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steddiewithachance · 4 months

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In Your Dreams

Steve has a good dream about Eddie. Eddie fights a blush as he is forced to sit and listen to Steve tell him all about it. Part one is SFW!

Part One • Part Two

***

Eddie startles when he hears someone knock on his window. He flails and clutches his chest. Outside, Steve smiles smugly and does his little wiggly finger wave. Eddie takes a deep breath before pushing the glass open so that he can talk through the dusty screen.

“Jesus Steve, I have trauma. You’re not allowed to scare me.”

“Sorry Eds. I did try your door first but I was ignored. Are you busy?”

“Never too busy for you, darling.” He teases and then nods his head towards the front door. Steve starts walking back around the house.

When Eddie whips open the front door, Steve is jogging up the porch steps with a spring in his step. He’s wearing a sweater that Eddie always compliments him on. It's black, maybe the only black item of clothing that Steve owns. It’s tight and it just looks so mouth-wateringly good on his chest and arms… not that he’s expressed the mouth-watering part to Steve, he usually just says, ‘I like that sweater, man. It suits you.’

“You’re wearing the sweater.” Eddie pokes him in the chest.

“I know, your favorite.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows and pushes past him into the trailer towards Eddie’s room.

Eddie gets a whiff of cologne in his wake. Fuck. There go his chances of functioning normally around Steve this afternoon. He follows Steve down the hall in a daze.

When he enters Eddie’s room, Steve kicks off his shoes and launches himself forward onto the bed with a grunt. He wiggles around to get comfortable.

“Hi.” Steve says after he has settled and Eddie wants to punch a hole in the wall because he’s so goddamn cute. Eddie could write poetry about how it feels to have Steve drop by unannounced just wanting to spend time with him. Steve has done this a handful of times, laid across Eddie’s bed and made easy conversation while Eddie messes with his guitar or works on a project. Ed just feels so childishly giddy and warm every time it happens.

Steve points to the jacket Eddie had been painting on his desk. “What are you working on?”

Eddie turns and reaches for Wayne’s old denim jacket. Wayne’s been so precious about all of Eddie’s artwork since spring break. Eddie thinks his near-death experience really hit Wayne in ways he hadn’t expected it to. Now Wayne is asking to keep all the doodles that Eddie shows him like he’s cherishing everything deeply just in case Eddie suddenly disappears again. Eddie doesn’t mind, he thinks he owes Wayne for everything he put his old man through this year.

Wayne asked Eddie to paint on one of his favorite jackets. He had no specific requests so Eddie’s painting a landscape over the left shoulder. He hands Steve the photo he’s using as a reference.

“It’s a gift for my uncle. The inspiration was the background of that photo of him as a kid, except I’m painting it in color, obviously.” Eddie holds the jacket up so Steve can look between the reference and the jacket. It’s a wide valley with jagged mountains framing the tall grass.

“That’s so fucking sweet Eddie. You’re a sweetheart.” Steve hands the photo back and looks up at him with sparkling eyes. Eddie nearly blushes, he turns around before he can give Steve the satisfaction of seeing that.

“So, any particular reason you stopped by? Did you just want company?” Eddie lays the jacket back down carefully and sticks his paintbrushes in the mug of murky water placed beside them. Steve is quiet for a moment, so Eddie turns to see what sort of expression he’s wearing. He’s looking at Eddie with dark thoughtful eyes, chewing on his lip.

“Wanted to tell you about a dream I had.” He finally says and flips onto his back, cushioning his head with his hands.

“Uh oh, nightmare?” Eddie sits down beside Steve, leveling him with an empathetic frown. They’ve had a lot of conversations about nightmares. Steve admitted that it’s easier to talk to Eddie about them than anyone else. Steve feels a responsibility to appear strong around the rest of the party: unaffected.

“No, not a nightmare this time. This was a good dream.” The corner of Steve’s lip twitches, like it’s a joke Eddie’s not in on. Is he about to tell Eddie about a wet dream he had or something? Eddie is suddenly uncomfortable by how little space there is between them. He jumps up.

He awkwardly moves to lean on the desk and then restlessly slides into his desk chair again, as ungraceful as ever. He cringes at his own unnerving behavior.

“Oh… that- that’s good.” Eddie’s voice cracks.

“You were there,” Steve tells him. His voice has gone all sultry. Eddie’s heart is pounding. Oh, Jesus Christ.

“Oh yeah?” he barely manages to croak out.

“We were right here, on your bed.” Steve carries on. He stretches a leg out and presses his socked foot against the inside of Eddie’s thigh. He uses his foot to swivel Eddie around so they’re facing each other fully. Eddie must be bright red. He rubs his face aggressively.

This is territory that they have never come near to crossing into. Eddie barely even jokingly flirts with Steve anymore. He received one too many knowing glances from various party members.

“Ah yeah. I get the picture Steve, you don’t have to go on.” It’s partly muffled by his clammy palms. How is this real? In what world is Steve Harrington willingly hitting on Eddie Munson? In what universe does Steve have sweet dreams about him?

“Oh yeah? Tell me what you think happened next then.” Steve challenges, Eddie can hear the amusement in his voice.

“I dunno.” Eddie peaks through his hands to see Steve is all splayed out, sweater riding up, hair haloed around him sweetly. Evil, he’s evil.

“Use your creativity, Eds. I know you can do it.”

“Steve, please,” Eddie shrinks into himself in embarrassment.

“You started undressing me. Took your sweet time too.” Steve starts pushing the sweater up his stomach with a seductive slide of his hand. Eddie’s pretty sure this afternoon is going to haunt him for the rest of his life. He swallows loudly like a love-sick cartoon character.

“I’d let you, you know? Right now if you wanted to.” Steve bats his eyelashes at Eddie. Now’s your time to act, you virgin idiot. Do something! Say something, he urges himself. But he’s paralyzed.

When Eddie makes no move to get up from his desk chair, Steve scoots off the bed and stands over Eddie. Walks right up so that he’s got one of Eddie’s legs between his own. He grabs Eddie’s chin and pulls his face up.

Eddie blinks up at him nervously. Sure he’s heard loads about the Steve Harrington charm, but having it directed at him is heady and overwhelming. He’s not confident enough to enjoy it. Steve’s hand twitches and his expression falters slightly.

“Or… sorry, do you not want me? Robin thought- well, nevermind. Did I read you wrong?” Steve is giving him uncertain, puppy dog eyes. He wonders how anyone has ever said no to Steve’s pretty eyes.

Eddie would be an idiot to pass up an opportunity like this. But the fact of the matter is, he’s scared. He’s scared to disappoint and scared because he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s scared because he doesn’t know what Steve expects from him. He doesn’t want to blow his only shot at this.

“No, I do. I want you,” Eddie assures him. He swallows and rests a shaky hand on Steve’s hip. “I worry I won't live up to Dream-Eddie, though. He seems like a charming fellow.”

Steve smiles and hooks a finger in the collar of Eddie’s shirt.

“I guess you have your work laid out for you then. You’re competitive, right?” Steve pulls Eddie to his feet so they're standing, beating hearts pressed together. Eddie wants to curve away, embarrassed by the absurdity of how fast his heart rate must feel.

Steve trails gentle hands up the lengths of Eddie’s arms. Eddie does his damndest to suppress the shiver he gets. Steve slides his fingers into the sleeves of Eddie’s t-shirt and wraps his hands around Eddie’s biceps.

“Flex.” Steve demands, and looks up at Ed through long pretty eyelashes. It takes Eddie a second to realize what he’s asking. He belatedly tightens his arm muscles and Steve squeezes with a satisfied little grin. He hums appreciatively.

Steve slides out of Ed’s sleeves and continues upward to wrap his arms around Eddie's neck, gently sweeping hair out of the way. It brings them impossibly close. They’re sharing air now, it’s expensive Steve Harrington air. It’s a commodity. It tastes like Eddie’s about to get his first kiss.

Eddie suddenly remembers that he has arms and Steve is probably waiting for him to use them. A million different ways Eddie could touch him, flash behind his eyes like a montage of all of his sweetest daydreams.

Eddie isn’t really sure what possesses him, then. He doesn’t think too much about it. He just slides his hands into Steve’s back pockets, and he fucking squeezes. Oh god.

Steve’s mouth drops open; he lets out a soft surprised huff. His cheeks are flushed, and his big brown eyes bounce between Eddie’s.

Steve moves to cradle either side of Eddie’s jaw, pushing a thumb into one of his cheeks. Eddie must look confused by that because Steve whispers, “dimple,” before tilting his head and surging forward to catch Eddie’s lips.

Eddie’s heart jumps when he feels Steve’s pillowy lips seal against his. The kiss is heated, insistent from the get go. Steve sets an ambitious pace, pushing and pulling, and Eddie is doing his best to follow his lead.

Steve’s big hands are framing his face, keeping him in place, and the smell of his summery cologne is giving Eddie butterflies.

Eddie can’t help himself, he reaches up with a shaky hand to gently thread his fingers through the ends of Steve’s hair. He misses twice because Steve is writhing against him as the kiss picks up in intensity. When he finally gets a handful of hair, he sighs. It’s so soft, he wants to run it along his face.

Meanwhile, he tries not to feel embarrassed about the loud smacking sounds of their lips breaking apart and the deep exhales from their noses pressed into each other’s cheeks.

Eddie jolts backwards when Steve’s tongue licks across the inside of Eddie’s bottom lip. Steve pulls away unwillingly, voicing a hum of dissatisfaction. He opens his eyes to behold Eddie’s undoing; Ed can only imagine what he looks like right now. His cheeks are probably splotchy and red, eyes wide, looking a mess.

“What are you acting so shy for?” Steve chuckles and pulls Eddie in by the waist. He presses a few more smiley tight-lipped kisses from corner to corner of Eddie’s mouth, switching the tilt of his head to maneuver around Eddie’s nose.

When he pulls back again, Eddie covers his face by crossing strands of hair in front of it to hide his smile.

“So shy! You’re acting like it’s your first kiss or something!” Steve exclaims playfully.

Eddie feels his face drop and heart sink like someone just cast an anchor and dragged his confidence along with it. Is that why Steve made a move? He was expecting Eddie to be just as experienced and adept?

“Yeah, I mean… it is. It is my first.” He whispers and steps back until his thighs hit his desk. He crosses his arms in front of himself and wonders how unappealing he just became in Steve’s eyes. He could have lied maybe, but the jig was up as soon as Steve kissed him. Eddie has no idea what he’s doing.

Steve’s shoulders drop, his eyebrows furrow. Eddie Munson: ruining moods since ‘65.

“Oh, no shit? You’ve never kissed anyone?” Steve grabs Eddie’s elbow.

“Well, I have now.” He responds with a pout. Steve steps back and runs hands down his face.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry Eddie, I didn’t know! I feel a dick for coming on so strong now.” Steve’s eyes are wide and apologetic.

“I had no idea, I swear. It’s just, you walk around swaying your little hips and smirking at people like you’re some sort of… sex god. Or something.”

“Sex god?!” A loud laugh is startled out of Eddie. Now it’s Steve’s turn to look embarrassed.

“You’re usually so confident! I dunno! You’re the freak! I thought you were a freak.”

“Nah, man. You’re a freak, Harrington. You come into my home and start insisting we act out your sex dream…” Eddie pulls him in and squeezes his sides so that he knows Eddie’s only teasing.

“Sorry, Eddie. We can do a do-over of your first kiss. I’ll be softer.” Steve leans in and nuzzles into Eddie’s neck. He presses a kiss against the silver chain that rests there.

“C’mere, Handsome” Eddie whispers and pulls Steve into a sweeter kiss. This time it’s delicate, indulgent. He luxuriates in the drag of Steve’s lips every time they pull apart. He winds his arms under Steve’s to rest palms against his broad swimmer shoulders. It’s a dream, kissing Steve Harrington. How lucky he should be to experience it twice. He wonders what Steve’s dream was like.

“Tell me what happened in your dream?” Eddie asks between tender kisses. Steve drags them over to sit on the edge of his bed together. He gives Ed one last lingering press of his lips before responding.

“You were sweet, kind of a tease. I liked it.”

“I was a sex god?” Eddie cracks a wide smile and Steve reaches to smooth over one of Eddie’s dimples.

“Shut uppp. I shouldn’t have said that. You’ll never let it go.”

“I’m just as dismayed as you are, Sunshine. I also wish I was a sex god.” Eddie flops back on the bed and Steve crawls over, following him up. Eddie lowers his chin to watch. Steve lays his weight on top of Eddie and it feels so good.

Eddie runs eager hands all over him. “Are you still interested in me despite my lack of experience, or…?” Eddie asks him. He feels Steve nod eagerly into his neck, and Eddie sighs in relief.

“Well where do you wanna start, Sunshine?”

I could be persuaded into writing a part 2 if the people wanted... Otherwise I hope you enjoyed ◡̈

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie fluff #virgin eddie munson #steve harrington is a flirt #steve loves eddies dimples #should I write a part 2 #steddiewithachance

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oepionie · 1 year

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— "MY JOLLY SAILOR BOLD." tweels

💭masterlist | 💬ao3 link

SYNOPSIS: You meet two mysterious yet beautiful mermen around your age and you ask them to sing for you. They agree—though there's one condition....they want a kiss in return. A fair deal and you decide that nothing could possibly go wrong....right?

⊹ [ cw ] — suggestive, making out, lovesick/slightly yan-coded behavior, both of them pin for you, drowning, the tweels deserve a warning themselves, fighting, mild blood and injuries, mentions of murder, everyone here is morally grey◞

⊹ [ tags ] — gn! reader, on my siren eel agenda, flirty pirate mc, siren-eels are not to be messed with but mc is reckless, jade and floyd having an ariel moment but they're…a fucked up version of ariel, typical siren-behavior, floyd calls you pretty◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 3.3k+◞

WHAT AN ODD LITTLE pirate you were.

Raised by your mother, horrific twisted tales of the deep were practically bedtime stories for you. She was a former ship's captain and a seasoned sailor who had spent more than half of her life at sea.

Mother weaved tales of glorious bloody battles, of thrashing waves, and, most importantly, of dangerous creatures in the sea. Hatred and fear for these grotesque marine creatures have been indoctrinated in you since you were young. It was imbued to the very core of your being, hammered and nailed into your head.

Alas, it appears that you have entirely disregarded the cautions that were issued to you. Any capable pirate knew better than to invite merfolk around.

Especially if you were all alone on a ship.

This year, spring had arrived a little earlier than usual, but you didn't mind at all.

It was at an obscene hour of the night when you were aimlessly paddling your little rowboat over the waves.

Floating a few feet away from your ship, you were gazing out over the sea where the waters were flat and serene, blue as far as your vision would allow. It was a sight you've grown all too accustomed to seeing.

You've sailed a hundred expeditions down this route and you were well aware of the carnage and bloodshed that’s been wrought here in the name of piracy.

A majority of which you've taken part in as—Captain (Y/N).

Young as you were, despite your youth, you had ambition. Already having established yourself as a living legend—or, as some have dubbed you, a living nightmare.

Sailors—young and old—have perished in your name, ships have sunk at your command, and your sword has spilt the blood of hundreds. You had amassed a great fortune from wandering merchants, and fellow pirates alike, all of which were misfortunate enough to fall upon your path.

These were tales and legends from bygone eras; the golden age of piracy had long since passed. Nowadays, you just cruise the sea anyway you pleased.

Adventure seldom found you.

In the middle of reminiscing, you abruptly became aware of a shimmering brilliance beneath the murky sea.

Oh?

'Maybe it was a trick of the waves? Or was it the moonlight's illusion?' You ponder to yourself as you stand at the stern of the boat and look out into the dreary waters.

The entire ocean sleeps when the moon is full. In the middle of the night, no fish or creature would dare remain thus near a boat...so what could possibly be out there?

Peering down, you make eye contact with a pair of glowing yellow eyes, slitted into diamonds.

Startled, the unknown creature slips back into the darkness with scarcely a ripple to disrupt the waves enveloping all about them. You're hypnotized by their shimmering skin as they moved smoothly and elegantly past the icy surfs.

In those short seconds while staring into the pitch-black sea, your mind conjures only one word.

Mermaid.

STRANGE AND STRANGELY FASCINATING, it was. "It" being the obsessive infatuation the Leech twins had for you.

Since they were little, the two brothers have been watching you grow up on that ship, peeping at you behind rocks and tall clusters of brilliant coral.

Curiosity and an interest for humans drew them to you at first, so they thought nothing of it. However, later, as they grew older, that interest developed into something more.

One that made their hearts feel like it was going to burst, a blood-curdling carnage of red and pink spills gushing out in a splatter. With the mere mention of your name, their stomachs sink and turn. The hems of love along their hearts diving into obsession—both feelings closely akin.

Jade and Floyd haven't run upon anyone who was courageous enough to meet creatures like them. Though, they shouldn’t have expected anything less from a pirate like you with an astronomical desire for adventure.

As you waved down at them from the ocean's depths, both of them swiftly swam up to the surface, eager to meet you. Their hands were clamoring and their hearts were racing to a tune that sang praises for you.

"There you are." You grinned handsomely, cocking your head to the side. The flowing fabric of your blouse blew wildly in the fresh salty wind, exposing bits and pieces of your chest and neck for them to see. "Hello~"

Big love-tinted eyes peeked up at you, drinking in every feature, blemish, and scar on your flesh. Occasionally, your gazes would meet and they would quickly avert their stare—a deep blue hue creeping up their cheeks, almost as if they felt bashful around you.

Even then, you thought it would be more appropriate if you were the one who was acting timid.

Because, by the gods, their beauty was such a sight to behold above the waters. In all your years out at sea and land, you've seen no maiden nor man with such features.

Such captivating features.

Teal-haired, with keen, slitted eyes that were veiled with thick, drooping lashes. Cheeks colored with a pale touch of death.

They were breathtakingly beautiful.

There was an urge, a pull at your heart to dive down and join them—drowning yourself in their embrace. Though, you resisted, almost immediately recognizing the sorcery that pulled on your carnal desires.

Mother and weather-beaten sailors had warned you of this. This overwhelming want. This spellbinding stare. Yet as they both drift closer, the forewarned dangers vanishes from your thoughts like mist. You're now left with little more than a hazy consciousness as you see them approach your boat.

You are in grave danger yet you are not afraid. Fear does not grip you as you raise a leg over the side of the boat, swing it over the top of the wood, and then sit over the edge, never taking your eyes off the mermen in front of you.

Their entire body, apart from their eyes, were submerged in the water which made it hard to determine what their species were. Though you could occasionally catch the flicker of their tail slapping against the surface.

Speaking of their tail, it was an utterly resplendent sight! Even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to explain its magnificience as it gleamed brighter than any of the gold or jewels your sullied hands have ever taken hold of.

Its lack of a single color and its vivid, luminous nature fascinated you. Depending on how the moonlight hit it, it radiated a wide range of shades, from the deep tint of blueish teal to a rich shade of bluish jade.

"First time away from your home?" You rasp, waving a hand in the ocean, watching as small ripples curved against the water's surface, tides of the blue abyss travelling outwards.

Minutes pass, and yet you get no response.

"Hmm…you two don't talk much, do you?"

Jade and Floyd knew all about pirates, heard every story, whisper, and tale of the bloodthirsty monsters fueled by lust for gold and glory. And yet, they somehow struggle to picture you as the avaricious captain you were labelled as.

Still, while you appeared free and jovial, both of them could sense that you yearned for the thrill of danger, for life-threatening adventure, and for the many fantastic yet perilous things the ocean has to offer.

They exchanged glances, and at that instant, their plan was set in place.

Appearing docile, Floyd shook his head no, hovering near you and spinning around playfully.

"Awe, aren't you a cute little guy?" You cooed, running a rough hand along his back. The mer shivered, preening at your compliment.

"I really shouldn't be so close to you, though. Us pirates usually avoid approaching any merfolk since…they feel your methods, your ways of living are…" You trailed off, waving a hand in the air as you searched for the right words.

"Spooky?" Jade spoke out, swimming closer to you with a sinister glitter in his eyes. Breath hitching in your throat, you leaned towards him, an amused smirk slowly stretching across your cheeks. "Oh ho? You do talk."

"I can do much more than that." Jade purred, the tone of his voice sinking into a sonorous lull.

Well, you certainly can’t deny that something draws you to these two.

The predictability of your life on these seas has gotten boring to you. Gone were the days of bloodthirsty glory instead, it was always the same routine. Poring over the same ancient yellowed maps, loitering about the deck, and secluding yourself away in the vast sea.

You know your mother would be horrified by your actions, disgusted to see you mingling and, Poseidon forbid—flirting with these…mer.

Though you couldn't bring yourself to care. Speaking with these two was the closest thing to excitement you've felt in a long time.

"That's a pretty voice, love." The grin on your face lacks any of the warmth it had in the past few moments.

You tip your head back and giggle, raspy and brittle, "I heard a mer's song was, um, what did those bards call it? Ah, yes—A voice that is so alluring that men and women jump overboard in squadrons."

"Hauntingly beautiful, that's what the poets call you mermaids…" You hum, watching them slyly from your row boat while reclining back against the wood.

Gaze drifting down their body, your arms folded around your chest and your gaze turned half-lidded, lips curled up in a sensual, cat-like smirk. "…and I can see why. Haunted, I am."

Both of them go abruptly silent and you chuckle, staring at them through the wreaths of grey smoke that curled into fanciful hazy whirls from the foggy environment.

Floyd and Jade squirmed as they both felt the strong pull of their instincts, screaming at them to just drag you into the waters already.

Your conniving praises and silver tongue was starting to get to them. One more push and—

"Say…I've been meaning to ask," You murmur, and seem to take a moment to stare into their innermost souls.

"Can you sing for me…?"

Something snaps.

Floyd makes a low sound, somewhere between a trill and a growl, while Jade's eyes darken considerably. Beneath your piercing, ice-cold gaze, the twins felt their nerves prickle up like the flickering electric stings of a jellyfish.

This is a dangerous game you're playing.

"…You're quite the flatterer," Jade—ever so composed—is quick to snap out of it and smiles simply, tapping his talons along the wooden deck. "…I suppose I could grant you your wish. Though, there is to be an exchange for it."

"Hm? What's that, mate?" You looked up at your ship from your little boat, eyes darting to the windows of your chambers. "That ol' girl isn't new to the seas so there's quite a lot of stuff there. Maybe some of my treasures will catch your fancy—"

"No." Jade interrupts you, the shadow over his eyes returns. "…I do not wish for any treasure or gold. All I want is a kiss."

"A kiss?" You parroted, an eyebrow elevated and amused laughter peaking from your lips. "I have chests of golds and heaps of ruby-eyed jewelry; yet, all you want is a kiss, is that truly what you desire?"

"Yes."

"Nothin' more?"

Jade ponders and pauses for a while, before turning to face his brother. "Floyd, perhaps you want something as well?"

"I wanna kiss from pretty shrimpy too!" Floyd cooed, pursing his lips at you and imitating kissing sounds by hollowing his cheeks. His strong arms, taut with ripping muscle, are crossed over one other as it rests upon the rims of your boat.

"So, what do you say, Captain? Is it a deal~?" Floyd stretches out a hand expectantly.

And you take it.

"Deal." You smirk. "One kiss for each of you, in exchange for a song. Pirate's honor."

Not like the honor of a pirate was worth much anyways.

The melody lifting from Jade's lips was somewhat familiar to you, yet it was of a faraway nostalgia. You couldn’t remember where you'd last heard it, but it felt…right. He had a voice that was velvety smooth; thick, and deep like a dream.

"Upon one summer's morning / I carefully did stray," Jade sang, deep voice flowing off his lips in a sweet honeyed song—its melody lathering itself on your tongue. The saccharine taste of its imbricating rhythm obliterating every bit of skepticism you held towards them. "Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay."

"My heart is pierced by Cupid / I disdain all glittering gold." Jade continued, tucking the long dark strand of his hair behind his ear—leaning his head atop the rickety rims of the boat's mossy wood. "There is nothing can console me / but my jolly sailor bold."

"Come all you pretty fair mers, whoever you may be / Who love a jolly sailor that ploughs the raging sea." Floyd hums along, lovingly tracing a hand up your arm. His voice was a lovely little thing; echoing deep throughout the air.

As expected, they sang beautifully, hauntingly; with an accent in a tongue native only to the sea. There was a mystical lull weaved into their voices—fitting to their titles as bewitching creatures of the sea.

"My heart is pierced by Cupid /I disdain all glittering gold." Jade stares straight ahead, his sapphire gaze alluringly fixed on you seated in front of him.

"There is nothing can console me…" Pushing himself up the wooden edge of your boat, the eel lures you over and you followed. "…but my jolly sailor bold."

As Jade's song came to its finality, he leaned in close and pressed a swift warm kiss atop your agape mouth, such tenderness in his affections—and that of heavily masked lust. The eel parted from you, nipping at your bottom lip and watching with unbridled delight as a flicker of pink hue glazed over your diluted eyes.

"Come in the water, shrimpy~" Floyd cooed at you, claws reaching out to trace against the curve of the ships side. "We don't bite~"

Songbound, you leaned in towards the two and plunged in.

You don’t think about holding your breath.

The water was ice-cold and it strikes at you like a venomous bite. Yet before you could sink, two strong hands grasp at your waist, keeping you afloat in spite of the rough rocks of the sea. Jade was cradling you close to his chest, his hold firm and uncompromising while his tail encircled and bound your legs together.

"Hello, shrimpy~" Crooning, Floyd moved to rest his wet cheek against your tangled hair, talons pushing past the fringes of your damp torn-up shawl to rest against your thighs.

The slippery pads of his fingers trailed up to your torso; Travelling from your hips, past your corset, all the way up to your chest. The eel toyed with the drawstrings of your poet shirt before grasping it tight and yanking you forward.

"You're so pretty~" Floyd trailed his other hand up your neck, sharp talons feathering over your pulse dangerously. The eel craned his head down to meet you eye to eye.

"I could just eat you up." The silky strands of his lashes fluttered against his lidded gaze as he leaned in close, breath fanning across your burning cheeks. Floyd pulled you into a deep kiss, loving the way you groaned against his mouth.

Chuckling against your lips, Floyd tightened his hold on your neck—his claws almost breaking skin, "You like that, shrimpy?"

You return the kiss, dazedly smiling against his lips before pulling away, lungs in desperate need of oxygen.

Floyd could see drops of water resting atop your swollen lips, and as your tongue darts out to wipe them, a fiery desire ignites in the deep curves and crooks of his heart. It didn't take long before he was diving in once more, lips pressing against the side of your neck.

While his brother was fixated on marking your skin, Jade hugged you from behind—affectionately cuddling into your hair.

The eel ran his hand up your throat and grasps your jaw with webbed hands to tilt your head backwards. He presses his lips against yours, the thick muscle of his tongue prying your mouth open before it darted in.

Floyd glides away from your form after a few minutes, leaving your neck sufficiently bitten and marked. He grinned excitedly and took your hands in his webbed ones, whisking you away from Jade.

You couldn't help but notice how he was gently dragging you away from the rowboat. "Say, shrimpy~ You ever wondered what it's like to swim under the sea?"

A flash of clarity hits you, shattering the enchanting spell that both mermen had cast upon your heart. You sensed danger as both eels started to close in, grinning ominously which revealed their fangs—long and dripping with thirst.

It seems that your fun little swim was over.

"I can't say I've ever experienced the pleasures of drowning—" you muttered. "And I don't intend to do so very soon."

The texture of their tails may appear solid and rough, but when you kick your legs at Floyd's, you immediately discover how the skin is supple when touched.

The sharp end of your worn boots cut at his silky luminescent skin, dragging along the scales of his flesh and leaving a deep cut in its wake. A small trickle of blue blood spreads into the waters and the eel hisses, darting away from you.

You try to swim away, but something—or rather, someone—gets in your way.

"My my, leaving so soon, pearl?" Jade quips, grin all-to-sharp.

In hindsight, it was foolish to interact with two mermen you hardly knew, especially ones who were taut with sharp teeth and firm muscles. Any pirate with half a mind would know to turn the other way and flee if these two approached them.

The mer both advanced to surround you, a mysterious glimmer swimming behind the haze of their duo-colored eyes.

A startling epiphany rushes over you.

As slippery as they might be, there’s no hiding the lethal sheen of pink in their eyes—especially not from you, a pirate who’s spent a fair number of their days hauling the cold dead bodies of lovesick sailors away from their watery graves.

These two weren't your run-of-the-mill mermen, no. You have heard about them before—in tales and legends.

Mermaids. Vampires of the sea. Water nymphs. Naiads. Sirens.

Many names, yet they are all the same.

A sighting like this is not unusual. This species of mer is mostly found in the deepest, darkest sections of the ocean, and they only come up to hunt at night.

It seems that you've walked right into their trap. Sailors were their easiest prey.

"Ah." You grit your teeth, a low, breathy snarl slipping past your swollen lips. "I should've known."

There’s a warm yet strong pressure against your shoulders and arms; followed by an odd feeling of heaviness as you were suddenly propelled down the water's surface. Webbed hands keep you pinned beneath the waves and you're suddenly all-too-aware of your body's exhaustion; of the salty liquid flowing past your tongue and the scorching gurgle that ignites your lungs as water fills it.

There's a ruckus around you, and you can barely hear Jade's voice, who was eerily calm in the midst of your murder. A bottle is then abruptly forced into your mouth, the potion within it spilling down your throat and leaving you disoriented.

It appears that today is the day that the monotony in your life finally ends. The pull of unconsciousness becomes too strong to resist, and the world darkens.

TO BE CONTINUED...?

—TAGLIST:

꒰ ♡🧷: COMMENT HERE TO BE TAGGED IN MY WORKS

@keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisoniousheart @kawaiipotatoghost @ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad @kyraxiyn @mayaaaeo @fluffimemes @awkwardspontaneity @phoneandchips @gussuri @mushroomchaos101 @rainybeebs @furoidoleech @lunavixia @heatofmyexoheart @veras-fanfic-reblogs @pianopuppygirl @cross-crye

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #octavinelle x reader #twst jade leech #twst floyd leech #jade leech #floyd leech #tweels #tweels x reader

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rosewaterandivy · 7 months

Text

girl crush

Summary: there’s more than two beds, but of course you sleep in his.

W.C.: 2.5k

Warnings: y’all know me - it’ll be the usual! Smut, idolatry, devotion, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), pussy drunk Steve— I don’t make the rules 😤‼️

a/n: aka your first time with Steve, who may or may not be your boyfriend?

🎶 I’ve got a girl crush, I don’t get no sleep, I don’t get no peace, thinkin’ bout her 🎶

“Wish I could babe,” his voice sounds distant over the phone, wind whipping every other word through the mic, “But we just started production out here, we won’t wrap for a while yet.” You’d caught him during a break in filming, miraculously.

Several dates in LA after an introduction from Eddie, and here you are trying (and failing) to plan another. He’s back in California after a press tour and you were fresh off of recording your latest album.

“Well,” you drawl out, “I could come to you?” The question is rushed, breathless, you screw your eyes close in fear of fucking it all up.

A pause.

“You sure?”

“S’easier than dealing with your schedule, Harrington,” you say lightly, “Palm Springs is doable enough.”

He’s working on some indie picture out in the desert, you were murky on the details. You hear shuffling from his end and ‘psst’s trying to get someone’s attention.

“Rob… Rob! Can you– yeah, the address?”

A moment later your phone dings with a notification.

“So,” you say, throwing clothes haphazardly into a bag, “What’ve you got planned for us?”

Three or so hours later finds you in the desert and absolutely ecstatic about it. Dressed down in cut-offs and an old merch tank–or, as dressed down as you could get–you breathe in deep, thankful to be out of LA. Little to no paps and tabloids to be worried about–or worse, Deuxmoi acolytes–so you could finally relax.

Steve met you out front with the fattest joint you’d seen in years, he nearly dropped it when you all but tackled him to the ground. You were so happy to be with him again.

“Little soon to be proposing, no?”

“Think I’d do better than some hydro from Arglye,” he grouses, but you take it from him anyway with a deep inhale, “Says ‘hi’ by the way.”

“Tell him I accept and we’re registered at Tiffany’s,” you say finally, exhaling slowly.

He rolls his eyes, “Okay, Material Girl,” he helps to hoist you back up, “Tour time.”

After the grand tour, which was impressive–“Holy shit, do you have Robin on retainer? ‘Cause if not...”--Steve entertained you in the kitchen, making what he called the ‘secret sauce.’

“Oh, that?” you scoff, pouring some wine, “Had that on date number two, if you’ll recall.” You take a sip and continue with a waggle of your brows, “My compliments to the chef, as ever.”

Steve blushes at that, recalling how pretty you had looked with your glossed lips around his cock, all warm and soft under the dim light from the setting sun. A groan rumbles from his chest as he braces himself against the countertop, knuckles turning white.

“You’re a menace,” he said, voice low and gravelly, before he turned his attention back to the pots and pans on the stove.

You shrug and drink some wine, savoring the crisp tart taste against your tongue. Steve flits from one spot to the next while he cooks, stirring the sauce one moment and blanching veggies the next; all the while, remaining loose enough to pour a second glass of wine for you and another for himself.

Infuriatingly attractive that.

The sun had gone down in the desert while Steve finished with the pasta. You’d assigned yourself the task of setting the table and doing the dishes after dinner. Plates and cutlery arranged, you helped yourself to some salad while Steve served the pasta.

You mouth had already been watering at the mere scent of whatever was bubbling away on the stove, and all it took was one bite to have you audibly moaning at the dinner table. His eyes met yours, mischievous and curious, as he sipped his wine.

“Fuck me, that’s good,” you say with closed eyes, savoring the taste.

Steve laughs quietly across the table.

Dinner goes on, you try to reign in your vocal appreciation of the meal. He fills you in on some details of the shoot, set gossip, and the like. You offer up the scant information you have about the upcoming tour and album release. Clearing the table is easy enough between the two of you, knocking hips every so often as you washed and he dried the dishes.

You ended up in his bedroom, collecting the duffle you’d packed from the guest room down the hall. It was a kind thought, that you would opt for a separate room and your own space; he was hesitant like that, never wanting to assume.

Electing to change in the ensuite bathroom, you step out of the denim cutoffs and fold them neatly on the counter. Shoes had been kicked off at the front door earlier in the evening, leaving you now in an ancient Corroded Coffin shirt that had seen better days. He’s sat on the bed, looking all soft and sweet–tousled hair and wire rimmed glasses framing his face nicely, skin flushed from the wine.

He bit his lip when he saw you come out, hair a mess and legs, legs, legs, but a vision nevertheless. He can’t help himself as you step between his splayed knees at the edge of the bed, his hands coming to rest against he curve of your hips.

“Hey honey,” he murmurs as your arms wrap around his neck.

“Hey Steve,” you greet in return, lips pulled tight in an embarrassed smile.

Gently, he tugs you closer to him, the fabric of the shirt rucking up against your skin. His finger skirts against the back of your thigh, the skin shivering involuntarily. “Missed you,” he says, voice raspy and low.

His soft gaze lingers on you, warm hazel eyes looking up through long lashes. “Missed you too,” you say quietly.

“Yeah?” he asks, fingers grasping at the flare of your hips before he leans back on the bed, “C’mere then.”

As you clamber onto the bed, he lays back against the cool cotton of the duvet pulling you down with him. Substantively seated in his lap, you rest your head against his chest and let out a sigh.

“Comfy?” he says, a hand trailing lazily up and down your back. You nod, fingering the fabric of the shirt between your fingers. Softened by time and wear, paint and lettering disintegrating each time you wore it. It smells comforting like you–cardamom and sandalwood with a hint of something boozy–smells like home.

“I’ll keep you close then.”

His other arms falls against your hips while he continues to trace shapes against your back. You feel his lips leave at the crown of your head before his head falls back against the mattress. It’s quiet and he can tell from the rhythm of your breathing that you’re a few minutes from falling asleep.

The nation’s favorite spitfire in his bed, face nuzzled into his chest, bit by bit chiseling your way into his heart.

Steve lets his teeth worry his bottom lip, willing his nerves not to get the best of him. “Y’know, I really like you.”

“Mmm,” your drowsy moan comforting, the lazy smile tugging at your lips setting off the butterflies in his stomach. “I really like you too.”

Fuck, he hadn’t been this nervous in a while. And yeah, you’d been seeing each other for a minute but not long enough to have the ‘what are we’ conversation.

His hand tangles in your hair, loose and windswept from the drive, fingers scratching lightly at your scalp. A muffled moan pours from your lips and vibrates his chest.

“Sorry, sorry” you slur sleepily, “M’not normally such a lightweight.”

Steve, for his part, doesn’t think anything of it. You’d had, what, one glass of wine at dinner— maybe two? But you could be tired from the drive.

Maybe he’s misreading this thing entirely. A brief flicker of panic licks up his spine; maybe it’s too soon, maybe you just want to sleep—

“Can hear you thinkin’ up there,” you mumble and pull him from his downward spiral. A brief movement as you settle your chin to his chest and glance up. Your eyes are half-lidded and sultry, lips pulled in an enticing fashion.

He grunts when you shift your weight until you’re practically sitting on his chest to keep him breathless. He’s smiling up toward the ceiling, one side of his lips curled upward, jaw slack, easy and yielding because Steve offers himself to everything like this: headfirst and wide-open.

It’s be infuriating if he wasn’t crashing headlong toward you. It’d be irritating if he wasn’t so damn earnest about it.

After a while of feeling out each other's atmosphere, eyes catching every so often before flitting away to focus on something else, Steve arches up to request a kiss, all warmth and need.

You lean down to touch your lips to his gently, brushing your nose with his along the way— a wholly delicate gesture he never would’ve expected from you, but has grown to adore.

“We can go slow,” you breathe against his lips. “Don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Steve’s stomach swoops. He reaches up to cradle the back of your neck, drawing your forehead to his. “That so?”

You're smiling— so big and beautiful it hurts. And his heart is so loud he thinks you must hear it.

The kiss was clumsy, you chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your lips to his burned down his throat, like whiskey and joy— warm and smooth and cataclysmic as his hand cupped your face. You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush in excitement because you’re not letting go, so he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning all the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it lights him up. “Steve,” you say again, and his eyes slip shut. Even now, he’s crushed with longing.

You press the heat of your core into his groin, grinding your hips into his.

When your tongue touches him again, he thinks he might go blind. His eyes flutter open as much as they can, to savor the moment of your face so close to his. Your eyes, shut. Your skin, flushed. Your hair, a silky, folded curtain against his chest.

You are straddling Steve’s thigh now, sitting on your knees and moving against his thick limb in slow orbits. The underwear sitting against your hips is still there but does nothing to keep the slickness between your legs at bay. His thigh is moist from it, and it catches a shine in the fading light.

“Need you, baby,” you plead. “Any way you want.”

You glow like a full moon in the night, divining his animal desires with phosphorescent eyes.

Too eager now with permission. Too eager now with the fiercest kind of lust—of love—he lets it go. All for you, and you all for him. He nips at your collar, drowning deeper and deeper. Fingers meandering to hook into the gauzy and damp fabric hiding you from him and pulls. Wants you bare and shuddering beneath him. Hip bones against hip bones, the noises you make—ragged and hoarse—sending tremors down his back.

Steve grips your waist and moves you from his leg. A whimper escapes before it turns into a gasp as he turns you around, back meeting the cool of the sheets. “You call it, sweetheart.” Comes his husky voice in your ear. You know he means it completely.

A moan slips forth when he dives into the back of your shirt and tears it off, does the same with his. He wants to hear that noise again. The two of you are entwined like real lovers, pulling apart only to breathe and whisper to each other.

He falls onto his forearms, touching foreheads together, noses together, lips hovering until you meet him in a sloppy half-kiss, tongue slipping over his, spit and sweat shimmering across your mouth.

Steve doesn’t bother taking his boxer-briefs off completely, crumpling them down just below his cock is enough for him to slide in like he was created for you. He tells you as much, as you whimper and cry out beneath him.

“Look at me,” He prompts, tilting your face so you see where he’s connected to you. He’s searing hot as he thrusts upwards. “You were made for this.” He’s delirious with it, the heavy thrum that flows through the union of your bodies, “You were made for me.”

Like a prayer, he repeats your name.

Inside of that deafening miasma, Steve is still awake and a part of him knows that this is what he’d been longing for. His cock is throbbing inside of you and every time he pulls out and thrusts back in, your cunt wipes any shred of doubt from his mind.

Your head tips backwards and he catches the base of your skull in one giant hand. “So good,” you praise, “You’re so good, Steve.”

God, he’s so hard. Cramming himself inside your body, torso to torso, as close as he can get because he needs it—he needs it so bad.

He’s blind with it, drunk off it, beginning to rut like he’s in heat, surprised at the confessions he burns into your neck g’na marry you, fuck— that have you gasping and clenching in equal measure. Catalogues and litanies of honey, baby, fuckfuckfuck, god—growling devotions sinking into your throat, your shoulder, your chest. Sucking inscriptions in the common tongue of love as they slip past his lips.

You take all of him again and again, matching his pace, eyes squeezed shut, opening briefly but dazed. Panting and pleading his name, sudden waves of orgasm making you shake and shiver. Then he starts again— easier, kinder, letting the beast work its way back through his skin. Tongue sweeping lines. Canines pulling flesh.

You sigh and smile. A sacred dream of flesh and blood wrapped around him. “Wanna see you, baby,” you say, “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

So he does, blinking through the darkness and finds you like a beacon, as you always are, as you always will be. His hair falls to one side, lighter from the summer sun, suspended and rocking along.

“’S that good? Like this?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he babbles, “Wanna give you everything.”

“Come with me, Steve—come on, baby.”

And it’s all so fast. Your words. His words. Your hands. His hands. Hips moving in heavy thrusts and hair falling over his face and endless moans of god, fuck, 'm gonna come at the last minute before his eyes roll back behind his lids.

Steve buries his face into your neck, groaning. “Mine,” he whispers finally coming back to himself. Raspy and slow and again when you gasp. Your nails dig into his back reflexively, thighs squeezing him tight.

He’s smiling like an idiot because he doesn’t know what else to do about it. His heart is fluttering and filling up. He looked at you for too long, thought about you too hard even though you’re right here and his, and maybe that’s what launched itself into his dizzy head.

A hard kiss that makes you whimper. Mine. Another to the line of your open jaw. Mine. Your throat. Your collar. Your chest. Mine. Mine. Mine.

You smile into his temple, rubbing your cheek on him, too.

“Keeping me all to yourself?”

He nods eagerly, heart full, then overflowing. “Keeping you forever.”

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #modern!actor!steve #fic: hmlhr #Spotify

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tidetfs · 11 days

Text

Drip.

Wade peered through his large glasses at the murky white-ish liquid falling from his ceiling into the bucket.

Drip

He gave a sigh of annoyance as his expensive gaming laptop whirred to life, grumbling about having to call maintenance and however much he was paying for this place.

Drip.

Wade’s nose wrinkled as a slight whiff of BO reached his nose. “Ugh” he shivered, reaching his arm up to check his pit. Dry. Huh. Wade turned back to his laptop, typing the first line of his email before—

Drip.

The sound echoed off the bare walls as the smell assaulted him again. “What the hell?” Wade turned around again and set his laptop on the desk, peering into the bucket.

Drip.

Wade gagged as another wave of that god awful BO stench hit him in the face, but then he paused, staring down at the murky off-white liquid slowly filling the bucket.

Drip.

He sniffed again, breathing a little deeper. The smell had become more intense as the bucket began to fill up and—

Drip.

His brow furrowed as he let a little more of the smell in, the bucket beginning to smell like a locker room or a runner’s pit on a hot summer day. "W-Wait" Wade stammered. How did he know what that would smell like?

Drip.

The odor made his eyes flutter slightly as he stared down at the bucket, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Drip.

“Mmmm” Wade breathed deeply, his mind blurring at the edges. It was becoming harder to think the more of the manly musk he let in. He blinked, feeling the front of his jeans tent slightly, his vision going dark…

Drip. Drip. Drip….

“Ahh! Wade shot awake. How long had he been here? His mind darted, it was dark outside now.

Drip.

His eyes peered back at the bucket, now half full, gagging again at the smell, posters now peeling off the walls, the surfaces slick with some sort of liquid.

“Agh!” Wade brought his hand to his mouth, suppressing the urge to vomit as he raced to the door, jiggling the slick handle only to find it locked.

“W-what…” Wade started to panic as the fuzziness began to return to his mind, turning slowly to face the leak.

Drip.

Wade breathed deeply, letting the scent of a hundred sweaty jockstraps enter him, the wave of stench sending him to his knees. His vision blurred as his mouth hung open, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as the fumes sent a shock through his body, causing his member to tent his pants, straining against the denim.

Drip. Drip.

He moaned as he unzipped his jeans, letting his throbbing erection spring free as he shucked his shirt and jacket, throwing them across the room.

Drip.

As the stench of stale sweat washed over him, his mind melted into the puddle of musk. His eyes rolled involuntarily as his head lolled back, his dick already dripping with precum.

Compelled by some force, the nerd began to pull his pale, thin body across the floor towards the bucket, with each breath feeling like he was inhaling a locker room’s worth of ripe, cheesy musk.

His hand gripped the bucket, bringing the rim to his nose and inhaling the fumes, moaning into the rim as his body shook. His eyes fluttered again as his hand gripped his cock as he began to stroke.

It was impossible for him to think, the only thing he could feel was the smell, his mind becoming mush.

He couldn't stop his hand, his strokes speeding up as the scent of musk filled his mind, his hand moving faster and faster, the scent filling him with a primal urge, his body writhing on the floor, his mind a blurry mess as he stroked himself faster, his mind lost to the musky aroma.

Despite the small part of his brain telling me not to, Wade knew what to do, reaching out his tongue to catch one of the drops.

Drip.

Instantly, his body was wracked with heat. Wade fell back onto the floor as sweat began to pour out of his pores as if he had just finished a long, grueling game in the heat. His glasses were quickly coated in a layer of steam, making the world around him blurry.

He didn't care.

Wade continued to stroke himself, his body tensing as his hands moved faster and faster, the sensation building up in his abdomen.

Drip.

More. He needed more. More of that intoxicating smell. Wade pulled himself across the floor towards the bucket, lifting himself so his lips could lap up the sweaty droplets.

The taste was incredible.

Wade's eyes rolled into the back of his head once more as the taste of the pure, unadulterated musk exploded across his tongue. His hand pumped his cock faster and faster as he lapped at the bucket. He could barely think, the taste sending him over the edge.

Wade let out a loud moan as his body began to shake, the smell sending his body into overdrive. He could barely hear his own screams of pleasure over the sound of his blood pumping in his ears, as he started to feel his body change.

His arms were the first to feel the effects. The skinny limbs started to bulge, his muscles growing larger, thicker, and stronger. Wade could barely notice, his mind lost in the smell. His body was shaking, his back arching as his torso expanded, his stomach becoming rock hard, his pecs becoming two firm mounds, his shoulders becoming broader.

Drip.

Wade continued to moan as he felt his chest grow heavier, his pecs growing into large, round melons. He could barely think, the sensation was so overwhelming. He couldn't stop stroking, his cock continuing to grow, his balls becoming two large, swollen orbs. His hair was plastered to his head, the sweat dripping from his body.

He could feel his body changing, his muscles growing, his ass becoming rounder, his hips becoming wider. His cock continued to grow, his balls becoming larger and larger, until they were obscene and drooping.

Drip.

Wade was a sweaty, writhing mass on the floor, his body shaking, his cock leaking precum. His hair was plastered to his face, growing longer and unkempt as the sweat poured down his cheeks, his mouth hanging open, his tongue lolling out.

Drip.

Wade groaned and whimpered as more drops began to fall from the ceiling, landing on his chest and causing his muscles to clench, his back arching. The sweat dripped down his face, his neck, his chest, his back, his arms, his legs, his feet, his toes, his fingers.

Drip.

Every drop caused his muscles to spasm, his body convulsing, his cock leaking more precum. His pecs were so large, he could barely see over them. His ass was so round, he couldn't even sit properly.

Drip.

His entire body was covered in sweat, his entire body dripping with it. He could feel his balls tightening, his cock twitching.

Drip.

He moaned and whimpered as his face cracked and changed, becoming model-like, his glasses breaking and falling to the floor.

Drip.

He groaned, the scent sending his mind into overdrive, his body twitching and convulsing. His muscles were so large, they were bursting through his clothes.

Drip.

Every muscle in his body was on fire, his body drenched in sweat. He could barely think, his mind overwhelmed by the scent.

Drip.

He gasped as he felt his mind go blank, his body shaking as he came. His orgasm was so powerful, his balls contracted, forcing the cum to spurt out of his cock. The force was so great, the stream of cum flew through the air, covering the room.

Drip.

"Ah!" Wade gasped as the drops fell onto his skin, sending waves of pleasure through his body, his cock spraying his seed all over the room.

Drip.

The drops kept falling, causing Wade's orgasm to continue, his body shaking. He could barely think, his mind was swimming as all paths of higher thought were permanently wiped away, replaced by an unending desire to bury himself in the pits and crotches of sweaty men. His hair grew out, becoming blonde and shaggy, signifying his permanent change.

Drip.

It was not for hours that he finally left the house; but the Wade who walked in would never return.

#dumber #himbo tf #male tf #muscle tf #musk tf

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lokisgoodgirl · 6 months

Text

A Long Way Down: The Lakes [Loki x Reader]

The Lakes Masterlist / Regular Masterlist Summary: (3) Following Loki's indecent proposal, you get yourself into a treacherous situation. Or maybe two. Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut references. Ex-Loki. Mild peril. Mild angst. Pining. Oh god, the pining. (w/c 4.6k) Recommended Folklore Track: This Is Me Trying

At around five AM, you had accepted that two hours was the maximum amount of sleep that fate had intended for you that night.

The sight of Loki draped across your doorway greeted you every time you closed your eyes.

The moon-slicked skin which begged to be grasped so tightly it bruised, if only for a short time. Those sharp angles in his jawline which fitted so perfectly between your legs. No.

Slipping out of bed, you manoeuvred on your clothes. Natasha would be proud, you thought, grabbing your gloves. Sufficiently bundled, you began the descent down the murky darkness. Of ten stairs, miraculously only four creaked. You paused after every one, listening for a stir from one of the bedrooms. But none came. Since you had slammed the door on Loki, your mind had been a beehive. You had lain there, trying not to move, trying to sleep, trying to think about anything but him. But his velvet voiced temptations and audacity wound around your thoughts like the cottage’s ivy. Wilting like a woman ravaged by thirst with a river rushing on the other side of that traitorous wall.

You hastily scribbled a note in the kitchen, grabbed the spare key and a small rucksack from the hallway hooks. Crisp cold hit like a slap as you opened the door and slipped through. The latch clicked closed.

It sounded like freedom.

A wide circle from the flashlight led your way, noting familiar moss-covered fenceposts and scattered stone path. You took a right at the boundary, seeing the milky promise of a red sunrise ghosting over the mountain. It would be a three hour round-trip to the top of Blencathra, you reckoned. Back in time for breakfast. As you walked, weak sunlight began to crawl the hedgerows. Frosted orange leaves underfoot became wetter. Like cornflakes, you mused, left too long in milk.

You’d had the same observation last autumn when Loki had walked beside you through Central Park, his gloved hand in yours. He’d interrupted with a familiar elaborate description of the palatial breakfasts he’d been served on Asgard. One you’d heard a hundred times before. ‘Every day, mountains of succulent fruit from the god-tree; warm date loaves and bread so glossy it reflected the very sun-” ‘-with the almond glaze.’ you’d muttered knowingly, the implication clear. His grin had widened obliviously.

‘With the almond glaze. Much superior to the cereals so favoured in this realm. I don’t know why humanity puts up with such trash, no wonder you’re all so...someone should do something.’

Loki was a lot of things. He was wild, and powerful; passionate and imposing. He was fiercely loving with kindness that ran as a hot spring runs beneath unforgiving glaciers. When he wanted it to.

His adoration was intoxicating, addicting in a way you had never experienced. When he saw you, he saw only you. Like no other creature existed. The haze had filled you like opium, drunk to all the condescending commentary that chipped at the exterior until it cracked.

And when it cracked, it shattered.

Memories of his dark curls sprawled across your pillow haunted you, the feel of silken strands cutting into your fingertip as you twirled it. He had never been good at keeping to his side of the bed. The words that he whispered when the world wasn’t watching, meant only for you. It seemed like a dream now. And maybe it was.

Perhaps it always had been.

The warmth in his eyes as his thumb caressed your jawline still smouldered as hopeful embers in the depths of your heart. They longed for him, biding their time like jackals in shadows to drag you back to his arms.

And wanting him, that hadn’t left. You doubted it ever would. Loving Loki was a high. And it was a long way down.

If only he could just act like a normal human being, you thought as you drew the wind-breaker further up your throat. And there, you laughed bitterly to yourself in the eerie quiet, is the problem.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. Or was it? You could never tell. And that doubt ate away at you like mice at the skirting boards.

The cold distance between you had been necessary. Self-preservation. And besides occasionally missing the mischief you created together, you doubted he thought of you much at all. The world was full of fawning mortals, after all. He never tired of pointing that out. You certainly doubted he lacked for company.

The thought made you feel queasy. ‘Love’, he’d once mused, ‘is different for a god. We don’t love as you humans do.’

He had paused, snapping his book closed as you lay in his lap before planting a placatory kiss on your nose.

‘You wouldn’t understand’, he’d murmured. And despite your coaxing, that had been the end of it.

It was for the best. That’s what you told yourself when that twisting heartache reared in the dead of night.

But still, you wished you’d had one last kiss, even if you’d known that’s what it was. You looked up at the moon, peeling from the sky and disappearing beneath early-morning mist as you walked briskly towards the mountain’s craggy steep. One last kiss before the lights went out.

As soon as the regrettable words had left Loki’s lips, he knew he’d fucked up. The door-slam was loud. Very loud. And he couldn’t go back to his room, not in his condition. Especially under the circumstances. In the darkness he had picked his way downstairs, cat-like, and had an angry wank in the bathroom. It was perfunctory and mostly silent. And Loki cursed his blasted impatience with every rough tug of his hand. Feeling raw, but more clear-headed, he sat in the living room a while. Moonlight threw a milky hue against the furniture. The carpet almost looked clean under its forgiving sheen. It may have been mice, but he was sure that he could hear the hushed, girlish chatter of his brother and Rogers upstairs, their theories abounding. With growing horror, Loki realised that his brother had been right about not one, but two things that night.

First, that the demise of you and he’s relationship was indeed his doing. The look in your eyes as he presented himself like a charmless commoner had made that abundantly clear. And secondly, the repugnant reclining chair on which he sat was indeed, very comfortable. Thankful at least for the latter, Loki fished down the side for a blanket he’d seen earlier. He sniffed it suspiciously, before throwing it to drape down over his feet. Something about the ragged, scratchy edging made him feel closer to you. Penitent, almost.

Shall I wear sackcloth and ashes, would that suffice?

The thought came intrusively, but behind his subconscious theatrics, there was a morsel of truth. There was something about this place. And there was something about you in it. Perhaps there was something about him too. Something new being birthed, clawing for freedom against scar tissue of old wounds. His brother’s voice played in his mind. ‘Well that could mean all manner of things, brother.’ he’d said. ‘You are insufferable.’ The god closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Perhaps, he thought, I should be thankful for that too. It meant he may be able to fix it. Loki slept soundly in the ugly chair. So soundly, that he didn’t hear the creak of footsteps that came before the first shards of daybreak, nor the soft close of a drawer, nor the click of the latch as you slipped outside into the dark morning alone.

You felt upwards, pads of your fingertips scratching against rough, uneven stone. Searching. The ridge was steeper than you’d anticipated. And you’d been so distracted by winning the imaginary shouting-match going on in your brain, that you had made the most basic error a climber could make. And the most serious.

Your fingers grasped around a jut of rock, feet slipping. Pressing your back against the opposite rockface, you glanced upwards to a large overhang on the ridge that somehow you hadn’t spotted. A chill sliced through your belly as you realised there was no way up. And there was no way down. Your boot slipped against the ledge, making you brace. Fuck fuck fuck. Even Steve wouldn’t make that drop without a couple of broken legs. Or worse. You were stuck. No, not stuck. Fucking crag-fast.

Tears welled in your eyes, a giggle of panicked disbelief threatening low in your middle as you tilted your chin to the sky. The ridge was cut into the mountain, and beyond the overhang, heavy dark clouds were gathering at alarming speed. No one knew you were here. You were fucked.

Closing your eyes, you focused on steadying your heart-rate. ‘Breathe, love’ Loki used to whisper as he stroked your hair. The beat of your heart slowed to a faint thump. The distress widget. Your eyes flew open. Steve had insisted that everyone have an alarm built into their belt, to be worn at all times. It didn’t seem so silly now.

Tentatively, you removed one hand from the rough ridge-face, the crumbling stones beneath your feet making it fly back immediately. You could feel the alarm at the base of your spine, no bigger than a jeans button. If you could just...press it.

Slowly, you began to wiggle your hips back and forth; trying to catch it on something. It caught, a low beep making your heart soar. “ACTIVATE,” you yelled. More stone pellets fell like dried rice. You could only pray Steve had the receiver nearby.

Time passed as a crawl. The sun had risen but somehow, it was still dark. Everything ached. Had it be three minutes or three hours? You were sure the pain in your limbs would be the same either way. How could I be so fucking stupid, you raged silently. At some point, you’d begun to cry.

Had you actually pressed the distress button? Fear fluttered in your stomach. Despite the chill and growing winds, you could feel a uncomfortable damp gathering beneath your clothes. Steve was going to be so pissed when he turned up. If he turned up. More crumbles of rock scattered around your forehead from above. It was followed by a low chuckle. “I can think of easier ways to get me alone, Agent.” Your neck snapped up, not believing your eyes.

Loki sat casually on his haunches atop the overhang, wrists falling between his knees. His thighs were spread, emerald leather looking viscerally luscious against the darkening sky. Dark hair whipped around his brow, his eyes flashing downward as a smile twisted one side of his mouth. “I’m stuck,” you whimpered.

Loki’s smile grew. He tutted. “Not just stuck, Agent. Crag-fast, I believe is the term.” You released an exasperated sigh. “Does it matter?” “Well it was right in Rogers briefing pamphlet. In the hazards section, nestled between blue-green algae and wayward tourists.”

You stared at him, thinking violent thoughts.

“Are you wearing your armour?” you spat. “Your not supposed to be...Loki, just-” Your feet slipped again.

“-for your rescue Madam? Only full regalia will do.” The dazzling smile which accompanied his words made you want to punch him in the face.

“Just fucking get me out of here!”

Loki’s face changed, the mirth in his eyes melting to something akin to concern. “Alright, alright…I am simply attempting to lighten the mood-” he muttered, reaching down. His arm glinted gold, its normal brilliance dulled by the shrouded sun. With all the strength you had, you reached up. You could feel your feet give out below you just as Loki’s hand wrapped around your bicep. With one fell swoop he heaved you upwards, suspended in the air before you fell upon him.

Loki rolled back, gathering you close to his chest. His palm cupped the back of your skull, the other hand safely pressed to the base of your back. You were vaguely aware of the scrape of his boots against the rock as he drew up his legs, the perfect cage of your protection.

“You’re safe now,” he breathed quietly to the sky. His heart was thundering, thuds pulsing through his breastplate. You nodded, silent sobs thrumming your body just as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Thirty minutes later, you and Loki had finally descended the ridge. He had managed to source an easier path with only the most necessary of communication. It had been slow, an ever-present pang in your ankle making you wince when the god’s back was turned. Confident that all your concentration was no longer needed, you decided to ask the question. “Why did you come?” As soon as the words left your mouth, you grimaced. How could you think about them for so long, yet still find the wrong ones? Loki glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m grateful you did-” you grovelled. “I mean, Steve made such a big deal about the whole belt button thing I just wondered why he sent you? Didn’t think he’d miss the chance to give me a lecture the whole way home.” You stared at the back of Loki’s head, swallowing. Rain was falling harder now, rustling patter crinkling against your jacket. “Rogers didn’t send me,” the god said coldly, still walking forwards. “I suspect he’s still tucked up under those abysmally threaded bedsheets.”

You hobbled faster, catching up to him. “What do you mean?” “I was downstairs. The receiver was in the kitchen.” You let your eyes wander over the sprawling landscape. Thirlmere lake lay flat in the distance, a grey mirror to the sky. “Why was it in the kitchen?” you mused absent-mindedly. “Well I don’t know, Agent” Loki spat. “Perhaps Rogers wasn’t anticipating a member of our party sneaking out before dawn on a misguided attempt at independence.” “And what’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped, stare burning into Loki’s profile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “Nothing. It means nothing.” he muttered. His eyes scanned the horizon. It was a long way down. “Don’t be like that-” “Like what, Agent?” Loki fumed, spinning with a flourish which made the cut of his leathers swirl around his ankles.

The clouds crushing the sky were matched only by the ones gathering in his eyes, both menacingly beautiful in the rawness of their power.

“Rush to your side at the break of day, in an unknown land to a hastily deduced location only to be met with suspicion and incredulity that I would ever think to aid your distress unless under duress? Am I truly so irredeemable?” You felt the hair on your arms stand up, hackles raised. “Well I wouldn’t have needed to get away for a while if you hadn’t been such a presumptive arsehole last night,” “Oh – I see,” Loki said, nodding sarcastically as his hands flew up. “Of course. My fault, as usual.”

He spun away, walking ahead. “Keep up” he bristled loudly. You muttered curses under your breath. The pain was getting worse. Looking up, you were met with Loki’s icy glare over his shoulder. “What is it?” he snapped, trying to remain indifferent. But his eyebrows always gave him away. “I twisted my ankle or something on the ridge,” you sighed.

Loki rolled his eyes. “See – there!” you whined, gesturing. “Right there. Why do you need to roll your eyes at that?”

He stiffened, hands moving to his hips. “Will you allow me to carry you?” he drawled, evading the question. “No I can make it, it’s not that far” you lied. Loki nodded, circling back towards you. “At least take my arm,” he sniffed, offering it forth. And with a reluctant sigh, you took it.

“You need to change your clothes, Loki.” You looked up, meeting the indignant glare you knew would be waiting. “You said it yourself. Hazards: wayward tourists. When Steve finds out about me, he’ll be pissed. If he finds out about you rumbling us, he’ll be catatonic.” Loki released a ragged exhale. “Fine,” he griped. In a blinding flash, luxe emerald battle leathers transformed to the thoroughly beige ensemble from yesterday. “Better?” he smarmed, the sarcasm palpable. “Meh,” you replied. A knowing smirk was exchanged. It warmed the air between you.

“So listen,” you said tentatively, hobbling at his side. “Earlier, you said something about being irredeemable-” “-yes,” Loki cut. You felt his shoulders roll, his demeanour hardening again. “I’m trying to be...trying to, adapt myself. It’s a work in progress. So far it is proving...arduous. Last night was evidence of that.” “Oh. Well...I just meant that you're not irredeemable. We weren’t right together, I know that. You can’t help being a god and a prince and all the eh...attributes, that come from that, and it was wrong of me to...expect you to change? I don’t know.” The two of you picked your way over the uneven track in silence, heart sinking into your stomach before Loki cleared his throat.

“As I understand it, the habits of a lifetime are hard to break even for mortals,” he said, swirling his wrist with a flourish. “Imagine then, what it is like for me.” You threw him an incredulous stare. He frowned. “I understand that my explanation lends weight to your inaugural grievance but you cannot deny the logic” he muttered bitterly.

You licked your bottom lip, heart thumping as you eased the can of worms open. “So what you’re saying is that you agree with...the things I said you were?”

Your heart ached at the memory of the indifference in his eyes as you left him that day. ‘Haughty. Condescending. Unwaveringly arrogant.’

You had been so angry. So angry at his unwillingness to change. To be open to the possibility of change, after everything you had been through together. All the love, so-called, that you had shared. It wasn’t enough – how could you have thought it would be? And he had just sat, crossed-legged on the sofa as you bubbled over the brim. ‘Are we done here?’ he’d said coldly, like concluding a business transaction. In the end, you’d conceded, that the person you were most enraged at was yourself. Loki frowned deeper, staring ahead. You wondered if he was revisiting the same memory. Like loitering at the crevice of a haunted cellar, peering in. His fingers wrapped around yours, still gripping his forearm.

“Well, yes” he replied cautiously. “But I was never expected to be anything else. There was no need – I thought it was just...me. That it was inevitable. It’s all I’ve known.” You opened your mouth and closed it again. “Consider the leaves,” Loki said with a wave of his hand to the multi-coloured foliage littering the skyline. “Those over there...retain their summer green.” He pointed further down the ridge.

“And those, have turned to that rusted maroon you like so much.” He looked to you, features softening. “Does the green leaf know that it is to turn? To change and ebb? Does it have expectation of rebirth?” “It is pretty humble for you to compare yourself to a leaf, I’ll give you that” you mumbled, limping over a pile of scattered cow shit. Loki stopped abruptly, sliding his arm from yours and cupping your shoulders in his hands. His eyes were wide, running over your face as his brows slanted. “Darling, please let me carry you” he whispered earnestly. “Let me help you.” You considered telling him to fuck off, but one brief glance at the endless uneven path stretching down to the forest made you pause. “Fine,” you sighed. “But don’t call me darling. We don’t do that anymore.” A small smile pressed against Loki’s cheeks, making his dimples flash. Immediately he crouched, extending his arms with palms facing up. You shuffled between them, adopting the position.

The beige fleece Loki was wearing did nothing to stop the warmth of his hard chest seeping through your clothes, a thick waft of his natural musk filling your nostrils. With one hand looped behind his neck, clasping the other, you tried to imagine a world where this sweetness wasn’t everything you desperately wanted.

“See?” he postured absent-mindedly as he picked his way down the path with ease. “I can be charming.” Glad of the change of topic, you kept your tone to one of mild interest. “Who says you aren’t charming?” “My brother,” he growled quietly. A snort of unexpected laughter erupted from your throat. You looked to him, faces inches apart. The crawl of Loki’s bemused gaze from your lips to your eyes made your heart skip.

“It’s just…” you started guiltily, searching the depths of his brilliantly blue irises. Even in the gathering gloom of the storm, they sparked. “I-” “I understand,” he said abruptly, looking forward again. His lips formed a hard line, the blade of his cheekbone deepening as his face set. Whatever Loki thought you had meant to say, it was not the truth. But somehow, the truth was harder to muster now than the fiction where you couldn’t stand him. You felt him readjust his grip on your waist, fingers sinking into the soft fleece beneath your rainjacket.

“You are charming,” you whispered against the wind. It was supposed to sound comforting. Platonic. But a part of you hoped that it wouldn’t. Against your better judgement, you curled the hair on his furthest shoulder behind his ear before knitting your fingers again. “Thor isn’t one to talk, anyway.” “Rogers confirmed it,” Loki rebutted harshly, the words catching in his throat. He was very pointedly not looking at you, you noticed. “Steve isn’t one to talk either,” you chuckled, before sighing. Rain fell heavier now, thick droplets landing on your forehead and following the tracks of forgotten tears.

You watched it fall against Loki’s brow, a silken sheen of moisture coating the milk-wild perfection you’d kissed every inch of in your time together. A lone droplet rolled down his temple, following the gutter of his cheekbone before dripping languidly down his chin. It lingered on his jawline, taking the long way down before falling. “Are you alright, Agent?” Loki murmured.

He’d been watching.

Thunder rolled overhead as you nodded slowly, rain clinging to your lashes. Hair was plastered to his cheeks now, inky tendrils winding across alabaster skin like oil on snow. His grip around your body tightened, looking upwards. “Hold on tight,” he growled.

You barely had time to process his words before a torrent unleashed overhead, battering against the ground as Loki began a run down the hill. “M-magic t-to dry-?” you gasped as every stride of his strong legs knocked the breath from your lungs.

“It is fruitless against the English onslaught,” Loki yelled over the storm’s sudden din. “Believe me.” You buried your face in his neck, the heat of your breath against his wet skin conjuring images of lazy mornings spent fucking in his shower. How steam filled the room like Vatican smoke, heralding the joyus arrival of your climax over and over.

Loki would hold you safe against the wall, his large palms cupping your ass and guiding you towards pleasure you had never experienced before. And never would again. The sweet pants of praise he released wetly against your skin, the splatter from his sodden hair as he snapped his neck back in ecstasy. The squeak of his enormous hand running down the glass shield as he came undone inside you. It would haunt your mind forever. The ghost in the cellar.

And now, just like then, there was nothing to do but hold on. Your grip tightened around his neck, the flat of his thigh hitting your ass every so often when, presumably, he cleared a tree trunk.

Every nerve beneath your skin was on fire, each movement jolting life into feelings you had tried to smother. You were acutely aware of your lips parting against the curve of his neck, delicate skin hovering above his own.

Taunting yourself, you brushed against him; sucking your own breath back from the rebound. The fine hairs on his skin tingled your lips, sending twisting aches of desire between your thighs. Loki veered to the left, thrusting your face against his neck. Involuntarily the grip around him tightened, clasping his skin to your lips in a desperate, if accidental, embrace.

And suddenly, it was gone. Loki had lowered you to the ground, standing back abruptly. He stood triangular, legs apart like a soldier.

The fabric of his clothes was dark, saturated with water and clinging to his lithe body like a second skin. It hung against the marbled muscle, tracking every deep line carved into his thighs and plastering the bulge of his crotch in a way that could only be described as obscene.

The stare he held was formidable, two distantly smouldering eyes set with purpose which observed from beneath heavily knitted brows. Hands clasped ceremonially behind his back, he lowered his chin and nodded to the side. With disappointment, you realised you were back at the cottage. Loki had stopped in a small clearing, and the dismal looking residence couldn’t be more than fifty meters away. “I thought you could go ahead” he said, raking his fingers through sodden hair. It slathered back from his face, the sharp lines glinting. “That way, Rogers will never need to know there was an...incident. I will follow after an appropriate interval with an appropriate excuse.”

“Come with me,” you said incredulously, wiping a swathe of water from your cheek. As Loki shook his head, you found you couldn’t stop yourself. “I want them to know you helped, it was my fault I was stupid, I got myself fucking crag-fast like an idiot...and hurt and you-” “No.” was Loki’s staunch response.

The lonely sound of rain on the tree canopy rustled.

Brow furrowing, you stepped closer and brushed down his arm, drawing one hand out from behind his back. It sat limply in yours. “Come with me,” you pleaded.

Loki frowned, staring at your hand holding his own. As if it was not his own. And with aching clarity, you realised this was him trying. “I fear, under the circumstances, I would not be able to contain myself from being…” he swallowed thickly, cricking his neck to the side before continuing, “-myself.” You stared at him, and he at you.

There was a flutter of wet leaves beneath his feet as he shuffled. “Really, you should go you’ll catch your dea-” And just like that, without thinking, you had crossed the space between you.

Like an out of body experience, hands slid over his sodden shoulders, pulling his parted lips to yours mid-words. Warmth flooded your body as his frozen arms slowly made a cage around your waist, sliding down your back like you would shatter beneath his touch.

His tongue slipped cautiously between your lips. It grew with each passing second to a raging hunger in every all-consuming jut muscle against your own. It felt like home. Your fingers tangled in clumped strands of hair against his scalp, teeth clashing while fears were forgotten. If only for now. For now, you wanted to love him. “Loki,” you moaned into his mouth.

His name held weight when you said it like that.

His hands searched your body, never settling in one place, grasping at the jacket which crackled and slid beneath his fingers. Loki panted, cupping your chin before delving deeper.

Every unspoken word, every abandoned touch, each lingering glance that ate away at you in the dead of night flooding from your body to his in that kiss.

“Darling,” he breathed as he held you still. His wet forehead pressed against yours. Your eyes were still closed, waiting for his return. Nerves fluttered in your chest, your stomach; happiness that you daren’t have hoped for sloshing at the edges of your sanity. You couldn’t think.

“Darling,” he repeated stiffly, a gentle shake of his grip urging your eyes open. “I can’t-” he said solemnly, as you opened your eyes. You felt words forming – ‘Don’t call me darling’ - or maybe it was a scream. But a single finger to your lips silenced it, whatever it would have been. “Go.” he said. And he meant it. And as you felt the scream rise again in your throat, you did.

Loki’s watch followed you all the way to the door as he lingered on the edge of the forest. You could feel his gaze as keenly as though it were his hands. How you wished that memory was as hard to conjure as it had been before daybreak. Through the window, you could see Thor buttering crumpets.

One last kiss, you thought; hoping the rain would mask your tears from the others inside.

One last kiss before the lights went out.

>>>> Chapter Four: Home Truths Tags

@lokischambermaid @meowmeow-motherfucker @gigglingtiggerv2 @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loopsisloops @glitchquake @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @fandxmslxt69 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @justjoanne242 @thenotoriouserg @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfmoonmusic @brittbax @smolvenger @liminalpebble @joyful-enchantress @kaleenjackson @fictional-hooman @kellatron55 @mrs-illyrian-baby @icytrickster17 @multifandom-worlds @buttercupcookies-blog @literatureatthebowofnails

#the lakes #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x female reader #loki x you #loki smut #loki fanfic #loki odinson #loki imagine #loki series #loki gif #loki x yn

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veryinnovative · 2 months

Text

fifty shades of black

~2k words. nsfw. bratty experienced sub james and inexperienced dom regulus. jegulus microfic/snippet based on this post which i do recommend reading for some context so u kinda know what's happening since i have apparently decided to just go unchronological and do whatever the fuck. though, regulus has gotten some more experience at this stage of the fic.

The chime of a bell rings out as James enters the shop, bringing with him a gentle end-of-winter draft and his customary breeze of self-confidence that makes Regulus' skin break out in goosebumps all over. It’s late February, still ways from spring, but the potted flowers lining the shelves swoon at him just the same.

James Potter had that sort of effect.

“Hello, love,” he greets him, donning that dazzling smile like he’s swooped the sun out of the murky evening skies and swallowed it whole. Regulus could endlessly wax poetry about him and his mouth—the color, the plumpness, the self-assured slanted uptilt of his lips.

But he doesn’t, no. He watches how James approaches the counter like a spoiled cat who’s so sure he’s about to get what he wants. Because James doesn’t learn, or refuses to, at least. Especially if last night was anything to go by.

“Have you been good, Potter?”

James shakes his head and frowns at the name, the huff he lets out almost indignant as he staggers for breath. His cock is slumped against his stomach, terribly weepy with sad, thin dribbles of cum that are the aftermath of a ruined orgasm.

“And do bad boys deserve to cum?”

He shakes his head again, furiously blinking through the tears. Over a month ago, Regulus would have caved underneath the crushing weight of guilt. He would have bitten his lip and worked James’ cock up again, a victim to crocodile tears and the angelic drawl of a voice he couldn’t resist. Fortunately, since then, Regulus had developed a significant tolerance and remained impervious to his relentless pleading. All the while maintaining that convincing pretense of stark indifference that had resulted in a whole reversal of roles. Because he had James whining the past couple of scenes, sputtering and cursing threats, fighting against binds, and biting on Regulus at every given opportunity.

Tonight, James doesn’t fight back, because his cock is spent but still wholly unsatisfied. There’s a glint of fear in his eyes, together with arousal and a glowing spark of pride.

Regulus yanks him by his curls. “But I let you, and what do we say to that?”

James’ mouth parts around a soundless gasp. “Thank you.”

Regulus quickly dispels the thoughts with a barely noticeable shake of his head. The last thing he needs are the flashing images of James’ sweat-sheened skin and quivering legs, the needy pitch of his voice when Regulus’ hand dragged down his chiseled chest towards—

“It’s rude not to greet customers.”

Blinking his vision back into focus, Regulus glares up at James who is sporting one of his knowing smiles like he can pry into Regulus’ brain and tell that with one look at him, he had been sucked into a vacuum of explicit and very vivid images.

Of course, other than being a multi-billionaire and head of Potter Enterprises, James Potter is also a telepath. Add it to his extensive list of redeeming qualities.

Regulus sighs, pinches his nose bridge, counts to five, and looks down at the register because he doesn’t trust what may come out of his mouth if he stares at James for a moment longer. “What do you want?” On cue, James’ lips part, and before he can answer with something unequivocally witty, Regulus interrupts him, “Other than me. An actual order.”

As expected, James’ mouth falls shut, though the amused smile never really disappears. “A latte, please. Double shot. Pump of caramel.”

The vocal emphasis on pump would have drawn a reaction out of Regulus a month ago, but he has spent enough time to no longer feel bothered by certain commentary. Instead, he casts a quick glance at the clock before jotting down instructions on the paper coffee cup.

“It’s getting late, you’re having a decaf.”

James’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline before he looks at Pandora who is manning the bar. She grins at him, waiting for confirmation, undoubtedly bemused by their interaction and Regulus’ slow growth into a role, and chuckles when James offers a meek nod. “What he said. Decaf.” Pandora quirks an eyebrow and he hastily adds, “Please.”

That was also Regulus’ doing, teaching the spoiled brat to say please. It did him good to see the newly acquired habit extend into other areas of life.

“You still want a pump of caramel syrup with that?” Pandora asks innocently, not bothering to mask a laugh when James looks at Regulus for permission, again. It’s become somewhat mundane: those brief, fleeting moments where they seamlessly fall into their dynamic.

Regulus nods and Pandora is off with a hum, letting the ground beans fill her portafilter as she makes a start on his order. James reaches for his wallet but Regulus shakes his head, preventing him from taking it out with a single gesture. “No need. It’s on the house.”

Maybe freebies from a non-coffee chain act as personal affronts, seeing the frown etch itself deeply between James’ brows and the way he petulantly retrieves his hand from his pocket. This, they still need to work on: James’ spending habits and Regulus’ aversion to receiving gifts or anything material, really. Nine days ago he had opened his door to a wreath of expensive, rare flowers imported from various parts of the world and Regulus had given him an earful about it. Still, the harsh reprimands weren’t enough to discourage James’ attempts to shower him with expensive gifts because just two days ago he suggested getting Regulus an unfathomably overpriced watch. Quote on quote suggested as if the stupid box wasn’t peeking at Regulus from where it had been poorly concealed.

So, James had resorted to acts of service, the expensive kind.

While James is ridiculously rich, Regulus barely scrapes enough together to pay his rent. He is working two jobs at the moment, a fact that irks James greatly for more than just one reason, and luckily none of which involves tarnishing his reputation by having a dom who is terribly broke. That had been one of Regulus’ insecurities, and James had been very quick to dissipate them.

“So, dinner?” James asks after taking a sip of his coffee, though not without casting Pandora a quick, grateful smile.

Regulus nods as he undoes the ties of his apron. Officially, he’s still got twenty minutes on the clock, but it’s quiet and Pandora assured him that she could close up alone and that for once, Regulus deserves a night off to himself.

His encounters with James have been hasty the past couple of days, especially considering his hectic work schedule and demand to cover shifts. And as respectful as James was when it came to Regulus’ decisions, it was very apparent he struggled not sticking to Regulus like adhesive every waking moment.

“Wait,” comes James’ voice when they finally make it out of the store and towards the car. He rushes past him and reaches for the door. “You need to let me do this, remember?”

“I can open my own door, James,” Regulus sighs.

“And I can order my own coffee,” James retorts. He waits for Regulus to slip into the seat before closing the door and rounding the car to get to the driver’s seat.

Weeks, and for some reason, Regulus struggled more with the non-sexual side of their dynamic.

“It’s not only the sex aspect, Regulus,” James had told him the second day after they signed their contract. “It’s about serving and seeing to your needs. Pleasing you in more ways than just one.”

“Isn’t a dom supposed to do that?”

James chuckled but swallowed all humor down when he saw the tight line of Regulus’ pursed lips. “I mean, this isn’t the movies, you know? There are so many more provider subs than there are doms. You’d be surprised, honestly. Most of us have all that we need and are looking to relinquish that control for once. Also the money, I suppose. It feels good getting you gifts.”

“I am not about to be your accountant and track how much you spend on me, James. There’s a limit.”

This time, James fails at stifling his laugh. “No need, I already have someone tracking my funds. But feel free to give me a good spanking if I splurge too much on unnecessary things.”

“Like towing my old car and getting me a new one?”

James shrugs at the memory. The very one Regulus had been livid at him for and Horace had to spend a whole day trying to get back a battered old Toyota. “Spending money on you doesn’t count.”

“And what if I say it does?”

“Then I’ll have to be a good boy and listen.”

And James listened particularly well. Well, at least when he could get something out of it. Because strung-up James who had not been able to get his hands on Regulus properly for any extended period of time, listened very, very poorly considering Regulus had specifically instructed him to drive them to this cozy, small falafel spot that undoubtedly put crack in their garlic sauce seeing how everyone’s pitas always overflowed with it.

Instead, the car veered off the main road and right on the one that led it to James’ apartment. One of his apartments, at least. The one closest to them.

No complaint from Regulus, truly. In hindsight, he might have confused his appetite for something else entirely. Definitely has, now that his mouth is being eaten by James as he’s clumsily led away from the front door and further down the dimly lit hallway. James’ tie is undoubtedly still in the elevator where Regulus had yanked it off for better access to his chest.

“You,” James breathes against his lips as he yanks Regulus’ shirt off his head, “have been returning my gifts.”

He’s hoisted up against the wall, practically shoved against it with how a picture frame rattles off and falls onto the floor. Regulus allows his head to loll back with a gentle thud as James’ mouth works down his throat, hot and greedy.

“I told you—” his words are interrupted by a sharp hiss when James decidedly makes use of his teeth rather than tongue, working marks around his clavicles. “I don’t want expensive gifts.”

There’s a muffled sound of dissent against his neck before James brushes his clothed erection against Regulus’, drawing out moans from the both of them.

“I told you,” James gasps out through his labored breaths, tongue laving across the sharp line that is Regulus’ jaw before coming to tug onto his earlobe, “I want to spoil you. Be good for you.”

Regulus had chided James for that too, told him he had to learn other ways that could earn him Regulus’ praise. James hadn’t liked that in the least. He didn’t like being told no. Not then, not now. Not ever.

James drives his hips forward again, chasing after the friction and pressure. The hold he has on Regulus’ thighs is bruising in a way that's guaranteed to leave marks.

“Am I being good?” James’ hot breath fans against Regulus’ ear, the skin around it wet from where his mouth had been, slick with spit as James keeps sucking the soft, tender spot below.

“Tell me.” James’ hips jerk where they’re slotted between Regulus’ thighs, uncoordinated now, bordering on frantic, his voice desperate, “Say that I’m being good for you.”

“Be quiet,” Regulus hisses as he bucks his hips, painfully hard against the seams of his jeans and aching for some relief. He's panting as well, trying not to lose himself in the vortex of delirium and instead regain some semblance of control. There's the wall behind his back and James' sturdy chest pressed against his own, the frenzied rattled beating inside his ribcage that Regulus feels against his.

James whines against his neck, still pathetically rutting into him and Regulus shushes him, carding his fingers through the sweaty, tangled curls that stick to the dewy skin of his neck before grabbing a fistful.

“You want to be a good boy?” he whispers into James’ ear.

James frantically nods against his neck and starts grinding against him harder, moaning unabashedly when Regulus meets his movements and tugs onto his hair.

“Then put your mouth to good use.”

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #james x regulus #ino microfic tag!#i cant believe i wrote this right after cursing out my deadline #i fr just write when im stressed and surrounded with exam woe

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merymoonbeam · 3 months

Text

Just look at the same highlighted parts...greens especially.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.” Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now.”

Look really.

The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.” “How.” The word was barely more than a barked command. I braced myself to warn Nesta to be polite, but Madja said to my sister, as if she were a small child, “The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

It really tells a story.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

It does.

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed. He asked Elain, “There is another queen?”

As if it is making us...

But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in. “The sixth queen is alive?” Azriel asked, calm and steady, the voice of the High Lord’s spymaster, who had broken enemies and charmed allies. Elain cocked her head, as if listening to some inner voice. “Yes.” Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

SEE

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.

And that's it, your Honor

#elriel #elriel brainrot is back in full force #I cannot be stopped.#I think the best part about this is that I only used acowar quotes...didnt even need to dive into other books #thats called having canon material

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momolady · 11 months

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Placide the Paralangua

The festival of Ash is fast approaching. but before the excitement can build, there is lots of planning in order to prepare. Few humans are selected for the festival, but there is another handful that get to work closely with the Paralangua elders in order to plan and prepare the great event.

Female Reader x Male Monster (both cis)

===============================================

It had been a remarkably cold winter, marked by occasional snow flurries which were a rarity for your neck of the wood. You were used to a chill in the air, maybe some cold rain or ice, but this year felt different. It was as if a shift occurred somewhere in the fall and a wind of change had swept through the trees.

It did not stop your work though, and even through the holidays you worked on coordinating the Festival of Ash that would be happening in the spring. For the past few years now, you’d been hired as the main event coordinator for the yearly festival. All your life you had attended it, so it was an honor to be given this opportunity. This also allowed you a rare access to the paralangua elders in order to receive their input on the festivities.

You’re able to work from home and have set up an office in one of your spare rooms, but you’ll often have meetings with the paralangua that take place elsewhere. Usually you meet with a singular elder each time.

This year, your baby cousin, Lucie, had returned home and the two of you have been hanging out a lot. This year, she is one of the chosen for the Festival of Ash and she will be paired with one of the paralangua during the ritual.

“I’m so nervous,” she said. “I’ve heard so many different stories, I’m not quite sure which one to believe in.”

You had your back turned to her as she talked, fixing you both a cup of hot chai.

“You work with them, right?” She asked.

You smiled back at her. “I do. The elders vary, but they’ve all been very kind.” You took the steaming cups and set them on the coffee table. “It’s strange working with them after being told all our lives that they are a mysterious lot. But really, they're just like anyone else.

“But they’re giant albino lizards,” Lucie laughed.

“Gators,” you corrected. “And they’re quite beautiful to look at.”

Lucie picked up a cup. “You think so? I’m still not sure what to think. It makes me nervous picturing myself being…being with one of them.” Her cheeks blossomed into a bright pink and she kept her eyes casted away.

You chuckled. “Especially since it will be your first time. I can understand how that would make you nervous. But reportedly, they are excellent lovers.”

She fidgeted in her seat. “How big are they?”

“Well, considering most of them make me feel short, I’d say they’re very tall,” you laughed.

“No, I mean-” Lucie took a sip of her chai. “How big are they?”

You glanced at her with surprise. “Oh. Well, that’s one part of them I’m not familiar with. I usually don’t get that intimate while planning the festival.”

“I’ve looked online and I don’t know if I could possibly take anything bigger than a breadstick.” She held a shivering, terrified look in her eyes. “I sometimes wish I’d never been chosen.”

A spike of pain went through your chest.

“You get to have sex whenever you want, you can marry or date anyone you want. I’m twenty-one and still haven’t kissed a guy. All because I’m a stupid chosen.” She set her cup down forcefully.

“Careful.” You pulled her cup back. “And don’t say it’s stupid. You’ve been given a wonderful gift. And the paralangua who fights for you in the labyrinth is going to be yours for the rest of your life. They’re going to love you and adore you.”

“But it’s scary,” Lucie whispered.

You reached out and took hold of her hand. “You’re the lucky one here, Lucie. I understand you’re nervous, but trust me. Once you meet them, you’ll understand all the stories we heard as kids.”

Lucie pouted and sighed. “I hope so.”

“Besides, the dating pool these days is murky. I’m not that lucky,” you chuckled. “Have you seen the state of dating apps?”

Lucie’s smile returned. “Yeah, that’s true.”

The following afternoon you had a meeting with one of the elders. You drove to the castle on the hill and were greeted by him at the door. You were pleased to see it was Placide, your favorite elder to deal with.

Placide opened your car door for you. “Good morning. Another cold one, isn’t it?”

You gathered your things then took his offered hand to stand. “They’re calling for a snowstorm this weekend, can you believe it?”

He scoffed and rolled his dark, red eyes. “I will believe it when I see it. But the way the weather has been this winter, I would not be surprised.”

Placide made you feel petite in stature. He was so tall and broad it was intimidating. But he had a way about him that made you forget that. Unlike some of the other elders, he talked to you on your level, he got personal with you. It was easy to talk to him, which is why you enjoyed working with him. Not to mention his deep, buttery voice made your knees weak.

“I just hope the cold doesn’t linger in spring. I would hate for the labyrinth and the waters to remain cold, especially for our chosen this year.” Placide said as you walked inside and towards the dining hall.

“My cousin is one of the chosen this year, and she’s nervous enough about it as it is.” In the dining room you set your things upon the table, taking out your planner and laptop, both of which you felt were even less suited to the grand room than you.

Placide came up behind you and pulled out your chair. “Well, for her sake I hope the weather warms up.”

“Thank you.” You sit down and open your planner to the notes you had thought out last night. “She’s been asking me all sorts of questions about it. But I’m not quite sure how to answer her.” You ducked your head down and your smile remained sad. “I was never chosen as a child.”

Placide tilted his head up slightly. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You shook your head. “Oh, it’s nothing now.” You opened your laptop a bit too forcefully. “What about you? Did you ever battle in the labyrinth?”

He chuckled. “Yes, I did. But it was a long time ago.” A distant look came into his eyes and he avoided gazing at you.

“Any advice you’d give to my cousin? She’s nervous about, you know, her first time and all-” You stop. “Oh god, that’s horribly inappropriate, isn’t it? Ignore me! That’s weird! I’m so sorry, Mr. Placide.”

He chuckled. “Just call me Placide, honey. And no worries. I was terrified the first time my victory and I were…you know.”

Your eyes pinched. “Victory?”

Placide’s smile became soft. “That’s what we call one another. Not exactly brides or grooms, are we? But we’re victories to one another. We fought hard to reach one another within the labyrinth; each coupling, each poly group that forms is a victory.”

“That’s really romantic. I didn’t know that part.”

Placide’s eyes cast aside again. “My victory, Carine was her name, she used to say that our first night together was equal parts awkward and sweet. As long as you can laugh together at things, you can conquer most obstacles in each others’ embrace.” He lifted his head up. “She used to love coming to the festival and talking to all the young ones going into the labyrinth. It was her favorite part every year.”

“Does she not do it anymore?” You asked cautiously.

Placide sighed. “I’m sure she does, in spirit at least.”

You felt completely awful. You brought this all up, and now you were having him talk about his deceased wife! You’re a monster, you thought to yourself.

“I’m so sorry,” you tried to smooth things over.

He shook his head. “I like talking about her. I didn’t have her as long, so the more I can talk about her the better that makes me feel.” He smiled. “But we do have business to attend to. So tell me, how goes it with the vendors?”

“Uhm-” You tap at your laptop to get it to turn back on. “So far, so good. A lot of locals are still willing to donate food to be served. And uhm-” You drop your planner onto the ground and reach down to get it. “There’s a lot of crafters this year who applied so-” Your head hit the bottom of the stone table with a loud thud that echoed through the door.

“Honey, are you okay?” Placide jumped up from his chair and came towards you.

You held the back of your head with one hand, while gripping tight onto your planner with the other. “I’ll be okay.”

Placide moved your hand aside to look. His hand felt so cold against the injured part of your head, it was nice.

“Do you feel tired at all?” Placide asked.

“I’m just embarrassed.”

Placide looked into your eyes, gazing really for what felt like the longest time. “I’m just making sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I have a notoriously thick skull.” You tried to laugh but you were more nervous than you realized. Having Placide this close was doing some damage on the girly side of your heart. “Seriously, I was on a bike once as a kid and went right through the fence. Not a scratch on my head, and I went head first.”

Placide pulled his hand back and there was a touch of blood on his fingertips.

“That’s yours?” You asked.

Placide’s brow raised. “You’re hurt. Let me take you to Adele, she’ll be able to assess things better than I. Give me your hand, honey.”

He takes hold of your hand, then wraps his arm around your waist as you stand. For a moment, you thought this could be the cover of a romance novel.

“I’m fine, really!”

“I’m not risking it,” Placide said with a stern tone. “I’d hate myself if I sent you home and you drove your car into a wall or something.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” You stopped when you saw the sharp look in his eye. “I’m joking. I’m joking!”

Placide led you further into the castle than you had ever been before. You passed by some paralangua and humans, all of whom seemed curious by your being there.

Placide knocked on a door with a golden plaque upon it. The plaque swung aside and bright pink eyes started out. “Placide, what the hell do you want?”

“This is our event planner,” he said. “She hit her head upon the table and now she’s bleeding a bit.”

“From where?” Adele snipped.

“The back of her head.” Placide sounded confused.

Adele closed the plaque and opened the door. “Oh, good. If it was her eyes or nose or something, that’d be bad. Just wait out here, Placide. I’ll get her looked at.” She closed the door behind you.

Adele was another one of the elders you liked to work with. She wasn’t flowery like the others, she was direct and liked asking questions that helped you sort things out.

“So you hit your head?” Adele had you sit down then pushed up your hair to examine. “I hate that stone table. I feel like laying on it like that lion in those kids books. How are you feeling, girl?”

“Like I hit my head.”

“Oh, good. I would have been concerned had you said you felt like you hit your knee.” She pushed your hair over the top of your head and wrapped some gauze around it to keep it out of the way.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

“I’m just going to clean up this cut back here and keep you talking. I don’t think anything is wrong, but Placide overreacts to these sorts of things.”

“I told him I had a thick skull,” you murmured.

Adele dabbed something onto the cut that burned and stung; it made you kick your legs.

“Hold still.” She blotted at the cut with a bandage. “Yup, ole Placide is going to worry over you now.”

“Why?”

Adele let out a heavy sigh. “He was never quite right after Carine died. They were both so young, and trauma does things to a person.”

Your stomach sunk with how sad that was. “Oh.”

“I think you’ll live though. But if you start feeling any sort of way, you go to a hospital.” She said, helping you to stand up. She took off the gauze holding your hair up. “And be careful of that cut back there. It’s not awful, but getting shampoo into it will be.” She opened the door and Placide stood alert then relaxed when he saw you.

“Is everything okay?” He asked.

“Should be, the girl has a pretty thick skull, so she’ll survive long enough to have regrets.” Adele shut the door behind her without another word.

Placide still looked at you with concern.

You offered him a bright smile, hoping to reassure him. “I’m fine really. Let's finish our meeting.”

“Are you sure?” He walked along beside you. “You don’t have to continue if you don’t feel like it. I would gladly reschedule.”

“I’m fine, I can get through this meeting.”

He nodded. “If you’re sure. I’m sorry if my worrying comes off as annoying.”

You shook your head. “Adele told me about Carine, I understand why you do worry.”

Placide’s gaze faded into something pitiful. “I don’t like seeing people I care about in pain,” he said simply. “But I suppose that’s anybody.”

Your heart fluttered as if it had wings. “Anybody worth their salt, anyways.” You placed your hand upon his thick arm. “Thank you.”

He smiled and nodded. “I’ve grown fond of our meetings. Being an elder, things tend to get stuffy. I enjoy your company because it makes me feel-” He hesitated. “Well, it’s a highlight of my week when I get to see you.”

He needs to stop or I am going to allow this crush to progress further than it needs, you think to yourself.

You leaned in closer to him. “Don’t tell any of the other elders, but you’re my favorite.” You gave him a wink and he laughed. “The others feel so serious all of the time.”

Placide pulled out your chair for you again. “They’re still part of the age where this is all ritual, pomp, and purpose. They don’t see the fun in it like the younger generation does.”

You smirk at him. “Do you not consider yourself part of that generation?”

His smile grew. “How young do you think I am?”

“Hard to tell,” you smiled shyly up at him. “But considering you're an elder I would say you’re older than me, but younger than the elders you work with.”

Placide chuckled. “Well, you’re partly right. Paralangua don’t age like humans, so would it surprise you if I told you I was fifty?”

You stared for a moment, slowly easing back in your chair. “You’re not.”

“I am,” he laughed. “Is that really so hard to believe?”

“What’s your skincare routine?”

Placide laughed loudly and graced you with a big grin. “Having thick scales.”

You clicked your tongue and shook your head. “Damn. And here I am bragging about my skull.”

“This is why I enjoy our meetings.” Placide’s smile softens. “You always make my day brighter like this.”

He needs to stop or you’ll catch feelings, you thought.

“You too.” You say this then immediately open up the planner in hopes of covering up the sentimentality floating all around. “Vendors!”

“Yes, vendors,” he chuckled. “Last year we had that lady who made the flower crowns. I was hoping we could get her to do some ornate ones for the chosen group this year.”

You nodded and smiled. “I had that idea too and already brought it up with her.”

“Another reason I like you so much. You already have all the good ideas.”

Your cheeks flushed and you returned to discussing business as usual. As the meeting ended, the back of your head was pretty sore, so you were planning on putting a bag of frozen peas on it when you got home.

“Let me walk you out.” Placide took your bag and carried it for you. “How are you feeling?”

You put your hand on the back of your head. “There’s a knot for sure. But I have a bag of peas in my freezer that’ll take care of me tonight.”

Placide opened the door for you. “I may be stepping out of bounds, but I could come by and bring you dinner tonight so you wouldn’t have to worry. I feel responsible.”

Your stomach flipped. “Oh, no, no, it’s okay really! It’s not your fault I hit my head. You don’t have to.”

His smile was gentle as he looked at you. “What if I just wanted to bring you dinner?”

Your stomach flipped again. “I mean…I like food.” You hated yourself and tried to recoup. “You don’t have to really! I’ll be fine, you don’t need to go out of your way. But if you wanted to-” You trailed off, unsure where to go.

“I want to,” he said. He opened your car door for you. “What time would be best?”

“Five, I suppose.” You still were still a bit confused. “I’m the one that hit my head though. You don’t need to worry.”

“It’s not just that. I want to see you, outside of this castle and not have to talk about the festival. I want to see you and only you.”

Not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair, the words ran through your mind. “You can’t say things like that, Placide, and expect a girl to stay okay for the rest of the day.”

Placide chuckled and kissed your forehead. “To feel better.”

Not fair, not fair, not fair, not fair!

“Drive home slowly. Just in case.” Placide handed you your bag. “And I will see you at five.”

“Thank you.” You weren’t sure what to say, and that probably wasn’t the correct answer. You sat in your car for a second, watching as Placide went back towards the door. He turned and waved at you, making your heart spike into your throat.

“Okay then…it’s a date,” you murmured in disbelief.

==================================

The first Festival of Ash you could remember attending, was the one where you were taken to see if you’d be one of the chosen. At the time, your town was small and there weren’t very many kids your age. It had been very likely at the time you were going to be chosen. The ceremony progressed as normal, but you weren’t selected.

All your friends had been chosen, and they talked about it all the time. You smiled and nodded along, congratulating them on how lucky they were. But of course, you were lucky too. You could date anyone you wanted. Sure. You could. Time went by, and by your twenty-first birthday you had placed yourself on the other side of the world, away from home, and away from the Festival of Ash that year, the year your friends would no longer be chosen, and instead be with their paralangua in the labyrinth.

It didn’t bother you, you could date whoever you wanted. It really didn’t bother you.

What did bother you was that your hair looked greasy and awful, but Adele had warned you about washing your hair while you had that injury at the back of your head.

“Oh sure, I have to injure myself like this.” You fussed with your hair, trying to style it one way and then another. But absolutely nothing looked good to you.

You tapped your forehead where Placide had kissed you. “Don’t get your hopes up. That never works out.” You put on an old, favorite beanie to cover the greasy hair as well as put extra protection around the bump growing from the back of your head.

“Just act cool. You can do that at least.” You strolled out into your living room and sat down upon the sofa. “Nonchalant. Casual. Cool,” you repeated the words to yourself. You picked up the remote to turn the TV on. But then the panic set in of having to select something to watch, so if Placide came at that moment, you could have something interesting on. Whatever you had on would be a reflection of yourself, an intimate peek into your daily life, the way your mind worked.

True crime documentary? No. Too creepy.

Something based on Jane Austen? No. Too desperate.

Maybe a video game walk through? No! Too corny.

Music? No! Your music is weird!

There was a knock on the door and you placed your remote down gently. No harm, no foul. You got up and went to the door, peeking on your video doorbell who was there. It was Placide, dressed in a very dapper wool coat and carrying a bag in each hand.

“Crap, he looks nice. And I look like an off the hours goth girl.” You calmed yourself. It didn’t matter. This was going to be a nice visit.

You opened the door and smiled. “Welcome! Glad you found the place okay.”

Placide stepped in and you offered to take one of the bags. “You have a beautiful house. I was surprised.”

You furrowed your brow. “You were?”

“I mean-” Placide cleared his throat. “I was expecting something much smaller. You said you lived alone, right?”

“This is my family’s ancient stomping grounds. I inherited it from my grandmother. The kitchen is this way.” You led him down the hall. “During the wedding season I rent it out for extra money.”

“That’s not a bad idea. It’d be a perfect place.” Placide stepped into the kitchen and looked around. He shed his heavy coat and hung it aside. “It’s so cold out. I’m glad your house is warm.”

“Surprisingly good heating system for an old house, right? Do you need helping with anything?” You asked.

“I just need to heat a few things up.” He set some wrapped dishes down on the table. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

You touched your hat and shrugged. “Hurt and embarrassed still.”

“Don’t be. Embarrassed that is. But is the pain bad?”

You shook your head. “Only if I touch it. And here, this is the stove.” You stepped aside to let him near it.

It did feel a bit awkward, but you couldn’t tell if it was all just you, or if maybe Placide was feeling it too.

“It’s odd, I’ve never talked to you outside of being an elder,” you chuckled. “I’m not sure how to quite…go about it.”

Placide’s tail twitched upon the hardwood floor and slightly perked up. “Just treat me like any other man you’d have in your home.”

“Not had that much experience there either,” you muttered under your breath.

Placide put the dishes into the stove. “Although, I am a bit shy myself. After Carine, there weren’t many women who piqued my interest.”

“I piqued you?” You wanted to hit your head again.

Placide chuckled. “I enjoy talking to you. Our last event planner used the same things every single year. But the past few years you’ve worked with us the Festival of Ash has changed and grown, it feels like it did when I was a young man again.”

“I would argue you’re still young.” You cleared your throat and glance aside. “I just know the festival is important for us. Not just the paralangua or the chosen. But everyone here knows it’s special.”

Placide’s smile is soft, but it was the way his eyes graze over you. There's confidence there, as well as a nervous vulnerability. “It’ll take a minute for the food to warm up. Maybe we should sit down.”

“Oh sure, here is fine. Or the sofa might be comfier for you.” You stepped towards the doorway, leading him back to the living room. He took a seat, curling his tail around his waist so it curled over his thigh and draped down.

You sat on the ottoman, a bit too anxious to sit on the sofa with him.

“You said your cousin was chosen. How is she looking forward to it?” Placide asked.

You shrugged. “Somedays she’s excited, other days she’s nervous. When I was growing up, most of my friends had gotten chosen too. I used to be so jealous of them.”

Placide tilted his head to the side. “Did it ever bother you?”

You swallowed. “Sometimes. I mean, I was happy for them. It was such a great honor and all. I got to see them get excited and nervous too.” You bit down on your lip. You sighed and shook your head. “There weren’t a lot of families here back then. Our group was small. So I felt left out a bit sometimes.”

“I’m sorry that happened, honey.” Placide’s smile was gentle as he looked at you.

“It’s fine really,” you tried to laugh. “I figured there was another purpose for me so-” You shrugged and brought a knee up to your chest. “I’m not worried about it anymore. What about you though? How was the labyrinth for you?”

“It was so long ago,” he chuckled. “I just remember all the build up and the adrenaline. The fighting was worse back then too, like you said, there were lesser people here long ago. So at the time I really had to fight my way through all the others my age.” He pulled up a sleeve and showed a scar on his arm that hindered the pattern of his scales.

“Back then, the ceremony didn’t really start until everyone had their stitches complete.” He offered out his arm towards you.

You touched his arm and ran your fingers up the scar, feeling how cool and smooth his scales were. “It was that brutal back then, huh?”

“Extremely.” Placide held your eyes for a moment then he sat up and pulled his sleeve back down. “There weren't enough humans to go around, and all of us wanted our own victory so badly.”

You wanted to ask more, but you felt that was prying too deep.

“I think everyone wants to feel like they’re being fought for in one way or another. I think that's why being chosen is so sought after. You want to feel like someone, anyone, wants you.”

You catch yourself in a nod then clear your throat. “It is nice.”

“I know romance is hard these days. But I’ve always been a bit of a dreamer.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why don’t you come and sit beside me? I’m cold blooded and any extra warmth helps.”

Your cheeks warmed and you moved from the ottoman to the sofa, sitting near Placide and feeling more anxious than before. “It's a nice sofa. My grandmother bought it before she died, so it’s new-ish.”

“I see,” Placide chuckled. “It is nice.”

His hand was alone and vulnerable beside him. It was placed strangely though, almost like a piece of candy before a trap. You placed your hand upon the sofa, inching it towards his until your fingers brushed against his hand. His hand moved and then it was touching yours. You looked away as your hands touched then held one another.

“Do the paralangua allow this?” You asked out of nerves.

“It’s not exactly tradition. But it’s allowed.” He moved in close to you. “Although I do feel a bit strange. It’s been a long time and I like you.”

You leaned into his side. “I like you too.”

He chuckled. “Good. Or else this would be much more awkward than I feel.”

You laughed too and for a moment things were quiet. The two of you sat there, holding hands, and then a warmth seemed to grow between you.You shifted, facing one another again, and Placide’s mouth opened.

“Oh no, my spinach puffs!” Placide stood and held out his hand again. “The food should be ready now.”

Dinner was delicious, you ate more than you expected. But it was the conversation that came afterwards that you enjoyed most. You and Placide talked over coffee about little things. It grew from there as you talked about music, your love for punk and his surprising confession of playing guitar when he was young. From there, the night felt natural and time slipped away until you noticed the wall clock.

“I can’t believe it’s one already.”

Placide double checked it and laughed. “I had no idea! I thought it was still so early. Perhaps I should go.”

“Sorry I kept you so long. I’ll wash your dishes and bring them back later.” You rose to show him to the door, but he didn’t move. He remained sitting at the table with a stern look upon his face.

“Is everything okay?” You asked.

He sighed. “I want to kiss you, but I’m afraid of what will happen when I do.”

You licked your lips. “Nothing has to happen. It can just be a kiss.”

Placide stood and approached you. “I can promise you, it won’t be. So if we kiss, you’ll have to promise me you won’t let me get away with anything.”

It was just suggestive enough for you to enjoy it, and just a little cute. “You’re making me the responsible adult here?”

“If you can try to be.” Placide’s hand rested upon your waist. “One of us needs to think clearly.”

His hand brushed against your cheek, the smooth scales and dark claws made you shiver. “Should we pull straws for it?”

Placide bent down and there it was, the kiss. You were taken back for a second, almost watching down at yourself while it happened. But you returned to the present, pressing closer and closer to him as the kiss deepened. You held onto him as a moan rumbled in his chest.

Placide was the one to pull back and his hands both rested upon your waist, holding you tightly so you didn’t come closer or move farther away.

“See…” You cleared your throat. “You did well.”

“But I could sink deeper,” he growled against your ear. “I feel it. It’s an old desire but I know it.”

You smoothed your hand down his chest. “But-”

“Yes, but.” Placide released you. “We both mentioned it has been a long while. We shouldn’t let want override our own needs.”

“Right.We have lots of time anyways.” You handed him his coat.

“You would think so, but even from where I stand, time doesn’t matter. It only moves forward, and it can pull us under that current.” He slipped on his coat. “So that is why I’d like to know when I can see you again.”

You lost your breath for a beat. “I’m free tomorrow?”

Placide smiled. “Tomorrow then.”

For the next few weeks, you and Placide met regularly. Nothing more than kissing happened, but there were moments where it felt like something more would happen. But you stopped each time, agreeing to wait and make sure it was right.

One evening, you woke up on the sofa lying on Placide’s chest. The TV had gone back to the main menu, and it was the only light on. You laid your head back down, resting it upon his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Placide murmured.

His voice started you and made you jump. “What?”

“I felt you stir,” he whispered. “And I almost called you Carine.”

You sat up, seeing his eyes were still closed tight. “I was half awake,” he said.

“I understand. It's okay.”

Placide sat up and sniffled. “But I’m with you. I know that. I care for you deeply, more and more each day. And it was so long ago.”

“How long?” You asked. “I’ve wanted to know, but I’ve been too afraid to ask.”

Placide breathed in and let it out slowly. “I had her for ten years, and then she was gone. Then another ten years went by, and then another.” Tears filled his eyes. “Somedays it feels like yesterday.”

You held his hand tight. “I know.”

“She made me promise not to give up. That I was too good to not share.” He smiled sadly. “I feel like I’ve let her down.”

You cupped your hand around his face. “Do you really think that?”

His red eyes turned to yours. “I think it. But I know she wouldn’t.”

You kissed him then rested your head upon his shoulder. “Then stop it.”

His hands rubbed up and down your back. “I’ll try. I promise.” He lifted your head and kissed you again. Once again there was that unspoken desire between you. This kiss could go either way, all you had to do was decide.

“I want you,” Placide growled.

You panicked. “That’s nice.”

He laughed and held you tight in his arms. “If it wasn’t so cold out, I’d take you into the labyrinthe right now.”

“Why there?”

He sighed and cupped his hands around your face. “To make you feel like a victory. I know it bothers you, and I was hoping I could wait and make myself behave until spring. But the more time I spend with you, the more I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to be with you. I think like I’m young again, and I keep driving myself crazy.”

You bit your lip to contain your smile. “Have you touched yourself thinking about me?” You said with a teasing tone.

Placide grunted and averted his eyes.

“If you want to wait until spring, we can. I would like to see it for myself and have you win me over.” You kissed his neck and cheek. “If you can wait. I will too.”

Placide’s hands tightened around your hips and he fidgeted his lap. “I’m not sure I can. Right now I feel…frustrated.”

“Maybe I can just help with that.” You laid a palm in his lap.

“Wait-” His voice choked and he captured your wrist in his hand.

You kissed him, pressing up against his chest and easing him back down upon the sofa. You sat back up, tugging off your sweater and his eyes bulged. You kissed down his chest, the smooth, plate scales felt cool to your lips, but you were growing warmer and warmer with each second.

“Tell me about the labyrinthe.” You say as you straddle his lap again.

“Uhm-” He breathed in deep. “It’s beautiful. Lots of lush moss and vines. It goes deeper than most people think.”

You dip down, kissing his belly as he talks. Your fingers find a mound between his legs that’s begun to open and dribble out a viscous ooze.

“There’s places to swim, but it’s the underground lake that’s my favorite.” He whimpered and his hips bucked.

Your fingers were inside and bit by bit he revealed himself. The top was ruby red, and compared to the rest of his pale body it stood out. Even more so, the size of him was prodigious. The thick base of his cock was baby pink and when it was fully released it laid against his stomach.

“May I?” You asked, sliding yourself down to be between his legs.

“Please, keep going.” Placide gently cupped the back of your head, careful as there was still a tenderness there. You kissed along the shaft, dragging your tongue up to the tip. The slippery ooze that covered him was slightly sweet and barely unpleasant. You brought him to your lips, kissing down the side and feeling his pulse twitch.

Placide gulped and tried to breathe. “I would…I would take you to that lake in the labyrinthe and lay you there upon the moss. You would…you would know how badly I wanted you, how much of a prize you really are.”

Pausing, you tried to decide what to do. You sat up, removing the rest of your clothes and Placide placed his hands upon you. He kissed you and nipped your skin, burying his face against your soft form until you sat upon his lap.

“Don’t move,” he growled into your ear. “I can feel you…so warm and wet.” His claws sunk into your back. “Don’t move or I’ll take you right here. Right now.”

His cock pressed against your mound. As you breathed, your body moved and rubbed against him.

“I want it,” Placide panted.

“Me too.” You looked into his eyes. “I can’t wait for spring when you’re right here. Show me the labyrinthe when it’s warm. But you’ve won me now.”

Tears were in his eyes. “I won’t waste this. I promise.” He adjusted himself, moving so that he could be inside you. You let out a long, strangled sound then buried your face upon his shoulder.

Placide turned so that his feet were off the sofa and you we leaned into him. He arched his hips, pressing deeper inside you. He held you up just a bit to pull out but he was deep within a second later.

“So warm,” he whimpered.

“So big,” you whined back.

Placide swallowed and pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m trying to control myself. You’re not helping things.”

“Don’t hold back. I want it.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Go ahead, do what you want with me.”

He shook his head. “I want to but-”

You kissed him, pressing your palms down upon his shoulders so he pressed into the sofa. You rode him, taking what you wanted if only to let him know you were ready for anything he could give.

“Oh god, honey-” he growled.

“Stop waiting and just-” You saw nothing but a blur before you and you were on the floor. Placide was on top of you and lifting your legs up before he pressed deep inside you again. It was another blur again mixed with snarls and grunts into your ear. He pressed himself into you, giving you everything he had.

A bright light woke you from your dreams. And while your bedroom was dark, the sharp, white light that reflected from your window was a thick blanket of sparkling snow. You rested back into your pillow with a deep sigh. You then felt arms around you, and kisses upon your neck.

“Good morning,” Placide whispered.

Your body remembered all at once his ferocity last night and you felt a shiver crawl down your spine. “G-good morning!”

Placide chuckled. “It was nice having this warm body last night. When it snows like this all I want to do is cuddle.”

“I almost thought I dreamed last night.”

“I went a little too hard, I’ll be gentle next time, promise.” He kissed your cheek and wrapped his body around you.

“Tell me again about the labyrinthe.” You say as you stroke your hands down his body. “What will you do to me there?”

Placide growled. “What I won’t do to earn my victory. Lay back, I’ll show you.”

#exophilia #tertophilia #monster romance #monster boyfriend #monster lemon #monster x human #monster x reader #teratophilia writing #exophilia writing #momolady monsters #my writing

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queenendless · 4 months

Text

❄️🎄🎁☃️Merry Making (Adult!SatoSugu x Adult!Fem!Reader ft Various JJK) ☃️🎁🎄❄️

A/n: I AM SO LATE TO THE PARTY!

Holiday fluff, ships, and so on, ya know the drill.

SO PLEASE DON'T PLAGARIZE COPY TRANSLATE STEAL OR REPOST MY FANFIC CONTENT. Rather reblog like and follow please and thnx u.

Fuzzy coziness in beige white and cream filled your eyes.

Early light streamed through the curtains.

“Merry Christmas, Y/n~” Satoru's purr was layered with pecks strewn all over your face, bringing a smile to the surface.

The feline man cradled Suguru's head as he gave him the same wakening treatment. “Merry Christmas, Suguru~!”

Said man deeply humming against the crook of your neck had you squirming and giggling, especially as his sweatered arms hugged you close enough to where his grip was too firm to break free from.

“So early,” Suguru grumbled raspily, pulling away from your neck to yawn in his knuckles.

“Better than being late for the day when I embrace my destiny as Saint Nicky~ Imma go get all fancied up for the rascals. I better see you coming right behind me all decked out, hubbie~” Gojo planted one big wet smooch on Geto's lips before giving you the same lovely treatment, pulling a garment bag outta the closet, giving you two a smile and a peace sign before dipping into the adjoining bathroom.

“Sugu?” Your pajama self moved to splay atop your slowly awakening husband.

“Hmm?” He rubbed his eyes, blinking to clear up the murkiness, when the feeling of your lips on his got him to be fully awake.

“Merry Christmas.”

He embraced you, kissing you in kind. “Merry Christmas, love~”

“Tada!” Springing out the bathroom door stood Gojo Claus. Beard, hat, boots and all. “Time to get the sack! Suguru, suit up!” The man warped away.

“Lord I will regret this.” Geto muttered under his breath before lifting you off him so he could get out of bed and pull out his garment bag out of the closet too, heading to the bathroom after giving you a wink. “See you in a bit, honey.”

A few days ago, you celebrated with everyone by throwing a Christmas party at the Tokyo school as it was the one chance you could throw one due to everyone having plans over the holidays.

You even had a Kiritanpo hot pot as the main dish, Christmas version. And a big one at that to fill everybody up.

You hummed as you started up your phone only to see notifications from your group chats. Opening it up, you viewed the photos sent to your phone ever since that night.

One of Haibara beaming brightly as he and a flustered Nanami were lounging on a beach in Malaysia, shades on and a drink in Yu's hands while Kento read off the stack of books he plans to read.

Another one showed Shoko and Utahime in the capital, Kuala Lumpur, with the former kissing the whipped cream off her wife's lips from their shared mug of spicy cocoa along a balcony setting of their lit up resort.

A snapshot of Riko and Misato in a ski lift viewing the snowy hills of a ski resort along the Alps with Yuki, Choso and Kamo skiing together down the slopes below.

More pics kept on piling in.

Miwa and Kokichi taking a sleigh ride through the falling snow, smooching his now beet red face.

Mai and Momo skating across a ginormous ice rink while doing it with such grace.

Todo catching a Takada-chan plushie THE Takada kissed on stage during her live Christmas bash, chucking it to the enormous crowds, hearts and tears in his eyes cause OF COURSE he caught it.

Kusakabe in a tavern drinking with Higurama; one of the many new sorcerers, flushed but at ease.

Yaga and Gakuganji sharing sake together.

Nothing from Mei, but knowing her, she's in a tub filled with cash, with Ui letting her do whatever cause he loves her so … yeah …

And knowing Toji and Shiu, they're probably taking shots while looking out over the balcony of their apartment window and just watching the land being draped in a blanket of snow.

A beaming Nobara and a flushed Maki going through holiday themed boutiques with a shy Fumi and an endearing Saori-chan in tow, so many bags already piling over in their arms.

Rika and Toge doting over a flushing nervous Yuta, spooning him on both sides, lounging in his apartment, with Panda acting as their cuddle couch, snacking on Christmas cookies, egg nog trailing down his conked out face.

Getting lost in holiday feels, you nearly forgot about the other presence in the room but the fuzzy sensations overwhelmed you. Your squeaking giggles were overshadowed by his conniving cackles streaming out as those furry fingers gently tickled you and those smart ass lips kissing your adorable face.

“Letting your guard down makes you vulnerable. It's difficult to resist you, my distracting beautiful wife~” Suguru crooned in your neck, horns on his head and cane in hand as he stopped the tickling to kiss your cheek then easily carried you up in one arm, letting your phone plop onto the sheets. “Now, let's go before Satoru drags us out himself.”

Fairy lights flashed many colors hanging strewn above across the living room ceiling.

A tall traditional tree stood in the corner. Tinsel, ornaments, string lights, and a small start plopped on top decorate the pine.

And Yuji and Junpei awoke to the smell of pancakes being made. Peaking into the kitchen, they spotted Megumi and Tsumiki already having platters full of Christmas tree shaped flapjacks lining up the island. Nanako and Mimiko were prepping up some hot cocoa with marshmallows.

When a sack of presents literally filled up the kitchen like magic.

“Ho ho ho!”

“Santa Claus!” Yuji's chibi self lit up with stars in his eyes at the bearded glasses wearing man poking his head in.

“Santa?” Junpei and Megumi weren't convinced.

The girls giggled, knowing who it was but going along with the cuteness.

A silky raven head with horns on top of his head popped out from the other door, cane in hand. “Yo.”

“K - K - KRAMPUS!?” Yuji turned blue at the alarming sight.

“Geto-sama!” The twins tackled their papa, giddy over his furry onesie look.

The snow began falling that early morning.

As the puppy dog that is Yuji dragged a scolding Megumi outside who didn't want to abandon his cooking duty and let a fire start when a handful of snow was smushed into his now welt forming face.

Yuji's speed was tested by Divine Dog Totality with Megumi riding atop, chasing his salmon boi across the private snowy grounds, as snowballs streaked the air.

A concern Tsumiki tried yelling out her scolding remarks to her brother as she ran out the back patio doors but he was too far off to hear, so her exasperated self plopped down into the snow, getting into the mood to cool down and make a snow angel.

Junpei floundered, his arms and legs jerking as he was doing his best to stay upright even as Tsumiki legit dragged him down with a radiant smile sent his way, going with the flow with a dopey smile on his face.

“SU.GU.RU~!”

“Yeah?”

“Lookie lookie!”

The puffy albino kitty cat and his raven furry mate nuzzled their heels, scurrying out between their legs and through the slide open back doors with cat sized Santa hats on, chasing each others tails.

“Catoru and Cuguru are matching! Say cheese!” Gojo Claus pulled out his phone to take so many pics.

Catoru's chirpy meow and Cuguru's calm meow were all they gave before trotting over to the twins, nuzzling their ankles as they built their snowmen family. Making sure to include a blindfold for one of them and a Gojo Kuja for its snow partner.

“Suguru … THINK FAST!”

Like future father in law, like future son in law.

The side of Geto's face was smothered in snow, giving off a welt mark contrasting Gojo's shit eating smirk.

“Prepare to die … SATORU!”

Choosing to retract his shikigami in preference of handling this matter himself, Megumi rolled across the snowy grounds as he and Yuji's snowball chucking garnered everyone else's attention, especially colliding with Gojo getting his face smushed with powder by a hissing Geto.

A soft rough coughing noise garnered their attention.

All their snowy heads plopped out of their white puffy pile.

Seeing you in that fuzzy velvet robe flowing from the blowing wind, your snug jammies, and velvet slippers as you walked out to admire the falling snow, breathing out to see your breath in a puffy white cloud, fading into purity.

Powder slowly descended from the heavens as you watched, entranced, as you gracefully floated.

“Unless you all want breakfast to get cold, come back inside.”

“Mrs. Claus.” Satoru breathed out in wonder at your tender voice.

“Are we getting our present?” Suguru coyly asked.

Devotion covered your face as you smiled, pressing a hand on your small growing baby bump. “You already have.”

“Oh yeah.” Those two exchanged smirks.

They gently pulled you down to submerge you in their suited powdery embrace, laughing at their gobsmacked expressions as you pulled out some mistletoe from your pockets to hang above your heads.

Lots of kisses between you three.

Yuji snuck in one to Megumi who slunk back in the snow, melting it from how hot he got.

It would be a while until breakfast would be eaten and presents be opened.

But even so …

Christmas had come at last.

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