#Shades & bees AU

[luluy33art]

Sometimes life just makes your enemy hot, Chloe 🤷‍♀️

#artedigital #fanart #marinette dupen chang #miraculous marinette #marinette its just too cute #marinette cheng #marinette dupain cheng #mlb marinette #emo #emonette #miraculous fanart #miraculousladybug #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous lb #miraculous au #miraculous world #shadybug #chloe bourgeois #chloenette #queen bee #honey bee #au #reverse!chloenette #Shades and bees AU #Shades & bees AU

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Peter Parker if he got bit by a radioactive sword ☢️🟢⚔️

if I had a nickel for every time I made a Spider-Man au based off a video game, I'd have three nickels, which isn't a lot but it's concerning that it's happened three times. This au is the spidey/final fantasy vii mashup, where Peter becomes the Unreliable Narrator

anyway someone pretty please write this au for me <333 I'll pay you <3333333

bg variants under the cut

the BIGGEST dilemma(s) was figuring out if I should

A) keep the eyes in my art style (no colours, just the highlight), bc ngl it makes him seem more babey (pic 1),,, or

B) add the mako-glow to the eyes so i could be lore-accurate.... also I spent a lot of time!! on colouring in those pixels!!!!! dammit!!!!!!!!! (pic 2) and

C) OF COURSE i was struggling to choose between the white and red backgrounds!!!!! evil me!!!!!!! making difficult creative decisions!!!!!!

i will,,,, try to draw the other peeps as well (mj as tifa and gwen as aerith ,,, mmm yesss esysey yes ssss) but i fear the monkey brain has already died........ i will try tho,,,,,,,,,,

#finally. i drew the little freaky white boy after.... many many months of not drawing him #do you see the little spider :) it's. it's because he's spider-man!! (it's a very ugly spider i forgive you if you can't find it) #bro looks like a kpop idol im literally screaming #dance for us baby boy. honey bee inn that shit. crank that soulja boy. break it til ya make it #listen i have to draw peter in cloud's pretty blue dress sometime otherwise i WILL explode........... #anyway be like me and refuse to draw legs !!!!!! what are lower limbs!!!!???? who cares !!!!!! just run away when confronted by femurs!!!!! #you would not believe how long i had to stare at cloud's arms in order to make sense of them. why are his triceps so fucked up #many times i had to stop myself from jumping into my laptop screen and succumb to the fiery CPU death bc MY GOD.... #i am SWEATING..... EURHG #also obviously new colouring/shading thing again.... ough...... consistent art style WHEN #what the fuck do i tag this as??? #peter parker #spider man fanart #spider man #ffvii #final fantasy vii #agni and his many many au's number 39874 #artoftheagni

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 30

part 1 | part 29 | ao3

cw: Steve Harrington committing unforgivable thought crimes (besmirching LotR)

"Uh," Steve stammers as Eddie tugs him off the couch, because he just propositioned the guy while covered in snot and tears and wearing a blanket as a cape, and now that guy is holding his hand.

Eddie doesn't let go after he gets him to his feet. Their fingers lace together, and his palm is soft and warm, his fingers slightly callused. Steve can feel his own pulse pounding in his wrist.

"Simmer down," Eddie teases, "I'm not having sex with you. Yet," he adds with a lewd waggle of his brows when Steve puppy-dog pouts at him. "This is better than sex, anyway."

"If you're having shit sex, maybe.” Steve rolls his eyes and lets himself be dragged past a messy counter, where Eddie stops to grab a black lunch box and a cassette tape, a tissue for Steve’s face, then down the hall to Eddie's bedroom.

"My kingdom," he grins as he shoves the door open and waves Steve through with a bow.

His room is amazing. Awesome and terrible all at once: awesome, because it looks like someone put Eddie’s essence in a blender and ran the blades without a lid, and terrible, because the place is a fucking pigsty. There’s a bag of bread on the floor.

Eddie tells him to make himself at home, so Steve plops down on the edge of his bed, takes in the explosion of artwork tacked to the walls while Eddie buzzes around the room — swoops and swoons like a drunken bee, kicking shit into messy piles, sticking a cig in his mouth and forgetting to find the lighter, turning on the stereo. He pops in the cassette, and Steve lets out a surprised laugh when he hears the upbeat strumming.

"Rumours? Really? That's your 'better than sex' cure?"

Eddie cranks the volume. "It's workin’, ain't it?" he mumbles around the unlit cig.

Steve tries to frown and fails. "…Shut up."

Eddie snickers at him; gives him the cutest smile he's ever seen, nose scrunched up, eyes crinkled at the corners, then he tucks the cigarette behind his ear and shakes his hair out with a grimace. “Christ, it’s hot in here." His hands move to the hem of his shirt. "Look away or don’t, baby, I’m changin’!”

Steve smiles and averts his gaze, falling back on Eddie’s bed and looking at the ceiling with his legs dangled over the edge. In his periphery he can see Eddie hopping gracelessly around the dresser, trying to tug his foot out of the end of his skinny jeans, cursing under his breath; dropping all the ‘g’s off the ends of his words.

"I like your Southern accent."

"Do ya now?" Eddie throws it on thick, really hamming it up, "Well then, I reckon it's plum near the most attractive dad-gum thing y’ever did hear 'round these here pawrts."

Steve honks a mortifyingly stupid laugh, which makes Eddie laugh like a chime in a windstorm, which just makes Steve laugh even more, and maybe Eddie was right.

Maybe this is better than sex.

He wipes at his eyes, misty for a good reason for the first time all night, and when he looks up again Eddie’s dressed in his pajamas. Dark gray gym shorts, a black cut-off tank, the arm holes deep and loose to expose his armpit hair, his ribs.

Steve’s mouth goes dry.

Eddie’s wiry and pale, firm muscle wrapped around his string-bean frame, and he's covered in tattoos — black line art and gray shading, fantastical beasts and staffs and swords, a crazily-detailed set of serpent scales snaking up his side. But it's his legs that catch Steve's eye.

His legs are covered in words. Words and doodles everywhere, from his calves to his thighs, the lines wobbly and thick like Eddie put them there himself. There are quotes in sloppy cursive, longer ones in blocky print; a few stylized to look like comic book dialog, the words POW! and DANGER outlined in spiky bubbles above his knee. Steve wants to trace the lines; rehearse him like a poem, learn each ink stroke with his fingers until he can recite them all by heart.

Eddie catches him staring and gives a small, pleased grin. “Like what you see?”

Steve’s tongue feels too big for his mouth. “Yeah. I really do.”

The smile widens. Eddie clambers onto the bed, stepping over Steve’s head and plopping down beside him with his back against the wall, one leg drawn up, the other stretched out long and loose.

Steve shifts to lay the same direction, and his shoulder brushes Eddie’s leg, his wrist ghosting against his ankle bone. He doesn’t pull away; likes the look of their skin tones side by side — the smooth desert landscape of his inner arm, accented only by a few veins and moles; the riot of ink and art all along Eddie’s shin. Eddie’s feet are bare, and they’re wide, a little hairy (reminds Steve of Dustin’s nerdy ring book, and he almost says as much, but he knows Eddie’s even more obsessed with that shit than the kids are. He really doesn’t want the dude to pop a brain boner and spend the next four hours lecturing Steve about jewelry lore.)

“What are you giggling at down there?” Eddie nudges at his elbow.

“Nothing,” Steve says, and Eddie responds “All right then, keep your secrets” in a silly character voice. He stretches to the side and grabs a joint off the bedside table.

“Now,” he says, voice slipping into that deep, slow sing-song thing he does — his sales pitch tone, Steve realizes. “This part is, of course, completely optional, but. In my humble, expert opinion—”

“So humble,” Steve teases under his breath.

“—It really enhances the whole experience.”

“The Stevie Nicks Therapeu- thera-” Oh, screw it. “Un-saddening Experience?”

“That is correct.” He holds it out over Steve’s face, wiggling it in offering, and Steve thinks about his conversation with Robin over brunch:

"I can't believe you did coke.” "I can't believe you smoked weed." "I know." "Was it okay?" He hasn't tried weed since... "Yeah," she answers seriously. "Yeah, it was okay. It was nice, actually."

“Okay,” he decides. I trust you. “Let’s do it.”

Eddie puts the joint between his lips and lights it up.

—

part 31

listen i know it’s a quote from a movie that will not exist for another 16 years just let me have this. tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my fic #my writing

[karugoround]

Nagizuru au creatures ~ probably their most normal drawings ever.

🩶

Today marks one year since I made my first Nagizuru post. I never thought I would love this beast so much. Thank you all so much for enjoying this au!

Here you have a small lighthearted fic written by @draconicsparkle as a gift. It's not connected to the original story, just them celebrating a regular birthday. They spoil them too much! ⬇️⬇️

How long had it been since then? So long. Both the creation date and their escapes. But in a strange way, Hajime was glad they had experienced all those hardships and difficult times. For without them, the two of them wouldn’t appreciate the bliss they were living in nearly as much.

Hajime thought this as his one working eye stared out the window in the small kitchen. The garden was visible from here, where all kinds of flowers and plants were growing. Gardening was one of Izuru’s many talents, after all. It would be odd if it wasn’t growing splendidly.

A small smile grew as he recalled the many hours they had spent sitting in the gazebo they had built in the middle of the garden, sandwiches and lemonade in hand while the butterflies and bees flew by.

But today wouldn’t be spent in the garden. No, Hajime had other plans. Hence why he was in the kitchen earlier in the morning. Izuru was still in their bedroom, sleeping away without sedatives. He wouldn’t dare wake him up, even now when they were far away from the Lighthouse’s rubble.

He bent down to check the oven’s window, pleased to see the cake sheets baking nicely. He grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the pans out, sliding them on the cooling rack. They were the perfect shade and smelled amazing. While they cooled, the brunette got busy preparing the whipped cream and cutting the strawberries he had picked yesterday. He focused hard on his task, not stopping until his creation was fully constructed. A beautiful and practically flawless strawberry shortcake. He almost felt bad for cutting into it and pulling a slice out to place on the plate. But he was far more eager to see the reaction, so he didn’t mourn the perfection.

After gathering a fork and a glass of milk, he placed everything on a tray and carefully picked it up. His months of practice came in handy, as the tray remained balanced the whole way to the bedroom. Using a shoulder, he bumped the door open so his hands didn’t leave the tray. Soon enough, he was placing the tray down on the nightstand. By this point, he knew the Ultimate Hope was awake now. “Good morning. Was your sleep restful?”

The red eyes gazed up at him, still mysterious and cryptic, though not nearly as hard anymore. Being free of pain and drugs was most likely the reason. “I can confirm that it was. The aroma of your creation coaxed me back to consciousness. Not that I mind this pleasant method of awakening.”

“I’m glad you think so, si-” Hajime paused, laughing in embarrassment. “I mean Izuru.”

The white-haired man smirked up at him. “Slip of the tongue?”

Hajime scratched his cheek, right under his silk eye cover. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“But they are getting to be fewer and less frequent,” Izuru observed. He sat up, the large shirt he was wearing slipping off a shoulder. “Can you hand me a hair tie, my dear caretaker?” he requested once he had risen into a comfortable position.

The brunette was quick to do so, though he did it with a grin. “That was on purpose. You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Izuru’s smirk didn’t diminish, even as he began gathering his long hair and weaving the hair tie around the locks. “Observant as always, my dear. Just one of the many traits I adore about you.”

Hajime felt his cheeks redden. He still wasn’t able to hide his reactions to Izuru’s words of affection. “I-I do my best.”

“That you do.” Izuru finished making his ponytail, letting it rest against his back. He then reached forward, tugging on Hajime’s arms. The strength of the tugs had been unexpectedly strong and Hajime found himself falling onto the bed alongside Izuru with a yelp.

“Much better,” Izuru stated as he hugged Hajime to his chest. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The brunette wiggled only slightly to get more comfortable. “But… don’t you want your cake?”

“In a few moments. Let me indulge myself on this first,” was the reply. A pleased hum followed, along with some shoulder rubs that felt amazing. “Another day of tranquility. One that we earned for our perseverance through the blood and pain. The torture those foolish scientists inflicted while playing God. But I suppose it would be best to not dwell upon such horrid memories. It is beneficial to move on and build oneself back up stronger than before.”

The caretaker chuckled. “That the Ultimate Therapist at work? Putting in overtime, for sure.”

“Perhaps. But I will utilize my abilities for our sakes and lives. And I’m sure you are well aware of this.” One of Izuru’s hands migrated up to his hair, scratching his scalp and conjuring happy noises from the receiver.

“What did I do to deserve this? So nice,” Hajime muttered, relaxing into the comforting touches.

“If you would like reasons, I can compile a list. But be aware that it is a long one. It would take some time to read them all,” Izuru replied with his eternal smile.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll decline. You know how I am with rapid fire compliments.” The brunette relaxed under the ministrations, enjoying every second.

“Oh, I do have something to retrieve. Remain here in bed, okay?” Izuru withdrew and extracted himself from the bed covers, standing up and walking over to his closet. Hajime watched in confusion, especially as the pale man pulled out a giant crocheted blanket with a mandala design. “You are always making things for me, so I figured I could return the favor. It was surprisingly easy to keep my work on this little project secret from you. Though, I am certainly not complaining,” Izuru commented as he brought the blanket over, laying it over Hajime and tucking him in. “The pattern is a representation of our spiritual and physical journey through our lives. That we found our fulfillment after our struggles. Quite fitting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hajime’s eyes, both functional and broken, widened at the colorful blanket now around him. He ran a hand over the design, admiring the nice material and the quality of the gift. “I… I don’t know what to say… This is…”

Izuru sat next to him, sliding under the blanket next to him. “I already know, so don’t fret. Nothing needs to be expressed.” He leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the plate and fork. “Now then, how about we try your splendid creation?” The full strawberry on top was speared with the fork and was raised to their faces. “I’ll give you the honor of taking the decoration. You won’t refuse, will you?”

Hajime’s breath was shaky as he nodded. “You know that I would never refuse anything from you. Neither back then, nor now.”

“Excellent. Though there is one condition to get this. You will have to take it from me.” Izuru placed the lower half of the strawberry into his mouth, the thicker half sticking out. And the mischievous look in those ruby red eyes implied exactly what Izuru was insinuating.

Hajime’s face turned as red as the berry. They were about to do this, weren’t they? But he couldn’t go back on his promise, so he swallowed his nerves. He leaned forward and locked lips with the other, the kiss tasting like the sweet fruit. It lasted for several moments, neither of them eager to break it. Eventually, they did separate, the strawberry now in Hajime’s mouth. He focused on chewing to buy himself time to calm down from the rush of emotions. Though this was easily seen by the Ultimate Analyst, if the smirk was anything to go off of.

“Now, I shall taste test your work. Though I don’t doubt it will be fantastic. Thank you for the treat,” the Ultimate Hope said as he cut into the cake and took a delicate bite. “A nice way to wake up and start the day. And here’s to many more in our future.”

Hajime snuggled under the beautiful blanket a little more, resting his head on Izuru’s shoulder. Finally comfortable with initiating close contact after all this time. “Yes. I hope and wish for that, too.”

#nagizuru au #lighthouse au #danganronpa #nagito komaeda #danganronpa art #sdr2 #danganronpa fanart #hajime hinata #komahina #nagito #nagizuru #danganronpa au #izuru!nagito #servant!hajime

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Aloe AU Concept

Julius Miles Arc was not a dull man, however he was known to make the occassional mistake. Deciding to follow the tradtions of his family in teaching their male heirs the way of the Birds & Bee... Was perhaps the biggest of said blunders.

In his defense it was how his father taught him, so yes, he would admit, after a spledid camping trip he may have brought his son to the redlight district of Mistral's lower ring.

He was not however about to risk his son's safety, no Jaune was to become a man, so he would become one in the greatest brothel he could find.

Lien was for once not a concern as he was willing to shell out as much as needed to make sure Jaune left the occassion filled with a new life experience and just as much pride.

The place was spledid, and the women exceptional, why, if he didn't have a wife was was almost constantly breaking his pelvis he might've been tempted.

And his boy had his pick of the lot of them, oh how the other men waiting to buy their own time one of said women. Having to wait till his son had made his choice, Julius having put down extra so Jaune could quite literally have his pick.

He would admit to being suprised... Afterall he did not think his son would pick the Receptionist... He didn't mean to sound rude but well... She did look rather worn-out and... 'Experienced' even compared to most courtesans.

His reason was that the woman Aloe, was 'very pretty' he'd admit her eyes were a darwing shade of burgendy, or would've been where they not so off puttingly dull and and her hair messy and unkempt as it was was a unique green...

Though the real reason was obvious as Jaune's eyes flickered between the Faunus woman's damaged but still pretty insteactoid wings and massive, swelling breast. One appealed to his innocent nature, the other to his developing masculine desires.

The Receptionist, surprisingly enough actually agreed, despite no longer working as a escort.

And it had been set, Jaune had left with her confused, flustered and embaressed, and come back a little more brave and proud of himself, a bit of confidence clear in his eyes and a pep in his step...

Is what should have occured...

No, no, no... Instead they could quite literally hear his son becoming a man. Aloe as it turned out had chosen a room without soundproofing, seemingly she was well known for her pranks and lack of shame.

He stood there, with the women and other customers... Listening, it should've been only a half hour at most... It had been several. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

It was not how the other men had gone from snickering at his son for his inexpereince to looking ashamed of themselves as they heard the woman two hours later actually moaning, yelling and even begging his son's name.

It hadn't been the way the women had approached him hoping to see if the dad was as good as his genius soin apparently. No... It was when Jaune spoke.

When his little, innocent, naive son told the woman she would be his wife. When he told her to have his children...

He knew then, he fucked up, because a Arc went back on their word, even in the heat of passion.

-0-0-0-

Jaune woke up as the bullhead finally landed, his head in his wives lap, Aloe, one a Mistralian prostitute, turned receptionist then turned mother of his son and daughter. Jaune got up stretching, ignoring the people looking at him, or to be more precise his wife. A mother Aloe might be, but reserved she was not. Wearing a eye catching and frankly slutty outfit.

On some level he knew it was bad, but hey, if she followed the norm they would've never met right... His dad would've never trained him, after he asked him to so he could protect his family. Jaune might've tried sneaking into Beacon frankly.

But now he didn't even need to do that, heck a part of him didn't even want to be a Huntsman, he had children to raise, and provide for. A wife to love, he'd be content living the life of a farmer, and Aloe could accept that, but... She'd made it clear that he shouldn't just settle for a average life.

So he was here, trying to live out his childhood dream, at the very least she was right if he could fight off Grimm better the family would be safer, and Anself could always use another huntsman...

Girls cooed and awe'd at his children, Teal and Jasmine were adorble after all, his son having a pair of antenna and just the prettiest blue eyes in the whole wide world. His toddler Faunus son was too much for the girls to endure the cuteness of.

His daughter though was off limits, little jasmine, four months old, and looking every bit like a little precious fairy plucked straight outta the fairytales. Some might have worried he would've dropped her while he sleep, but that was never gonna happen. Getting outta the bullhead he manged to catch a girl getting... Blown up.

He really couldn't help himself, handing Aloe Jasmine before he went off to check the occurance, finding a girl in the crater. And like that he made a new friend.

Later he met a icy bitch who made a comment on his wife being a Filthy Faunus Harlot! Oh Hell No was some freaking Schnee gonna talk shit about his family!

-0-0-0-

Aloe would've never considered something like this in the cards for her. Motherhood, happily married, a life with litte to no worries... But that's exactly was exactly the life she was living.

She owed Jaune, no her husband everything, she was under no delusions, wasn't obssessed with him... Well, unwarrentldly obssessed, no, Jaune Arc had earned he devotion.

She knew what she was, who she was, and where she came from, she, was a whore, born in the lowest cast in Mistral at the ditrest corners of it's city. A Faunus with a impossible to hide trait filled in a den of raciest. Her mom having died, maybe from a overdose, possibly by a scored customer or maybe even at the hand of her own pimp.

She didn't really remember, she was too little to really recall.

But it left her to raise herself, and in that sorta enviorment you could only really do one thing. So she did, she sold herself, and she sold herself well. moving up and outta the lowest ring to just a low one, choosing a brothel she could trust. Making a life for herself that didn't make her crave death like so many of the others in her line of work.

No, she simply didn't care about anything, about herself... About her waste of a life, she was as content as street trash could be. At least their had been moments of bliss, thankfully her pipe was her only drug, she wasn't into harder stuff like others had been.

She was... content to just die like that, not live, what she did was difently not living.

Not until that little boy on the cusp of manhood came into her life and picked her. It still brought a smile to her face, his cute flustered expression.

His innocents and affection.

He didn't see her for what she was, didn't see the worn-out, used-up animal whore her other customers had saw before she moved unto introducing the girls instead of serving herself up. He saw a pretty lady, to naive to see her for what she was, and that... that was enough for her to wanna play with him.

Only they didn't just play, Jaune had said some interesting things to her, not anything she hadn't heard before mind you. When you could change your body size to the point where you looked like a actual fairy guys tended to say a lot. Espeically when you could could become a vice tighter then any other. But Jaune was to honest to mean anything but exactly what he was saying.

And when his father explained their families motto... Well, she always did have a eye for good oppertunities, just a lack of chances to take any. And now she was happy, happier then she had any right to be. With a home, a future and family, she could be content with that.

With teasing, and being bred by her husband while the other men in the village looked at her with desire while she brutally and slying ruined their lives for it. But, Jaune deserved more, he'd stepped up at every corner and then some. Learned to farm, to fight from his dad and even learning how to lead the village for the eventual day he had to step up.

He even learned about Faunus rights, and the struggles her people went though... He actually knew more about her people and culture then she did now. The idea of his son and daughter living in a world where they could be discrimnated against seeming to infuriate him.

She, she loved him, not at first, but it had happened fast... So much so she wanted to give back. And this was how, by supporting the dream he never talked about, that she knew he'd be more then willing to throw away for his family.

And well that wasn't all... She was getting up their in years, she was closer to his moms age then his after all... And Mistral had plenty of different life styles then simple monogomy. If some of those sorry excuses for men could have a mistress or three why shouldn't Jaune. Ture, he would never cheat on her, but she had plans around that, Huntsman fought side by side, grew close as family.

If she worked her magic maybe she could make certain... Arrangements, and beside she already had candidate or two. The blonde with breast as big as her own who went all dowey eyed over her babies, her kid sister who he was fast friends with. The 'Secretly' Faunus who looked at her and Jaune warmly as he lovingly cared for his Faunus kid. Not to even mention the spartan and literal bunnygirl

Heck maybe she was reading to much into it but even the Schnee seemed to be a bit to intense with Jaune when they argued. Maybe she could get her dear husband a personal, private and exclusive brothel of his own. Filled with girls who'd just love to be his personal whores.

#jaune arc #aloe #au concept

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Gala (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: 18+, just lots of thirst and suggestiveness Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You attend a charity gala with your boss who really is too much trouble in a tux.

Author's Note: Requested by and dedicated to @queenofmean14 Bit cracky and intended to be humorous 😜 Also credit to @broooookiecrisp from whom I pilfered the job details of her modern Anthony.

“He’s here.” Security announced in your earpiece. Not that you needed them to. You knew the Jaguar as it pulled up. So did the line of paparazzi who started to jostle for the clearest shot. But when he stepped out, you didn’t even know your own name. Anthony Bridgerton, CEO of Bridgerton House Enterprises and your boss, was going to make tonight even more difficult for you.

He had talked to you about his planned outfit beforehand, but you hadn’t gotten a preview and hadn’t envisioned it like this. A perfectly tailored velvet tux jacket accented with a diamond bee brooch. Smart shoes, an effortlessly coiffed wave of hair and most arresting of all, a pair of sleek shades that he slid on as he exited the car even though it was long past sundown. An errant corner of your brain replayed some 80’s song lyrics, but you couldn’t deny that the entire look worked. It worked entirely too well for you as your body flushed with heat and breathing suddenly became a task. The man could wear the hell out of a tux.

Granted, he always looked mouthwatering no matter how he was dressed, and as his executive assistant for the span of eight months you had seen the spectrum of his wardrobe. Everything hung so perfectly on his muscled frame, exuding old money power with a currently fashionable touch. Clothes made the man, but you suspected Anthony Bridgerton could elevate a bin bag. It was a visual challenge you had adapted to in your job, over time finding it easier and easier to speak to him without choking on your tongue first. His arrogant playfulness had helped with that and the two of you had built a deep mutual trust, a friendship even. You had bonded in the trenches of corporate crises enough to sling endearing insults at each other and always be blatantly honest. Except about one thing. You could obviously never reveal to him how desperately you wanted to jump his bones. How your blood simmered when his voice dropped to a certain pitch. How you broke into gooseflesh whenever he shook your hand and met you with something caring in his deep umber eyes. The light flirtation you both fell into from time to time certainly didn’t help either. And now with him in black tie, you began to wonder if this job was hazardous to your health.

Tonight was the company’s annual charity gala. A star-studded event at one of London’s best hotels where celebrities and socialites donated funds for the hospitals partnered with BHE. Anthony would give the closing speech and as planned, was the last to arrive on the red carpet so that he would get unencumbered press focus. You had spent the entire day on site making sure everything was prepped to perfection and now you stood at the top of the entry stairs with the other staff, ready to welcome the MVP of the evening. Given the high profile of the event, you had dressed for the occasion too. You would be seated at his table and weren’t going to be photographed looking like an intern. You had found a dress you loved, a shimmering number that showed off your best assets, and splurged on a hair and makeup artist. Maybe your position made you more akin to the prince’s valet but if this was how you got into the ball, you were going to make the most of it.

You watched Anthony pausing for photos, realizing this was one of the rare times you could observe him from afar. He moved with such confidence, back straight and head held high. He would run his fingers through his greying temples or brush a thumb over his stubbled chin while flashing that killer smile and your legs wanted to give out. He knew how to work a camera. It was one of the many awful, wonderful things about him. But if the attention helped raise money for charitable causes it was all worth it. You supposed your undergarments could suffer for the greater good. 

As he moved along, you noticed he was licking his lips. A peek of his tongue in the corner of his mouth as he faced your direction. He was probably hot under all the camera flashes. But that small gesture was infecting you with heat too. He really needed to stop or you were liable to tumble down the steps and really make a headline. It took all your strength not to fan yourself with the tablet you were holding until at last he ascended and gave you a dazzling smile, falling into step beside you as you moved indoors. 

You hovered in his orbit as he was greeted by the first throng of attendees at the bar and you called for a flute of champagne. When he was alone at last for a moment, you pulled him into a quiet corner and offered him the drink.

“Thirsty?”

“Sorry?” He moved closer, inclining his head. He was curiously still wearing his sunglasses indoors. You could smell his cologne. Amber and smoke and spice and it made you want to sink your teeth into his neck.

“Are you thirsty?” You said louder, shoving the glass into his hand as he chuckled.

“Why do you ask?” He took a sip.

What a stupid question. Couldn’t you just offer him some refreshment? Didn’t humans need to hydrate? Now you had to answer him.

“I um…” You wavered. “I saw you. You were…licking your lips out there so I just figured…”

His brows show up over his frames and he grinned. “You’re very attentive.”

Something shot down your spine. His voice was getting close to that register. “It’s my job to take care of your needs.” You reminded him, though you laid on a heavy layer of sarcasm.

“And you are so very good at it.” He rumbled, reaching the danger pitch. Oh god, he was going to assault you both visually and aurally at the same time, wasn’t he? He was going to flirt with you while daring to look like that. He was cruel, and he knew exactly what he was doing. 

He confirmed it by stepping even closer, turning so the front of his velvet jacket brushed your bare arm and he leaned down to murmur directly in your ear. “You look incredible by the way.”

You swallowed hard, instructing yourself to inhale and exhale. But that wasn’t really helping because his intoxicating scent was making things worse. You had to keep your head. You had to spar with him or else you were going to melt into the carpet. “So do you.” You pursed your lips and gave him an exaggerated once over as if you were only mildly impressed. “The glasses were a good choice.”

He smiled and you detected something genuine, like he was actually eager for your praise. He tapped the frames lightly. “Useful too. I don’t have to give anyone my undivided attention if I don’t want to. I could be talking to them while scanning the crowd and they would be none the wiser.”

This sounded like the setup for a joke. Something about not listening to you as you conducted him through his schedule for the evening. You were beginning to resent those glasses and you would let him know if he tried to get sassy with you.

“So what are you looking at?” You smirked, waiting for the punchline.

He took another sip of champagne, facing you but now you couldn’t be sure if he wasn’t staring directly over your head. “A beautiful woman who is driving me to distraction.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. The man lived at the office and didn’t really have time for a social or romantic life. He would have to double up and treat a work event as an opportunity for a hookup. Especially at an event as glamorous as this, with so many swanlike women floating around and everyone dressed in their finest, you understood, despite the envy it flared in you.  

“Ah, I see. Is there someone I should invite over to your table?”

He shook his head, downed the last of the champagne and set it aside with a decisive clink. “Unnecessary. You’re already at my table.”

He said it so matter-of-factly it took your brain several seconds to even comprehend its meaning. You must have been going mad. Your heart started to pound, fueled equally by embarrassed confusion and ridiculous hope. There was no way. Absolutely no way on earth he could have said what you thought he said. And even if he had, he was just toying with you, right? 

“I’m not…” You stuttered, hoping he couldn’t see the blush you felt creeping up your neck. “You weren’t…you weren't looking at me.”

Then your breath caught in your throat as he rounded on you, standing directly before you so your back was pressed against the wall and all you could see was him. He loomed, black velvet and chestnut hair and perfect stubble. That scent was making you feral and now you could feel his hot breath across your skin. You could see yourself in the reflection of his dark lenses, peering up at him like trapped prey. This was how you died. Or lost your job. You were sure of it.

“How would you know?” He smiled wolfishly and tapped the glasses again. “All the better to see you with, my dear.” 

You were hit by lightning. The gooseflesh rippled across your skin. Your underwear soaked. All you could do was stand there and tremble as he ran a finger idly up and down your arm. You were surprised sparks weren’t erupting out of your skin where he touched you. 

“Why do you think I was licking my lips?” He asked in a low voice, finally removing the shades to pierce through you with his dilated, chocolate eyes. “I’m afraid even with the champagne, I’m still thirsty.” Then he did it again, flicking that weapon of mass destruction across his luscious bottom lip and staring at you pointedly.

Your brain functioned enough to realize that he was breathing just as heavy as you were. And that he was opening a door, giving you an option. The option you had been fantasizing about since the day you met him. It seemed too good to be true. You were half convinced you were dreaming in a coma after faceplanting down the steps outside thanks to his appearance. But the prickle of your electrified nerves and the river between your thighs felt real enough to persuade you that you were indeed still in your own body. You were not going to pass this up, whatever it might lead to. Really, you wanted to scream aloud like you had won the lottery.

But instead you whispered, “There’s water in the green room.”

He grinned broadly, creasing that dimple in his left cheek that you wanted to lick right off his face. “Excellent idea. I think we’ll need an emergency private conference to…go over my notes.”

His hand found the small of your back and you prayed that your legs would carry you that far. This was really going to throw off the itinerary but you were good at your job, you could adjust. You smiled back at him. “Whatever you say, sir. I’m here to take care of your needs.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @faye-tale

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton imagine #female reader #modern au #thirst #met gala #jonathan bailey

[bahrtofane]

college au jude who meets you at freshman orientation, picking at the grass when you’re all sat in a big awkward ice breaker circle

it’s the middle of sweltering june heat and you sit cross legged in the summer sun, grass tickling your skin and the shade sound far too little to save you from the suffocating temperatures

fate puts you two side by side. but it’s his little daisy chains that seal the deal. he’s made so many in the 30 mins it took for your peer leader to finish talking. you think it’s some sort of game but you also don’t care enough to listen, instead watching the boy next to you gently twist flower stems into little chains fit for a king

so when it’s time to turn to the person next to you and introduce yourself, jude hands you a bundle of the little flowers, smile of his face. he thinks it’s a good impression. so do you

you take them, as many as you can carry. giggling while bees come in to say hi to the pollen that sticks to your finger tips

“woah howd you make those.”

he laughs, “here i’ll show you. “

he teaches you how to find the best daisy’s before his own name. you learn the loops and repeating motions and you have your first daisy chain. though it’s not nearly as neat as his own. you still like it.

so does he. “it looks great !” he beams

daisies become a symbol for the two of you. easy and sweet

he makes them always. whenever he knows he’ll see you he brings one, gently placing it in your palm while you light up with joy.

a little flower emoji accompanies your name in his phone

somewhere down the line hell favor calling you flower over your actual name. no matter how many times you roll your eyes (you love the nickname)

when he finally builds the courage to confess, it’s accompanied by a bouquet of daisy chains. of course you say yes

#jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham one shot #jude x you #jude x reader #jude blurb #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude x y/n #jude bellingham headcanons #jude bellingham fic #bahr blurbs #bahr footy #jb5 blurb

[patrophthia]

hi bee!! i've recently stumbled upon your blog and it's been a joy reading through your works, especially the cfo!regulus au ones ! i was wondering if i could request a regulus x reader blurb where reader witnesses the banter between the black brothers and they find it hilarious at how the two are bickering over something so small and silly?

with regulus being the youngest in his family he can be incredibly annoying yet sirius, being the older brother, isn't afraid to annoy him back just as much. meanwhile, reader thinks the whole exchange is endearing, glad the two are getting along again.

you give me the opportunity to write CFO!regulus and i will grab at the chance like a baby grabbing things they shouldn’t

the carpet incident | regulus black

pairing: cfo!regulus black x reader (muggle au)

You don’t get a chance to speak when you answer your phone. “Where are you?” James asks frantically. 

“It’s my lunch break,” You answered, slightly confused. “I’m getting coffee.” 

“Can you hurry?” 

You don’t answer him. “Why?” 

“I don’t know, Regulus looks pretty mad and Sirius is honestly a little too smug for his own good,” James says. “They’re in the big company meeting room, come quick.” 

“Meeting room?” You parrot after James. “We don’t have any meetings today, why are they there? Did someone schedule a meeting without informing me?” 

“No, I don’t know.” You can hear rustling on the other line which you could only assume was James throwing his hands up in frustration. “Just come quick,” he says —no, pleads. “Please.” 

“Why don’t you go in there and help sort things out?” You can hear the barista calling out your name.  “Aren’t you like the mother hen of your friend group?”

“Mother hen my ass, I was just the only one logical enough to not have our asses kicked out of school,” James scoffs, as you approach the cafe’s counter. “And, I only quote unquote ‘mother hen’ when your boyfriend wasn’t involved.” 

You sigh, thanking the barista as you pick up your drink. “I’ll be there in five.” 

True to your words, James finds you turning the corner five minutes on the dot. He rushes over to you quickly, eyeing the meeting room as he did so. In the span of five minutes that it took you to walk from the cafe to the Black’s building, Sirius and Regulus had managed to rope Remus and Lily into their argument. 

The words are muffled, the glass door of the meeting room showing a clear view of what was happening inside. Remus sits on one of the many chairs, his head buried in his hands in visible distress. Lily stood by Regulus’ side, looking down at the meeting room’s bright red carpet. 

James pushes the glass door open for the both of you, momentarily pausing the conversation from behind the door. Remus lifts his head, thinking that finally this argument was over to only realise that it had only just now begun. 

The brunet tries to send you a get me out of here look. Only for you to be distracted by Sirius calling out your name. “Do you or do you not think that we should replace the carpets?” 

It takes a minute for your brain to catch up with your ears. “Are you two fucking serious?” 

Sirius and Regulus share a look, one so ridiculously Black of them to have before turning back to you. Trying their best to hide their childish smiles. The serious jokes will never be boring so long as the Black brothers are lives. 

“You cut my lunch time short because you can’t bring yourself to agree whether you should replace the carpets or not?” 

Regulus, ever the caring boyfriend, is starting to sense that you might just chew them out. “Sirius thinks we should replace it but it’s completely fine as is.” He tries to explain. 

“It’s fine yeah,” Sirius agrees. “But it’s also an atrocious shade of red to have as carpeting, what would our investors think when they see it? It would tarnish the name of our company.” 

“Okay calm down David Bowie fanboy, our investors are men in their late sixties investing in what their sugar baby says is trending at the second, they know nothing about fashion or what our company truly offers aside from stocks,” Regulus quips. “I doubt they know anything about what shade of red our meeting room’s carpeting should be.” 

“They don’t but I do,” Sirius replies cockily, “ ‘S why their sugar babies always end up in my bed.” The older Black brother laughs when Lily scoffs, dodging a paper ball Remus throws in his direction as well. “And I know that as professionals our carpet shouldn’t be this shade of red. Matter of fact, it shouldn’t even be red.” 

Regulus takes in a deep breath, and you make your way towards him, squeezing his shoulders as a sign that you’re there for him. Regulus then huffs exasperatedly, “then what should it be?” 

“Easy. Black,” Sirius answers, “it’s simple, sleek, elegant and is exactly our brand.” 

“Oh my god,” Regulus huffs again, dropping his head on your shoulder before completely hiding his face in your warmth. “I can’t do this right now.” 

His head moves slightly when you giggle at his words, his heart swelling with pride knowing he’d managed to make you laugh. 

You’re not mad at them for cutting your lunch short anymore, if anything you were entertained by the dumb disagreement they’ve just had. 

“Oh and Regulus,” Sirius calls out. 

“What?” He snaps from your shoulder, his voice muffled by your clothes. 

“Don’t forget to go pick up that engagement ring of yours at five.” 

And when Regulus nuzzles himself deeper into you, half scared to see how you’d react and half embarrassed by his brother’s word; you find yourself too stun to do anything but kiss the crown of his head and answer for him: “we won’t.”

— from bee: yeah sirius is an annoying little shit at the end, we’re staying in character here

#— blurbs with bee #— requests #regulus black fanfiction #regulus black x reader #regulus black scenarios #regulus black x yn #regulus black x you #regulus black humor #regulus black fluff #regulus black x female reader #regulus black imagines #🧳: my writing #🍰: 600 with patro!

[mrskokushibo]

Lead us not into temptation

Kokushibo x Nun!reader

I NSFW I 18+ I MDNI I

A/N: Another highly anticipated request from Anon: Link here.

Plot: A young nun struggles with her carnal desires and in the midst of that gets corrupted by a hot demon. To us, who indulge in sin, let us hope we will all need an exorcist by the end of this smut : ) : )

Warnings: SMUT. Oral. Masturbation. Vaginal penetration. Dirty talk. Creampie. Fingering. Wet dreams. Mild Dom!Kokushibo. Dirty thoughts. AU. Slightly sacrilegious-but hey, this is only fiction.

Word count: 3502

Masterlist

…And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and, the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen. (Matthew 6:11-13; King James Version (KJV) of the Bible).

This was the fifth consecutive night that you were kneeling alone at night in the convent’s empty chapel, saying the Lord’s Prayer repeatedly. Your thoughts were, to say the least, impure, and this was the penance that the friendly old priest administered you in the daily confession. With autumn at the threshold and the harvest over and done with, there was much less physical work for the nuns. Autumn and winter were the time for prayer and withdrawal. A time to give the tired physical body rest after the intense labour of spring and summer. The convent’s gardens and orchard were breaming with fruit and vegetables, the bee hives full of honey and the poultry barns overrun with chickens, geese, and ducks. Everything was now harvested, prepared, and stored for winter. Enough food to provide for both the convent’s needs as well as to help the impoverished families in the nearby settlement.

But your body was as fertile and ripe as the gardens in summer and rest was not what it seemed to crave… You often wondered what would it be like to belong to a man. Your family could not afford the dowry and there were only two choices for you: the brothel or the convent. When the latter was chosen, you knew you would never experience a man’s love. The former option, however, would have only given you a corrupted and twisted mockery of such love.

When you first stepped over the worn-out stone threshold of the large, grey medieval building, you felt apprehensive, to say the least. One look at the large crucifix, the only thing adorning the spacious vestibule, and the worry of a lonely and cold life were gripping you as tight as a vice. With time, you learned how wrong you were about life here. The nuns were warm and kind and since this was not one of the strictest orders, you were allowed to venture out to the village bringing food and medical aid to the inhabitants, who in turn treated you all as if you were angels. This was not a bad life. You enjoyed the gardens and your favourite chore was tending to the animals.

At last, you finished your fiftieth Lord’s Prayer and slowly stood up, straightening your black nun’s habit, and readied yourself to walk back to your cell. The shortest way was to walk through the glorious sacred garden in the courtyard adjacent to the chapel. The cells were situated in the cloister, the open gallery walk that wrapped around the courtyard. The garden was magnificent in autumn, with leaves turning all shades of fire and sun.

As you stepped on the gravel pathway, you stopped in your tracks. There, in the corner near the large acacia was a tall figure, judging by the broad shoulders, a male. You realised this could have not been any of the priests as they did not stay at the convent at night, but also, none of them was this tall… Apprehensive at first, you cautiously decided to approach him, your natural curiosity was always stronger than fear. As you were getting close, suddenly three pairs of eyes stared at you. They were red with golden pupils. Was this a dream? Who was this?

‘Who are yo…?’ you spoke with a slightly hitched voice, but before you managed to finish your sentence, he was gone.

You stood for a while as petrified but then hurried to your cell. It was a sparse room, big enough for a simple bed, a closet for your habits, and any other garments you needed. There was also a desk, a chair, and several candlelights, which you requested especially since you were an avid reader and writer and the convent’s library had a wealth of approved literature.

After finishing your bedtime routine and saying your prayers, you crawled into bed, the last thought occupying your mind being the strange sight you encountered in the garden.

Without the candles being lit, your room was pitch black. You could barely make out the contours of your furniture. Suddenly, you heard a quiet rustle next to the foot of your bed…and then six burning eyes appeared out of the dark. A large hand started caressing your thigh and moving up toward your groin, a sudden light kiss on your lips, and a hand stroking your cheek and neck. You almost flew up, but the same strong, large hand pinned you down in place.

‘Shhhh, someone will hear you.’

A deep, masculine voice came from the direction of the eyes. You were speechless, this was surely a dream and well…you were curious as to what would happen next… A hand was now massaging you between your legs, not moving in under the cloth of your undergarment yet, but this was enough for your juices to slowly overflow. You moaned quietly and this was encouragement enough for the male to slide his fingers under the cloth. As he was spreading your slick-covered folds, your pleasure was slowly taking over you. He was rubbing you up and down between your labia, not even yet touching your clitoris, a long finger slowly tracing circles around your opening and another prying its way inside you…

You touched yourself so many times before, but this was so entirely different. The anticipation of where his touch was to land next was the difference between a deliberate move of your own fingers. This was indescribable. You were trying not to moan too loud, but staying quiet was not an easy feat. When his touch finally reached your erect little bud, you were close to bursting. It did not take him long to push you to your orgasm and as you climaxed you released your juices all over his hand. The next moment you woke up, still riding out your orgasm. You were completely soaked between your legs from all the cum you squirted out. Sunlight was peering into the room through the narrow window, it was most obviously morning. You were in bliss, but also shaking your head at the dream that left you in this state. Because… this surely must have been a dream… This would be an interesting confession…

‘Father, forgive me for I have sinned.’

The old, kind priest sighed as you uttered the routine phrase.

‘Is it the same… as usual, dear child?’

‘Yes, father, but this time it felt like someone … did things to me. I was not touching myself at all. Well, it was a dream, actually. But it evoked an indecent response from me… The thing that did trouble me, was that even though that someone was human, at the same time, he did not seem to be. He had six eyes and had a demonic aura about him.’

The priest sighed again and shook his head.

‘Look, dear child, what you are experiencing is normal for someone young. Believe me, we all had such thoughts in our youth. Just try and work on changing the focus of them. As for the form of your assailant, well, do not dwell on that too much. I am sure it is not possession or anything unholy like that. The human brain is blessed with the capacity to imagine, so do not dwell.’

He paused and smiled a little to himself.

‘You know, you are a good kid, the villagers adore you for your kindness and help. I am sure the Lord will overlook your recent troubles with yourself.’

With that, he drew the sign of the cross in the air in front of him and said the prayer of absolution:

‘(…) I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.’

The week that followed was a blur. For every day that went, your focus on daily chores and routines was diminishing as the wet dreams were increasing in length and intensity. Your thoughts were preoccupied with…him. The six eyes were etched in your mind like an unholy vision. Every night spent in the chapel on your penance prayers was wearing you out and making you more and more susceptible to daydreaming of being ravaged by the male. You were imagining what he looked like, what his manhood would feel inside you…Every time you were dismissing these thoughts in a futile attempt to regain some sanity, they were hitting you twice as hard as soon as you lost your slightest focus. It was all a dream you were telling yourself…

It was a particularly dark night when you ventured back into the empty chapel after the Sunday evening mass. A part of the penance was to tidy up and blow out the candles, leaving you with only a couple lit at the altar near the main nave, where you usually knelt to say your prayers. At this point, you started to feel like maybe an exorcist would be your best option.

Your obsession with carnal pleasure and that demon or whoever that was that invaded your thoughts, was becoming unbearable. No matter how many wet dreams, how much you touched yourself, and how much you repented and tried to push these thoughts away, your senses seemed to not even come close to being satiated. You knelt in resignation, the burning sensation between your thighs as intense as ever, wetness pooling between your legs at the only thought that was occupying your mind.

‘… and lead us not into temptation…’

but the temptation was only getting stronger. At that moment, you sensed a presence behind you. The already dark, somber space suddenly grew darker. You turned around only to see the six ferocious eyes staring down at you. But this time you finally got a chance to see their owner. You gasped at the sight. The demonic eyes and strange red marks on his face and neck aside, he had a fully human form. A tall, solid-built male with a huge mane of thick red-black hair. He wore an outfit whose origin you did not recognise, but it did do his figure justice. Apparently, he was a warrior of some kind as there was a foreign-looking sword at his side.

‘Greetings, holy woman’ his polite words were laced with scorn.

‘Greetings’ you managed to stammer in reply.

He was foreign-looking, how could he speak your language? He could apparently read your thoughts as he indulged your curiosity:

‘I am an ancient demon and human language is a mere trifle to me.’

A demon, so your fears were confirmed… How did this happen? Did you somehow manage to summon him?

‘You did not summon me, you foolish girl. I roam this earth and when I stumble upon something that appeals to me, I merely claim it as mine.’

His self-indulgent speech was making you nervous, but also weak at the knees from anticipation.

‘The dreams when I touched you were not dreams at all, I was there with you, and I already savoured your sweet juices. I could have ravaged you many times over, but you humans are a special kind. Playing hard-to-get and pretending to be pious and oh so holy. But deep inside of you all dwells a beast so ferocious that it makes us demons seem like angels at times. But now, it is time you give in to me and to the beast inside you. I will fuck you right here, for your Lord to see. And he will watch while you begin to serve a new Master.’

His deep, melodic voice was sending shivers down your spine. It resounded perfectly in the solemn space of the empty chapel. His lewd words gave this medieval temple more justice than any sermon you ever heard…

You stood up in the last and futile act of defiance, but in that instant, you were pushed by the large male toward the nearest wall. His large frame dominated you and pressed you into the hard stone of the wall behind you, making you almost breathless.

‘Look at you, so beautiful and innocent. A flower ready for picking’ he was talking in a hushed, slow tone.

‘I bet you will not be as innocent once I show you what real pleasure feels like.’

His handsome face was now adorned by a smile, a vicious one at that, as the thought of corrupting this holy servant of a God so many worshipped, was making him crazy with lust. It was his work as a demon, to kill, enslave, turn people into demons, and corrupt women into the deepest abyss of carnal yearning. He enjoyed this, the power of it, as centuries went by and his strength grew, so did his desire for more conquers.

His hands were slowly starting to take possession of your body, gently, but deliberately caressing your face, neck, bottom, and breasts. He lowered his head and kissed your lips with the lightness of a falling rose petal. He kept on kissing like this down your neck and then back up to your lips again. This time the kiss claimed more of your lips and his tongue slowly snaked its way into your mouth.

Your mouth welcomed him greedily and soon you were intertwined in a passionate kiss. He held your head in his large hands while kissing you and when he let go, he helped you remove your clothes and went down on his knees before you. He cupped one of your breasts with one large hand and started spreading your swollen, slick-covered folds with the long, calloused fingers of the other. You were now so familiar with this from all the wet dreams, that were not dreams at all. The coil in your belly was tightening slowly and you were starting to edge when he moved to rubbing circles around and on your blood-filled clitoris.

He then leaned into your sex, blowing soft kisses on the outside of your pussy. His tongue started darting over your clit, flicking it lightly, eliciting even more moans from you. The warmth in your belly was turning into burning heat. You felt like soon you would be losing all control over yourself but before that happened, there was something you wanted to know. Without asking him directly about his identity you posed a more indirect question.

‘Don’t you want to know my name?’ you moaned.

‘I already do, y/n. And my name is Kokushibo, remember it well, because after tonight it will be the only name you will need to repeat in your prayers.’

With that, he stood up again and you automatically wrapped your legs around his strong hips. He was now carrying you in the direction of the altar and soon enough, you were shamelessly splayed on top of it. Not lifting his burning gaze from your naked form, he started removing his own clothes, leaving you to admire what was slowly being unveiled to your vision.

If it wasn’t for the scars that covered his entire torso and arms, he might just as well have been a statue that came to life. His body was as if carved of stone, with skin deliciously stretched over the defined muscles. As he removed the last clothes covering his body, a black, skirt-like garment tied with ridiculously long belts, you could now admire his manhood in its full glory. It was already erect, huge, straight, and veiny with a bright red tip.

At this point there was not a clear thought in your head, your lust fogging up whatever reason and decency that was left. All you wanted was him inside you. The tingling in your belly was increasing as if a swarm of butterflies was attempting to find a way out of your insides. Your craving was that of a beast, your inner muscles spasming and clenching on air, slick pooling out of your cunt, all in expectation of him finally granting you the fullness you so much lusted for.

And you did not have to wait very long because as if in response to your body’s call, he grabbed you by the hips and slid you closer to his rough ones. His cock was now perfectly aligned with your entrance and he slowly started pushing into your clenching walls. The sensation of being filled up like this was making you delirious with pleasure. Every inch he gained was adding more and more to your already peaking arousal. At last, he bottomed out, but before starting to move, he stretched out his arm and grabbed your chin with his large hand, tilting your head so that you could look at the crucifix above the altar. His lips were contorted in a frown, he was baring his fangs.

‘He is looking at you. And now, I want you to tell him who is your new Master. Say it.’

With that, he started slowly thrusting into you. You were moaning, but his grip on your chin did not lessen.

‘Say it!’

‘Lord Kokushibo is my new Master, my only Lord.’

You moaned out, your breath getting heavy. Satisfied, he let go and increased the force and pace of his thrusts. It was as if time has stopped and there was only now, you and him, in this sacred space, performing this unholy sacrament. Your juices mixed, your bodies intertwined. Every spot inside you was stimulated, you could feel the veiny texture of his dick rubbing back and forth on your plush and swollen walls. If this was a sin then you for sure belonged in hell. Because this was something you no longer could live without. And when your body finally reached the limits of what it could take before being plunged over the edge and into the eruption of your orgasm, you knew that this demon would be your bane. You were indeed possessed.

As you were riding out your climax, he kept on pumping into you with unchanged force. It was now his turn to grant himself a release. He pulled you closer to him, changing the angle slightly, so that his rough hips were even closer to you. The sound of flesh smacking flesh, the wet squelching of his cock pumping in and out of your pussy, and your lewd moans echoed through the sacred building. His eyes were closed and his head thrown back, a glorious fallen angel with a halo of black hair with red tips that in the dim light of candles made it look as if he was emerging out of the fires of hell. His thrusts were not losing any of their strength or speed as you started to feel another orgasm approaching.

‘Kokushibo, my Lord, I am…. going… to come again’ you managed to moan out in your hazy state.

He opened his eyes and looked straight at you with a dark, lust-filled gaze.

‘Then I want you to say my name when you do and tell your old God who your new one is.’

He said with a vicious smirk while increasing the pace and strength of his actions. Every thrust was sending you closer to your climax and when it was time for you to come again, you moaned out loudly

‘My Lord Kokushibo… you are… the only God… for me now’

And with that you climaxed and your consciousness started to blur.

He leaned over you now, small droplets of sweat running down his chest, making his skin glisten in the dull, warm light. His breath was very heavy and his thrusts were getting sloppy. ‘I am close now’ he hissed through gritted teeth ‘I will fill you up with my demon seed and from now on you will forever be parched for it.’ With a final powerful thrust, he climaxed and emptied himself inside you, riding out his high with a few slower thrusts at the end. You were so overfilled, that his semen was pouring out of you around his cock and onto the altar. This was sacrilege, a sin beyond repentance. Yet, you knew, that this was just the beginning of your journey to hell and that you would not allow anyone to exorcise this demon out of your life.

You were still lying flat on top of the altar, breathless and blissed out, looking up at the crucifix and then at your demon lover’s face, when he finally pulled out, resulting in the remaining semen flowing out of you shamelessly onto the sacred stone. He smiled at the sight and lifted you up toward his chest, landing one last deep, hard kiss on your lips. He moved the hair out of your face and caressed your back, you reciprocating the action, barely able to reach around his large torso.

‘Will you be back?’ you asked in a weak voice.

‘If you pray to me, I will.’

Image downloaded from Pxfuel.com

Banner by @cafekitsune

Divider by @saradika

Tags 💕: @muzanswaifu @muzansfangs @doumadono @paintoreos @fuckkyourlife @abandonedhhearts @tired-writer04 @koku-shibou and @kokusfluffyhair @koyuki-the-flower

#demon slayer #smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer x reader #kny smut #kny x reader #kokushibo #kimetsu no yaiba x you #kny fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kokushibo smut #demon slayer kokushibo #kokushibo x reader #kny kokushibo #kokushibou #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x female reader #kny x you #kny au #kny x y/n #kimetsu no yaiba kokushibo #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba smut #kny imagines #demon slayer imagine #kny fandom #demon slayer fanfic #anime fanfic #michikatsu tsugikuni

[luluy33art]

#artedigital #fanart #marinette dupen chang #miraculous marinette #marinette its just too cute #marinette cheng #marinette dupain cheng #mlb marinette #emo #emonette #miraculous fanart #miraculousladybug #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculous les aventures de ladybug et chat noir #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous lb #miraculous au #miraculous world #shadybug #chloe bourgeois #chloenette #reverse!chloenette #Shades and bees AU #Shades & bees AU

[sneakyblinders]

All His

A/N: another installment of the tommy x bee series aka Tommy and his darling wife!au <3 inspired by a lovely anon and @skydisneylover's asks for something with jealous tommy & how they said i love you <3 warnings: sexual themes, 18+ only, minors DNI. Alluding to smut, but no smut. Tommy being jealous/possessive, language. I take no credit for the gif! 1.5k words.

Tommy and Bee had been courting for two months. He felt like he was floating. In a dream. Having an out of body experience. This cannot be my life, he constantly thought to himself about this woman, this angel who graced his life with her time and attention. 

He began to bring her down to Birmingham on the weekends, sending a car for her up to London and having her brought to the Midland. He wanted her all to himself. Wanted to pleasure her, hold her, let her make all the noise she could manage without fear of his family overhearing and giving them both grief for it over breakfast. Wanted no one but himself to hear her mewls, her groans, whines, moans. The way she fucking moans makes him fall apart in her hands. 

She was everything he was not. Kind, charming, elegant, classy. She matched him in intelligence and wit. He had not seen her get angry with anyone besides him but once–she was calm–always soothing. 

In the back of his mind he knew she was too good for him. Out of his league. He knew she would one day discover his darkness, the depths of hell he had been through, and would deem him unredeemable. He was preparing for the day when his heart would be shattered, and his world would go from vibrant color back to shades of gray. 

But he loved her. He knew he loved her from the first few times they had really spent time together. Knew he loved her definitely from the first time they’d made love. How nervous she was to tell him she’d never done anything like this with a man before. His heart ached to tell her that he loved her. That he desperately loved her–that she was all he thought of day and night. He couldn’t bear to be apart from her any longer. Needed her, wanted her in Birmingham, sharing his bed, his home, his life. But he was terrified of her rejection, or worse, of her acceptance, and later, her rejection and abandonment.

So in the meantime, he showered her with gifts. Perfumes, dresses, lingerie, flowers. He bought her a mother of pearl watch with a gold band after they had been courting for a month. The next week he made love to her for the first time and bought her a delicate diamond anklet, clasping it on, her legs still thrown over his shoulders, still shaking from the pleasure he had brought her to seconds before. He’d recently discovered an emerald baguette necklace and instantly thought it needed to adorn her neck. 

He was walking faster than normal through Birmingham to get to the Midland, anxious to see her. Feel her. Touch her. Hear her voice. He walked through the doors and heard her giggle. Brow furrowed, he walked into the lounge, where she sat across from a young man who was flirting, telling her some ridiculous story. 

“Oh, there he is,” she said, looking at Tommy, breathless from laughing. Jealousy pooled in Tommy’s gut, knowing the day of her finding a better man was approaching soon. “It was lovely to talk to you, Sam,” she said, standing up to walk towards Tommy. “Hello, handsome,” she said, reaching up to kiss him on the lips. 

Far too distracted in his thoughts, he didn’t lean into her like he normally did, causing her to pull away far earlier than she would like. “Hello, darling,” he rasped, a hand on the small of her back. “Go on up to the room, I’m going to get some whiskey and I’ll be up, hm?” he said. She nodded before disappearing up the stairs to their room. 

He thoughtlessly retrieved a bottle of Irish whiskey from the bar before slowly walking up to the room. He groaned when he pushed the door open and saw her lying in the middle of the giant bed in nothing but a baby pink silk babydoll slip he’d bought for her. 

“Are you alright?” she asked as he kicked the door closed behind him and turned the lock. 

“Just tired, Darling. S’all,” he mumbled, walking to the window and closing the curtains. 

He set the bottle of whiskey down on the nightstand closest to the door–the side of the bed he always deemed as his. “Are you certain?” she asked as he loosened his tie and removed his jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. 

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Been a long week and I’ve been looking forward to this since we left last time,” he said, unclasping his cufflinks as she rubbed her thighs together, dying from the anticipation, growing needy at this show of undressing he was making. 

“But,” she began as he removed his sleeve garters and braces from his shoulders. “You didn’t kiss me like you normally do,” she said, widening her eyes and batting her eyelashes at him as he unbuttoned his shirt. 

“Mm,” he threw his shirt and undershirt in the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. “And how do I normally kiss you, hm?” he asked, crawling on top of her on the bed. 

“Like a starved man,” she said, legs wrapping around his waist. 

“Mm, I see,” he kissed her neck. “If I am a starved man, then you are the meal I’ve waited my whole life for, eh?” he pressed his hips into hers, causing a whimper to leave her lips. Her hands moved down to unfasten his trousers and push them down his legs, along with his undershorts, leaving him bare atop her. His hand moved up to grip her jaw, causing her to gasp, eyes flying open. “Who was that man?” he asked, jaw clenched. 

“What man?” she asked, eyes wide in fear. 

“The man in the lounge,” he said, anger pouring from his words. 

“I don’t know, some man who wanted to ask if I knew of any good pubs,” she swallowed. “I told him the Garrison,” she said, flinching at his grip. “Thomas, please, you’re hurting me,” she whimpered. 

He loosened his grip immediately, breathing heavily. “If you want to run off with another man, just say it, Bee,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his bottle of whiskey, taking a long swig straight from the bottle. 

She sat up, hurt and confusion running through her mind. “Thomas, I’m not going anywhere,” she said, fighting back tears. 

He took another long pull on the bottle before setting it down with a thud and crawling back on top of her, laying her flat on her back. “Say it again,” he demanded, clasping her jaw in his hand again. 

“What?” she asked. 

“Say it again,” he demanded, pressing his hips into hers. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Thomas,” she repeated. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” he told her, dipping down to nip at a particularly sensitive spot on her neck that drove her wild.

“I’m all yours, Thomas,” she told him breathlessly, legs wrapping around his hips again. 

“Again,” he breathed, slinking down her body. 

“All yours!” she cried breathlessly. 

By midnight he was drunk. He didn’t make a habit of being drunk, and he actually couldn’t remember the last time he was properly drunk. But between the pleasure high he was riding and being thoroughly intoxicated with this woman, he had lost track of how much he had drunk until the bottle was nearly half empty. 

“Got something for ‘ya,” he said, walking over to his discarded jacket and fishing out the necklace he had bought her. 

“Thomas,” she scolded as he held it out, clasping it for her around her neck. “It’s beautiful, thank you,” she told him, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

They fell back onto the bed together, legs intertwined, her fingers drawing shapes on his chest while he lit a cigarette. “I don’t think I could deny you anything y’know?” he said. 

“Why’s that?” she giggled. 

“Those eyes,” he said, shaking his head. “Those fucking eyes could get me to do anything, I swear,” he said and she continued to giggle. 

“Anything?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I have something else to tell ‘ya, but I know you don’t feel the same fuckin’ way so don’t laugh at me, eh?” he said. 

“Oh, Thomas, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What is it?” she asked, a hand over his heart. 

“I love you, Bee,” he said gently, all the tenderness in his mind, heart, body poured into those words. “I have from the moment I saw ya, I think,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. “There ya have it. Tommy Shelby–in love.” 

She looked at him with an awestruck expression, all words escaping her. “Thomas,” she breathed. 

“Ya don’t have to say it back, I know someone like you could never love someone like me,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his whiskey again. 

“Thomas,” she said again as he tipped his head back, taking a long drink.

“Hm?” 

She took his bottle and put it on her nightstand, before taking his head in her hands. “I love you too, Thomas,” a smile appeared on his face. “I didn’t think you were the kind of man to say I love you, that’s why I didn’t say it sooner,” she confessed. 

“I’m not the kind of man to say it,” he admitted. “But if you want to hear it, I’ll say it every day for the rest of my life,” he told her, happiness overwhelming him. 

“Are you happy, Thomas?” she asked.

“So fucking happy, Darling.” he breathed, kissing her. “All mine?” he asked, pulling away from her to look at her fully.

“All yours,” she said, smiling as he kissed her again. 

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x ofc #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x ofc #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peakywomen #peaky blinder imagine #sneakyblinders #my au <3

[iambutmortal]

Watch Me Burn

Chapter 1

Summary: Lucien Vanserra, Godkiller and disgraced prince, is more than content on his own. He doesn't need his family, or his wife, or his former friend. Hasn't needed them in years. But when villages start being attacked by a force he thought he'd destroyed years ago, he's forced back into their company to retrieve the mysterious firebird and save his kingdom from ruin.

Pairing: Elucien

Word Count: 3k

Content Warning: Gore, brief mention of infertility

Authors Note: Happiest of holidays to @labellefleur-sauvage! You mentioned you were a fan of the Witcher video games so I wrote this kind of sort of Witcher AU! It was originally a one shot but has ballooned into a 9 part monstrosity, so I hope that's okay, and also sorry about the delay. You were such a lovely match, thank you for putting up with me. Also the biggest thanks to @witch-and-her-witcher for letting me have a meltdown in her dms, and also to @acotargiftexchange for making this happen.

Read on Ao3

The god sitting in the remains of the temple seemed completely unconcerned with the swarm of bees circling his head. He seemed equally unconcerned by the man approaching him, if his closed eyes were any indication.

Lucien carefully picked his way around the hunks of stone, trying not to twist his ankle as he climbed his way up the half crumbled steps. He scanned for any sort of trick, but aside from the bees there was nothing unusual. Even the god even looked human, if not for the antlers growing out of his head, long and curved like a ram’s.

“You have a choice,” Lucien called once he was on the mostly-level temple floor, unsheathing the sword strapped to his back.

The god didn’t bother to look at him, although Lucien half wondered if he could hear over the sound of buzzing. This close, the swarm was loud enough Lucien’s ear’s were starting to ache.

“Hey,” Lucien yelled, louder this time. A stray bee landed on his nose, and Lucien swiped at it.

Still no response.

Lucien sighed, picked up a piece of marble next to his boot, and threw it at the god. It bounced harmlessly off an antler. That got his attention, and the god swung his head to glare at Lucien with golden eyes.

“The god-butchers really have fallen if they’re resorting to rocks.”

Lucien lifted the sword in his hand, the metal flashing in the sun. “I’ve come to offer a choice.”

“Yes, yes, leave or be killed, I know,” the god signed, sounding bored by the options. “You’re not the first of the butchers to come here and you won’t be the last.”

“You think I’m like most Godkillers?” Lucien asked.

The god looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time, taking in the left eye made of metal, almost the same shade as the god’s own, the long red hair carefully braided back. Recognition danced across his face, at last garnering a response. The god slowly rose to his feet. 

Lucien ran through his memory of the remaining gods, the long list of names and descriptions he’d been forced to memorize during his years of training at the keep. He’d spent hours on that list, staying up until the early hours of the morning with nothing but a candle pouring over the pages.

“Hello Aristaeus.”

If it was possible for an immortal being to look surprised, Aristaeus did. “I thought your kind destroyed the old records.”

“The keep has a record for our own usage.” The master, Azriel, insisted it was so the Godkillers would know what they were up against, the monstrous gods they faced. Lucien thought it was bullshit. All the gods who’d proved any real danger had long since been driven out, either killed or sent so deep into the wilderness they’d never be found. Which left Lucien fighting those who were too stupid or weak to leave.

No, Lucien thought they kept the records, made novices memorize every single name on them, because there was something profoundly sad about killing a creature who no one remembered. Who would be wiped completely from existence after they died. And even the Godkillers, for all their zeal and devotion, felt enough pity to do that one act of kindness.

Aristaeus spread his arms widely. “Then you know to fear me.”

Lucien choked down his snort. As if anything he was sent to face made him fear. The minor gods were as dangerous as mosquitos, and twice as irritating.

And they were especially irritating to the villages that paid Lucien to dispatch of them, gathering the little spare change they have left over after market day in a communal cup in the tavern until they had enough saved to pay a Godkiller to get rid of the god who took delight in wrecking their harvest or killed one too many of their herd.

Aristaeus apparently had a propensity for sending bees at all hours of the day, attacking festivals, harvests, or children in the little time they were given to play.

Which unfortunately meant he had to die. So Lucien brandished his sword threateningly and advanced a step.

“I’m going to send your pretty head to your brother,” Aristaeus said. “Remind him of how far the prince can fall.”

Lucien arched an eyebrow, the one that wasn’t cut through with the scar that ran down his face from brow to cheek He’d been described as many things in his life, but pretty was not one he’d heard. Not when the metal eye took so much of people’s focus. 

“Eris would probably thank you,” Lucien grumbled.

“Family troubles?” Aristaeus asked, advancing on him, the bees around his head forming a clump. Lucien sensed what was coming a second before, and held up his free hand. Fire flicked at his fingers, smoke trailing from them.

The cloud of bees started to swarm, and Lucien willed the flames higher, the smoke growing thicker. It burned at his eyes and nose, but he kept the flames alight. The bees slowed, circling Lucien but not attacking.

“That’s not fair,” Aristaeus pouted. “Your kind isn’t supposed to have magic.”

“Special allowances were made,” Lucien said, hoisting the sword up and advancing. Understatement of the millennium. “Now yield and leave this place.”

“They used to worship me,” Aristaeus whined. “They would crowd at this temple, pray for their crops to bear fruit, for their fertility.” The bees were fleeing now, trying to escape the heavy smoke still filling the air. “And then they all left me alone, all alone here, and they’re unhappy? The bees are the least of their issues, I should be slaughtering them in their beds.”

“Times change.” Lucien swung the sword, the sharp blade meeting Aristaeus’ neck. The edge that Lucien had so carefully honed that morning sliced through flesh and sinew, severing his head cleanly.

The God didn’t even bleed, just collapsed to the ground before breaking apart into dust. As if he’d never existed at all. Lucien huffed, extinguishing the flames still licking at his fingerprints, and bent down to claim his spoils.

-

The tavern was unusually crowded when Lucien arrived. He was used to a few sad souls, men with nothing better to do than drink the day away, maybe a bar maiden if he was lucky, but today it was teeming. Like the whole town had gathered to see if he’d actually come back.

Lucien lifted the sack he held at his side, dumping its contents on one of the long tables. The head of Aristaeus, the only thing left of the god, tumbled out. The men nearest leapt back, a few retching at the sight.

Lucien snorted. It always surprised him how squeamish farmers could be, seeing what they did to their own animals. Not that presenting heads was his preferred method, but he needed to prove the job was done somehow, and physical evidence was required more often than not.

“I’m owed three talons,” Lucien said, sliding onto the bench in front of the table. “And a cask of ale.”

A mug was placed in front of him, foam nearly flowing over the rim. The deliverer, a man whose hair was more gray than brown slid into the seat across from him. His tunic was slightly finer than those of the rest of the men, his posture straightener. Signs he wore with pride of his town leadership.

Lucien searched his memory trying to find his name. “Grogov,” he said after a second. “I take it you have my coins.”

Grogov’s dark eyes darted around the room, marking a few of the men out. The largest ones. “A few of us were discussing,” he said, “and three talents is a steep price to pay for a day of work.”

“Yet three talons were what you offered, and agreed to.”

Grogov forced out a laugh, the sound strained. “An offer made under duress. Our children were being attacked.”

“They were stung by bees,” Lucien corrected.

“Mothers were hysterical. We felt like we had no other option but to offer something we couldn’t afford to pay.”

“Yet you had the money to print posters,” Lucien said, leaning back in his seat. His hand, the one not wrapped around the handle of the beer mug he had yet to drink from, drifted down to his waist band, and the knife tucked there. “And enough coins to show me when I arrived.”

“Circumstances change,” Grogov said. The men he’d given such significant glances to seemed to advance, forming a loose ring around them. “And I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.”

Lucien’s fingers wrapped around the knife hilt. “An arrangement where you pay me three talents?” 

Another strangled laugh from Grogov. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“One where I’m paid what I’m owed?”

Grogov leaned closer. “There’s always room for debate.” Behind him, one of the men, no doubt the largest in the village, pulled out a sword. The blade was dull, rusted in parts, and Lucien had to keep from snorting at the lack of threat it posed.

“Threatening a Godkiller then?”

“Merely opening the conversation. After all, you’re alone. No companions, no family.”

Lucien hummed, understanding the threat in the words. No one would notice if you were missing, not for a long while anyway. He made a show of debating the idea, furrowing his brow, before leaping out of his seat with speed no human man could hope to match. He threw Grogov against the wall of the tavern, sliding the small knife out of his pocket and holding it against the man’s throat.

“Talk away.”

Grogov swallowed, the movement of his throat pressing the blade into his skin. Blood welled, and his eyes slid to the head still on the table. The village lads, picked for their size, not their bravery, seemed frozen in place.

“I—”

He was saved from talking himself into further danger by the tavern door flying open. Trumpets sounded, the ridiculous jaunt of the Lord of Kouemos. A song far too chipper for a ruler who was, by all accounts, a terror.

Lucien didn’t drop the blade, but did turn his head towards the sound. The messenger lowered the trumpet, looking entirely too pleased with himself. The colors of his costume, the bright red and yellow stripes, were comically amidst the dirt and grime of the tavern. As were the shoulder pads that ballooned around his upper arms, and the tight, short breeches.

 Musicians, Lucien thought to himself.

“I have a message for Lucien Vanserra.”

“Present,” Lucien growled, not moving. He watched the tavern still as they stared at him, tried to square the rough Godkiller threatening the town’s reeve with the stories they’d no doubt heard. Of the gentle noble, his mother’s favorite for his kind heart, so different than that of his brothers.

“I hail from Kousemos,” he said, with a flourishing bow. Lucien tried not to roll his eyes. As if anyone would be able to miss that, based on his, well, everything. A bunch of ostentatious self righteous pricks they were. “You’ve been summoned by our fearless, magnanimous, kind—”

“Get one with it,” Lucien interrupted.

The messenger cleared his throat. “Our leader requests your presence.”

“Will he pay?”

“Most assuredly, anything you may ask for. Our leader is well known for being generous, the most generous—”

“Yes fine,” Lucien sighed. He pressed Grogov closer to the wall. “Just as soon as this one pays up.”

Grogov reached a trembling hand into his pocket, pulling out the three gold coins Lucien was after. Apparently matters were much less up for debate now. Lucien snatched the coins, before lowering the knife. He cast a mournful glance at his ale, still untouched and gestured for the messenger to lead the way out of the tavern.

Shockingly, his horse was still where he’d left it, tied to the post in front of the stable. “Sorry for the delay, Tam,” Lucien said, stroking his roan mane once before pulling himself up into the saddle.

“My lord,” the messenger said, running after him. The shoulder pads flapped dramatically up and down, and Lucien bit down on his tongue to hold in his laughter. “I insist upon accompanying you.”

“It’s Lucien.” He hadn’t been called Lord in a long, long time. “And you’ll just slow me down.”

“I insist,” the messenger said. “My orders demand it.”

Lucien nodded. “And what’s your name?”

“Hart, sir.” He gave another little bow of flourish.

“Hart, who gave you this order?”

“The reeve of Kousemos,” he said proudly.

Lucien smiled, one of the slow, sarcastic ones he’d all but mastered. “Then I, Lord Lucien, outrank him, yes.”

Hart blinked. “Well, I—”

“So I order that I ride alone.” And with that, Lucien nudged Tamlin on, the horse starting off at a brisk trot, leaving Hart standing in front of the stable, a bright spot against the dusty ground.

-

Kouemos had changed since he’d last come. Sure, the buildings were the same, small shacks lining the one street leading up to the large manor house. But it was like the air was different, hung thick with the raw, almost bitter, taste of power. The town seemed to hum, getting fuzzy around the edges. The colors were too bright, the green of the plants a brilliant emerald that he’d only seen on the tapestries his mother liked to sew with her ladies.

Lucien shifted uneasily in the saddle. Even Tamlin seemed uncomfortable, his ears held back, muscles tensed.

“It’s fine,” Lucien said, not sure if he was talking to himself or the horse. His voice seemed to echo, the world far too quiet. Tam’s hooves drummed against the cobblestones in the silence, alerting anyone who was waiting for them. Here we are. Lucien peered at the small houses, expecting to see dirty faces pressed against the windows, but there were none.

In fact, there were no people anywhere, not in the streets, not manning the few carts that dotted the side of the road. They looked haphazard in their placement, as if the owner had just dumped them wherever he stood and walked away.

The magic in the air only seemed to grow stronger as he got closer to the manor house, the colors around him brighter. Flowers bloomed from window boxes, overflowing their containers and spilling onto the ground. The hue almost burned at his eye, too bright for any human to take in.

The gates to the house were left wide open and unguarded, inviting anyone who wanted to to enter. Lucien swung himself off Tamlin’s back. A trap, certainly, but one he was too curious not to enter. “Stay here,” he told the horse. Tamlin shuffled his hooves uncomfortably.

Lucien pulled out one of the twin blades he’d strapped on his back, brandishing it high as he walked through the entrance.

If Lucien thought the town had been bright, it was nothing compared to inside the gates. Vines crawled over the ground, blossoms peeking through anywhere they could get sunlight, crowding against one another. Fruit hung from branches, apples in the same bunches as oranges, pressed next to plums.

Lucien plucked one, biting into it. Juice gushed down his chin, too much to be contained in any normal fruit. He spat it out quickly, throwing the plum away from him. Where it hit the ground, it instantly started sprouting, green pushing through the pit and reaching up towards the sky.

He shoved through the vines, trying to wade towards the house’s entrance. He slashed at the growth, but it seemed to grow back faster than he could beat it back.

By the time he made it to the entrance he was dripping in sweat, thick rivulets streaming down his forehead. His tunic stuck to his skin, the white linen practically see through it was so damp.

Lucien pounded on the door with his fist, and it flew open.

“Greetings, Lord Lucien,” the man said brightly, utterly unfazed by Lucien’s dishevelment. Or the sharp blades in his hands. He wore the same garish costume as the messenger, the colors making his features look washed out, plain. “The town reeve is waiting for you.”

“I heard.”

“Good, good,” the man said, stepping back. His eyes were unfocused, looking through Lucien. “I’ll take you right there.” He turned mechanically, leading  Lucien through the halls. His motions were jerky, slow, like he wasn’t in control of his own body.

The rest of the house seemed to be in a similar daze. Lucien cocked his head as a maid carrying a bucket full of flowers almost slammed into him. Like she didn’t even notice he was there. Her dress was far too nice for her station, a tick velvet brocade that would be more fitting among a lady’s ball gowns. And far nicer than anything anyone in Kouemos had ever owned.

Lucien followed the man through the lower floor and up a side staircase, although he had a sinking suspicion he knew exactly where they were going. Sure enough, they came to a stop in the middle of a long hallway, facing the middle of three doors in it.

“The reeve will be so excited to see you.”

Lucien smiled wryly. “Of that I’m sure.”

The door flew open without either of them touching it, opening up to a darkly lit chamber. Lucien strode in, a rough smile still on his face.

The room was utterly barren except for a single bed in the middle of the room, and the woman lounging on it.

She was stunning, gold hair floating around her shoulders in soft curls. Same soft pink dresses she always seemed to wear, same heart shaped face peering up at him. Lucien wracked his brain trying to remember the last time he’d seen her. Two years ago? Three? Big brown eyes met his, and Lucien saw the amusement flickering in their depths, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Godkiller,” she said, the single word somehow managing to sound melodic on her tongue.

“Hello wife.”

#acotar secret santa 2023 #elucien #acotar #elucien fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #now to go catch up on everyone elses fic

[lemon-sugarcoats-nothing]

After weeks of TLC, I now present to you:

All characters are 18+ but please keep asks appropriate for audiences as young as 16. I do not know who all stumbles upon my blog, my target audience is in the young adult-adult range, but I'm sure there are mid-teens on my page as well. :]

Names and Emojis for all askable characters (as of March 25th 2024) are as follows;

Lemon Sugarcoat/Darkstone - 🍋 Kodiak Darkstone - 🐺 Sadi(e) Kokoro-Darkstone - 🦋or 🧡 Kai Darkstone - 💙 Nightshade/Shade Darkstone - 💖 Lucious Vespertilio - 💜 Alistor Sky - 📕

Mod Bee - 🐝

. . .

Note: If you would like to send us fanart, the ask box is set to allow media to be sent through, and a flat color image of the group picture is available upon request for all of your color picking needs.

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Thank you for reading!

-Mod Bee

💛💛💛Sister blog is @cinnavanillamelody, all characters exist in the same MLP AU as their characters. 💛💛💛

#art #mlp art #mlpfim #mlp ask oc #mlp fim #mlp fan art #mlp ask blog #mlp oc #digital art #digital aritst #lemonverse #lemon and cinna family #cinnaverse #cinna and lemon

[kiriiqt]

ur dad zhongli fics are so cute 😭😭 I’d love to see xiao in an older brother role

under a watchful eye

- in your time living with zhongli, you've met all the adepti, except for one; xiao. unbeknownst to you, he was never as far away as you thought.

characters: xiao & reader a/n: thank you so much! they’re fun and pretty comforting to write, so I'm glad you guys enjoy them. this one is about how xiao meets the reader in this au. i have another fic about him as well which will hopefully be done soon. i put this in the same ‘canon’ setting where zhongli is a father figure, so xiao is still an adepti and all that. feel free to request again if you had something else in mind. warnings: descriptions of injury, grumpy xiao, the reader is implied to be in their mid/late teens, visionless reader.

You’re no stranger to the rules of the wilderness, or in other words, the code of conduct for traversing any area outside of cities and settlements. Ambushes are common, even on the larger roads connecting Liyue with Mondstadt. Even so, they’re usually the result of a startled pack of monsters attacking, or planned by the Treasure Hoarders when specific goods are being transported. Generally, not a concern to your average traveler, so long as you’ve got your basic survival instinct in check. Even the Fatui don’t bother to harass lone travelers passing by.

However, it’s when you stray off the roads that those rules, or rather, tips, come in useful. You remember Madam Ping’s words as clear as day; 

“Always be aware. Is the buzzing you hear from a bee, or is it closer to the whizzing of a cicin? Is the distant clanging from the nearby house, or is it a ruin guard closing in on you? Is the change in temperature normal for the area, or is it the first warning sign of Whopperflower?”

To her relief, you’ve always taken the words to heart, even if trouble somehow still seems to find you. Normally, you manage just fine, with a few scratches and a disapproving glance from Baizhu to show for it, but nothing more than that. At the same time, you normally travel with companions. This time around, you’re alone. You’re alone, and curiosity got the best of you when you accidentally stumbled into that clearing, in the hills and mountains behind the harbor. The old ruin hunter in front of you set off alarms at first, but within the past minute it hasn’t moved, nor made a sound, and the rust and moss covering it is a clear indicator that the machine is dead and gone. From what you know about the various Khaenri’ahn war machines wandering around, it should have reacted to your presence by now. Against your better judgment, you decide to step closer. Most of these machines are left to rot, or collected by academics, so it’s not often that you get to look at one.

Still, you’re not stupid. You approach the machine with caution, and give the area a good look before kneeling down to investigate. You were right; it’s been powered off for a while, and as you move one of the blades, you notice that it’s quite small.

“Right…it’s rare to see a small ruin hunter that still works these days” You mumble to yourself, wiping your thumb across the wing where the serial number should be. It takes some effort to get the dirt and moss off, and eventually you settle for using a small cloth from your pocket. Your eyes narrow to get a good look at the number, and you mumble to yourself.

“Fo-118…”

Your voice trails off; an odd whirring sound, quickly increasing in intensity, stops you dead in your tracks. It’s not coming from the ruin hunter you’re looking at, but from somewhere behind you, and as you lift up a hand, you see that it’s bathed in red light, partly interrupted by the shade your head provides. It begins to blink, and your reflexes kick in.

Within a second you lunge to the side and collide with a wall, feeling a sharp pain flash across your entire skull as your head hits the wall as well. You do your best to ignore it, curling up to protect your ears and face. The ground in front of you shakes, and a flurry of dirt and metal splinters rains down on you. The blast rings in your ears, painfully so, and you scramble into a sitting position as soon as the downpour of small debris stops.

You blink; the ruin hunter you were studying mere moments ago is blown to bits, and there’s a large dent in the ground in front of it. Precisely where you were sitting. A shiver runs down your spine. Your ears are still ringing, and your head is pounding, but as some of your senses return, so does the whirring sound. It draws your attention to the source, and panic finally takes hold of you.

attention to the source, and panic finally takes hold of you.

Somehow - and you’d be beating yourself over the head due to your own stupidity, if you weren’t in dire straits - you’d missed another ruin hunter, hidden in the bushes on the opposite side of the clearing. Well disguised, and probably only alerted when you first sat down to investigate. Once again, the target appears on your back, and you decide that your best option is to dodge it once again, as hiding behind a tree could be a death wish.

With bated breath, you turn around and wait for the machine to send another laser after you. It blinks, settling its target directly on your chest, and you count down in your head…

Three…Two…One…

The blast never comes. A flash of green comes barreling towards the machine, and it collapses on the ground from the seemingly fatal impact. It all happens too fast; your instincts take over, and you leap, dodging the nonexistent blast. With a thud, you land on the ground next to the rubble of the smaller ruin hunter.

Your eyes close for a brief moment, and upon realizing that you’re no longer in immediate danger, you try to calm your heart that’s frantically beating away in your chest. The adrenaline and fear are both still present, but they slowly begin to fizzle out, allowing you to take in your surroundings.

The attacking ruin grader lies on the ground, twitching; its eye moves quickly, and the runes around it switch on and off in an unstable pattern. The same unintelligible sound leaves it over and over again, and you figure that it’s an error code. You almost feel bad for it. Almost.

A spear is then jammed into the eye, and the machine stills completely. 

Slowly, your gaze flickers to the owner of the weapon. A…relatively short man, with a pretty distinct appearance, face hidden by a mask. He yanks the spear out in one swift move, before turning to you. The mask is pulled off, and golden irises meet your own in a narrowed gaze. A sense of familiarity washes over you, though you’re not sure why… you’re certain that you’ve never seen the man before.

He seems to hesitate before taking a step towards you, and you feel your heartbeat pick up a bit again. You’re not entirely calm yet, and this man did just take down a ruin hunter in one move.

To your surprise, he seems to sense your fear. He stops, settling for staring at you as you push yourself up from the ground to sit. Despite being alert, you figure that he isn’t a danger to you at the moment, so you allow yourself to break eye contact. Instead, your gaze flickers to the mask that is now hanging at his side, and a lightbulb goes on in your head.

That’s a Yaksha mask.

The man in front of you is none other than Xiao, the adeptus that Zhongli and Madame Ping have mentioned on endless occasions, but never elaborated on. You figured that you’d never get to see him, much less speak to him, but now, here he is, right in front of you. The fear dissipates and is instead replaced by intrigue.

“You’re…Xiao, right?”

Seeing that you’ve let your guard down - and that you’re not bleeding to death - he lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“Foolish human…” He mutters. His voice is raspier than you expected.

You don’t say a word; he seems annoyed, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from regularly mingling with adepti, it’s that they’re difficult to read. Though some of them may look human, they’re far from it; you can’t really judge them, or their emotions, by human standards.

“...It’s nice to finally meet you?” You say the first thing that comes to mind, testing the waters. He sends you a sharp look in response and crosses his arms.

“Are you hurt?” 

You shake your head in response. Too soon, though.; Xiao’s words seem to remind your body and brain of what just occurred, and the pain hits you all at once. You weren’t directly hit, but debris still lodged itself into your left arm in the aftermath of the blast. Your knees are scratched up, and bruises are forming in multiple places. Worst of all though, the adrenaline is no longer there to remedy the pounding in your head. You reach up a hand to touch the area.

It hurts; it hurts a lot.

“...Don’t lie to me. You’re injured.” Xiao mutters, voice softer than before, when he reaches you. He crouches down, eyes scanning your body as they narrow once more. He’s no doctor, but he can see the telltale signs of a head injury, on top of all the other things.

“Move your hand.” He commands, though the stern voice is a sharp contrast to the way he softly pushes down your hand. He looks at your head, but sighs, realizing it’s not much use. Concern laces his words as he speaks.

“...I need to take you to Bubu Pharmacy, but…you are too injured to be teleported, and as you don’t have a vision, the consequences could be greater. We’ll have to go by foot.” He concludes, before reaching out a hand to pull you up. You take it, slowly getting to your feet, yet again trying to ignore the pain.

Xiao looks into your eyes again.

“Can you walk?” 

You nod, taking a step to test it. Wobbly, but not impossible. Xiao seems conflicted for a moment, wondering whether he should just carry you, but as you insist on walking by yourself he settles for trailing you, very closely.

It’s silent for a while. You figure that he’s not one for making friendly conversation, at least that’s what you’ve heard. Still, you have questions - and somehow they’re at the forefront of your mind, right next to the splitting headache.

“How’d you know I was in trouble?” You ask, voice slightly strained. He doesn’t answer.

“Were you just passing by?”

Still no luck.

“Did Madame Ping send you?”

He spares you a single glance - but nothing more.

“Was it Zhongli who sent you?” 

Xiao sighs, and as he looks at you again, you wonder if the frown on his face is permanent. Or if you’re just extraordinarily annoying.

“Must you mortals ask so many questions?” He shoots back, though unlike the exasperated voice you were expecting, he just sounds worried.

“I mean it’s pretty convenient that you found me just as that thing was about to blast me to the depths of the chasm. I’m curious…do you adepti have some shared telepathic sixth sense? Or something?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood a bit. It earns you a scoff.

“The ‘sixth sense’ you refer to is commonly known as intuition or survival instinct, something most living beings should possess.” He answers, giving you a pointed glare at the last remark. You ignore it; He’s talking, and that’s what matters.

Xiao lets out a quiet groan when you don’t say anything.

“...If you must know…I follow you when you leave the harbor, if I don't have more pressing matters.” He explains, and though he doesn’t exactly seem flustered, his eyes don’t meet yours. You let out a small ‘Oh’ in response, and he hums.

A moment passes before you speak again.

“Wait…so you’ve been nearby this entire time?” You exclaim, but immediately regret it as pain shoots through your head from how loud your own voice is. Xiao looks at you as you wince, complaining under your breath. You take his silence as an answer.

“Well, I never saw you, so I thought you were cooped up in Juyeun Karst, avoiding everyone” You mumble, rubbing the bruise on your head. Xiao lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Foolish child, how would I protect your people from demons if I stayed in Juyeun Karst? They do not dare to cross that threshold.” He explains, looking at you as if you had asked about the color of a silk flower. A truly idiotic question, that is.

“...Right. Cloud Retainer did mention that you never visit, heh…”

Xiao looks at the sky, and you wonder just how badly he wants to roll his eyes at the moment. Yet, you don’t sense even an ounce of anger coming from him. You decide that it’s safe to continue pressing the matter.

“So did Zhongli ask you to be my personal bodyguard? Didn’t realize I was that important” You joke, amused at the thought, though Xiao nearly stops in his tracks, expression morphing into a slightly irked one. His response is immediate, voice as stern as it was before.

“Do not speak poorly of your own worth. There are people who care about you.” He commands, eyes nearly piercing through your skull. You blink, slightly shocked at his change in demeanor. 

“...I was just kidding, I'm sorry…” Stumbling over your words as you explain, you bow your head for a moment. He shakes his head before looking at the road ahead of him.

“...The humor of mortals is beyond me. Do not joke about that again.” He grumbles and continues walking. You nod, mumbling a quiet ‘right’, and he merely nods his head in response. The two of you continue, an awkward silence filling the air between you. Xiao occasionally looks at you, assessing how you’re feeling, and you pretend to not see it.

He sighs again.

“...Zhongli did not ask me to follow you. Neither did Madame Ping. I did it on my own accord.” He suddenly speaks up, and you snap your head towards him. His gaze flicks away from yours.

“...Then why didn’t you show yourself? I mean, it sounds like you’ve been doing this for a while…” You ask, and he seems to consider whether he should reply or not.

His gaze flickers for a moment, before landing back on yours, and a frown settles on his face. His eyes, on the other hand…a look of solemn resentment fills them, and his mind is somewhere else for a moment. Somewhere else entirely.

“...There is a burden that only I must carry, though the consequences of it affect those around me. For other Adepti and Archons, the effect is laughable, while those with visions possess an increased resistance. Ordinary mortals suffer under it.” He explains, though the last sentence is spoken as if it were a dark omen. A pit of dread forms in your stomach from his chilling tone of voice. Ordinary mortal…that would be you.

Xiao doesn’t say anything, simply letting the words sink in. To his surprise, you don’t ask about the details of such an ailment; his explanation served as enough of a warning. Still, he’s curious - or rather, concerned - about your reaction to the truth. It takes you a minute, but you shrug it off. Any other time you might ask, or listen to that sense of dread…but the pain you’re in overpowers any semblance of fear you might have felt.

“...If it makes you feel better, the bruise on my head hurts a lot more than whatever you might be radiating” You mumble, sending him a reassuring smile. Or rather, your pained attempt at it. And for a second, you swear that you can see a smile tug at the corners of Xiao’s lips. It’s quickly replaced by an incredulous look, but you cherish that small flash of amusement from him.

“...You truly are a foolish child. Karmic debt is no joking matter.” He mumbles, though it’s unclear whether you were supposed to hear it or not. Either way, you don’t respond, and as the bridge to the harbor comes into view, you speed up a bit.

“Wait.” Xiao’s voice makes you stop in your tracks.

“...I cannot enter the city. I will take you to the bridge, and then you will ask a Millelith soldier to take you directly to Bubu Pharmacy. Understood?” He says, crossing his arms as he looks at you, that same stern look on his face again. You nod slowly.

“Good.”

A minute or so later, Xiao stops again to bid you farewell. He scans your body again, eyes lingering on your arm and head, before meeting your own.

“...Stay out of trouble.” He says, and opens his mouth to say something again, before quickly closing it. You nod, staying where you are with the hope that he’ll speak his mind…but he simply nods towards the bridge, before turning around and walking in the opposite direction. You huff in disappointment, but begin to make your way towards one of the soldiers stationed there. As much as you hate to admit it, you really do need to see Baizhu.

"...One more thing." Xiao’s voice makes you snap back around, so fast that you’re worried about toppling over. Thankfully, you don’t, though he doesn’t miss the uncertainty in your step. Your eyes meet his.

“If you ever require my help, call out my name. I’ll be there when you call.” He says, before disappearing into a flash of green.

You stare at the spot he was just standing in, mouth slightly agape. He’s gone like the wind. Even the grass he just stepped on remains unbent, swaying in the breeze as if he was never there.

Still, you smile, looking towards the mountain range in the distance.

“I will.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact xiao #xiao x reader #platonic xiao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader

[familyvideostevie]

𝕟𝕠 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘: 𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣

a farmer's market steve harrington x reader au part 1 [7.2k] | part 2 [8.3k] | part 3 [13.3k] | part 4 [4.6k] | au masterlist

OCTOBER

The rain starts halfway through the first market of October. It comes without warning; a chilly Saturday with scattered clouds turns dark and the bite in the air seeps into your bones. The crowd thins in a matter of minutes despite the promise of a market rain or shine, since a summer rain can be something free and spontaneous. A fall rain is bound to end in a cold.

"Do you need help?" Joyce asks. It's barely started to drizzle but you can see the dark drops marking her jacket. "I think we can close early. Jonathan is almost done with the flowers, I'll send him over here --"

"No, I'm okay," you tell her. You shove candles and jars of honey into your crates with as much care as you can spare. The pickup is just around the corner and you can load everything yourself even if your back will feel it later. "Really, I'm sure other people can use the help more!" Joyce tuts but runs off. As soon as she does the rain picks up. You can feel it spray onto your face from the wind, feel it soak into the wool sweater you're wearing.

"Eddie --" you say, about to wave him off, but he picks up the other full crate at your feet.

"Keep packing or someone much meaner than me will come over to help you," he says, winking. "I'll put this in the New-Bee's pickup on my way out, okay?" He's off before you can get in a word of protest.

You decide to tackle the rest of the stock before bringing out another crate but your hands are shaking so much from the cold and your skin is wet and everything is wet and you're worried you're going to drop something. You manage to pack one more and are debating whether or not to bring it to the truck when you hear heavy footfalls in the rain behind you.

"I'm fine," you yell over the rain. There's no response so you turn and the sight punches a hole in your chest: it's Steve. He's soaked to the bone, just like you, but he looks like...like...well. His own sweater and flannel combo are weighed down with water and his jeans are a shade darker than usual. You feel a little warmer than you did a second ago.

He jerks his chin up in greeting and he reaches forward to gently grab your elbow. "We gotta go," he says. "I think there's gonna be lightning soon. And you're soaked." He takes in your chattering teeth and the crates around you like he's doing a calculation in his head.

"I gotta get the stock --" His palm is so warm even through your dripping sweater that you have to keep yourself from leaning into him.

He tugs on you gently. "Leave it."

"Steve, I made this stuff." The plea is pathetic in your ears and you wonder if he'll make fun of you for it. You really hope not, since you've been turning over what Dustin said to you for days and it's fair to say that Steve Harrington is a puzzle you want to figure out. If he lets you.

The warm hand on your elbow disappears and you expect him to storm off but he just scoops up the third crate you've finished filling and heads for the truck.

"Gee, thanks," you mutter, squatting to grab the stacks of candles for the last crate. You're really shaking now but you're trying to move fast, so when a peal of thunder finally tears through the air you're startled enough to drop one of the glass jars. It shatters and the candle wax inside rolls away.

You don't think as you start to pick up the shards of glass with your bare hands, don't consider that maybe it's a bad idea until you slice your palm with one.

"Shit!" you yell, staring helplessly as a thin line of blood wells and drips down your skin. It doesn't look deep but it hurts. A warm hand on your back almost sends you careening forward into your mess but another on your shoulder steadies you.

"Woah, what the fuck happened here?" Steve asks, harsh tone at odds with how he's touching you as he crouches down to examine the glass.

You are humiliated to feel tears gathering and your throat getting tight. "The thunder, I --. It startled me and I--"

"Are you bleeding?" He hauls you up and a few steps away from the glass before you can answer. Your hold your injured palm out in front of you like it'll bite but Steve is quick to grab your wrist gently when he notices you shaking. You sniffle and his eyes meet yours for just a second.

"Hey," he says so softly you can barely hear him over the rain. "Hey, it's fine. Lemme just --" He digs in his back pocket with his free hand before he produces a blue bandana.

"That better be clean," you grind out, hoping to regain control of the situation, but the words are thick in your throat. As it is, you feel entirely too caught up in Steve's orbit, in the warmth of his touch and the kindness in his gaze. He smirks as he wraps the cloth around your hand, tying it tight enough that it won't come off. You hiss and he winces.

"Sorry," he whispers. He clears his throat and releases you. "Just this left?" He taps the side of the last crate with his foot. You nod. Steve makes quick work of the rest of your stock before he picks it up and heads out into the rain. You glance at the glass you're leaving behind before heading after him. The rain is coming down harder and lightning flashes before another crack of thunder makes you jump again.

"Told you!" Steve shouts, tucking the tarp over the back for the last time before you both clamber into the front seats. The rain pounds on the roof and the windshield and you're both panting so hard the window starts to fog. Steve is shivering though trying to hide it, jaw clenched as he runs his hands through his sopping hair. You turn the truck on and blast the heat.

"Where's your car?" you ask. Your voice sounds louder now that it's just the two of you.

"Robin drove today." He angles one of the vents towards you. "She uh, took all the stuff back already."

"So you're stuck here?" You can't believe that she'd leave him on accident or even on purpose.

He shrugs. A drop of rain travels down this column of this throat and you swallow. "You needed help." He says it like it's obvious. Like you should expect him to stay through a storm just to be at your side.

"Okay," you say. "I'll-- I"ll drive you home." Steve looks at you like he's seconds away from laughing in your face.

"With that hand?" All at once the pain rushes back, the steady throb of the cut on your palm taking over. The bandana is as soaked as the rest of you so you can’t tell if you’re bleeding through it. "I don't think so," he snorts.

"Steve." It's the softest you've ever said his name and he all but flinches. "I don't want to fight with you."

"I--we're not fighting," he argues, then catches himself. "I don't want to fight with you either. So I'll ask nicely." He clasps his hands like a boy in church. "Please, oh please, will you let me drive?"

Part of you wants to refuse just to be difficult – and because you totally can drive one handed. But you decide right now, in the cab of your truck as it pours, to try with Steve, and maybe this is what trying looks like. Because he stayed in the rain to help you. Because you’re tired of convincing yourself you don’t want to like him. And well, because your hand really does hurt. "Fine," you sigh. "But I'm not going back out there." Stubborn to the last, your dad always says.

"I'll go over you," Steve says quickly. The cab of the pickup is big for Steve to barely brush your thighs as he hauls himself into the driver's seat but you're so close for just a few seconds that you feel your breath hitch. He's dripping wet like you are but you swear that you can feel the warmth that seems to emanate from him through the fabric.

"Does New-Bee's have a first aid kit? Or do you want to go to the hospital?" He adjusts the seat a little and pulls out of the parking lot in to deserted downtown Hawkins.

"Bob has one," you say. "I think that'll be fine." Would he actually drive you to the hospital if you wanted to go? Something tells you that he'd stay with you the whole time, too. It makes you shiver.

Steve eyes you. "Shouldn't take too long," he says. "Gotta drive a little slower in the rain." The thunder rumbles but it sounds far away now. He hits a bump and your hand smacks your own knee and you hiss.

"Green or red apples?" Steve asks suddenly.

"What?" He repeats the question. "Uh...green," you say. He nods.

"Same. Cats or dogs?"

"Both. Steve, why are you asking--"

"Really? You like cats? They're monsters, I swear. Get scratched every time I go near one." The questions continue. Tulips or daisies? Night or day? Sunrise or sunset? He seems delighted that you're playing along with his game, willing to tell him even small tidbits about yourself. You're both only children, both like morning, both hate spinach. He likes sunrises but you like sunsets, and he actually yells in outrage when you say you "can't stand ice cream."

"I always get a brain freeze!" He's waving his hand in the air like he's searching for the words.

"You're just eating it wrong, or something. Who doesn't like ice cream?" You laugh, the pain in your hand forgotten for the moment. Oh, you think. He's distracting you.

Steve pulls into New-Bee's and Bob's truck is missing. He must be out somewhere, maybe caught by the storm which is still raging, rain steady though not dangerous anymore.

"You're coming in, right?" you ask. He nods, once again running a hand through drying hair that's about to get wet again as if it’s a nervous habit. Maybe it is. But you don’t know why he’d be nervous.

"Ready?" He turns the car off and braces a hand on the door. "We can get the stuff later." You nod and he counts down on his fingers before you fling yourselves into the downpour, running towards the wide farmhouse covered porch. The cold is a shock and Steve grabs you mid-gasp, your uninjured hand in his as he hauls you up the steps and out of the rain. Your fingers feel frozen in his but you don't let go.

You start to laugh. Water pools at your feet and you're cold and your hand hurts and Steve is looking at you like you've lost your mind. But you laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

"What's so funny, honey?" Steve asks, incredulous. The nickname only makes you snort and laugh harder. It sounded so sour coming from him just last week and now it's sweet, now he's grinning at the noise you're making. "Besides, me, clearly," he adds before he starts laughing too. It occurs to you that this might be flirting.

"Steve," you gasp between laughs, "you hate me." He stops laughing but you keep going until you smack your hand on your knee again, and this time it hurts so much it brings tears to your eyes immedietly. Steve hisses like he's the one who's hurting.

"I don't hate you," he says, almost as an afterthought. "Can I see your hand, please?" You hold it out without hesitation. Something has changed between you but you can't exactly pinpoint what or when -- just that now you're offering yourself to him easy as anything.

This time his touch burns, callused fingertips and wide palms overwhelming as one gently unties the bandana and cradles your palm. He whistles long and low. He pulls it gently to his face and you bite your lip because it has been so long since someone touched you like this, with care, with attention.

"I want to see it under some light but I don't think there's any glass in it. And it's not deep enough for stitches. And it’s only bleeding a little bit." He’s rambling.

"Do you do this a lot?" you ask.

He's still looking at your hand but manages some sarcasm. "What, play doctor?"

You flush. Definetly flirting. "Steve."

"Nah," he sighs, letting you go. You shiver again. "I've seen lots of small injuries working at Sara's for so long. Let's go inside, okay?"

The front door is unlocked as usual and as soon as it smacks closed behind you the rain starts to pound harder. "Can I drive you back when it calms down?" you ask him as you tug off your soaked boots.

"Sss-ure." Steve fails to hide his shiver. "Where's the first-aid kit?" You wave for him to follow you to the upstairs bathroom.

"I bet I have some stuff you can change into, if you want." He's going to get sick if he stands around in his soaked clothes much longer.

"Hand first."

"I can do it myself, Steve," you say over your shoulder on the stairs.

He smirks. "I'm sure you can."

The bathroom is big enough that you can both stand in front of the sink, the first-aid kit open on the counter next to you. You allow Steve to examine your palm in the dull light, keeping your eyes on the ceiling. Something tells you that looking at him or your hand might not be such a good idea right now.

"I'm just not as good with new people as I thought," he says, picking up on the abandoned conversation from the porch. He rubs an alcohol wipe along your cut and you scrunch up your nose, eyes pricking. You don't want him to see you almost cry again. "There hasn't been anyone new here in a long time. So I just... we got off on the wrong foot." You don't say anything. You feel him start to wrap the gauze and deem it safe to look down.

"I don't hate you," he repeats, eyes on your hand. "That's what I'm saying."

"I don't hate you either," you say softly. Steve looks at you then, eyes warm and hair damp, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

"Fooled me." He secures your bandage with a satisfied hum. "You said something about dry clothes?"

He follows you down the hall to your bedroom. Steve doesn't comment on the bare of your walls, the way your suitcases are out as if you're going to use them at any second. His eyes linger on the numerous candles on your vanity. The bottom drawer of your dresser is full of New-Bee's branded clothing that Bob has given you, soft things you've taken to sleeping in. A pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt should work, and you hand them to him.

"Thanks." He turns on his heel to return to the bathroom.

"Bring me your wet stuff and I'll throw it in the dryer!" you call after him before stripping out of your own soaked clothes, the damp denim of your jeans making a wet sound on the floor. Soft pants and a favorite hoodie fill you with welcome warmth as the rain continues to thud on the glass panes of your windows. You almost run into Steve in the hallway on your way to the closet with the dryer and you have to swallow a lump in your throat at the sight of him.

He's --. Well, he's in your clothes, barefoot in your hallway. To see him this way feels intimate in a way you don't know how to handle and it makes your heart do something funny in your chest.

"These are comfy," he says. His hair is a mess and you're staring and for some reason his cheeks are pink.

"You can have them," you tell him without thinking. Oh god, you think. Where did that come from? "I can get more from Bob, anyway." You pull open the washing closet and he throws his stuff in the dryer alongside yours. Your traitorous brain wonders if he's still wearing his underwear.

"Well, now what?" He looks at you through damp bangs, arms crossed. He looks softer than you ever thought him capable of being.

"This will take like, half an hour maybe? So I guess you have to hang out with me until then." He groans and you swat his arm, the venom from your first meeting nowhere to be found. Steve heads back towards your bedroom as you finish setting the dryer and you find him sniffing some of the glass jars he'd been eyeing earlier.

"These smell great," he tells you, eyes fluttering as he inhales one labeled evergreen/lavender. "You made 'em?"

"Yeah." You sit down on the edge of your bed. "Test batches for new scents."

"Still burning your fingers?" He looks at your hands, one bandaged by his own and the other curling into your blankets. You shake your head, remembering how he'd come to talk to you at the market, how his gaze had darkened when he noticed your fingers.

"What were you going to ask me last week?" you ask. He sets down the candle and straddles your vanity chair so that he's facing you.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, well." Maybe he doesn't remember. "I just-- before those kids of yours showed up, you were going to ask me something."

"You remember that?"

"I pay attention." The to you goes unsaid but seems to float in the air between you nonetheless.

"Oh," Steve says. He crosses his arms on top of the chair and sets his chin on them. "I was going to ask you to uh, hang out? But looks like that is happening right now."

"Really?"

"Don't sound so excited," he grumbles. You roll your eyes. "Uh, Nancy is gonna be in town this week and we're gonna have a Friday night...thing. By the lake."

"Steve," you say. You feel warm, warmer than you have all day. Because he wants to hang out, wants to be friends. And he has, maybe this whole time. "I don't know who Nancy is."

"She's Mike's -- the tall kid you met -- older sister. Jonathan's girlfriend. She's at school but she's coming back for her little sister's birthday. Holly, she's a real sweetheart--"

"Okay," you say.

"Okay?" he parrots. "You don't even want to know who will be there?"

"Careful, Steve. It sounds like you don't want me to come after all." He laughs.

"No, no, I want you to come. Now can I ask you something?" You nod, crossing your legs and his eyes follow your movements. "What did Brenda say to you? A few weeks ago, before we, uh...fought again."

It seems to be a day of catching each other off guard. "Does it matter what she said?" He taps his fingers in a random pattern on your chair.

"I just wanna know." His eyes are dark, his expression guarded. You can feel the walls you've only just broken down start to rebuild and you're desperate to keep them at bay. But you don't want to lie to him. Not while he's in your bedroom in your clothes after the day you've had together.

"She...she told me to be wary of you." His eyebrows raise and his jaw tightens. "She said you uh, broke a lot of hearts in high school."

"Why did she say that to you?" Now that is a truth you are not going to tell him. That she caught you staring.

"Dunno," you mutter.

"Is that why?" he asks. "Why we didn't get along? Why you were so mad that day?" How can you tell him it's because he makes your brain fuzzy, because you were hurt that he judged you so fast? That you did the exact same thing to him?

"I don't--. No." You rub your face with one hand. "Steve, I don't even know her. I don't know why she said that to me--"

"It's true," he interrupts. "I was an asshole back then. I guess I still am," he adds. "I guess I haven't changed a ton, based on how I was to you. How I am to you." He snorts and it's a harsh sound.

"Steve," you begin. "Steve, look, you said it yourself. We got off on the wrong foot and I was as much a part of that as you --"

"You don't have to defend me. You have no reason to." Why does it feel like this is turning into a fight? “That’s just my story, I guess. And everyone knows it.”

"I don't think I understand --"

The dryer beeps and he's out of your room in a flash. How have you lost track of the conversation so quickly?

"Steve," you say. "Steve, wait a second." He's in the hallway pulling his clothes out and shoving them into a paper bag he's found on the shelf. He won't look at you.

"I think I better just go. I don't...I don't want to fight again." The rain has all but stopped without your noticing.

"Then don't fight with me! Steve, come on, I'll drive you. It's bound to rain again and you'll get sick. This is a stupid idea!"

"Yeah, well," he mutters. "That's never stopped me before. See you later. Uh, thanks." He holds up the paper bag with his dry clothes as he shoves his bare feet into his boots. And then he's out the door.

"What the fuck just happened?" you say out loud to yourself in the empty kitchen.

____

It's frustration and embarrassment that keeps you from chasing after Steve. From going to see him at Sara's that night and on Sunday. You spend the rest of the weekend furiously making candles only to realize you've just made batch after batch of the one Steve picked up in your room -- an evergreen and lavender scent. Your hand doesn't hurt anymore, the cut already healing into a thin scabbed line underneath the bandaids you keep on it.

"Not that I'm complaining," Bob says when you bring the finished jars into the farmhouse on Monday morning. "But what's the fixation on this candle? You've made enough for three farmer's markets at least."

"Bob," you sigh. "I think I messed up but I don't know why." You and Bob talk most days when you run into each other in the house, but you hardly speak to him about non-farm matters. And yet, who else do you have to turn to? You don't think you can call anyone to talk about Steve, since everyone knows him, and you feel silly about the whole situation as is.

"And candles are going to fix it?" he teases. You groan and he claps you on the back gently. "Listen, kiddo. I know you've had a rough go of it and that Hawkins might not have sold you yet. But you're finding your way. And I know that you've made quite the impression on a few folks already." He picks up one of the candles you're labeling and smells it. "How about you take some of these over to Sara's? Give 'em a few and see if Hop wants to put some up in the store on the property."

Your boss eyes you as you feel your cheeks heat and you shift from foot to foot. "Sure, Bob," you tell him. You realize you have no idea what Steve does during the week, let alone on a Monday. It's time to find out.

You rehearse an apology on the drive to Sara's Farm. "What do I have to apologize for?" you mutter as you the truck bumps down the long drive. But urge to get back the Steve that padded around your room barefoot in borrowed clothes is stronger than your stubbornness. The property itself is huge -- much bigger than New Bee's. There are multiple barns that look well-built and maintained along one side of the fields and on the other you see a variety of livestock grazing. A bright blue chicken coop is next to the small farm store and the farm house sits charmingly in front of what looks to be rows and rows of trees. You wonder where Steve lives.

The farm store is empty of customers on a Monday morning but it's full of beautiful produce and goods: bags of apples of all colors, cherries, and sunflowers. Root vegetables and fresh eggs sit next to baked goods you have a feeling El is responsible for. There are t-shirts and hand-painted canvas bags and flower arrangements with the Byers Flowers tag on them. At the register sits a man you've never met but know on sight -- Jim Hopper. Former police chief, current farmer and collector of wayward individuals, if you've got the story right. That's how Steve ended up here, anyway.

"Uh, hi?" you say. Hopper looks up from a tattered paperback but he doesn’t spook.

"Hello," he drawls. "You here from Bob's place?" He jerks his chin at the New-Bee's bag you're carrying full of your candles.

"I--yeah." You introduce yourself and he sucks on his teeth and stands, gesturing for the bag.

"You're the new girl Harrington talks about," he says. "I'm Hop. Welcome to Hawkins." Your brain is trying to make sense of what he's saying. Steve...talks about you? It's not that strange considering you have been a massive pain in his ass on purpose but still.

"I've been here almost a month," you blurt out. Hopper looks at you over the candle he's smelling. It's a look that says: I know what you’re really here for.

"Belated welcome, then," he says. "You make these?" You nod. "They smell great. I'll call Bob and tell him we'll stock 'em."

You look at your shoes as if they're suddenly very interesting. "Is uh, Steve here?" Hopper sighs and wipes a hand across his face as he mutters something that sounds like damn kids.

"Not today," he replies but offers no details. Your fists clench in your pockets because something about this feels rehearsed. "Hey," Hopper says and you look up. "Maybe if you bring some more candles tomorrow he'll be here."

But when you return the next day with a full crate of candles you find El and the boy you remember as Mike sitting behind the counter. El grins when she sees you and calls out your name. Mike whispers something in her ear.

"Hi El, Mike. Where can I put this?" Mike hurries around the counter to take it from you. There's a clear set of shelves right by the register that he starts to fill.

El rests her head in her hands and smiles at you. "Dad said you'd come by today. That color is really pretty on you." You're wearing a deep green sweater under a denim jacket.

You wink at her and she giggles. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Parent-teacher conferences," Mike says. "Hop's there so we get to run the store today." He carefully lines up all the candles so the labels face outwards. El watches his every movement.

"Are your other friends here?" A screech from outside floats in through the open window followed by what sounds like Max's laughter.

"They're supposed to be collecting eggs," El says. "But the rooster doesn't like Dustin very much."

"And, uh..." You examine a jar of strawberry jam. "Is Steve here? Your dad said he might be." Her eyes are soft as she chews on her response and tucks her hair behind her ears.

"He told me to tell you that he's not here," she says. Mike looks at her with fond exasperation.

"El, I don't think we were supposed to say it like that."

She raises her eyebrows at him. "Steve is being silly and Max and I won't be a part of it. So be glad she's outside because she'd be less nice than me." She looks at you, mouth twisted in a grimace. "I don't know where he is today but if you come back tomorrow maybe you'll catch him."

"Great," you mutter. "He's avoiding me." You blow a raspberry to keep your frustration at bay. "Here's some free life advice, Mike." He looks at you warily. "Don't avoid girls. They'll find you." He sputters and El cackles.

And you fully intend to catch Steve sooner rather than later because this is getting ridiculous. Wednesday morning finds you driving over to Sara's yet again. No candles this time, but you have a plan: search every inch of the damn property for this ridiculous boy and make him talk to you. Because you don't want all of this to be for nothing -- the thing between you that changed from something cold and hurtful to something that made you look forward to seeing him. That, and you want to go the hang-out on Friday without things being awkward.

You bypass the store completely and head for the orchard. It's a bitter cold day, the first one in a while, and you should have worn gloves. As it is you're shivering in your jeans and long-sleeve layered under a the same sweater as yesterday and a flannel and a jacket. The tip of your nose feels like Jack Frost himself blew on it and you're rubbing it when you almost crash into someone popping out of a row of apple trees.

"Hey!" says Robin, arms reaching out to steady you. "You okay?" She looks as cold as you but she's smart enough to be wearing a beanie. You haven't seen her recently, haven't talked to her one-on-one since your first meeting in the library. You wonder if Steve told her what happened.

"Wasn't watching where I was going, sorry." You sigh but Robin's friendly energy tamps down your frustration. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know," she sing-songs. "No classes today, so I'm here to help a bit with apple picking. If you want advice on the best varietals right now I'm your girl. Hopper made us memorize an entire list this year. I think I know more about apples than I ever wanted to." She digs into her cargo pants pocket and pulls out a huge red fruit. "Good breakfast though!" The crunch of her bite makes you smile and she tries to say something through a mouthful of fruit.

"Robin, don't choke!" She rolls her eyes and makes a show of chewing before trying again.

"Are you coming on Friday night?" she asks. "Nancy is psyched to meet you and Eddie won't stop bothering me about hanging out with you and Steve --" She groans like his very name is a chore to say. "Well, I bet you're here to see Steve, right?"

You chew on your lip before responding. "Did he tell you what happened?"

"Sounds like a classic case of Steve getting stuck in his own head and being a jerk. But that's just my opinion." Robin rocks back and forth on her heels and takes another bight of the apple.

"I wanted to apologize but I don't really know what I'm apologizing for," you admit. "I think we were about to become friends."

She hums. "Well, he's in the orchard a few rows that way." She points in the direction you were heading. "Just listen for the radio playing Springsteen really loudly. And please, please come on Friday." She pulls you in for a hug so quick you don't get the chance to return it and darts off back towards the farm store. You listen hard and hear some music in the distance so you head towards it, you cold hands shoved in your pockets.

"I'm dyin' for some action," a voice carries over the orchard. "Sick of sittin' round here tryin' to write this book." You quicken your pace along the openings in the rows of trees, head craned to glance down each one in search of Steve. "I need a love reaction," he sings and you try very hard to keep a hold on your frustration. "Come on now, baby, give me just one look---"

It gets harder when you find him at the top of a ladder. The radio is loud from its place in the dirt and he's pulling apples from the top of a tree and tossing them into a cloth bag. Stock for the farm store, you guess. You're content to watch him, drinking your fill after a few days without a glance. The realization that you missed him is a sudden one that has you rubbing at your chest. But its not the ache that you’re so used to – it’s something entirely different. What is this boy doing to you?

As if he hears you thinking, Steve turns over his shoulder mid-singing and spots you. His eyes widen and his cheeks color even more -- he's already flushed from the cold and his efforts -- and he starts down the ladder. "Bee girl," he calls. "Fancy seeing you here." He skips the last few rungs and hops onto the ground to turn the radio down. You realize that he's wearing overalls over a soft green sweater that matches your own. He's not wearing gloves either and his ears are pink and you want to touch him and -- wait, what?

"You've been avoiding me, Steve," you say, your heart beating entirely too fast.

"How's your hand?" he asks. "You keeping it clean?" You hold up your palm so he can see the bandaids there.

"It's fine. Steve, I said you're been avoiding me--"

"Yeah," he admits. "I'm sorry."

"I-- what? Really?" You've come ready to argue again, ready to stand your ground and tell him he's been unfair.

"Really. Did you...not expect me to apologize?" He frowns. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just got in my head about stupid stuff. About the way other people think of me, all that shit." He digs his hands into his overall pockets. "And I took it out on you. So, I'm sorry. I uh, I won't do it again. I swear."

"Oh," you breathe. "Well, then." You laugh a little and Steve smiles hesitantly. "I was ready to fight. Tell you to stop being such a stubborn asshole and talk to me." He grimaces.

"I was embarrassed, actually," he says. "I mean, a girl from high school tells you the truth and I get shitty about it? Not a good look." He takes a casual step towards you to inspect a branch of the tree you're standing by. "I just feel like you're getting all the worst parts of me."

You snort. In the days you've spend thinking about him, you know that's not true. He's stubborn and he's quick to defend and he's possessive. Steve is all of that, but he's also funny and kind and helpful and loyal. You'd be silly not to admit that to yourself. You hope he can see those things, too. "I want to be your friend, Steve," you tell him. His head snaps up to look at you. His eyes are warm and the corner of his mouth curls up.

"I want to be your friend, too," he says softly. A cool wind rushes down the row of trees and his ladder shakes. "Is that safe?" you ask, shivering a little.

"Yeah, it's better when I'm on it, actually --" He notices you shake. "You're cold." He steps forward to rub his hands up and down your arms. When he catches your fingers he hisses. "You gotta wear gloves, honey," he says. The nickname seems to slip out without his notice. It sounds different than when he said it in jest on your porch. It's sweeter than you imagined it would be now that he seems to mean it, almost sweeter than you can handle. "You should go back to the store and make Wheeler give you some free cider."

"Do you want to come?" you ask. Just minutes ago you were ready to fight with him and now you don't want him to stop touching you, stop being near you. This boy is giving you whiplash.

"I gotta keep going out here or Hop will feed me to the chickens." He looks almost pained to send you off alone. "But I'll see you Friday? Are you okay with Eddie picking you up?"

You nod. "Yeah. I'll be there." You eye the ladder again. "Be careful, Steve. I don't need my new friend falling out of a tree!" His laugh warms you all the way to your toes.

__

Time passes impossibly slowly for the rest of the week. But then it's 7 pm and you're waiting for Eddie to pick you up and you're excited. Over a month in this town and you're finally feeling like you've got your feet under you -- you've got friends and they want to hang out with you and you're making things you’re proud of and you feel good. The night is chilly and you're sure to shove a hat and gloves in your bag along with some marshmallows.

A car honks and you almost trip over yourself on the way out the door. Eddie sits in a van that looks like it's on its last legs. You can hear the music blasting but he turns it down as you climb in.

"It smells like mushrooms in here," you say. He laughs and backs out of the New-Bee drive.

"Usually smells like weed." He winks at you. "I think the 'shrooms smell better. Earthy, ya know?"

"Whatever you say." You're about to start basic small talk when he clicks his tongue loudly.

"So, you and Harrington, huh?" he asks. You try to keep your expression neutral but your eyebrows lose the battle and raise to your hairline.

"Me and Harrington, what, Eddie?"

"I don't know sweetheart, you tell me."

You fiddle with the heat nob. "He's not that bad, I guess." Eddie laughs again. He's a joyful dude.

"Told you so," he sings. "Glad you came around, or I think he'd have blown a gasket starting at you all the time." You look out the window. It feels like things have gone from zero to 100 in the span of a week. Loathing for Steve turned to frustration turned to something warmer, something softer. You want to know him. You want to understand him and to talk to him and to figure out what makes him tick. And you want him to know you.

Eddie spares you more talk of Steve and instead regales you with stories of his band and his odd boss at the mushroom farm, Rick. You deduce that in addition to selling mushrooms legally and weed a little less so, Eddie is perhaps the sweetest, strangest boy you've ever met.

The lake, Lover's Lake, you remember, is dark and you have to walk down a small bluff to get to the bonfire. Steve doesn't seem to be there yet but Robin, Jonathan, and a girl you assume is Nancy all cheer when you arrive.

"There she is!" Robin cries. You pull out the marshmallows. "And she brings snacks!"

"Steve should have the graham crackers and chocolate when he gets here," Jonathan says. "Glad you made it."

"I'm Nancy," the girl next to him says. She's bundled in an Emerson sweatshirt and a jacket you've seen Jonathan wear before. "It's so good to meet the one who seems to be looking after these guys when I'm not around." She pats the spot next to her and you settle in between her and Robin.

"Oh, I don't know about that," you say. "I'm just the new girl in town."

"The new girl in town that we are obsessed with!" Robin adds. "She's great, Nance. An expert in bees already, too. The candles she makes are beautiful." You're starting to feel like a product Robin is trying to sell.

"It's true," Jonathan says. "The kids love her, too."

"Kids," Nancy scoffs. "Mike drove us here, Jonathan. They're hardly kids anymore."

"Your brother is sweet," you say. "And Steve said it's your sister's birthday? I hope you're having fun being home for that." Nancy smiles softly and leans into Jonathan. The easy affection between them makes your chest ache.

"I always love coming home," she tells you. "Hawkins is a special place full of special people." Her smile turns to a smirk. "Though I've heard you've become well acquainted with one of them."

Eddie snorts. He's already got a marshmallow on a stick over the fire. "That's one way to put it, Wheeler." You bury your face in your hands and groan.

"We're friends now, I swear!" you say. "He just pissed me off at first."

"He was an asshole, you mean," Robin corrects fondly. "Oh, Steve. We love him, don't get me wrong. But you were a sight to behold, putting him in his place like you did."

"I really wish I was there for that," Nancy sighs. "But seriously, I'm glad you're friends now and that he asked you to hang out with us. I was going to make Robin do it if Steve didn't get his act together --"

"Munson!" a voice interrupts. "Can't you wait for the rest of the s'mores stuff?" Eddie's marshmallow is now on fire as he greets Steve with a sheepish grin.

"Grocery store is a mess tonight," he says, dropping two plastic bags on the ground by your wood log benches. He's got a thermos tucked under one arm. And -- you swear you gasp just a little bit -- he's in a beanie. "I got graham crackers, chocolate, beer, and warm cider for anyone who doesn't want beer." He passes the six pack to Robin and she, Nancy, and Jonathan take one. Eddie looks between you and Steve and the thermos like he's trying to solve a puzzle before he takes a beer, too.

"Guess this is for you and me, bee girl," Steve says. Robin scoots over and Steve settles next to you on the wood, his thigh pressing warm into yours. "Hey," he says quietly, just to you.

"Hey yourself," you reply. It's no longer a surprise that you're so glad to see him. Eddie starts to ask Nancy about the big city and Steve cracks open the thermos and pulls out two chipped mugs from one of the plastic bags. You take one and his bare fingers brush against yours, warm as always.

"Did you bring gloves?" he asks, pouring hot cider into your mug. "And a hat?"

"Why, you gonna give me yours if I didn't?" you tease. He grins and your stomach swoops.

"Nah," he says. "I forgot my gloves, so I'm just making sure I can steal yours later."

"Wait, I brought blankets!" Eddie runs back to his van to grab them and tosses one to you and Steve. You hold his mug as he wraps it around you both, the thermos held between his legs.

"No need to steal my gloves," you say softly. He snorts a little.

"So," Nancy begins. "I hope I'm not prying, but can you tell me how exactly you ended up in Hawkins?"

"Oh," you say. "Uh." The cider is warm when you take a sip. You wonder if Steve made it himself before coming over here. "There's not much of a story, really." Robin gently knocks your foot with hers and Steve's thigh presses into you even more. "My folks wanted me to go to college so I did. But I didn't like it and I didn't want to waste money so I asked if I could uh, drop out."

"Badass," Eddie says. Nancy shushes him.

"I don't know what I want to do with my life," you continue. "And we had a connection to Bob and my parents told me to try the total opposite of college which is working on a bee farm, I guess. So, I'm just trying to figure it out." You take another sip of your cider. “Start a new story, or something.”

"I'll drink to that," Jonathan mutters. You laugh and it's echoed around the fire. He starts to tell a story about his classes at community college and you pull the blanket tighter around you. Steve is warm at your side and you glance at him. There's no use pretending that he's anything short of beautiful. You've thought so since you first saw him, even when he made you see red. But in the firelight and his hat he looks soft, young, happy. You trace the line of his jaw with your gaze and look away only when you realize you're staring at his lips. On the other side of him, Robin grins at you.

"Who wants to skip rocks?" she says. You realize you have no idea what's been said the last few minutes. She stands up and tugs Nancy from your side. "Come on," she says to the boys.

"Not on your life, Buckley," Steve says, but she's already down the bank with the others. "I hope no one falls in," he grumbles.

"Don't be such a grump," you tease. "They can handle themselves."

"It's too cold." Steve pouts exaggeratedly and you reach up to tug on his beanie.

"Thank you for inviting me, Steve," you say softly. "I'm having a nice time and it's...nice to have friends." His pout turns into something a little more real and his eyebrows furrow. "I like Hawkins a lot. I've just felt kind of adrift, if that makes sense?"

"I didn't help," he sighs. "I made it worse, I'm sure. I'm sorry for --"

"But you're helping now," you say. You put your hand on his knee and he inhales sharply. "No more apologies needed."

"I like the candles that you made," he blurts out. “The new ones that we’re stocking at Sara’s.” You smack your lips and keep your hand where it is.

"How did you know I made them?"

"You told me, just now." He's teasing but his face is flushed. His eyelashes look impossibly long. "Nah, I knew. You're a candle wiz. Even if you're clumsy." He eyes the hand that isn't on his knee, the one that you cut. You hold it up to show him, just like you did on Wednesday in the orchard. You feel bold under his gaze, bold in the darkness with your new friends laughing down at the shoreline. Bold because you've gone from being alone to being wanted in the span of a week and it feels good.

"I made them because you were smelling that one in my bedroom," you confess. "The evergreen lavender tester."

Steve's face does something complicated, like he's sorting through how he should feel about this. "Aren't you observant," he mutters, but it's teasing. His eyes catch your gaze again and this time he's searching for something. Then his hand settles over yours on his knee and you're worried he's going to pull it off.

"Can I try something?" he asks. "You can tell me to go fuck myself if you don't like it." The memory of your first meeting makes you laugh but it comes out as a nervous giggle because Steve is leaning in. He's leaning in and the crack of the fire and the laughter by the lake is drowned out by the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You close your eyes and wait to be kissed.

Steve is warm everywhere. His hand on yours, the line of his body as he turns into you, the palm that frees itself from the blanket to cup your jaw. He breathes into the small space between you for just a second too long and you decide to close the gap. He gasps against your lips and it's such a sweet sound that you smile. It's a soft kiss, sweet and hesitant. His lips are gentle but the hand on your face suggests that he could take control at any point, that he's letting you decide how long to keep this up.

You linger, pulling away only to lean back in for another quick peck against Steve's growing grin. You can't help it.

"C'mere," Steve says, tugging you into a hug. A first kiss has never felt so enormous, so monumental. You hide your face in his neck. "You don't taste like honey, honey," he says into your hair. "I feel kind of cheated."

You pinch his thigh and he yelps.

"We're friends, huh?" you say, knowing that you're crossing a line that maybe you can't come back from. And it's a dangerous move because you know right there, in the cold October night by the fire with his hand on your face and a blanket around you both that you could love him. It would be so easy. He could be your home if you wanted him to be. And that's terrifying.

"We're whatever you want," Steve replies.

___

tags: @cheerupbarry @srrybutno @97soroka @sunlitide @gloryofroses19 @carpediem1219 @themarvelousbee @sunshinehollandd @katsukis1wife @imherefortea @spideyboipete @lonelywidow @actual-mom-steve-harrington @steveharringtonscarkeys @pennyllanne @ducky-is-dead-inside @ih3artcry1ng @escape-in-time-x @sea040561 @manyfandomsfanvergent @blandyton @liberhoe @annaisweird @mrs-dr-reid @toomanyacorns @darlingoctober @selfdeprecatingnerd @dullsocietyy @keep-drivng @shireentapestry @mintfrostflower @freezaz123

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#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #no good at waiting

[zorosbeau33]

Courting~ Natsu Dragneel Alpha Headcanon

❖ Fairy Tail, Natsu Dragneel x gender neutral reader

❖ Headcanon, Possible future series, fluff

❖ Tw: none~

❖ wc: 1045

❖ @tojiseviltwin @kimnamshiks ❖ Masterlist ❖

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

This is a alpha beta omega au~ Reader is assumed omega in this but you are free to decide for yourself~

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

To begin, to make this easy let us establish this Dragon Slayer is an alpha. If you did not know you might suspect he was a beta with how he is so careless and goofy. Not your stereotypical stern tough guy alpha.

Natsu doesn’t care if you see him as an alpha or not, and he doesn’t care if someone doesn’t believe he’s an alpha. His status as a dragon slayer and member of Fairy Tail is his pride not something decided by birth or gender. Gender, who cares about that, are you strong or funny or nice? Thus goes his priorities.

So needless to say he’s not really into the whole, he has to court you by rules xyz due to his secondary gender. He’s going to court you how he believes a dragon slayer and guild member (because you will be adopted into Fairy Tale if you're not in it already) should be treated.

It might have taken him a long while to realize he wants to court you though. At first he just knew he liked being around you, and isn’t that enough? Spending life going on adventures and laughing together are most important to him. 

Once or twice he feels like frowning or growling when he sees someone get really close to you. Not just proximity wise because he too is a skinship with all the friends kind of person. But seeing someone attempt to get close to you romantically or emotionally and nudge him aside and out of frame? He doesn’t understand why but it burns him up inside.

I hate to say it but he tries to train it off, or just cling onto you and insist on starting a job right now. No he hasn’t picked one and yes it might be midnight but it's the perfect time to start a quest! No really-

He may go and confide in Master or Mira Jane. He knows he may get teased for it but he can’t figure these emotions out, and it's imperative to him to know because it's becoming stronger. His anger (its jealousy), his thoughts about you, why your scent is smelling sweeter and sweeter to him, all of it.

Bless this poor boy's soul because he really couldn’t figure out why he was “hungry” when he smelled your scent. He thought he needed to eat more food or fire because we don't eat friends. Thankfully they explained it's a physical and emotional longing to be closer with you.

This was not his first birds-and-bees talk but it was the one that made him realize he wanted you, and without them having to say more Natsu realized he wanted you as his mate.

Thankfully he does know from seeing others do it, although he thought it stupid at the time, the basics on how to court someone

His heart cannot take this he's so jittery and happy as he bounds up to you, if it's night time he may have broken in but that's okay! To hand you some hand picked flowers and a snack. He’s pretty forward about this, not subtle on starting the courting process. 

“Why? Because I want you to be my mate partner too of course!” Queue big happy grin

Lucy has helped him go shopping several times for you, blankets for your now shared nest. Food gifts galore.

No seriously everywhere you go, and you go to all places together now unless you ask for some space. He gets you food.

You looked away for two seconds and he disappeared. Don't worry he’ll be back in ten minutes with something scrumptious for you. 

If he has to go on a mission without you, or if you decide to take some time to yourself, expect a small little sweet or scone to be placed on your desk or in your hands. They are often a shade of pink, or dragon themed so you’d think of him.

Not huge on you wearing his clothes, with the exception of his scarf. He adores seeing you in it before he started courting you because he hadn’t realized yet, now he is obsessed wrapping it around you both as you cuddle. Or do anything for that matter.

Natsu did realize it's not practical while walking only after clotheslining you once…or twice…

He is super attentive to your needs, perhaps not romantically, but he knows you’re hungry before you do. 

Shivering? Not around him he knew to warm you before you knew you were chilled.

Tired, and he somehow has drafted you for a cuddle and nap session or has told the other guild members to go away so you can nest in a corner where he can keep an eye and make sure you are safe

Guild member pissed you off, he’s already squaring up to fight with you

You are feeling needy? He's right there giving you a hug

It all stems from his fighting experience funnily enough. He’s gotten really really good at reading body language because of it and he has yours down to an art form.

Natsu is strong and independent despite his love of skinship and kinship. However he will always be longing to be just a little bit closer to you and his gifts sometimes reflect as much.

Never in his life before would he have wanted to buy a massage, but here he is getting vouchers for couples massages. He heard about it from Elfman and it was a lightbulb moment.

Matching funny hats at the amusement park

Small little quirky dates to places to do things together, like making matching earrings. Or a food tour of a town together, quality time is his utmost number one gift and treasure. It's the best thing you can give him too, volunteer to spend time together and he is over the moon.

This goes without saying but Natsu is above all else, protective. You are strong or weak, it doesn't change this, he will fight god and anyone who looks down on you or tries to hurt you. Even if it's a guildmate in a pre ordained face off, someone will need to hold him back. You are too precious to him to risk losing, so please stay by his side forever.

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