

#not really a country/city dynamic because its like... not that. but luffy is basically the east blue les stroud and thats so funny to me #a bear grylls kinda guy #which is to say nothing of their differences in formal education #dunno if ill write another fic about it but its like... the other side of math/bilingual zoro headcanons to me #i think about this more often than i should tbh #zolu #gyro.txt

422 notes · View notes

strawbsj · 8 days

Text

G!p stepmom Yujin x fem!reader

Part one , part two

Request!

Warnings: cheating (ughhhh), slight baby trapping, wlw marriage, almost got caught, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your Willy), age gap, backshots, rough penetration, not proofread, p in v, slight manipulation, basically porn with plot, make out session, nasty sex and just filthy smut!!😮‍💨

Word count: 1,4k

After the previous event that happened between you and Yujin, You both started fucking like rabbits. She taught you new things, how to suck her the way she likes it, doggy, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, cockwarming, basically a whole 101.

It was crazy how fast you learned how to please her and even crazier how your cunt was as tight as before at the way she fucked you, maybe even tighter.

There was few times where she used a condom, and there was also few times where she was raw hammering her tip against your cervix, but then she would deprive you from her creamy essence. Cumming on your back and chest. The only time she filled you up was on the first fuck-session with her, and you felt like on cloud 9.

You wished she would just toss away that rubber material, and just abuse your pussy with her big cock and fill you up. But she seemed so enthusiastic to use that useless roll up thing.

You knew that she is your stepmom and that she literally is married to your mother so she obviously just wants a fast fuck session till her wife comes back and then she would forget about you. What you didn’t know however was that she was as desperate as you, to throw that rubber material away.

She just thought that you are still young and that you probably don’t want to start overthinking about the risk of you getting pregnant with her child. So it was just something she had to accept, even tho feeling your spongy walls squeeze around her raw cock would drive her insane and make her cum three times faster, but she had to accept your wish that you didn’t even verbalize.

You had to take matters into your own hand, you went to her bedside table and opened the drawer. You took the two packs of condoms and went out to throw them in the street trash so she definitely won’t find them anywhere. You already stopped taking your birth control so that’s done and now you got rid of the condom packs so everything is under your control.

It wasn’t long till Yujin came back from work. She stepped inside the apartment and saw you on the couch laying comfortably. Your eyes traveled to her form, she looked breathtaking, a layer of sweat on her forehead, her other hand holding her black leather bag, the first two buttons unbuttoned while her was hanging loose.

You just wanted to suck the life out of her, take her balls into your mouth while the head of her cock was shoved down your throat, making her beg for more and gasp for air, but that was other days plan. Now you just wanted her buried deep inside you, spilling her cum inside your womb.

She walked towards the couch, sinking down on the space left, before searching for your face to pepper you with kisses. Her lips danced against yours, she pulled you onto her lap, you now straddling her. Your one hand was wrapped around her throat while the other cupping her face. Her hands were on the lower of your back. Massaging the area slowly.

It didn’t take long till the kiss got sloppy and messy, her saliva and your saliva drooling down your chin. To some people this was nasty and disgusting, but the both of you loved every second of it.

Yujin couldn’t say that she was dissatisfied with her bed life with your mother, but she definitely wasn’t satisfied either. Your mom hitting her way too often with ‘we are too old for this!’ And sticking with the boring same routine. She lost her mind over you, you were something so pure, ready to get ruined by her, all of your firsts with her,youthful, ready to experience new things, be freaky and wild. She hated the sentence we are too old, because she wasn’t old, and besides your mom was about 11 years older than her. She was about ten years older than you,not the craziest age gap but not the most common either.

Yujin wrapped her arms around your inner thighs before lifting you up and standing to walk towards the bedroom. She laid you down on the bed before opening the drawer, her expression turned from lust to annoyance pretty fast. She let out a loud growl, looking down at her hard on then back at you.

The condoms were not there so she had to go and buy them, and what shop is open at this time? Your eyes met hers, and you slid the already lose tie off her neck and started unbuttoning her blouse. She stopped your hands from continuing “We ran out of condoms and no shop is open now.” She felt bad for denying you but she wasn’t risking it. Her dick could wait till tomorrow.

“We don’t need one!” You smiled seductively before spitting out in a sultry tone. You yanked her hand away before continuing to unbutton her blouse. She looked back at you like you grew two heads.

“Are you sure? We can wait till tomorrow.” She reassured you, hoping that you are not feeling pressured to do anything. All of these thoughts were wiped once you lightly squeezed her hard on. A husky groan fell from her lips, her head thrown back. She tossed the last piece of clothing before ripping off the black silky night gown off you. The violated material now on the floor.

She took a grasp of your hips and flipped you over, face down ass up. Her bare cock having contact with your slick panties, she rubbed her angry red tip on the fabric, resulting more precum to spill out and more of your wetness to gush out.

With one motion your panties were next to the ripped night gown. She smeared her precum all over your slit, before pushing inside your velvety walls. A loud moan escaped your vocal cords. Your hands were gripping the sheets for dear life.

She started thrusting herself inside you roughly, hitting the sweet spongy spot inside you over and over. A ring of your wetness increasing with every thrust on her base.

She gripped your hip bone harshly, her nails piercing through your skin. While the bed rocked with every thrust of her hip.

Your ass jiggled with every movement, skin slapping sounds were echoing through the walls. While you fucked yourself back on her.

Your hips meeting each other and a loud stinging slap was landed on your ass cheek. You let out a whimper. Her hips actions were stopped at the ringing sound of her phone, and tears formed in your eyes while she let out another annoyed groan the same she let out earlier.

She picked her phone only to see that it was your mom, a rush of excitement flood through her before whispering next to your ear.

“It’s your mom, be quiet for me princess, yeah?”

You nodded hastily, putting a hand over your mouth to make sure you won’t let out a sound.

“Hi baby, everything good over there?” Yujin said in the most sickely sweet way ever, acting like she isn’t fucking her wifes daughter.

“Yeah, love. Just wanted to ask how you and y/n are doing, is everything ok?”

“Me and y/n are doing amazing, miss you so much!!” Yujin started rubbing her tip on your cervix. Why are you this quiet?? Isn’t she fucking you good enough?? She yanked your hair, a gasp came out from you. She wrapped a hand around your throat, forcing you to lay your head on her shoulder. Moans were threatening to come out from you at the way she was so soundlessly pounding your aching pussy. You weren’t paying attention to the conversation, the only thing on your mind was her hips thrusting in you.

She spit on your neck before licking a stripe up, you let out a whine. She bid her last goodbyes to your mother before hanging up. Her relentless pace was back on, her mouth was nibbling on the sensitive skin of your neck.

The pleasure was unbearable and overwhelming and with that your watery substance tried push her cock out. The clench of your pussy sent her over the edge and she spilled her seed deep inside your womb. A satisfied moan came out from your lips. Deep slumber took over the both of you.

#ahn yujin smut #ahn yujin x fem reader #ahn yujin x reader #ahn yujin #ive smut #ive ahn yujin smut #ive x fem reader #ive yujin smut #ive x reader #ive yujin #ive yujin x reader #yujin smut #yujin x reader #yujin x fem reader #yujin #ive

250 notes · View notes

wasteddmoondust · 5 months

Text

an old diary || remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader 812 words, fluff, remus finds your old diary from this request! a/n: i twisted the request just a teeny bit away from what you might have been expecting. but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! this was so fun to write and the scenario is just too cute hehe

"Hey, Remus?" He hears your voice call from the library . "When you're free, do you think you can help me organise the storage room? There's a load of books from years ago that I need sorted."

Remus doesn't even hesitate on his answer, he knows he'll do anything for you. The both of you have stuck close since your school days, and took care of each other through the war. He feels forever indebted to you especially for that.

And that's how he finds himself in said storage room, the musty smell of yellowing paper wafting around him.

He scans the stacks of books. There's not many, compared to the rest of the library at least. This should just take the afternoon.

He starts to sort each stack, slowly making a system in his brain on how to tackle this task. But as he's on this third pile. a glimmer catches his eye, and he turns towards the direction of it. Underneath a pile, something familiar is sticking out, but he just can't put his finger on it.

He decides to abandon whatever task he was supposed to do and reaches for the book. Carefully, he slides it out of the stack.

The name on the book knocks his breath.

Y/N L/N, 1977.

That's what is was, your old diary from seventh year.

Remus finds himself frozen. That year was wild, to say the least. The bittersweetness of his final year, relishing of how much youth him and his had left. But mostly, it was the prelude to most of the pain he would experience in his life. This book is holding whatever you were feeling in those days.

He knows he shouldn't peek.

He flips the book open to a random page.

15 September, 1977 Today we went out to the lake, and I realised no words can describe the amount of love I have for my friends. To my dearest girls, Lily, Marlene, Mary, and Alice. I hope we are never too far apart. We shall grow old together gossip even as we do now.

Remus' heart swells at the sentiment, knowing each of the mentioned girls' fates. He flips to other pages, which mostly are written about the daily life of a Hogwarts student. However, a glimpse of his own name gets his attention. He stops to read the page.

25 January, 1978 Remus Lupin. Oh the man that you are. You and your stupid jumpers and stupid books and stupid tea you take with milk and two sugars. What I find the most stupid is the way you treat me. It makes me question who I am to you. Your friend? Maybe more? I can only dream. I don't think you'll ever see me that way. I'm perfectly happy where we are as friends. But somehow if I get even the slightest chance I will be taking it. Even if it comes ten years from now.

He's stunned, to say the least. He never knew you harboured these feelings back then, and wonders if you still had them now.

It's funnier especially when after all this time he never found a way to say he has those feelings too.

He knows what he should do. There's a newfound feeling of courage and bravery in him, and quickly finishes his tasks before you leave the library for the day.

"Oh, done already?" you ask, packing your work bag before leaving. "That was quick. Did you have much trouble?"

"No, not at all. Found some pretty good things in there," he says, trying to act casual. He hides the diary behind his back.

"Really? Do tell."

He pulls out the book from behind. You gasp.

"No way!" You grab it from his hold. "That was in there the entire time?"

"Mhm, I took a peak, if you don't mind," He says.

You furrow your brows. "You did?"

He nods slowly.

"And what did you read...?" you ask. He knows that you know what was written in that diary.

He shrugs. "Let's just say..." he looks around avoiding eye contact. "You said ten years, and it's been fifteen. So would you still?"

You frown, but you know exactly what he's talking about. "Still what?"

"Take the chance?"

You groan and cover your face, feeling your cheeks heat up. You hear Remus chuckle. "So is that a yes?"

Your hands leave your face, showing a pout. "I can't believe you read that!" you swat him playfully. "But yes... I would..."

"Brilliant," he says, smoothing your hair down and smiling at you.

"Now what?" you ask. You mentally kick yourself for asking such a question.

Remus grins, the same grin you've grown to love over the years. "I'd like to kiss you now, if it's alright with you."

The both of you lean in. In the library after fifteen years, he's finally yours.

#marauders x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fluff #zee writes

645 notes · View notes

dilemmaontwolegs · 6 months

Text

Used to be Young || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x singer!reader Summary: Being the life of the party isn't all it's cracked up to be but you manage to turn over a new leaf and start afresh after being dumped by your first love. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, mentions of drugs and alcohol, angst, hurt/comfort WC: 2.5k

A few years earlier… You barely registered the words coming out of Charles’ mouth, the arrogance of youth numbing you to what you were about to lose. You had a career that had exploded overnight, an album in the top charts, more money than you knew what to do with. How could you lose anything after everything you had achieved? You were invincible.

“It’s over, I can’t do this anymore,” Charles repeated over the loud music filling the open bar. He cast his eyes over you from the skimpy dress that left little to the imagination to your red eyes from the joint you had shared with your back up dancers. “I don’t even recognise you.”

“Where are you going?” You grabbed his hand and pulled him to a stop as you pressed your lips to his cheek. You kissed your way across his jaw before nipping his ear and laughing. “We’re just having fun! Lighten up, Charles.”

“No, you’re having fun,” he said as he peeled your fingers off his shirt. “If you want to go wild, then go wild, but I’m not going to stick around to watch this shit.”

You let him go. You watched him leave as the healing skin behind your ear began to itch with your latest tattoo. You turned away before the crowd swallowed him whole, your fingers already reaching for another shot of liquor.

Winter Break - Music Award Show Charles would recognise your voice anywhere, no matter how much time passed he could still locate it in a crowd. It was as if the frequency of your voice was one he was attuned to and it called to him when he was meant to be focusing on the interviewer before him.

It had been a year since you last toured, a year since you last released a song. Charles knew, because he still listened to your albums and watched every music video- much like how you still followed his Formula 1 career. He waited for any news about you, but the last year had been silent. Your social media was deleted, paparazzi photos few and far between but what he had seen had made his heart ache. You had changed, no longer the carefree spirit he fell in love with in a whirlwind romance swimming in alcohol and snapshot decisions.

Charles couldn’t help but wonder what you had been doing in your absence. Had you met someone like he had? Had you fallen in love and then fallen out of love like he had? He wanted to know if you were happy.

Charles was in a daze as he took his seat. His invitation to the award show had come thanks to the rising popularity of his sport mixed with his music and he scanned the crowd hoping to catch a glimpse of you. He knew you were there, he knew it with every fibre of his being, he just needed to see you.

The lights dimmed and goosebumps prickled beneath the suit he wore as your voice caressed his ear. He could have sworn you were sitting behind him, serenading him and only him, but there you were - right where you belonged.

The truth is bulletproof, there's no foolin' you I don't dress the same Me and who you say I was yesterday Have gone our separate ways

Charles could barely breathe as the soft lighting warmed your skin, setting you in a glow that was somehow both powerful and ethereal. There was no need for any theatrics when your voice was emotive enough to outperform any dancers or pyrotechnics. All you needed was a stage and a microphone.

Left my livin' fast somewhere in the past 'Cause that's for racin' cars Turns out open bars lead to broken hearts And goin' way too far

Your eyes were closed, brows pinched, as if the memory of that night hurt even now. The huge screens around the room were filled with the image and Charles swallowed the lump in his throat as regret filled him for his role in it all.

I know I used to be crazy I know I used to be fun You say I used to be wild I say I used to be young

Charles closed his eyes as they began to burn, but still your voice infiltrated his soul and reverberated with the truth.

You tell me time has done changed me That's fine, I've had a good run I know I used to be crazy That's 'causе I used to be young

Charles forced himself to watch the stranger he loved flourish before his eyes. He had seen you grow from a teenager into a young adult, thinking the flower that blossomed was the final product. Like the dandelions you had blown to the breeze and wished upon with him years ago, you had shed the petals of immaturity and become a woman commanding the wind to carry her higher.

You hated how the spotlight burned your skin and you told yourself it was the lamp that made your eyes water as you screwed them shut.

The words you had penned on the back of a scrap of paper had come to you on a Sunday afternoon. You weren’t the religious type, but Sunday was a holy day in your house and your worship began at lights out. Words had failed you when the partying stopped. You wondered who you were without the late nights and endless faces that enabled you to lose your values, your friends, your love. You thought your music had died with your younger self.

But on that Sunday, something had changed. On that Sunday, you saw a man at his lowest and heard the heartache in his voice. On that Sunday, you watched a man carry more burden than any shoulders could bear and somehow, somehow, he smiled. Thousands of miles away in Brazil, Charles had taught you a lesson in letting go, of hope and resilience and maturity.

The words had come easily after that.

Take onе, pour it out, it's not worth cryin' 'bout The things you can't erase Like tattoos and regrets, words I never meant And ones that got away

You didn’t plan to open your eyes until the song was over, you didn’t want to see what the audience thought of the performance that was so unlike how you used to sound, but you did it anyway. The spotlight blinded you for a moment before your eyes adjusted and time seemed to freeze when you found Charles staring back.

Time had changed him too, his jawline had sharpened and the suit fitted his filled out body so much better than they ever did. A pair of glasses rested on the bridge of his nose and changed his entire face so that he could never be mistaken as anything but a man who was comfortable in his own skin.

He used to say you completed him but now you knew you had only filled the piece of his heart that was missing after his father died. You couldn’t complete a boy who was still growing into a man, it was impossible when you were both too young to know what complete even meant. Complete didn’t mean whole, it was just the acceptance of who you are and forgiving who you were.

You weren’t in some grandiose ballgown or shock-inspiring barely-there outfit, you wore what you felt comfortable in. Charles smiled, his dimple appearing as you slipped the microphone from the stand and walked to the edge of the stage. His eyes never left yours as you took a seat facing him and swung your feet in the open air, returning the smile.

I know I used to be crazy Messed up, but, God, was it fun I know I used to be wild That's 'cause I used to be young

You may have been the one singing but you heard him loud and clear when his hand rose up above his head.

Those wasted nights are not wasted I remember every one I know I used to be crazy That's 'cause I used to be young

You heard him loud and clear when he made no move to wipe the tears on his cheeks.

You tell me time has done changed me That's fine, I've had a good run I know I used to be crazy That's 'cause I used to be young

There were no words that passed between you as you left the stage, but when he rose to his feet you heard him loud and clear.

The loud knock on your door echoed around the temporary dressing room but the voice that followed was softer. Your fingers rested on the door handle until you took a deep breath and turned it. The air left your lungs as you were struck by the image of him standing in your doorway, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other in his hair as he wondered if he was making a mistake.

Up close, he looked even more handsome but it was his cologne that took you deep into the past. The intensity of the CK bottle used to be overpowering on the senses when he would douse himself in the stuff, but now he wore a complex, rich scent that invited you to lean closer and inhale. His finer tastes had matured along with the rest of him.

“Hey,” he said as he looked into your room, taking in the details from the water bottles to the ambient sounds you relaxed to. A smile transformed his face and he stepped inside when you opened the door wider in invitation. “Is this my music?”

“It helps me to relax,” you admitted as you closed the door behind him.

“Your song is…” he shook his head as he trailed off, like he was struggling to articulate what he wanted to say and he had to settle for something less because he couldn’t quite grasp the word, “beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You smiled shyly at your feet and fiddled with your hair that had been styled up for the red carpet walk.

Charles’ eyes followed your hand and widened before he grabbed it. The warmth of his skin on yours was something you had never been able to replicate, there was no man or woman whose touch could come close to his. You knew because you had tried and tried before resigning yourself the hard fact that you had lost the best thing you had.

“Is that…my number?” His fingertips turned your head to see the tattoo tucked behind your ear.

You laughed as you remembered how you were going to surprise him once it healed, but he had already gone by then. “Yeah, it is. And I don’t regret it, before you ask.”

“I’m glad.” The corners of his lips curled up as he dropped his hand back to his side. “I have so many questions, but I think they would take all night. How have you…what have you…god, I don’t even know where to start.”

“As it happens, I have no plans,” you said as you took a seat on the couch and patted the space beside you.

“No after party?”

You shook your head as he sat down and you grabbed your bottle of water from the coffee table. “That’s not my scene anymore.”

Charles draped his arm across the couch as he tucked one leg up and settled so he could face you. “What were you going to do after the show tonight then?”

“Honestly?” You chuckled at the question and picked at the label on the bottle. “I was going to go home, order a pizza and watch the new season of Drive to Survive.”

Charles bit his lip as he tried not to laugh. “Really?”

“Don’t laugh,” you feigned annoyance as you slapped his hand. “I’m missing the races so it will have to do until next month. Are you excited?”

He caught your hand before you could take it back and he traced his fingers over the splatterings of new tattoos you had collected throughout the years. “Hmm, I’m optimistic.”

“Always were,” you murmured as you let your hand relax in his. “But what about the car?”

“Why don’t you come to testing and find out?” He seemed to come to his senses as he dropped your hand. “You’re probably busy and we’re practically strangers now. Shit, you probably have a boyfriend. Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Charles, shut up,” you laughed as you caught his face in your palms and felt the texture of the short beard he now sported. “I know you too well that we could never really be strangers.”

“We’ve both changed.” His head lowered into your hands and you watched his green eyes search your face for the wild child he used to know.

“We’ve grown up, there’s a difference.”

His breath whispered across your wrists as he looked down at the distance closing between your bodies. “So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Have a boyfriend.”

You smiled sadly. “I could never have a boyfriend. It wouldn’t be fair when my heart always belonged to someone else.”

Charles started to lean towards you, his eyes on your lips as if he could already taste him, but you pulled away. Hurt flashed in those eyes and you wanted to erase it immediately, it took every ounce of control you had not to pull him back into a kiss.

“We’re not strangers, Charles,” you said softly as you took his hand and tried to get him to look at you again, “but we aren’t those people any more.”

“Okay,” he nodded as he understood what went unsaid, “then we’ll get to know each other again. When did you become the sensible one?”

“After my stupidity cost me you, I suppose.”

The rest of the award show didn’t hold any interest after the conversation in your dressing room so you had both disappeared. The evening had been mild with the worst of the winter weather already passing, so you had enjoyed the quieter streets that had been closed for the night. Charles had kept you company and you both went unrecognised as you walked arm in arm to the pizzeria you promised was the best around. For a man who worked a lot of the time in Italy that was going to be tested when you got home.

It was midnight by the time you reached your apartment, the tower clock across the street tolling for the start of a new day. You would look back on that moment and realise it was then that the slate was cleaned. Whatever conversations that happened or didn’t happen were obsolete, whatever mistakes made before that moment were gone.

In the early hours on a Sunday of all days, you stepped inside your home with Charles at your side. Neither of you knew what the future held but by the same token neither of you were ready for this to be the end. After all, this was a new beginning.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 rpf

609 notes · View notes

lets-try-some-writing · 2 months

Note

Got Angst for Prime.

AU: Whatever AU you want to use.

Concept: Ratchet's Optics never really recovered from his Synth-En incident. He sees everything in a tint of green. And his optics show it. So, every time OP looks Ratchet in the optics, he sees the blue with a tinge of green surrounding it, and he gets hit with how bad he failed Ratchet.

(I've pretty much always HC that Ratchet had some lasting aftereffects of his tests. This one's my favorite though.)

I can't help it.

I am going to make this shippy.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Optimus had always loved Ratchet's optics. If you asked him, he would deny the way he often found himself staring wistfully off in the doctor's direction. It was all professional concern for a mech who simply didn't know when he needed to rest and recover. If he shared a glance with Ratchet for a little longer than normal, it was simply because he cared. That was what he told others. Whether or not they believe him was up for debate.

But beneath that veil of half truths created for both his and Ratchet's safety, Optimus's affections ran deep.

Even before the war, he'd loved those optics. Ratchet's optics were aged even when Orion was young. And yet they held a life to them that was undeniable. Passion incapable of being smothered by the harsh words of others and the seemingly impossible trial that was going up a caste. Ratchet bore every burden and political scheme with blunt determination, his optics always shining brightly as a hint of a smirk played on his features. Optimus loved that mischievous grin and the telltale glint that Ratchet got in his optics when he had some wild plan cooked up. Even though he was unable to bring himself to utter the compliments that formed in the back of his mind, he loved the Doctor's optics more than he cared to admit. So much energy contained within a compact frame. It was beautiful in its own unique way.

Once the war began and Orion Pax became Optimus Prime, he did not think about Ratchet's optics as much. At least until they began to lose the shine that he had been so familiar with in his youth.

War was uncaring and it held no love for those trapped within its web. Optimus endured it with the patience of the old gods of Cybertron long since left to rot. Whispers of ancient beings far beyond his comprehension clouded his sense of time. Tears he wept for the fallen turned his gaze away from those around him and instead to the rivers of energon that flowed around his pedes. He endured it as the last of a long line of divines given frame. But Ratchet was mortal, and as the war dragged on, those optics that Optimus adored grew darker. Passion changed to red hot fury so bright and dangerous that Ratchet's gaze felt almost like venom at times.

Stokes of fire leapt through Ratchet's blazing optics, and more than once Optimus feared he'd be scorched by that boiling inferno of loss and grief. And yet despite being the one to lead their war ever onward, Optimus never felt Ratchet's anger directed at him. When those optics gazed up at him, Optimus felt only age old affection and care. Fire was tamed and turned to comforting warmth. Steady servos ran along his arms and a soothing voice lulled Optimus into temporary serenity on long cycles where he simply had no more tears to shed or reason to give to their Primus forsaken war. All the while those optics met his own and Optimus was at peace.

Vorns passed by. Optimus continued in his eternal march toward victory and Ratchet continued to change. Rage turned into bitterness, the molten hot wrath of war transforming into a deep set sorrow that left creases in the living metal that surrounded Ratchet's optics. Grim darkness pooled in that once passionate gaze. Those optics flickered in wrath long fostered each time Megatron made himself known. Those optics flared with every injury that the team brought with them back to base once they arrived on Earth. Those optics that Optimus loved so dearly dimmed and quieted, their light softening in the dark of the medical bay on long nights when Ratchet thought no one would hear his quiet sobs.

Optimus always loved Ratchet's optics.

He should have treated him better.

"Does it still hurt?" Optimus asked as he ran his digits over the weld on Ratchet's side.

"Of course it does. The weld has only been in place for a month and the wound ran deep." Ratchet replied clinically, not looking up from his work even as Optimus risked wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist. Others could see, but in the moment, he didn't care.

"I'm sorry." He murmured into the crook of Ratchet's neck as he leaned down, desperate to feel the comforting warmth of Ratchet's frame against his. The Doctor stilled, his field extending and wrapping around Optimus is concern.

"Optimus, please, we've talked about this. I was out of line in saying that. You are not at fault." Ratchet broke from Optimus's embrace and turned around. Optimus wanted to look away in shame as those optics looked up at him, still as lovely as ever, but tinted a haunting green.

A sign of Optimus's greatest failure.

"I am at fault, and you know that as well as I do. Let us not delude ourselves." Optimus reached out to cup Ratchet's face. The Doctor leaned into his touch obligingly. Any open affection was a risk, but there was something unspoken that needed to be addressed before time ran out and the world drew them apart yet again.

"You have always done what you think is right. I can't blame you for hoping and trying to save a mech who was once a friend." Ratchet's optics cycled and the green became more prominent within them in response to his emotions. Optimus frowned and shifted so caress the metal around the Doctors optics. His scarred digits traced creases and small scuffs, lingering around the corners of Ratchet's optics as Optimus observed the green hue in sorrow.

"You shouldn't have felt pressured to do this to yourself. The risks were too great. If I had only-" A digit pressed to Optimus's derma before he could continue, silencing his attempts at being self deprecating before they could truly begin.

"I made my choice. It is not your fault. Besides, the world is just a little more green for me now. That is all." Ratchet forced a smile, but Optimus could not bring himself to do the same. Ratchet's words while he was on synthetic energon were cruel... but undeniably true. How many times had Optimus had the chance to bring down Megatron only to let the warlord go? How many lives could he have saved if he had only put aside his feelings on the matter and acted?

"I can tell you are beating yourself up over it. Stop. It's over now and I'm fine." Ratchet pulled away and Optimus's servos fell. They stood quietly together for a nanoklik before Ratchet moved forward, his smaller frame pressing against Optimus's in a gentle embrace. Strong arms hooked themselves around the crooks of Optimus's torso, unwavering but gentle enough that if he wished, the Prime could pull away.

"Forgive me." Optimus murmured in the quiet of the medical bay. A gentle hum met his plea. Neither said another word as they stood in the relative dark, comforted in the presence of one another. Only the light of the nearby console lit up the area, but it was more than enough for the Prime to work with.

Green tinted optics glowed in the gloom, illuminating Optimus's face as he leaned down. Ratchet's optics closed, most likely expecting a gentle touch to the crest of his helm. Instead, Optimus leaned as close as he was able, even going so far as to angle his helm so that he could get near enough to place a ghost of a kiss over Ratchet's optics. Each closed optic received the lightest of touches, so soft that it may as well have been a gust of wind. But as Optimus pulled back and settled into the helm touch that Ratchet had likely been prepared for, the Prime finally smiled.

"Thank you for standing by my side." Ratchet stared in shock as the Prime's digits again found their place tracing around the Doctor's optics. Ratchet stood still, uncertain of how to respond until Optimus spoke again.

"I've always loved your optics, regardless of their hue." Optimus assured, earning a gentle huff from his companion.

"You sap." Ratchet whispered even as his optics glowed in all too rare joy at the show of affection. The green was still present, a permanent reminder of the costs of war. However Optimus continued to smile all the same, simply pleased to have those optics locked on him.

Yes, Optimus would admit it aloud if times permitted.

He had always loved Ratchet's optics.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #optiratch #transformers fanfiction #fanfiction #slight angst #finally a chance to write something angsty fluffy #I do love me these two old bots

197 notes · View notes

bangaveragewhitewine · 9 months

Text

Pinch Me

After your first date with a familiar face from home, waking up next to Steve feels like something out of a dream.

This is a follow on from Clean Slate but can be read as standalone fic.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings/Content: Both you and Steve are in your late-twenties and were in school together; you met again on a blind date almost ten years later. This is an 18+ fic; oral (reader receiving), penetrative sex. Spoiler but use of ‘good girl’ in a sexy content. Steve Harrington being a smooth mf comes with it's own warning.

I have tried to leave physical descriptions as neutral and inclusive as possible! Some mentions of anxiety and insecurity. Plenty of kissing to make up for that!

Author’s Note: Clean Slate was intended to be a one off fic but here we are! This is my first attempt at smut in a fic, so hopefully it’s not horrendous! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

Thank you to my lovely @specialagentmonkey for beta reading for me💖

Once again, this is an 18+ fic. Please do not do any AI fuckery with my work or repost on other sites.

(divider by me)

Ever since you were little, your bed had been one of your favourite places. Soft sheets, books on the bedside table and a perfectly curated stack of pillows all topped off with the quilt you had made with your grandma before her arthritis got too bad.

In your mom’s photo albums there was more than one snapshot of you as a sleepy toddler with a wild bed head peeking up from your pillow on Christmas morning. Another few of you reading Nancy Drew in a pillow nest with a gap toothed smile.

By now, you had made your own little nest out in the big bad world now; a surprisingly roomy studio with big windows and noisy neighbours on one side. You had bought new sheets and a duvet printed with dusty pink roses on porcelain white cotton, curated a new stack of pillows and added too many decorative cushions on top of the same quilt that had made the move with you to Indianapolis and on to Chicago. There were still books on your bedside, a little dish for your jewellery to sit in while you slept, and an accumulation of lip balms, pillow mist and a candle or two to set the mood.

After long shifts and bad dates, your bed was still your haven. When you were particularly anxious, you could still hear the shrill of your old alarm blaring in your ears; the sound of that clock that had dragged you from sweet dreams in your beloved bed on chilly winter mornings. Some mornings, as you rode the subway to work, you swore you could hear your bed’s own siren song calling you to get off at the next stop, come home to read and nap the day away.

The sanctuary was for you alone, save for an occasional sleepover with your best friend Annie. Your dates were never invited to stay and make themselves comfortable. But this morning, waking up with Steve Harrington in your bed? That was new.

It was safe to say that your blind date went well. Really well.

You had resolutely avoided talking about school, only mentioning people each other might have remembered in the context of a story about your lives outside Hawkins. Steve was still in touch with a lot of people from home. You recognised some of their names; Robin who grew up a street away from you, Eddie Munson who you knew from art class and the occasional house party in your youth, even Nancy Wheeler. The way he lit up with so much fondness for ‘his kids’ who weren’t kids anymore made your face ache from smiling.

And Steve had listened, wanted to hear how you had liked Indianapolis for college (he had spent some time there too before making the move to Chicago with Robin after Eddie had sussed the place out and found an apartment near his own for them that they still shared). He had asked about your job, your life in the city, and took a real interest in you.

His attention had stayed on you, never straying to see who else was around or looking for an escape route. His honeyed gaze had stayed focused, watching how you used your hands when you spoke and dipped occasionally to look at your lips. Steve’s hand had stayed close by when his fingers weren’t outright intertwined with yours. He did this thing with his thumb, stroking it across the bone of your wrist, and a few times he had squeezed your hand while you spoke as if to say ‘go on, I’m listening’ - it was so centering for your often anxious mind.

You had a few more drinks, picked a few songs on the jukebox, kept talking and talking until you were sitting close enough to hear Steve’s stomach growl, making his cheeks flush pink.

“I know a pizza spot close by if you’re hungry?” you suggested.

“DiFontaines?” Steve smiled a little, nodding at your suggestion. “Yeah I love it. Let’s go.”

Neither of you wanted to end the night yet, say goodbye. So you didn’t. Instead you headed hand in hand into the warm night air, nicely buzzed and in search of hot pizza and crispy cold sodas.

The sun had dipped in the sky, taking the worst of the heat with it, but the night stayed humid and sticky. Despite the warmth, Steve held your hand and between stories, as you walked down the next block, he lifted his arm to twirl you when you passed a bar blaring Achy Breaky Heart onto the street; Billy Ray’s crooning was eclipsed by your laughter.

“You’re such a dork,” you giggled, pushing him gently before Steve quickly hugged you against his side again. Never had you felt so comfortable on a first date - but this wasn’t just any blind first date.

“Dork?! You been talkin’ to Robin?” Steve smiled down at you, sparking heat in your belly.

“Guess your reputation precedes you, Harrington.” With a burst of bravery, owing it to your younger self, you bounced up on your toes to peck his cheek before taking off a few steps ahead, turning to grin back at him as he jogged to catch up before you swerved into the pizza place.

You joined the line of late night pizza lovers and Steve had slipped an arm around you, leaned his chin on your head as your heart pounded hard. “So, what’re we getting?” he asked.

The familiarity of it all made you feel fuzzy around the edges, his thumb stroking your shoulder, the heat of him pressed against your side.

“It’s probably sacrilegious but the New York style slice, veggie or… artichoke.” Feeling brave again you cover his hand with yours and squeezed. “You?”

“Okay so we’re both sinners then.” He hummed, considering his options. “You’re vegetarian right?”

“Yeah, I try to be.” You liked how he had remembered a tiny detail from a story told hours ago.

“Okay. Four cheese then.”

“You sure?” Your interest piqued.

“Yeah, ‘course. You might not want a goodnight kiss if I have pepperoni breath.”

You swear your jaw dropped as Steve schooled his smile, watching the group of tipsy tourists ahead of you order their slices before his eyes darted back to you.

Steve was more timid, his voice quieter as he filled the silence between you when you had been too stunned to answer. “It’s also totally fine if you don’t want to kiss me, sweetheart. I know I can lay it on ki-“

Instead you rocked up to close the gap between you, ignoring the pinch of your sandals to lay a kiss onto his lips. Steve was quick to cup your cheek, keeping you there to kiss you back just as sweetly.

His nose has nudged against yours before he let you go, gazing into each other’s eyes until your attention was pulled to ‘order or get out’. His arm had stayed around you as you placed your orders, splitting a third classic deep dish slice between you so you wouldn't be run out of town with torches and pitchforks.

Full of pizza and soda and bravery, you had taken Steve’s hand again and strolled through the sticky Chicago night, steering him toward your apartment with the guise of proving that the same pink scrunchie you wore in high school was in fact on your bedside table. You both knew what you were really suggesting.

Part of you niggled away, expecting him to make a polite excuse to head home instead. But Steve only had eyes for you and sealed the deal with another kiss. You lost yourselves in each other, feeling younger together, and made out with Steve’s back against the shutters of somewhere long closed for the night as he squeezed your hips and you toyed with the ends of his hair. It was with regret that he had to tear himself away from your lips to hail a cab for you both, where you did your best to behave on the way to your apartment.

As you lay in bed that next morning, watching how Steve’s chest rose and fell with breath, how soft he looked in sleep, you felt warm and happy. His golden glow was just as dazzling in the morning light.

Your night together had been unrushed. Steve hadn’t just hit it and quit it with you. No, instead you had kissed and kissed, making out and letting your hands roam like two teenagers except there was no hurry; no seven minute deadline or someone pounding on a guest room door to see if it was occupied. The rumours in school had been true; Steve Harrington was an amazing kisser. You had listened to a friend of a friend rave about his soft lips after a lucky spin the bottle in junior year; now you had tasted him for yourself, you understood why she had brought it up so much. But Steve was in your bed now, not hers, you thought smugly.

On the way from the couch to your bed, he had unzipped your dress and you made sure his powdery blue shirt wouldn’t be too creased in the morning, draping it over the back of a chair instead of leaving it balled up on the ground.

Steve had made sure you knew how beautiful he thought you were, kissed you everywhere before taking his time with you and spent an age between your legs as he worked you open for him. Lying there the next morning, you could feel your face heat up when you remembered how his touch set you on fire. The pleasant all over ache weighed you down into your mattress.

With a messy bed-head, Steve woke a little after you and saw you smiling dreamily to yourself. He reached out to pull you closer, tucking his face into your neck.

“Mornin’.” His voice was gravelly and deep.

“Morning.” You brush his hair back gently and dot a kiss to his forehead before stroking your fingers over his shoulders soothingly, dragging them down his arm.

“S’nice,” he said, lips moving against your neck before he pressed a few kisses there.

Lying face to face on your pillow, your fingers played with the fine gold chain that settled around his throat, dipping lower into the thick hair on his chest.

“I had a really good time last night.” Steve’s fingers walk up your arm, before twirling your hair around one carefully.

When you look up at him, he’s got this little smile on his face. He inches closer, letting his gaze drop to your own smiling mouth before you share a slow morning kiss.

“Me too,” you whisper, settling your hand on the side of his neck before returning his kiss again. Your fingers skate across and behind the lobe of his ear, the underside of his jaw and the shade of stubble there.

With his large soft hands, he drags you closer still, pressing you right up against him. The t-shirt you had pulled on after the sweat on your body had started to cool last night was rucked up over your hip as Steve’s thumb strokes the dip there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling warm all over despite the chill of your box fan to cool the room down. This morning you're warmed by the heat and glow that radiates from Steve Harrington, hotter than the sun itself.

“You’re really beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips, shifting his weight so you’re on your back again with one of his thighs slotted between yours. Steve brushes your hair back, fanning it out over the pillow before dipping down to kiss you again. He leaves you breathless before his lips trail lower to your jaw and neck.

It’s an intimacy you hadn’t had with anyone in a long time, feeling safe enough with Steve to let yourself be loved on like this. You will yourself to be present with him, bask in his glow as it warms you, but barbs of anxiety have crept in to distract you.

Last night was amazing, slow and syrupy and tender. If that had been the last time you ever saw Steve Harrington you could have probably died happy - happier than before anyway. But instead he stayed, and as he kisses you again (morning breath ignored and forgotten). Steve didn’t care that you had faded into the background of your shared high school halls, he had loved how you had the bravery to break out of Hawkins and be you now.

Steve notices you tensing up and peels himself back, thumbing your cheek again as he says your name. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, concern in his eyes. It makes your heart ache.

You shake your head and cover the hand on your cheek. “No. Never.” You pull him to you again and relish the weight of him on top, your hands over his shoulders. “I’m getting in my head. You’re straight out of a dream, Steve. I feel like asking you to pinch me.”

You feel a little embarrassed about being quite so honest with him like this, but he oozes a magnetism and calmness that makes you want to tell him everything. But you don’t want to scare him away, be left waiting for another call that’s not coming, or hear him say ‘that was fun but I’m not looking for anything serious right now’.

He smiles and leans his weight on one strong arm so he’s not totally crushing you. “I can, if you want. But I promise I’m real. And I’m just some guy.”

You laugh. “Some guy? Nah Steve, I think you might be some sort of apparition. Or like, a Greek god.” You squeeze his bicep for emphasis. “Definitely dreaming.”

Steve rolls his eyes, playful, and pinches your cheek lightly. “See? Silly.” He presses a kiss to where he pinched before going in for another on your smiling mouth. Steve was not shy or stingy with his kisses, you had learned. You liked that a lot.

“I think you’re pretty amazing, y’know. If you’re not sick of me yet, would you wanna go for breakfast with me?” Steve kneels up between your thighs, the sheets pooling around his hips. Your eyes go right to the white Calvin’s pulled tight over the thickness of him. Your eyes rake up over his body until you’re caught staring, ogling, and Steve smiles when you pull a pillow over your face. You certainly hadn’t been so shy last night; he laughs and lifts it away to gaze down at you, hoping you will say yes.

“C’mere. Then you can take me for breakfast.” You coax him back down, hooking one leg over his hip. “Prove to me again that you’re not just in my imagination?”

Steve grins and rolls himself down over you. “You been imagining me like this? Scandalous,” he teases before resuming his kisses from earlier, which you are eager to return. Your bodies move together, hips tilting toward each other seeking out that pressure that makes your tummy sizzle. As Steve’s hands slip under your sized-up sleep shirt again, your own dips down to cup him through his underwear. His breath hitches, eyes fluttering shut.

“Baby…”

Baby.

You smile and repeat the movement firmer this time before beginning to coax him to hardness, breaking your hold on him only to help him remove your tshirt. It’s lost to the floor along with Steve’s briefs. His breath is hot against your mouth as your bodies press together. The feeling of Steve’s hands on your breasts draws out a whine that’s swallowed by another kiss; his hands are so big and they feel like they are everywhere, like Steve is everywhere. His mouth and hands trail lower, spreading you out for him on your dusty rose bedsheets. He cups you there, thumb swiping in a delicious rhythm that has you gasping against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, kissing the tops of your breasts. “Let me hear those pretty noises again, baby. Please?”

You whimper as his fingers ease you open, so gentle like the polite ‘please’. Steve had proven he was a talker already last night, his words making you feel hot all over as he had pushed so carefully inside, turning tipsy giggles into needy gasps. You felt the same heat engulf you now as he lay wet kisses to your tummy, your hips, pausing only so that he could lie comfortably between your thighs after shouldering his way between them.

He’s looking up at you, his cheek against the meat of your thigh. Lips curve into a smile when you meet his gaze, and he closes his eyes when you stroke his hair back. One of his hands takes yours and rests together on your belly as he dips to kiss you where you need him, humming against you when you gasp his name.

Your eyes drop closed, fireworks bursting behind them as he makes you feel so good. The once or twice any other man had done this was lacklustre in skill and enthusiasm, which Steve possessed in every cell of his being. When you chance looking at him you spot his hips shifting against the mattress, chasing relief for his own ache which makes you moan louder. His whispered “good girl” sends your eyes rolling back into your skull.

Steve brings you to your peak quicker than anyone ever had before. Mindful that you might be a little tender from the night before as he presses one long and thick finger inside before a second joins it a few moments later, gentle but with a purpose of making you forget your own name. His shoulder presses firm against your thigh, spreading you wider as his fingers pump steadily, keeping the pace and press against the spot inside you that makes you feel fit to explode.

You squeeze his arm while your capacity for coherent speech vanishes, focusing only on the swirl and suck of his mouth and the crook and curl of his fingers. It’s so sudden, and you swear you’ve never made a noise so loud as you moan for him, trembling all over. He whispers his praise against your thigh before bringing his mouth back to where you’re weeping for him and doesn’t stop until your thighs are crushing his ears, muffling your voice.

Chest heaving, you feel him move up to check on you. He brings you close, holding you as you glow with him and presses feathery kisses to your hairline. “You still with me? Not still dreaming about me?”

“Mm, think I died,” you manage, peeking up at him with teary eyes. Another tender kiss to the dopey smile on your lips. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, sweetheart.”

His grin is deservedly cocky, earning himself the warm grasp of your hand around his length. The prettiest frown graces his face as you squeeze and slowly pump your hand, your lips moving to his neck.

Steve’s gaze moves from your face, dragging down your body to where your hand holds him. His size makes your hand look small and you feel the kick of his arousal on your palm. You manage to swing one wobbly leg over him, sitting on the breadth of his thighs with new confidence as he holds you steady.

You lean across him, earning kisses to your chest as you fish for a condom to rip open and roll on to him before lowering yourself down into his lap.

Sinking your teeth into the fat of your lower lip at the stretch of him, Steve huffs out a breathy swear against your chest. His hands settle on your hip and thigh, grounding and never rushing as you breathe into the feeling of him inside you before beginning to move.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, watching you in awe. “So pretty f’me.”

That spurs you on, chasing the tingle deep in your abdomen. Your fingers lace with Steve’s on your thigh, the other hand braced against the wall behind his shoulder.

His head leans back by your hand, turning to kiss your wrist as you move in his lap. You curl your arm around him, bringing each other close as his hips hitch up to meet you.

“So good, baby,” he murmurs, kissing you again as his breath comes quicker now. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

Gasping his name, you hold him tight to you as you move together. He can’t take his eyes off of you, “Good girl, so gorgeous.”

Messy kisses broken by gasps and Steve’s praise are traded back and forth. His hands feel huge where they hold you at your waist.

The cord of pleasure deep in your pelvis winds tighter. Steve’s jaw twitches as he holds on to you, and you kiss the tense muscle before whispering, “You make me feel so good.” The sound he makes is almost a whimper and he squeezes the meat of your ass. Your hips continue their rise and roll, you feel like every cell of your body is aflame.

Steve watches you, praising words fanning the fire low in your belly. The burn in your thighs makes you pause and he takes the chance to kiss you stupid again.

“Feel good? Yeah?” When you nod, feeling spaced out, he pecks your swollen lips and whispers, “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.” You wonder if he lets anyone take care of him, return his generosity and affections.

He is so gentle as he holds you to his chest and slouches lower on the bed. You close your eyes at the feeling of being held like this, cheek to his broad shoulder. His feet are flat and firm on the bed and the experimental thrust up into you makes you sigh his name. Steve sweeps your hair to one side so that he can kiss your neck again, checking in with you before continuing.

His name echoes on your bedroom walls as he grazes the elusive spot inside of you; the way you press right against his pelvis gives a rub of friction that makes lightning zing through your limbs. “That’s it. Huh? Right there?” His voice is tight as he drives up into you again, faster now with the new angle.

You can hardly summon the sense to make a sentence, babbling now with how good he’s making you feel, the occasional broken curse or plea. After last night and this morning, the neighbours won’t be happy or forget Steve’s name anytime soon - not that you give a fuck.

You kiss him again, though now you’re both so far gone it’s messy and needy, hot breaths against each other’s cheeks. The lick of his tongue against yours makes you shiver. You feel ready to burst, pleasure building as his hips drive up hard into you

With the feeling of him so deep inside of you, you fall over the edge again. The feeling of your orgasm, clenching and fluttering and soaking, drags him with you, groaning against your neck when his hips slam and stutter still. His arms are tight around you, both heaving deep breaths together.

Steve eases you both down onto your sides, tangled together. You feel dazed and heavy but the stroke of Steve’s fingers on your hip, his hot breath on your collarbone grounds you until the sounds of Chicago on a Saturday morning remind you that this wasn’t a dream.

“You okay? That.. Jesus…” Steve’s voice is breathy, but you hear his smile.

“Yeah. I’m…amazing.”

“Yeah, you are.”

There’s comfortable silence as you both come back to earth.

After a few moments Steve dots kisses to your cheeks, forehead and nose before he eases out of you to bin the full condom. Soon you’re back in bed with him, held safe in his arms. His cheeks are pink and you want to squeeze them.

“You’re so gorgeous, Steve.” Your fingers brush over the moles dotted along his cheekbone, and he catches your hand to kiss your fingers sweetly in distraction. “Hey. Look at me, Harrington.”

“Back to Harrington?” he teases, looking into your eyes with faux intensity to make you giggle. “M’lookin’.”

“Steve. Steven.” You match his teasing with pretend-seriousness.

“Not Steven. Please, baby.” His mouth turns down, exaggerating his unhappiness with you, but the stroke of his fingers on your hip say otherwise.

“Ms O’Donnell called you Steven.”

“Please don’t bring O’Donnell up while my dick is still out.”

You both dissolve into giggles, pressing your face against the chain on his chest. “Shut up, she had that much of an effect on you?! Calling you Steven gets you all worked up? Okay perv, good to know.”

“You’re sick in the head.” His voice is shaky with laughter against your hair. “S’a good thing you’re cute.”

“Mhm. Definitely a sicko. Two cute sickos.” You take his face in your hands again. “You’re a great date Steve Harrington.”

He smiles, but it falls a little - you just about catch it. It makes your heart hurt. Your inability to just say that you don’t want this to be a one time thing makes you want to pull your own hair out.

“I do my best. I had so much fun with you. I’m just kinda… sick of first dates though. Yknow?”

“I do know. But that’s not how last night felt.”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes as he nods.

“Definitely helped that we had a bit of a head start on the ‘where are you from?’ shit..” There’s a twinkle of playfulness in his heart wrenching sincerity.

“I hate that part.” You look into his eyes. It makes your chest flutter, how he looks at you.

“I know we didn’t know each other all that well in school..”

“Since kindergarten.” Your shrug is tiny, you smile playfully as he groans.

“Since kindergarten. Shit. What’ve I been doing all this time…” he asks the ceiling.

“Same as me. Getting out of Hawkins. Going on crappy dates...”

“Mm, true. Growing up, I guess.” He’s quiet for a moment, “Last night wasn’t crappy. Best date I’ve been on in a long long time.”

“Me too. I think I’ll let you take me out again, if you want to…” you say, whispering bravely as you act all playful despite your hammering heart.

The smile on Steve’s face makes the butterflies in your stomach swoop again. You weren’t the only one who felt so dimmed by dating around, having your heart broken. There’s a beat of silence, charged electric as Steve looks at your lips and you touch his chain again.

“You like pancakes, or waffles?” Steve’s eyes twinkle.

You squeeze the bulk of his bicep. “French toast.”

His head tips back in laugh, showing off his delicious throat. “Oh she’s fancy?”

“She is.”

He leans in to kiss you in more time. “I can do fancy, baby.”

“You’ve done fancy twice. Fancy is hungry, Steve.”

Your laughter echoes in the golden morning light that fills your room as his fingers skate over your ribs, finding the ticklish spots before he hauls you as close as possible again.

Steve’s nose presses against your cheek, smooching one more kiss there before sitting up to find his pants. As you stargaze at the constellation on his broad back, you think this might just be the start of something really amazing.

comments, reblogs and likes are not simply appreciated - they are cherished

#steve harrington x reader #Steve Harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington #Steve Harrington x y/n #steve harrington is a total dreamboat #my fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x f!reader #steve stranger things #Steve Harrington smut #bangaveragefics

692 notes · View notes

thisblogisaboutabook · 2 months

Text

Bad Idea Right - Part 7

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

Soft Eris! Brooding Azriel! Meddling Nyx! Nosey Azalea! Reader has feelings! Enjoy.

Part 6 Part 7.5 (Prequel Headcanon)

Warnings: Language

How convenient that the moment I show up in a compromising position at my door step with my half-naked lover? Fuck buddy? For all intents and purposes we’ll say boyfriend to spare my father from a heart attack at such a salacious relationship status. Surprise, Eris! You may be an oh-so-noble High Lord but now you’re my boyfriend too. Time to meet the parents! Again. But I digress, my father’s busy schedule conveniently cleared right up as Eris and I showed up at the door.

And Eris, the bastard, accepted his complete and utterly insincere offer to come in for lunch.

He winnowed back to his place beforehand to change into something more befitting of the situation at hand.

It was my intention to dart to my room, put on more clothing than my skimpy underwear and hide there until Eris returned but…. Azalea had other things in mind. No sooner than I dressed, she barreled in through the door.

“Sissy! I missed you. Why didn’t you have clothes on?”

Following her into the room came my mother. “Azalea, why don’t you go help dad set the table.”

Her jaw dropped “But-“

“Please, Azalea. We don’t want Eris to return while we are unprepared. That would make us poor hosts.”

She mulled over it for a moment before letting out a breath. “Fiiiiiine.”

As she ran off down the hall, my mother approached me, seating herself on the edge of the bed.

Here comes the lecture.

Her soft face, frozen in eternal youth remained neutral. “Y/N, your father was mortified to walk out and find you two like that.”

I waited for her to continue but to my absolute shock, she raised her hand to her mouth and LAUGHED. A true, genuine laugh.

“I’m- I’m so sorry. I know it must have been so uncomfortable for you.” Her laughter was contagious, I couldn’t hold back the very slight grin that tilted the corners of my lips upwards. “I just- he’s so hard to surprise. I can count on both hands the amount of times I’ve ever seen him shocked, and Y/N, half of them have been because of you.”

Her laughter softened as she placed a hand softly upon my cheek. I leaned into it. “I love you, Y/N. Your antics and the surprise you bring to our lives makes immortality far less dull.”

I didn’t realize how much I needed this moment with my mother. It was easy to forget that she was more than just “mother”. She was a strong female with a sense of humor and more purpose than just tending to a home and garden and doting over her children.

I am an adult now. She is still very young in fae terms. My mother could be my friend if I’d only let her.

As her laughter died, a memory struck me.

The burning flame drives away the wild shadow.

“The vision from Starfall. What about that? You seemed so upset.”

Mother took my hand. “Y/N, my visions are only a piece of a puzzle, not the entire picture. It could mean anything. The situation itself took me by surprise and the vision felt ominous in the moment but it may not mean anything. And despite the situation that just unfolded at our door, I trust you to use your best judgement. If you feel safe and happy, that’s all I can ask for.”

Elain Archeron, seer and pragmatist. Who knew?

——————

Forks scraped on plates and glasses clanked on wood as the five of us tensely ate our lunch. My appetite non-existent at this point in time. Eris decided to show up in his most noble High Lord attire because why not make this lunch more stiff and uncomfortable than it needs to be? And while he may have been dressed for the part of serious High Lord, his posturing oozed irreverence. with a saccharine grin plastered onto his face. A silent battle of wills raged between he and my father, who would cut the tension by breaking through the silence first?

My father, cauldron bless him, only sat stiffly in his chair, trying his damndest (and failing) not to clench his jaw, while his fists wrapped tightly around his utensils - as if he were afraid he’d set them down and his fists would immediately go flying toward Eris’ face.

My mother sat directly across from me, passing the occasional eyebrow raise in my direction - a silent sentiment of “Males. Am I right?”

Meanwhile, Azalea bounced eagerly in her chair, eyes darting back and forth between my father and Eris. Sparing the two males of a shot to their male egos, she broke the silence. “Well??? Is anyone going to say something?”

“Azalea” my mother warned. To which Azalea let out a dismissive huff before opening her mouth again. “Hey fire-uh, Eris! Do you love my sister? Are you going to get married?”

I choked on my water, father somehow managed to grip his utensils tighter, and Eris only chuckled. “I’d have to get her to go on a proper date with me first.”

While his intentions were genuine with the statement, my father visibly paled as if remembering what two adults who aren’t on dates tended to get up to.

“Ohh! A date! Sissy, why don’t you go on one?”

“Eris is a High Lord, Azzy. It’s hard to schedule time for one.”

“What about Aunt Feyre’s art exhibit? You could dress up fancy and go to Sevenda’s and Eris, you could get her flowers!”

A small part of me lit up at that. I had never considered a date as an option. A larger part of me wanted to fall through the floor immediately only to resurface once everyone had left the table.

Eris glanced toward me, likely noticing my slightly reddened cheeks. With a grin he said, “I’d like that. When’s this exhibit, Azalea?”

The comment sent Azalea into a frenzy as she gave him all the details of the day, the time, the gallery, her favorite works, and into her own interest in art and painting, and how Aunt Feyre keeps a picture that she’d painted of a Unicorn - which is very different from a Pegasus, thank you very much - framed in her gallery.

Azalea may be the biggest busybody of us all but gods was I thankful for her chatty ways and tendency to overshare in the moment.

As Azalea rambled on a loud knock banged on the door, far too loud for my lingering headache from the night before. My shadows practically hissed in irritation at the disruption. And then, as I saw my fathers tense features shift from his own state of irritation into relief, rage flickered inside me.

I glowered. “Are you fucking kidding me, dad?”

Ignoring my question completely, he strode to the door only to be greeted by Cassian’s hulking figure and Rhys.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how cheeky he was feeling, Nyx strode in behind them.

If Eris was phased, he didn’t show it. Powerful High Lord or not, I had to give it to him. My- the male had balls.

Cassian clapped Eris on the shoulder as he strutted in. “To what do we owe this pleasure, High Lord?” Cassian’s ability to bait with only his tone of voice was rather impressive. Almost as impressive as Eris’ ability to remain unbothered by his efforts.

Nyx gave a subtle smirk and simultaneous eye roll. A show of “Oh I’m enjoying this very much but I empathize with you as well, cousin.” Rhys only gave Cassian a cautioning glare and likely a stern mental warning of “he’s still a High Lord and you will treat him as such.”

I forgot I still had a bone to pick with him over whatever secrets he and Eris had been keeping.

In fact….. since they were all here why not make this more uncomfortable for everyone - not JUST me.

Cassian, Rhys, and Nyx poured themselves glasses of whiskey before finding chairs at the table. Because why not mix in alcohol to this shit show? It’s not uncomfortable enough as it is.

“So,” I mused. “Uncle Rhys, when did you approve Eris for a temporary visa to rent an apartment in Velaris?”

Eris, ever the master of chaos, paled for the briefest of moments before a look crossed his features that he usually reserved for calling me “good girl” in his bed.

At that comment my father turned his icy gaze toward Rhys and even Cassian gaped.

And Rhys, the smooth prick, only replied “High Lord business, we have much to discuss regarding commerce in the coming months. Given his status it made more sense for him to have a private, warded apartment than to stay in a hotel with so many prying eyes.”

Though I thought the same, it was my father who muttered “Bullshit.” Shadows whirring in rage at Rhys openly allowing Eris to stay in the city as he pleases.

A part of me wanted to jump in and defend Eris but another part of me was still pissed to not have a direct answer.

Sensing the argument about to unfold between the brothers, my mother ushered Azalea, Eris, and I to the garden for tea. Nyx politely declined the offer in lieu of watching the drama between his father and Uncles play out.

—————

Seated in the garden, Azalea was jittery, practically begging to go inside and listen to the conversation with father and Rhys. Truthfully, I couldn’t blame her, and would have sent my shadows in but someone had thrown up a ward.

The tension between Eris and I, well, the tension from me to Eris was thick. I was still so angry with him for his secretive ways but… also so drawn to him. I craved him.

Fuck - this man and his stupid, beautiful face.

“Aw, are you thinking about me again? Glad you recognize which of us is the best looking Archeron.”

“Get out of my head, Nyx. You’re as nosey as Azalea.”

“Fine. I won’t give you updates on what’s happening in here.”

“Fuck off. Anyone have a broken bone or a black eye yet?”

“Nothing too exciting going on. Sadly. Mostly your father brooding in that rageful way of his over my father ‘encouraging’ your relationship.”

“He’s really struggling with accepting whatever it is between us.”

“Yeah, and Amren is a hoarder. Since we’re apparently stating the obvious here.”

“And you’re a pompous asshole.”

“You wound me, cousin.”

“Update me if anything interesting comes up.”

“Only if you say it.”

“I’m not saying it.”

“Fine. No gossip for you.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

Silence. Pure silence filled our mental connection for several moments.

“Fine.”

“Nyx is the most handsome Archeron.”

“I’m flattered. Talk to you later.”

I flipped him off mentally which earned a chuckle as his voice faded away.

He really was his father’s son. Insufferable in the most endearing of ways.

Seemingly having zoned out for too long, Azalea waived her little hands in my face “Earth to sissy!! Are you talking to Nyx? What’s happening?”

“LADIES.” Mother reprimanded. “Leave them be.”

A warmth heated my shoulder that I hadn’t previously noticed. When had Eris put his arm around me? So casually, so comfortably.

So…. Right.

And because she couldn’t leave him in peace, Azalea interrupted the quiet contentment, “Eris! I have a Sprite garden. Want to see it?”

Eris gave a gentle nod to Azalea. “I would love to.”

Mother only gave me an affectionate smile as I stood to follow them.

“This is Night Blooming Jasmine! The flowers are only out at night and this is a bench in case a Sprite comes to visit but I also put a bed back here” She motioned deep within the planted jasmine “in case one comes and needs a nap!”

Eris didn’t miss a beat as he crouched down to look at the little oasis she’s created in her garden.

“Do they ever come visit?” he asked inquisitively.

Softly, sadly, Azalea shook her head as she looked to the ground. “No.. but maybe someday. Maybe they’re nervous because we’re so big and they’re so tiny. I never see footprints but I will keep making it cozy for them so maybe they’ll feel safe. I would be their friend. We could be best friends.”

Eris listened attentively, never drifting his focus from her and her garden. And then my armored heart melted ever so softly as he warmly replied, “They’d be lucky to have you as a friend, Azalea.”

Her eyes lit up. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

“You can be my friend too if you want.” She said, looking to him eagerly.

Eris was taken back for a moment. And the look in his face gutted me. As if- as if he couldn’t fathom that someone so gentle, so unbroken by the world could look at him and see anything other than the cold, calculated product of Beron Vanserra.

Azalea stared at him expectantly, her face beginning to falter until he smiled. A broad, genuine smile that I’d seen so few times. “I’d like that very much.”

And with that she grabbed his hand and led him through the rest of the garden.

——————

Eventually my mother retrieved a reluctant-to leave-Eris’-side Azalea, as father had sent Cassian, Rhys, and Nyx home. He was likely fuming that his little plan to make things more uncomfortable than necessary backfired and she didn’t feel like dealing with explaining to him why Azalea was gleefully dragging Eris by the hand through the garden.

I made a mental note to myself to take my little sister out for pastries soon as a “thank you” for serving as a buffer throughout the afternoon. I didn’t realize just how much discomfort she’d spared me from until she had gone inside and I was left alone in the garden with Eris.

Perhaps softened by his kindness with my vivacious sister and the painful look on his face at her kindness in return, I brushed my hand against the back of his.

His face remained stoic but I could have sworn a small lump formed in his throat.

We wandered a few more steps through the garden. He said nothing but, to my surprise, brought the back of his hand back to mine and hooked his pinky with mine.

And gods damn if that didn’t give me butterflies.

“So,” he started, almost coyly. I couldn’t be hearing this correctly. “About that exhibit at Feyre’s gallery?”

“Yes?” I asked.

“Could I-“ he took both of my hands in his, avoiding eye contact at first but finally meeting my gaze. “Would you- like for me to escort you? We could get dinner beforehand.”

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A nervous Eris Vanserra. Of all people, he was nervous in front of the female he’d been fucking for two years.

And yet, something sparked within me at the thought.

Feigning shock, I asked: “High Lord, are you asking me on a date?”

The corners of his lips lifted slightly. “Don’t be an ass.”

“Think you can manage not to strike anymore mysterious, shady bargains between now and then?”

“I believe I can manage.” He quipped. That casual irreverence in his tone returning.

“Then yes, Eris, I will. Now you should probably get home before my father comes out and decides to make his brooding everybody’s problem.”

With that he wrapped an arm around my waist as a hand gripped the back of my head, pulling in me tightly. His lips crashed into mine, kissing me passionately. I gasped into it as heat pooled within me, reverent need burning through my veins, urging him to deepen the kiss further.

And as suddenly as he initiated the kiss, he pulled back with a smirk. “See you soon, little Shadowsinger.” and winnowed away.

————————————-

Tags: @b0xerdancer-writes @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams

Totally forgot to add the tags when I first posted this (I was half-asleep) Sorry!!

170 notes · View notes

mrghostrat · 2 months

Note

Hello and good morning/day/night :]

I was wondering, in BNF, we’ve gotten tiny little bits of information about the ‘Nice and Accurate Prophecies’ (not sure if that’s the correct title, sorry) book and TV series, if there was anything else you could tell us about it?

Character names, storylines, plots, any fun details you may have made up or otherwise, etc, etc.

I just think it’s sweet how interested both Aziraphale and Crowley are in the series, and if you might be as interested, if not more, in it too.

Thank you, and have a lovely Sunday. 🫶

this is it, my leash has snapped, i'm wild in the streets, thank u for asking; i'm gonna go be insufferable now

(hi @neil-gaiman if you see this, i think it's safe to read, but it does border on being fan fic. i'm writing a fic where crowley and aziraphale are an artist + writer in an online fandom, much like we are for good omens, and this is the fake story i've made for them to be fans of 💛)

The Nice and Accurate Prophecy

info dump of the fake 5 book series by Agnes Nutter (1985-1992) and its fake fandom:

The Nice and Accurate Prophecy

The Strange and Improbable Prophecy

The Vague and Perfidious Prophecy

The Tense and Harrowing Prophecy

The Faint and Ineffable Prophecy

a dramatic, layered story with a bizarre and unexpectedly lovable cast of characters, humour that hits you out of nowhere, and a lot of attitude from the narrator. a la Good Omens, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

fantasy/historical fantasy and mildly action & romance

a la good omens, a witch and a witchfinder become friends and help each other throughout history, despite being on opposite sides. they get closer as they fight against the immoral plays from their prospective sides (the witchfinder army and a demonic cult the witch was born into) that each lose sight of their core values in a bid to hold more power over the world.

the story is set primarily in a medieval fantasy era, but suddenly jumps to the present in the later books, catching everyone off guard and giving a whole new context to enjoy the story. the challenges they face parallel the earlier story but in a modern take with modern technological twists. the modern era is the late 80s, since that's when it was written.

the witch reincarnates, similar to doctor who, due to a high class black magic ritual they performed in their arrogant youth (which they were NOT supposed to have access to). they've had long lifetimes where they die of old age, and others where they've barely managed to live a year. their reincarnations aren't entirely random; they will reincarnate according to their growth and preferences as a person (a la Magical Boy's magical outfit generations), which includes fluctuation in gender identity. their pronouns fluctuate depending on each "face" they wear, but have canonically been a "they" before. the good side of the fandom (crowley & aziraphale) default to they/them as an overall rule. they do have a name, but they like to change that too, so the fandom almost exclusively calls them witch, or witchy.

the witchfinder also has a name, but the fandom have taken to calling him witchfinder to match the fact that witchy is called by their role. it also helps that a lot of the witchfinder narration refers to him by role instead of name. he is human, 30ish in appearance, but at the end of the first book, the witch fears to lose him and curses him with immortality against his knowledge to try and keep him safe.

witch is crowley-coded, witchfinder is aziraphale-coded. my to-do list includes an illustration of the two of them played by michael and david :') but i picture them being kind of like newt and anathema for the most part.

ship names include witch/finder, witchwitch, w² or witch², and witchfound.

at the start of the first book, they meet and become friends without knowing each other is a witch & finder. the witchfinder is a bit bumbly, like newt, and the witch is cool and suave but neurotic and insecure like many human au variations of crowley (major overcompensation vibes). witch is male at the start of the first book. their friendship is secure when witch finds out he's a witchfinder, so there's less "oh my god i'm friends with the enemy, is he going to kill me in my sleep?" and more "ah fuck, Lets Drink About This"

there's battles, horseback riding, camping out in dark woods, disappearing and losing each other for months at a time, and many missed connections as they try to work together against two common enemies, whilst keeping up the facade that they're on their respective team's sides.

there's charged chemistry in the first book, but it's more plot heavy. there's hints of shippy moments in the 2nd book that fall in between the plot. there's a Moment of almost confession in the 3rd book, and a non romantic kiss towards the end (we gotta, for neil). they're pretty much married in the 4th book, securely at each other's side, but never actually talk about it until the end, and there's a more explicitly stated shippy connection in the 5th book.

agnes herself is a total recluse who drops books out of nowhere then goes back to existing somewhere in the english countryside (people presume). she's happy to supply signed copies to fundraisers and conventions, and sometimes random bookshops across the country will be vandalised with genuine autographs on the inside covers. she's notoriously pedantic about being involved with adaptions behind the scenes, but she has no social media and isn't ~around~. she once did a talk when she was presented with an honorary doctorate, and did a single book signing when the first Prophecy book came out, but beyond that she keeps to herself.

there are a small handful of quotes from her in behind-the-scenes footage talking vaguely about character intensions and clarifying world building, but she likes to leave things up to interpretation like neil does. it's in these few snippets of interaction we've seen from her that she's steadfastly supportive of intersectionality and lgbt rights, like staring dead-eyed at an interviewer when they ask her a ridiculously heteronormative question about the characters (like "have you read my books?")

adaptions include:

(most adaptions start like the book, with a male witch at the beginning that turns into a female witch when they first regenerate. the early ones usually change the pacing by switching to a female actor by the time they realise witchfinder is a witchfinder, unlike in the book where he's male for this scene, and there's way less Charged™ chemistry between the m/m witch/finder.)

Feature Film: late 90s, kind of cheesy, but good spirited fantasy (a la Indiana Jones). focuses on the first book alone, with hints to a sequel that never happened.

Abandoned TV Pilot: early 2000s, a little too dramatic but still a good time (a la the Dungeons and Dragons 2000, ASOUE 2004). good source of gifs and Moments™ but the fandom is generally Fine with it being abandoned.

Stage Performance: late 2000s-early 2010s, a stellar stage adaption of the first book with elements of the 90s movie. f/m witch/finder the whole way through. one cast used m/m actors but it was a short run and only a handful of fans were lucky enough to catch or remember it. crowley would give his left arm (or someone's, anyway) to have experienced it, so a fan sent him some flip phone camera footage of it that he keeps on a harddrive in his safe.

HBO Streaming Series: late 2010s-present, high quality, highly revered, resurged the fandom's popularity and spread the series further overseas. made in america, but doesn't try to americanise the series. extremely respectful to the books, with easter eggs to the film, and is working its way through the entire book series (a la The Witcher netflix series). f/m witch/finder, but has had one episode that included some flash backs/montages of different witch faces. probably like 15 minutes total screentime of a male witch played by a ncuti gatwa level/style of actor, which the fandom has giffed, edited, and screencapped to oblivion.

Several bonus books: Agnes has written a few extra books (a la The Unauthorized Autobiography of Lemony Snicket and The Beatrice Letters), as well as curated some anthologies from other authors (a la A Study In Sherlock). there are a total of 3 anthologies so far, in which other authors have written stories about the characters in their own tellings. basically like canonised, published fan fiction, curated and authorised by agnes herself. There's also an unfinished graphic novel that retells the book series (a la The Adventure Zone comic), but has been WIP/unheard of since the 3rd book.

#ask a rat #fuck i lvoe this fucking fakedom #bnf au #i cannot get it out of my head #rat writes

271 notes · View notes

dailyadventureprompts · 2 months

Text

Villain: Laormoch, Archfey of the Wild Unknown

Embodying the primal awe and terror of those places beyond the edge of the map, this ancient spirit of the land exists to test and torment those who stray too far from the safety of the familiar.

Though the old stories call him the" thane of the faroff" or an "invisible giant as big as the sky", it is hard to put Laormoch's physicality and the fear it evokes into words: How do you describe being lorded over by ancient trees, or the scornful glare of unfamiliar stars? His shape is only ever suggested by how it bends the natural world, but he is always distant, though always so immense that it feels like he may reach out and crush the viewer.

Adventure Hooks

The party stumble into a village to find its inhabitants struggling to recover after a disastrous hunt. Some wretched beast tore through some weeks ago and was only dispatched with great effort. It was a cause for celebration, at least until the thing was seen stalking in the woods, reading for another attack. To prevent it from assailing their walls and destroying their homes the village's best hunter leads the village's strongest on a sortie, downing the beast only after injuring many and losing a few. This has happened three times so far and the village's defenders are wearing thin. Perhaps the party could lend their aid once the beast is spotted again, and perhaps spend the intervening time trying to find its obviously supernatural origins.

Almost inconsolable, a great lord calls for the party's aid in rescuing his son and heir, who he claims was stolen by the sky itself: snatched out of his tower window by a great hand and carried off into the clouds. The servants and courtiers are skeptical, everyone knows the lord was so protective of his son he barely let the boy leave his rooms, let alone the castle, and it's likely the lad finally managed some means of escape. While they're considering exactly how to search for the lad the party will be approached by the Lord's bastard daughter, she was denied her inheritance by her father's traditionalism, and sees the opportunity to have herself recognized if the true born heir is never found. She'll ask that even if the party does find her younger brother, they either help him escape or leave him where he is, as it would be better for the both of him if he doesn't return to the castle.

Backstory:

Seeking to prove herself against a boastful rival, a hunter ventured far from her village into the deep wilderness, where she found and slew an elk of ethereal beauty, eating its flesh to sustain herself and taking its antlers as her trophy. Though she returned in glory, the beast had been marked by the Thane of the Faroff, who has raised its butchered body as a reverent and gifted it bloodthirsting branches to replace what was taken. The revenant won't stop until it's killed the hunter and torn her body to shreds, which will likely be sometime after she's gotten a good portion of the other villagers killed because she's too good at hunting and too stuborn to die without a fight. The revenant has more than one trick though, the branches animating its body bear seedpods which it scatters as it dies or gores others to death. These seeds eventually grow into twigblights, which are slowly massing in the forest waiting to overwhelm the village's defenders and open the gate for the revenant's final rampage.

Wishing more than anything to get away from the suffocating confines of his home, the young heir has found himself on the wrong end of a fairy bargin. Whisked off by Laormoch to his castle beyond the horizon, the boy has been forced to serve as the archfey's cupbearer as repayment for his captor's "kindness". The party will need to dig deep into the local folklore to figure out how and why the sky might snatch up a forlorn youth, potentially missing him entirely until they run into him while visiting the feywild for a completely different adventure.

Artsource

#villain #villain fey #archfey #wilderness encounter #encounter forest #encounter village #rescue mission #monster hunt #Laormoch

191 notes · View notes

cryptidghostgirl · 2 months

Note

Lets say that Alastor and cat-demon! Reader are friends, both of them are staying at the hotel. Alastor gives them catnip just to mess with them.

A/N I love this mischief. Also, I am 100% basing the character off of Catra from Nate Stevenson's She-Ra remake.

Prepare for Battle (Platonic!Alastor x Platonic!Cat Demon!Reader)

Pairing: Platonic Alastor x Platonic Reader

Warnings: None but please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,276 (Sorry it is on the shorter side, most of my fics recently have been super super long and I needed to do something different.)

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Y/n had showed up around the same time as Alastor did to the hotel. She was a cat demon, like Husk, only much more humanoid. The only real traits she had to show for it were the claws, tail, ears, and, of course, the wild mess of her hair.

Much to everyone's surprise, Alastor had greeted her upon her arrival with a genuine smile, even a hug. A warm welcome by anyone's standards, not just the frigid Radio Demon's. According to Husk, the two had been friends for longer than he'd known either party, possibly even when they were alive although neither spoke much of their pasts. She was never involved in his work as an overlord, but she was always there, according to him. Y/n lurked, waiting, watching for the opportune moment. A mischief maker were the exact words Husk had used.

Y/n and Alastor balanced one another out. Where she was practically feral, he was calm and composed. When he lost his cool, she kept an even temper. When the pranks had started, they had taken everyone by surprise, even with Husk's vague warning. She had just seemed so together in an odd way, so imposing. Not in the way Alastor was but she still held her own. No one expected this sort of juvenile behavior from either of them but once it started, there was no stopping it.

The first one had occurred just a few days after the cat demon's arrival. It had been small, nothing too crazy. Alastor's microphone had simply been replaced with a bright red and white striped candy cane when he had left it leaning against the fireplace to go handle something for Charlie. It wasn't often he left the device unguarded but, he was only a few steps away from it and had figured there was no reason to worry when all the hotel's inhabitants were people trying to be redeemed.

Y/n had watched giddily from the couch, her legs crossed and sporting a failed attempt at a poker face, as Alastor had picked it up again. It had taken him a second to realize the switch had occurred and when he did, his eyes went wide. Y/n had burst out into laughter.

"Here we go again." Husk had sighed, shaking his head slightly.

Thats when the inhabitants of the Hazbin Hotel learned two things. One was that Y/n was not in fact a guest in the sense that she was trying to check out of Hell and into Heaven but rather a guest in that she was there to visit Alastor. The second was that the two had been engaged in a war of practical jokes for the past several decades at least.

From that point forward, the game was on. Each prank became more and more destructive, more and more insane. They took turns with it too, a highly civilized format for an extraordinarily childish pursuit.

Y/n brought out a different side of Alastor, one they had never seen before. It was a youthful side, a side of non-threatening laughter and genuine smiles. While unnerving in some ways, it made them all a bit more at ease with the notorious Radio Demon, to know he had friends and a bit of a soft side beneath his persona.

After the microphone switch, Alastor had tricked Y/n into sitting on a stool beneath a bucket of water. When he had dumped it on her, he had not only made a mess for Nifty to clean up but caused the cat demon to shoot up into the air, hissing loudly. Y/n had gotten him back by changing the locks on the door to his recording studio and used some of her own special brand of magic to block him from teleporting within. The result of this was a very irritated Alastor who broke a fresh hole through the wall. Y/n had been forced by Charlie and Vaggie to be the one to fix it, it was her fault after all, but she insisted it was worth it.

Next had been the vacuum cleaner. The fucking vacuum cleaner. Charlie had had to repaper a whole wall to get the claw-marks to go away after Alastor had used the machine to chase Y/n up it. For her revenge, Y/n had been crafty. She had rounded up a group of several demons she knew had it out for her dear friend and set them on the hotel.

Vaggie had tried her best to kick the cat demoness out after that one but, Alastor had, surprisingly, stepped in. He had fixed the wall with a snap of his fingers and they had both promised to tone down their competition, but never to stop it entirely.

It was Alastor's turn now and as he approached Y/n with a cup of tea, everyone knew something was bound to happen. It was out of character for the man after all, the random act of kindness. She was cuddled up in a sunspot on the couch, reading. So engrossed in her book, she barley looked up at him as she took the cup from his hand with a muttered word of thanks.

Alastor had retreated to the bar beside Angel and Husk with a satisfied expression on his face.

"What did you do now?" Angel asked as he watched Y/n take a sip from the cup.

"Just you wait." Alastor hummed in response.

Five minutes was all it took for the cup to be empty and suddenly, Y/n was on the floor. She reveled in the sunlight, her book now forgotten on the couch as she rolled around.

"What the fuck?" Angel laughed, turning to Alastor, "What the fuck did you give her?"

"Cat nip?" Husk asked, his eyebrows raised, "Really? I mean, that's low. Even for you."

Alastor shrugged.

"Charlie and Vaggie made us promise to tone it down."

Angel shifted his gaze back to Y/n who was wide eyed, staring up at the ceiling intently. The sun reflecting off Angel's glass as he raised it to his lips shot across the ceiling over her head and she immediately rolled over onto all fours, her tail flicking back and forth.

"She's certainly 'toned down.'" Angel noted, laughing once again at Y/n's antics as she tried to grasp the spot of light.

"She's gonna kill you." Husk scoffed, shaking his head slightly.

Angel moved his glass again and Y/n shot forward, clasping her hands around the spot of light once more. It was ten more minutes of the guys laughing and Angel fucking with Y/n using the glass to reflect light before she finally came back her senses.

She sat up from where she had lain on the floor moment's ago, a hand to her head.

"Jesus." she grumbled, "Why... how'd I get down here?"

"Three." Husk said, crossing his arms.

Y/n took her hand from her forehead, looking around the floor of the lobby curiously. Her gaze shifted to the sofa. Her book, the empty cup.

"Two."

Y/n turned to face Alastor, her eyes narrowed.

"One."

"You fucking drugged me you dickwad!" Y/n exclaimed as she pulled herself to her feet, "Catnip? Really? That's low even for you."

"Your turn." Alastor hummed placidly in return, seemingly undisturbed by her anger at the situation.

"I..." Y/n trailed off.

With another look thrown over her shoulder at the empty mug, she marched up to him. Determination glinted in her eyes, Y/n smiled, her teeth bared.

"You are so fucking in for it now."

358 notes · View notes

arecaceae175 · 1 year

Text

Linked Universe Character Guide

I made this LU character guide for my friends and I thought it might be useful for any new LU fans out there! And also for anyone else who wants to info dump to friends about LU. So here you go :D

These characters are of course based on @linkeduniverse by Jojo! But, disclaimer, this does include some non-canon stuff (primarily the fandom nicknames and some War of Ages things) that’s common in fanfiction :). I made this for fun and for my friends so it includes my favorite tropes, canon and fanon.

Edit 4/4/23: Alt text and image descriptions added. Alt text only describes the official character art image (descriptions of all the images were too long for alt text and they were being cut off by my screen). Image text and other image descriptions are at the bottom of the post.

(key at the bottom)

Key:

Image text:

Hero of Time – Time – Old Man, Ancestor (by Twilight), Sprite (by Warriors) | Zelda: Lullaby

Games: Ocarina of Time, Majora’s Mask

Character Traits:

Oldest of the Links

Mental age unknown, physical age is probably 30s

Leader of the group, also group Dad

Very decisive and stoic when he’s being leader

Youthful sense of humor

Views the Master Sword as a curse/burden

Twilight’s mentor – Animated skeleton in the Twilight Princess game called Hero’s Shade

Loves his wife Malon so so so much

Important Game Facts and Items:

Majora’s Mask was a 3-day time loop basically, Time was the one to control the movement of time though

He has masks that give the wearer powers

His facial markings come from the Fierce Diety Mask, which gives him god-like fighting power, but he can’t always tell friend from foe

Had a fairy companion named Navi in Ocarina of Time

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Time is holding up Wild's version of Majora's Mask even with his face. His injured eye is open slightly and is completely white, and his facial markings are in focus. His text box says "Besides, with a legend like that, I'd be more afraid of what destroyed the demon."

Image 2: Time has his arm around Malon and is smiling happily. Malon is a middle aged white woman with long red hair. She is wearing a farming dress. She is smiling back at Time.

Image 3: Text above the image says "Post-Games, Pre-LU Time." It is a black and white sketch of Time when he was a young man. His hair is long and braided over his shoulder with fringe coming down around his face. He is wearing a simple undershirt.

Image 4: Time is smirking mischievously. He is seen shoulder-up.

Image 5: Time is smiling talking to Wind. Wind is putting his sword back in his sheath. Time's text box says "In every battle, you have a little more of the look of a hero." Wind is smiling sheepishly and his text box says "…"

Image 6: Time is scowling. He is holding his sword with both hands out to the side as if he was just attacking. There is smoke and debris in the background. End descriptions.

Hero of Twilight – Twilight – Twi, Pup (by Time), Rancher, Ordonian, Wolfie | Zelda: Dusk

Game: Twilight Princess

Character Traits:

Started his journey as an older teen/adult, now early 20s

Good sword skill & marksmanship, best on horseback, animal whisperer

Physically strongest Link

Grew up in a small town, Ordon Village, on a ranch

Brother bickering relationship with Warriors

Big Brother of the group

One of the most emotionally mature Links

He often comforts the others as Wolfie

Wild’s mentor (because Wolf Link can show up in Breath of the Wild)

Mentored by Time (Hero’s Shade) and Time’s blood descendant

Important Game Facts and Items:

One of the only ones to start his journey as an older teen/adult

Was cursed with Shadow Magic and can now turn into a wolf at will using the artifact he wears as a necklace (Shadow Crystal)

His horse Epona sometimes accompanies the group

Had a companion named Midna that he loved but can never see again

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Twilight is scowling and has his arms crossed.

Image 2: Twilight is in his wolf form. The wolf is large and primarily black, with grey fur on his chest, paws, and face. He has the same forehead markings as Hylian Twilight, but they are grey instead of black. Wolfie has his eyes closed but his head up and is laying on the ground. Wild is asleep on his back with one arm draped across him.

Image 3: Twilight as Wolfie at the end of his transformation. There are black cubes surrounding him, signaling the transformation. Wolfie has a metal shackle on his left front leg. His hackles raised and he is growling.

Image 4: Twilight has his shield at the ready. His brows are furrowed in concentration. Light is shining from the upper left corner and it makes his hair look more blonde than usual.

Image 5: Image from Wild's Sheikah Slate. Twilight is wearing his undertunic and none of his other usual clothes. He is smiling at the camera. In the background there is a lake with light shimmering on the water.

Image 6: Twilight is grinning widely. He is holding a staff diagonally in front of him. End descriptions.

Hero of Warriors – Warriors – Wars, Captain, Pretty Boy (by Legend) | Zelda: Artemis/Athena

Game: Hyrule Warriors

Character Traits:

War of Ages started when he was an older teen/adult, now mid 20s

Military man, but the good kind, Captain in the Hyrulean Army

Weird relationship with Time- Time is team dad, but during the War of Ages Warriors was his big brother figure

Wind’s mentor

Looks are important to him

Prefers to be in groups, good at communication

Best at strategizing and battle plans and such

Doesn’t trust easily because a lot of his soldiers betrayed him

Emotionally mature

Loves to bicker with Legend

Most likely to have actual field medic training

Important Game Facts and Items

War of Ages

Time and Wind were technically present

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Warriors is showing off the burn scar on his left arm. It covers his hand and forearm. He is sitting next to Wind and Warriors' scarf is over both their shoulders. Wind is holding a mug. He is leaning forward and looking at Warriors' scar in shock.

Image 2: Warriors during battle. The art shows lines from the swing of his sword, but the sword is not in the frame. He is mid-swing. His scarf is billowed out behind him.

Image 3: Warriors is smirking and shrugging. There is a text box, but it is cut off and unreadable.

Image 4: Warriors is speaking, but the text box is cut off and unreadable. The image is zoomed in on his upper body.

Image 5: Warriors during battle. He is crouched down and his shoulders are pointing towards the viewer but he is looking to the side. His sword and shield are both up. His sword is pointing in the same direction as he is looking.

Image 6: Warriors is holding out a cloth covered in black blood. He has a cut above his left eyebrow that is bleeding. There is a text box but it is cut off and the only visible word is "creature." End descriptions.

\Hero of the Four Sword – Four – Smithy, Little One (by Time) | Zelda: Dot

Games: Four Swords, Four Swords Adventures, Minish Cap

Character Traits:

Smallest but not the youngest, probably mid teen age now

Only one in the group with a functioning braincell

Very skilled blacksmith

Confident, quiet, calm

Often strategizes with Time and Warriors

Important Game Facts and Items

Friends with Minish, which are a race of small mouse-y creatures that can only be seen by children

Wields the Four Sword, which can split him into four versions of himself: Red, Green, Blue, Vio

Each color displays an aspect of Four’s personality

Keeps this a secret and in LU canon just recently revealed it to Wild. Time also knows

Never wielded the Master Sword, doesn’t have the Triforce of Courage

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Four is split into his four colors: Vio, Red, Green, and Blue. They are standing in a semi-circle and looking at something outside the image. Vio looks contemplative, Red looks upset, Green looks surprised, and Blue looks angry.

Image 2: Four is blacksmithing. He is sitting in front of the forge. He is holding a hammer in his left hand and tongs in his right hand. Both hands have thick leather gloves. In the tongs, he is holding up a horseshoe to inspect.

Image 3: Four is standing next to time with his arms crossed and brows furrowed. Wild's legs are in the frame, and he is on the ground in front of them recovering from an injury. Four's text box says "You think this is gonna (read: going to) be a pattern?"

Image 4: Four during battle. He is leaping backwards out of the way of an axe. He is holding his sword in his left hand and his shield in his right hand. His eyebrows are furrowed. His hair is flying forward as he jumps backward.

Image 5: Four is laughing as he stands next to the Master Sword. Sky is holding the Master Sword with the tip on the ground. The Master Sword is only a few inches shorter than Four. Wind's hand is above Four's head measuring the height difference. End descriptions.

Hero of the Winds – Wind – Sailor | Zelda: Tetra

Game: Wind Waker, Phantom Hourglass, Spirit Tracks (?)

Character Traits:

Youngest Link, started his journey at 12, now almost 14

Very fun personality and very expressive

Good at stealth and navigation

Is a pirate

Has a little sister named Aryll

The others look out for him since he’s the youngest, but he wants to be able to prove himself as a capable hero

Likes joking and pulling pranks

Important Game Facts and Items

He can control the wind with his Wind Waker, though this has never been used in LU canon

Started his journey because his sister was kidnapped

Was not originally gifted with the Hero’s Spirit of Courage, he assembled the Triforce during his journey

Killed Ganon at age 12 by stabbing him in the face

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Wind during battle. He is holding a huge two-handed sword and it mid-swing. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is open like he's yelling.

Image 2: Wind is grinning widely and watching a fairy fly. He is holding a bottle in one hand and pulling the cork out of the bottle with his other hand.

Image 3: A full body image of Wind. He is standing like the standing man emoji meme. He is scowling and his frown is squiggly.

Image 4: Wind is gasping in surprise. His eyes are very wide.

Image 5: Ain image of Wind from the side. He is leaning back sightly. He is holding a shield. He looks very much like a child in the image.

Image 6: Wind is grinning widely. He is leaning toward the viewer and his eyes are focused on something off screen. He has one hand curled against his chest. End descriptions.

Hero of the Wild – Wild – Cub (by Twilight and Time), Cook, Champion | Zelda: Flora

Games: Breath of the Wild, Tears of the Kingdom

Character Traits:

117 (17 physically)

Survivalist, best archer, crazy good stamina

Only Link that is actually good at cooking

Very prone to injury, a bit reckless, breaks his weapons a lot

Has insecurities about being the only Link that ‘failed’ their mission (this is obviously not true)

Lost his memories when he died, still getting them back

Used to be a knight pre-Calamity Ganon

Mentored by Twilight

He and Hyrule often run off and get lost together

Important Game Facts and Items

Has the Shiekah Slate, the inventory works, bombs and stasis are the only runes still functional. Technically in LU canon he has an enchanted bag, but in fanfics his storage is usually the slate

Scars are from when he died during the Calamity. Shrine of Resurrection fully healed his body internally

Wolf Link (older version of Twilight) helped him on parts of his journey

Image desriptions:

Image 1: Wild is holding his bag tightly with one hand and a soup ladle in the other hand. There are lines on the art implying he was just swinging the ladle. He is scowling. The phrase "grrr" is above his head.

Image 2: Wild is frowning and is very anger. The lines on the image imply he just stood up very quickly. The scars on his face, ear, and neck are purposefully in focus.

Image 3: Wild during battle. He is leaping through the air and his hair is flying behind him. He is holding a sword in one hand and the Sheikah Slate out in front of him with his other hand.

Image 4: Wild is shrugging, grinning, and his eyes are very wide. His expression is very comical. His text box says "SO?"

Image 5: Wild is sitting in a chair in front of a Time and Malon's dining table. He has one hand gently braced on the table. He is smiling sheepishly at something off-screen.

Image 6: Wild is holding his bow with one hand. With the other hand he has three arrows at once nocked on the bow's string.

Image 7: Wild is shrugging and grinning widely at something off screen. There is a text box but it is cut off and unreadable. End descriptions.

The Hero of Legend – Legend – Veteran, Vet | Zelda: Fable

Games: A Link to the Past, Link’s Awakening, Oracle of Seasons, Oracle of Ages, A Link Between Worlds, Tri Force Heroes

Character Traits:

Older teen age

Most experienced Link, but chooses not to be a leader

Closest to Hyrule and Warriors, bickering relationship with Warriors

Very magically inclined

Mature for his age, very reliable

Very snarky, tries to act emotionally unaffected by his adventures

Truly loves adventuring and travelling

But likes to do things the right way and know where he’s going

Important Game Facts and Items:

One of his adventures may not have been real (Koholint), and he has a lot of issues surrounding that and the woman he fell in love with during it

Has so many items, has a tool for everything (bit of a hoarder)

Can turn into a pink rabbit sometimes

Ravio is his counterpart from Lorule, they live together

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Legend in his bunny form. It is a very cute pink rabbit and he is still wearing his red sleeveless tunic in bunny form.

Image 2: Legend is smirking and in the middle of telling a story. He has his hands out in front of them as if he is using them to portray his story. There is a text box and it has a lot of words but they are cut off and unreadable. His hair is primarily pink.

Image 3: Legend is smirking and elbowing Wind. Wind is mostly cut off of the frame.

Image 4: Legend is pointing at the viewer and yelling in surprise. His hair is mostly pink, but his roots are growing out blonde. His text box has extra pointed edges to show he is yelling but the words are cut off and unreadable.

Image 5: Legend has a confused look on his face. He is holding his shield but it is resting by his side. His text box is cut out of frame.

Image 6: Legend mid battle. The lines in the art imply he is running toward the viewer. His shield is hooked to his back and he is holding his sword with both hands. His sword has a blue hilt and a red blade.

Image 7: Legend has his chin pointed up and out and looks contemplative. The image has a regal vibe. His text box is cut out of frame. End descriptions.

Hero of Hyrule – Hyrule – Traveler, Rule, Roolie | Zelda: Aurora & Dawn

Game: The Legend of Zelda, Zelda II: Adventures of Link

Character Traits:

Mid-teen age

Soft-spoken, kind, just a humble traveler

Doesn’t think he’s as much of a hero or warrior as the others

Handles himself well in battle despite having no formal training

Never gives up

Very magically inclined, and has healing magic

Looks up to Legend since he is Legend’s successor

Loves exploring with Wild

Grew up in a cave

Important Game Facts and Items

Original two Zelda games

His world is kind of a wasteland

Monsters in his world want to use his blood to resurrect Ganon

Never used the Master Sword

Has the entire Triforce

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Hyrule is looking down on the viewer and his hands are glowing with his healing magic. His eyes are closed in concentration. In the bottom of the frame, there are bandages on Twilight's chest.

Image 2: Hyrule is grinning widely and has one arm locked with Wild's. Wild is cut out of the frame. Hyrule is pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. The text is cut off, but the readable part says "curiosity sure doesn't!"

Image 3: Hyrule is standing in the center of the frame. The lighting and his stance make him look very young. Both his arms are extended out of the frame, and on one side there is a sliver of his shield visible.

Image 4: Hyrule during battle. He is running at something out of frame and yelling. There are scratches and dirt smudges on his face. He is holding his sword with both hands and it is on fire.

Image 5: Hyrule shoulders and head are centered. The lines in the art imply he quickly turned his head. His text box says "?" and he looks confused.

Image 6: Hyrule is grinning mischievously. His shoulders are facing away but his head is turned towards the viewer. He is snapping his fingers, there is a "SNAP" written next to his fingers, and there is lightning coming from his fingers. He is holding his sword with his other hand and his shield is strapped to his back. End descriptions.

The Chosen Hero – Sky | Zelda: Sun

Game: Skyward Sword

Character Traits:

Started his journey in mid-teens, now early 20s

Best swordsman- don’t get on his bad side

Skyloftian Knight

Kind, joyful, bashful, emotionally mature

Loves cuddles, loves comforting the others and making them smile

Very low stamina, needs more resting time, loves sleep

Very very in love with his Zelda

Friends with the soul of the Master Sword (Fi) and view the Master Sword as a blessing

Important Game Facts and Items:

Chronologically the first hero

Grew up on a floating island called Skyloft

He and his Zelda are rebuilding the Surface, and their kingdom will one day become Hyrule

Never actually fought Ganon- fought Demise, who cursed the hero’s spirit to be tied to his own

Image descriptions:

Image 1: Sky during battle. Sky's back is to the viewer and he is looking over his shoulder. His text box says "?!" He is holding his sword with one hand and his shield with the other. His shield has a very ornate metal design. His sailcloth is flowing behind him like a cape. There is black debris in the background.

Image 2: Sky is smiling kindly. His textbox says "Well I think it's neat."

Image 3: Sky during battle. He is holding the Master Sword above his head in the position for the Skyward Strike from his game and the sword is glowing brightly. His brows are furrowed in anger. He is holding his shield in his other hand.

Image 4: Sky is smiling bashfully and blushing. He has his head resting on a hand and is looking towards the Sky. There are hearts surrounding his head.

Image 5: Image from Wild's Sheikah Slate. Sky is asleep against a tree and there are hands in the image stacking sticks on his head.

Image 6: Sky is smiling up at the sun. Sun says are shining down on him. His hair looks especially fluffy. End descriptions.

2K notes · View notes