✧ Warnings~ p in v, rut cycle, creampie, A/B/O elements (knotting), dom!so’lek, sub!reader, choking(kinda), dirty talk, praise,
✧ Translations~ Narlor-beautiful (visually), Yawntutsyìp-darling, little loved one,
You were collecting plants before you heard soft whimpers and grunts coming from the cave that was just a foot up ahead.
From where you were standing you could see the cave was lit up with bioluminescence of the fauna even though it was still light out. You could also catch a faint smell of who was in the cave; a male Navi, but you couldn’t pick up anything else.
Mindlessly you walk closer, the pheromones got stronger with every step , which gave you the chance to find out that the male in there was in rut.
When you reached the entrance of the cave his pheromones were almost overwhelming and…familiar too.
Before you can call out to him, he grabs you, pulling you into the brightly lit cave. He looked down at you hungrily, his eyes weren’t the same color as yours, they were orange, and in the right light they looked red. You study his form carefully, taking in how rapidly his chest rising and falling, the thin layer of sweat that covered his whole body, and how much he was leaking. So much that it dripped onto your thighs, just looking at him made your whole body hot. But you had to keep it together. No matter how much he was scaring you and making your loincloth unbelievably slick.
“So’lek?..” it was whispered and shakey, but he heard it. You could tell by the way his ears perked up. He doesn’t respond to you though, he just backs you up against the wall of the cave, so you had nowhere to run. Even if you did, you knew you wouldn’t make it very far without him catching you.
He trails his eyes up and down your body before doing the same with his hands. You yelp quietly at the touch, his hands felt like they were on fire, making you feel extremely sympathetic for him. “Need you to help me, Narlor.” His deep voice had chills of arousal running all over your body, and you knew he caught onto too because of how his nose twitched and his cock did the same against your thighs.
You wanted so desperately to give in and help him, you’ve been craving him like this ever since you two first met. But you had to rationalize, for your sake.“Lek’..I don’t think I should..I mean, we aren’t even ma-“ You started, but you were silenced by the growl that left his mouth and the feeling of being picked up and thrown over his shoulder.
His strong back was taking blow after blow from you, and his ears were being filled with all sorts of curses from you so he’d put you down. But all he did in return is laugh, he found your attempts comical. And even more so when he felt you huff in defeat, realizing you weren’t getting away from him.
He places you down onto a makeshift bed, crouching down slightly so he could look you in the eye. “You’ll help me, yes?” He questions, whole body still stiff and ridged from holding himself back. You took a minute to respond, thinking of all the reasons why you shouldn’t help him out, but with the way he was looking at you and how your body was responding before you could, you already knew what your answer was gonna be. And so did he.
You nodded your head eagerly while saying “yes” to him, giving him the go ahead to damn near rip your loincloth off and manhandle you onto your knees so your face was shoved into the mattress and ass was in the air. There’s a second of silence before you feel him lean down to leave sloppy kisses down your spine, stopping when his face reached your leaking cunt.
A low moan comes from him at the sight, before he reaches out to play with your puffy folds. “Mhm~ so pretty, yawntutsyìp..” he murmured softly as he pushed a finger into you, the tightness of your gummy walls around his finger made him grow impatient. And the pretty nosies that were coming from your plush lips weren’t making it any better.
You hear a small “I’m sorry, yawntusip..” after he pulls his finger out of you, but before you can question and complain to him you’re cut off by your own moan and the overwhelming feeling of his huge cock stretching you out, not giving you time to adjust as he pounds into your greedy pussy ruthlessly.
You could feel every ridge and vein of him, how much he twitched inside of you, how his tip perfectly aligned with your sweet spot. It drove you crazy. The coil in your stomach was unraveling quickly, quicker than you can warn him before you came all over him. He didn’t stop though, he didn’t even slow his pace. He just tightened his grip on your hips and kept using you. Not like you cared anyway.
The overstimulation was hitting you fast and hard, causing tears to blur your vision, instinctively your hand reaches behind you, lacing your fingers with his in search of comfort. “So’lek, please! I-mhm!~s’too much..I can’t..” you were blubbering nonsense at this point, body turning into mush the more he played with you. “Oh, but you’re being such a good girl for me. So just shut up and take it.” He demanded as he wrapped his arm around your neck before he lifting you up, placing his other hand on your waist to give him more leverage.
The new position has you seeing stars, he was somehow even deeper inside of you and hit your sweet spot even more directly. All of the sensations have your coil snapping once again, juices dripping onto the bed below you and adding to the obscene skin slapping nosies that filled the cave.
Soft moans and whimpers leave his lips when your pussy flutters around him, the feeling makes him push his knot in you instantly, spilling his warm, sticky cum all inside of your needy cunt. You almost scream when you feel his knot push into you, pain and pleasure running all over your body from it. And even more so when he bit down on your shoulder, unbeknownst to you that he was doing that to silence all the pretty noises that’d come from him.
He licks and kisses the wound as he rides out both of your highs, whispering sweet praises in your ear occasionally. You’re still a mess, the feeling of him still being inside of you overwhelming you slightly, but you eventually relax the more he calms you down.
Swiftly, he pulls you so your flush to his chest as he rests his body against the wall. You reach your hand behind you to cup the side of his face gently, making him turn his head to look down at you, “you feeling any better yet?” the orange haze of his eyes told you all that you needed to know, yet you asked anyway.
He turned his head to kiss and nibble at the skin of your hand, mumbling a small ‘mhm’ in response.
But you knew he was far from over with you.
A/N~ this is my very first So’lek fic so pls be nice to me😔 and also my first fic where I included a/b/o elements, so I hope I used everything in the right way bc I’ve always been a lil scared to write anything to do with a/b/o elements bc it’s a lil confusing to me and overwhelming😭 but regardless, I hope you guys enjoyed, stay safe and hydrated. Love you bbys💕
That’s the first thing you notice—soft gold instead of darkness, the air warm instead of sharp. Your body feels heavy in that floaty way, the kind that means you’re safe enough to rest. Wrapped. Anchored.
Erik is sitting beside you on the edge of the bed.
He hasn’t moved.
You know this because his hand is still exactly where it was when you drifted off: resting over yours, fingers careful, like he’s afraid even the smallest shift might undo everything. His other hand smooths over your hair in slow, repetitive strokes, the rhythm almost devotional. Like he’s counting your breaths without meaning to.
When your eyes flutter open, he freezes.
Not pulls away—never that—but stills, every muscle taut, like a man caught praying out loud.
“You’re awake,” he says quietly, voice low and raw around the edges.
“Yeah,” you murmur. Your throat’s dry. He notices immediately.
“Don’t speak yet.” He reaches for the glass on the bedside table before you can argue, lifting it to your lips. “Slowly. Please.”
You do as he asks, mostly because it’s easier than pushing back. The water is cool, grounding. His thumb presses lightly under your chin to steady you, and the touch is so gentle it almost hurts.
When you’re done, he sets the glass aside and exhales, like he’s been holding that breath since you closed your eyes.
“There,” he whispers. “Good. You did wonderfully.”
You blink at him. “You keep saying that.”
His mouth curves—not quite a smile, more like relief trying to become one. “Because it is true. Because you stayed.”
There it is. The quiet edge beneath the softness.
You shift, and he’s instantly alert, hands hovering like he’s ready to catch you if you fall apart. He helps you sit up with maddening patience, rearranging pillows behind your back until you’re fully supported. Only then does he reach for the blanket, tucking it around your shoulders with meticulous care.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“I’m okay.”
“I know,” he replies, too quickly. “I just—let me.”
He wraps his arms around you slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You don’t. His chest is warm, solid, his heartbeat uneven beneath your ear. He smells like candle wax and metal and something unmistakably him.
“I worried I frightened you,” he admits, voice barely above a breath. “Sometimes I forget how… intensely I feel things.”
You hum softly. “I’m still here.”
His arms tighten. Just a fraction too much. Then he corrects himself, loosening his grip with visible effort.
“Yes,” he says. “You are. You always are.”
That sentence lands heavy. Not threatening—just desperate. Like he’s terrified the universe might overhear him and decide to disagree.
He presses a kiss to your hair. Then another. Each one careful, reverent, placed like punctuation between thoughts he can’t quite say out loud.
“Tell me if anything aches,” he murmurs. “Or if you’re cold. Or overwhelmed. I can fetch tea. Or music. Or silence. I can—” He cuts himself off, breath hitching. “I can do anything you need.”
You tilt your head back to look at him. Even half-hidden by the mask, you can feel his eyes on you, searching your face for cracks.
“Stay,” you say simply.
He swallows.
“I will,” he promises, immediate and absolute. “I would never leave you like this. Never.”
He guides you back down, settling beside you this time instead of hovering. One arm stays around you, firm and grounding; the other traces slow, absent-minded circles against your back. The motion is soothing, intentional. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you again, just to be sure.
Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Time doesn’t really exist down here.
“You know,” he says eventually, quieter now, “the world has never been kind to me.”
You glance up at him.
“But you are,” he continues. “And I—” His voice falters. He presses his forehead to yours, careful of the mask. “I do not know how to want gently. I only know how to want completely.”
You don’t pull away.
“That’s why this matters,” you say, half-teasing, half-serious.
He huffs out a soft, surprised sound. Almost a laugh.
“Then I will learn,” he says. “For you. As long as you are mine.”
Possessive. Honest. Vulnerable.
His hand finds yours again, fingers lacing together this time, grip firm but not trapping.
summary: a monster keeps your cottage safe from wolves, believing you neither see nor want him—until spring comes, and you finally turn to the creature in the trees and let him know you’ve been leaving the bread, the clothes… and that you were never afraid.
pairing: the creature (adam frankenstein) x reader
word count: 3,299 words
warnings: gothic romance (set in 1800’s), talk of death and murder, slow burn, horror, MDNI (18+ only)
notes: hi first time writing in like 2-3 years so be nice please xoxoxo if you can’t tell i’ve gotten into writing horror/thriller and this was the perfect opportunity to dip my toes back in. anyways if you’re reading this here’s a kiss mwah
PART I | PART II | PART III | PART IV
SERIES MASTERLIST
He’d been haunting the tree line long before you ever saw him.
At least, that’s what he believed.
All winter, something bigger than any wolf stalked the border of your little cottage, keeping the growls and yellow eyes at bay. You’d wake to claw marks in the snow that didn’t belong to any animal you knew, to the broken bodies of wolves dragged far from your door, as if someone didn’t want you to see what he’d done for you. Your lanterns never ran out of oil. Your firewood stack never emptied. Sometimes, there were heavy footprints in the mud—too large, too uneven to be human—leading back into the forest and vanishing with the mist.
He thought you didn’t know.
But you saw him.
You always saw him.
The first time, it was only a shadow: a towering figure half-hidden behind the black skeleton of a pine tree, watching you as you hung freshly washed sheets beneath a washed-out winter sky. Another time, you caught the briefest flash of his eyes, pale and aching with something that wasn’t quite hunger and wasn’t quite hatred, as he melted back into the dark.
The creature.
Adam Frankenstein.
The villagers whispered about a monster in the woods, a patchwork horror that should have never drawn breath, but you knew better. Monsters didn’t leave bread on your windowsill on nights you forgot to eat. Monsters didn’t stack kindling by your step after snowstorms, or set down a freshly killed hare just close enough that your old dog could sniff it out in the morning. Monsters didn’t linger at the edge of your light like a shield, taking every blow the world had meant for you.
So you started leaving things for him, too.
A still-warm loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and left on a flat stone near the forest’s edge. A thick, clumsily sewn shirt you’d stitched by candlelight, big enough to fit the breadth of his shoulders as best you could guess. A pair of gloves with uneven fingers. Each offering would be gone by morning, and in their place there’d be… nothing. No note. No mark. Just a silence that somehow felt shy.
Spring came slowly, softening the snow into streams and coaxing green from the hard earth. One bright morning, you took your dog and followed the familiar path beneath the budding branches, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. You could feel him behind you—no longer a rumour, but a steady presence in the spaces between birdsong and the crunch of twigs underfoot.
He was careful with his distance.
Careful with you.
You felt him before you saw him.
The air behind you changed—thicker somehow, as if the very forest were holding its breath.
Your dog’s ears flicked, tail giving the smallest wag, but he did not bark. He sat at your heel, as though he, too, had long grown used to the giant shadow that haunted the trees.
You stood in the clearing, sunlight painting your skirts in pale gold, fingers resting lightly upon your dog’s head.
“I know you are there,” you said, voice steady despite the pounding in your chest. “You have been there for a very long time, have you not?”
Silence.
The birds went quiet. A breeze stirred the budding branches overhead, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something else—old smoke, metal, and the faintest trace of soap, as though someone had tried, clumsily, to scrub himself clean.
You swallowed your nervousness and smiled, though he could not see it. Not yet.
“Tell me, Adam,” you continued, your tone turning wry, “how much longer until you understand that I have always known about you… and that you do not frighten me in the least?”
Something shifted among the trees to your left. A heavy footstep, then another, crunching over last year’s leaves. Your dog gave a low, pleased whine.
Slowly, as though dragged forward by some unseen chain, he stepped out from the shadows.
He was larger than you had imagined, even after months of stolen glances. Broad shoulders strained the seams of the very shirt you had sewn by candlelight. The fabric sat oddly upon him, as if he were still unsure he had the right to wear something made with care.
His face—oh, his face.
You had prepared yourself for horror.
Instead, you found sadness.
Features too sharply cut, as though chiseled in haste and anger. Eyes a pale, unnatural blue, ringed by the kind of weariness usually reserved for much older men. There were scars, yes, and those patchwork seams that betrayed the unnatural hand that had pieced him together, but beneath them all… he was simply a man who did not know how to occupy his own skin.
He stopped several paces away, hands held slightly out from his sides, as though to show he carried no weapon.
“You… you ought to run,” he said at last, his voice rough and low, the words strangely precise yet hesitant, like a man learning to speak again after a long illness. “The villagers would tell you to flee.”
“The villagers,” you replied, “have never once stacked firewood by my door after a storm.”
His jaw tightened. He glanced away, as though ashamed.
“That was nothing,” he muttered. “A mere… task. I happened to be near.”
“And the hare left upon my step in January? Was that another mere task?”
He shifted his weight, great hands curling into fists. “You were thin,” he said grudgingly. “There were no tracks near your home. I deduced you did not hunt.”
“And the wolves?” you pressed gently. “The ones that never cross the boundary of my field, though their howls wake me in the night?”
His throat worked. For a moment, the creature looked almost… irritated. “They are foolish animals,” he said. “They do not understand when they trespass upon what is mine to guard.”
Your heart stuttered at that word.
“Yours to guard,” you echoed softly.
At last his gaze met yours. There was a terrible vulnerability in it, like a child braced for mockery.
“You ought not look at me so,” he said, voice rougher now. “You ought to scream. Or at the very least, avert your eyes.”
“I shall do neither,” you answered. “You have been my unseen champion all winter, sir. I should think it discourteous to shriek at you now.”
He frowned, as though the very notion of courtesy applied to him was offensive.
“I am no ‘sir’,” he said. “The man who stitched me together did not deem me fit for such a title.”
“Then what shall I call you?” you asked, ignoring the chill that raced down your spine at his choice of words. “The villagers speak of a monster. A demon. A fiend. I do not care for any of those.”
A shadow of something like humour passed over his face. “He called me Adam,” he said quietly. “As though I were the first of my kind.”
You nodded once. “Very well, Adam.”
Your dog, emboldened by your calm, trotted forward and sniffed at his boots. Adam stared down at him as though the small creature were some strange, new invention.
“He does not fear me,” Adam murmured, almost to himself.
“Animals are often better judges of character than men,” you replied. “He knows you have watched over us.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “I watched to ensure no harm came to you,” he corrected. “Whether you knew of it or not is of little consequence.”
“On the contrary.” You took a small step closer. His eyes widened, as though you had moved a mile instead of a foot. “It is of great consequence. You believed yourself unseen, did you not?”
He hesitated, then gave a small, reluctant nod.
“Then you must also have believed that the bread, and the shirt, and the gloves appeared by some miracle of the woods.” You tilted your head. “Or did you imagine the forest itself had begun to sew?”
Colour—faint but unmistakable—rose along the visible seam of his throat. He looked past you, toward the stone where you always left your gifts.
“I thought…” He paused, visibly searching for words. “I wondered if perhaps you had set them out for the poor. For some wandering soul more deserving than I.”
Your chest ached. “And yet you took them.”
“Yes.” His gaze dropped to his hands, as though the gloves were still upon them. “I told myself I had stolen them. That you would never know. That is the sort of thing a monster does, is it not? Take what is not his?”
“If I leave something upon the edge of the wood with no name attached,” you said gently, “is it truly theft for the one I hoped would claim it… to do so?”
His eyes snapped back to yours, startled. “You… hoped…?”
“For whom else do you suppose I stitched sleeves of that length?” you asked, lips quirking. “There is no man in the village with shoulders so broad as yours, Adam.”
He stared at you as though you had struck him. Not in pain—more in stunned disbelief.
“You… knew,” he breathed. “You knew I was there. All this time.”
“Yes.”
“And you were not afraid.”
You considered this. “I was wary,” you said honestly. “At first. One does not wake to strange footprints and dead wolves without a certain degree of alarm. But then I saw you. Hiding like a boy behind those poor trees, trying very hard not to be seen. And I thought—”
You broke off, biting your lip.
He took a half-step forward despite himself. “You thought what?”
“I thought,” you said slowly, “that no true monster skulks in the shadows to keep a woman’s cottage safe through a winter as harsh as this last one. No true monster leaves food instead of taking it. No true monster looks at another living soul the way you looked at my dog last month—do not pretend you were not there, I saw you through the curtain—like you were afraid to even breathe in his direction for fear you might somehow break him.”
He said nothing. His breath misted faintly in the cool spring air, harsh and uneven.
“You should not look so kindly upon me,” he managed at last. “It is… improper.”
“Improper,” you repeated, amusement bubbling up despite the solemnity of his tone. “We are alone in the forest, Adam. There is no vicar here to scold us.”
“It is not the vicar I fear,” he muttered. “It is myself.”
Your smile faded.
“Why?” you asked.
He looked down at his hands again, turning them palm up as though they were strange objects he’d found rather than parts of his own body.
“These hands have done terrible things,” he said quietly. “I have torn wolves apart, as you have seen. I have broken men who sought to harm me. I have throttled hatred at its source and found only more hatred beneath it. I was created in violence and I fear I shall end in it as well.” His eyes lifted to yours, desperate. “I cannot trust myself near that which is gentle.”
Your throat tightened. “You have been near me all winter.”
“At a distance,” he insisted. “A barrier of trees. Of shadow. Of night. It is different now.”
“Is it?” You closed the gap between you by another small step. He sucked in a breath, shoulders going rigid. You could feel the heat radiating from him now, unnatural in its intensity, like standing too close to a forge. “I feel no danger from you, Adam.”
“You should.”
“But I do not.” You lifted your hand, giving him every opportunity to retreat. “May I?”
He stared at your outstretched fingers as though they were some holy relic. “I… do not know.”
“We shall discover it together,” you said softly.
After a moment that stretched thin as spun sugar, he extended his own hand, large and scarred and trembling just enough for you to see. You laid your palm against his.
Warm. Solid. Very real.
He flinched, not from pain, but from the shock of contact.
“See?” you murmured. “You have not broken me.”
“Not yet,” he said hoarsely.
You squeezed his fingers. “Nor shall you, if I have any say in the matter.”
For a heartbeat, the forest was nothing but the two of you and the soft panting of your dog at your side. A bird dared a tentative trill somewhere above, as though deciding the danger had passed.
“You treat me as though I were… a man,” Adam said quietly, almost accusingly.
“You are,” you replied simply.
His brows drew together. “I am a collection of parts stolen from graves. I am a blasphemy against God and nature both.”
“You are standing in the sunlight speaking to me with more courtesy than half the men in town,” you countered. “If that is blasphemy, then perhaps we have misjudged Heaven.”
A startled, rough sound escaped him—half laugh, half exhale. As though he had forgotten how ordinary mirth should feel in his chest.
“You should not say such things,” he chided, but there was no true censure in it. “You are too bold.”
“You have been listening to me mutter to myself all winter,” you reminded him. “You ought to know by now that my tongue is not easily tamed.”
“I know many things about you,” he admitted, voice going soft. “I know you speak kindly to your dog even when he chews your shoes. I know you hum that same song each morning when you light the stove. I know you eat too little when you are anxious. I know you cry when you believe no one can hear.”
Your breath caught. “You ought not watch a lady in such moments,” you said, flustered.
“I know,” he said, guilt flickering through his gaze. “And yet I could not look away. Your sorrow… it frightened me more than wolves ever could. I wished to tear apart whatever had caused it, but there was nothing there. Only you, and your hands shaking, and your tears falling into the dough you were kneading.”
You blinked rapidly, your throat thick. “You saw that.”
“Yes.”
“And you still think yourself a monster,” you whispered.
He hesitated. “Do you not?”
You stepped closer until there was barely a breath between you, your hand still cradled in his. You had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes fully.
“If I say no,” you asked, “will you believe me?”
“I… do not know.” His voice cracked on the words.
“Then I shall tell you as many times as necessary until you do.” Your lips curved into a small, earnest smile. “You are not a monster to me, Adam. You are the reason I have slept safely these many months. You are the reason my dog still runs through these woods without fear. You are the reason I am standing here today, whole and unharmed.”
He swallowed hard. “Any man might have done as much.”
“But no man did.” You lifted your free hand to his chest, pressing your palm lightly over where his heart would be—if it beat. “You did.”
His breath hitched. For a moment, he seemed to forget how limbs functioned, standing utterly still as though one wrong move might shatter the moment into fragments.
“You should not touch me so,” he said weakly.
“And yet,” you murmured, “you do not step away.”
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. “Because I am selfish. Because I have spent a season watching you from afar and I am not yet strong enough to deny myself this one brief… kindness.”
“Adam,” you said softly. “Look at me.”
He obeyed. Slowly, hesitantly, but he obeyed.
“There is nothing ‘brief’ about what I intend,” you told him. “You have guarded my cottage as though it were a kingdom. Will you not allow me, at the very least, to guard your heart in return?”
His lips parted, but no sound came. You could see the war waging behind his eyes—fear and longing and disbelief all tangled together.
“You… would keep company with me?” he managed at last. “Knowing what I am?”
“Knowing who you are,” you corrected. “A man named Adam who walks the tree line at night so that I may sleep. A man who refuses to let wolves cross my field. A man who looks at my foolish old dog as though he were some creature made of glass.” Your fingers curled briefly against his chest. “If that is monstrosity, I shall gladly consort with monsters.”
Another laugh—clearer this time—escaped him. It transformed his face, smoothing some of the harsh lines, revealing the man beneath the scars.
“You are very stubborn,” he said.
“So I have been told.”
“And you would not… flee, if I came nearer? If I…” He faltered, gaze flickering to your joined hands. “If I visited your cottage when the sun has set?”
“I should be most put out if you did not,” you said lightly. “I have an extra chair by the hearth and no one to fill it. My dog prefers company. As, I suspect, do I.”
He stared at you as though trying to determine whether this were some cruel trick of the mind. At last, cautiously, he lifted his other hand to hover near your cheek, stopping inches away.
“May I?” he asked, echoing your earlier words.
You leaned into the space between, closing the distance yourself. His fingers brushed your skin—calloused, uncertain, trembling. He cupped your cheek as though cradling something far more fragile than you felt.
“You are warm,” he whispered, wonder in his tone.
“And you are real,” you replied.
His thumb swept once, reverently, along your cheekbone. “If I frighten you,” he said softly, “you must tell me at once. I will go, and I shall not trouble you again, though it break what passes for my heart.”
“I do not believe you capable of breaking my heart,” you said. “Guarding it, perhaps. As you have guarded everything else.”
His eyes shone, sudden moisture gathering there. He blinked it away quickly, as though ashamed.
“I do not understand why you would offer such mercy to me,” he murmured.
“Perhaps,” you said gently, “it is not mercy. Perhaps it is simply… affection.”
The word seemed to strike him with more force than any blow.
“Affection,” he repeated, voice barely audible. “For me.”
“For you,” you affirmed. “For Adam, who walks the forest so that I might live another day to bake too much bread and scold my dog and sew shirts far too large.” Your smile softened. “Stay with me, and I shall show you there is more for you than shadows and solitude.”
He drew in a long, shaky breath. When he exhaled, something in his posture eased—the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw. As though a burden he had carried alone for far too long had shifted, just slightly, into your waiting hands.
“Very well,” he said at last, voice low but resolute. “I shall try.”
Your heart lifted, light as the first spring breeze.
“Good,” you replied. “Then you shall walk me home, Adam. And after that, if you wish, you may sit by my fire and tell me all the things you have seen from the edge of the wood.”
He glanced once toward the deeper forest, then back to you—the woman who had left bread and stitched shirts and dared to speak kindly to the creature everyone else feared.
“As you wish,” he said quietly.
And when you turned toward the path, his heavy footsteps fell in beside yours—not behind, no longer hiding in the trees, but at your side. Where, you suspected, he had always longed to be.
it makes me so sad seeing no x reader content for look outside 💔 like i CAN’T be the only one who wants to kiss some of these characters on the mouth right??
i want to write fics for the yumeshippers and oc x cc enjoyers because SOMEBODY has to write something. unfortunately my writing skills are probably super mediocre because i haven’t written anything in months but it’s the thought that counts am i right
i’m so in lesbians with hellen i think about her all day
on this website you'll be like "why'd the chicken cross the road? to 'get to the other side' haha" and someone will be like "actually, chickens have no concept of an afterlife- in fact, it has no concept of a 'road.' it does not see itself crossing anything, it is simply going somewhere it feels the need to go, likely searching for food, or-" and it will be completely unironic and there's nothing you can do to stop them short of blocking them
WAIT. THE CHICKEN JOKE ABOUT "GETTING TO THE OTHER SIDE" WAS ABOUT THE CHICKEN PASSING INTO THE AFTERLIFE ????? HOW AM I ONLY JUST UNDERSTANDING THIS???????????
OK YEAH THAT PART IS ACTUALLY NOT AS WELL KNOWN that entire joke is meant to be kind of morbid LMAO it's literally like. walking into traffic to get to "the other side"
its just embarrassing when you make a fandom related post and it doesnt get any notes like okay. so no one want to play tuoys with me. no one wants to play with our little guys together. okay thats fine. yeah its cool... puts my hands in my jacket pockets. kicks a beer can that was on the side of the road a little
terfs fuck offfff i hope you never get a single note on anything
Thinking of Incel!Gyutaro who is absolutely obsessed with you. Keeping your discarded things, following you home, stalking your social media, the whole nine yards.
You finally notice him at a party and let him take you home. You're so sweet and perfect, he can't imagine why all your relationships are so short lived. That is until your riding him, kissing up and down his neck adoringly and he can't keep up.
He throws his head back as he empties, trying to lift your hips up so he pull out, but you double down, sitting all the way on it while he cries out. "Fuck, fuck, baby, please I'm not wearin' a rubber...'
You simply giggle, purring affectionately in his ear, mercilessly dragging your hips up and down, plowing straight past his limit without a care in the world. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he'd get so lucky as to creampie any girl, let alone you. Now you're fucking yourself on his spent dick like you own it, he swears your writing your name on it with your hips.
"Fuck, baby, never wanna let you go," He rasps, wincing at the overstimulation. Again, you giggle, playfully nipping his neck. "Fuckin' obsessed with you, you're never gettin' rid-a me." Your sweet laugher drives him wild and he finally asks: "W-What's so funny?"
"You're just too cute..." You coo softly. "You really think I'm stuck with you?"
His face pales, thinking you're gonnna leave at any moment. "I-I mean-"
"It's you who's stuck with me, baby..."
At that moment, it clicks for him. Meeting you at the party wasn't a happy accident. Sharing every class despite having different majors was no coincidence. All your socials being public and then suddenly private after he followed you was carefully orchestrated. This was why all your relationships never made it past a month. It was the lovesick, possessive look in your eye.
"You'll never leave me like all those other guys, will you, Gyutaro?" You ask softly, still rough riding him. "Gonna be mine forever, right?"
"'Course I will," He agrees, well aware he's in over his head, but your hypnotic voice and the heavenly heat of your cunt makes his choice for him. "I'm all yours, forever."
i actually want to know how andrew would be with a affectionate reader?? like kissy kiss all over his body and touch y to people in general… im having andrew brainrot rn dont mind me
Awkward... Nervous... Shy... He doesn't know how to respond at first, but he's also so touchstarved that even the most gentle of touches have him shuddering and closing his eyes while trying to absorb all your affection.
Andrew may be new to the whole 'being caressed' thing, but as long as it's you, and you clearly signal to him that you're about to cup his jaw or stroke his hair or embrace him or kiss his face, he'll be a little nervous... Then melt into it.
I also don't think he would mind you being touchy with others, he understands that's you're a touchy person, but as long as the more romantic stuff is reserved only for him, he'll happily smile while watching you give hugs to every survivor returning from their matches of the day. After all, he trusts you completely, and I mean it.
He doesn't believe in himself.
He knows he's a coward. He's weak. For what it's worth, his loyalty means little because he has never had anything that was worth being loyal to.
You're the first thing.
He knows he's not good enough. You can't blame a man for trying, though, right?
He doesn't even believe himself to be obsessive. He is obsessive, but not in any way that matters. He struggles to make conversation with you, for fuck's sake!
He's... a bit perverted.
He's repressed. He hasn't really been able to explore his own sexuality or preferences unless someone was forcing their preferences onto him. He didn't know that he liked— that someone could like someone else this much.
So he steals some of your clothes, even going as far as to try to wear them in secret. He watches you bathe down by the river. He tries to see you get dressed. If you're having trouble getting ready, then he's right there, practically begging to aid you.
He absolutely adores your body, and not necessarily in a sexual way. You're just fascinating. The body that holds you in it―is you―deserves so much reverence in his eyes. Yes, that means sometimes he gets hard when he looks at you, but can you blame him? You're so perfect.
He's hesitant.
Low self-esteem coupled with repression doesn't equal a healthy attachment style―not that anything he feels about you is healthy anyway.
Even if he is approaching you, he can't help but be timid. He stammers. His face is flushed. He feels less like a grown man and more like a boy who accidentally stumbled into a brothel. That's how flustered you make him.
He's teased relentlessly about it. Well, they are more like jeers. He has received plenty of threats from others that they'll castrate him if he touches you.
So he has plenty of reason to be frightened.
Still, he doesn't listen to the warnings (threats). He still tries his best to befriend you. It's almost sweet. If only you knew how rotten the taste would soon become.
welcome back, phe <3 could i maybe have a blurb of kaz brekker x reader with the sentence "you're cute when you blush."???
𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ♡ thank you sm for the request!!! xoxo
contains: fluff, playful bickering, confident!reader, flustered!kaz
Most people in the Barrel were petrified of Kaz Brekker.
And rightfully so: He could be intimidating, cruel, unpredicatable, selfish...There were plenty of things to fear.
You've seen him nearly collapse from the pain of his bed leg, watched him struggle with stairs and steep streets. You've seen him faint, vomit, nearly drown. And perhaps his resilience should make him twice as intimidating.
However, knowing him for quite some time, you've learned that he isn't always so scary. You're observant, and you have caught the softer sides of Kaz. You've noticed the way he has to physically bite his tongue to refrain from laughing at Jesper's jokes, and have even heard him let out the rare chuckle. You've seen him stop to rub a stray dog's belly on more than one occasion, and watched him perform a magic trick for a curious group of children once.
But there's one thing about Kaz that is just frankly cute, and you don't think he even realizes it.
Because he's an expert at steeling his emotions, hiding the truth. He can lie, cheat, and steal his way out of any situation. But when he's safe, around trusted people, when there are no stakes at hand...Kaz Brekker blushes.
You had thought at first that he was just flushed from alcohol or something, but you quickly realized it only happened when you gave him a compliment, or when you teased him.
At first, you'd assumed that it happened more often, like when Jesper did a bad impression of his gravelly voice, or when Nina playfully flirted with him. But no. It seemed to just be you.
Which led you to the conclusion that perhaps your attraction to the Bastard of the Barrel wasn't for naught. And so, you began trying to flirt with him. And as intelligent as Kaz was, when it came to relationships, he was a fucking moron.
He was in his office that night, and you walked in and leaned against the edge of his desk.
"Hi, boss," you said with a smile.
"What is it?" he replied, skipping the pleasantries.
You leaned against the edge of his desk. "Oh, nothing. Jesper's passed out drunk, Nina and Matthias are making out, and Inej and Wylan are on a job, so...I'm bored."
Kaz frowned. "So you decided to bother me?"
"What? You're good company. Easy on the eyes, too."
There it was. That tinge of pink on his pale cheeks, spreading to the tips of his ears.
"You're cute when you blush."
He was practically scowling by that point. "I don't blush," he hissed. "And I'm not...cute, Y/N, I'm a grown fucking man."
"Your face is literally red right now."
Kaz used a gloved hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, clearly irritated beyond belief. He was so easy to rile sometimes, and it was simultaneously adorable and entertaining.
With his aversion to physical contact, flirting with Kaz wasn't always easy. The natural instinct to lean closer, to touch his arm or initiate an act of intimacy was out of the question.
You wanted to keep going - To tell him that on the rare occasion that he smiled, it was beautiful, and on the rarer occasion that he laughed, you were surprised all the women in a 10-mile radius didn't literally swoon. But you didn't want it to sound like you were just teasing, that this was all just to bother him.
However, as well as his feelings about touch, Kaz seemed to have an aversion to genuine emotion too. How were you ever gonna get through to him?
When he finally looked back up at you, cheeks still flushed, there was the ghost of a smile on his lips. "If you insist on being in here, the least you can do is help me talk through the plans of this heist."
You grinned, taking a seat on the edge of his desk, listening intently as he walked you through his idea. The flush in his face subsided, his demeanor relaxing, the conversation natural.
